
Glass^. 



>^i 



Book_ 



\ ■ i. 



<». 



--/ 




. Cochrsr 



r —/ 



l^?/iy'//i6y iO/f^Mi^ ^ ',"///, y 



COOLEDOE S NEW BDITION'. 



THE 



COMPLETE WORKS 



OF 



WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE: 



COMPRISING HIS 



PLAYS AND POEMS 



■vriTH 



DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE; 

A GLOSSARY, AN ACCOUNT OF EACH PLAY, 



AND 



A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR, 



BY 



THE REV. WILLIAM HARNESS, M.A., 

OF CHRIST'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, AND MINISTER OF ST. PANCRAS PAROCHIAL CHAPEL, REGENT SQUARE. 

EMBELLISHED 

i^itlj a f nrtrEit frnm \\i ii\i\i^\i\ €j\i^\m "^xiX^u, 

ENGRAVED ON STEEL BY COCHRAN, 

Qlnb iTc rtp Beautiful Illustrations, 

ENGRAVED ON WOOD, IN THE SEVENTY-SEVENTH TEAR OF HIS AGE, 

BY AliEXANDER ANDERSON, 

(the EARLIEST PBACTITIONER OF THE ART OF 'WOOD-ENGRAVING IN AJIERICA,) 
FROM NEW AND ORIGINAL DESIGNS BY T. H. MATTESON. 



NEW YORK: 
GEORGE F. COOLEDGE & BROTHER, 

LONDON: 
SCOTT, WEBSTER, & GEARY. 



PR 2.1 53 



,77 



^m^ niLiLinef lEA'f ii(DMi 



It is a fact worthy of commemoration, that all the wood-engravings, forty in number, 
which adorn this volume, were executed by Mr. Alexander Anderson, at the advanced 
age of seventy-seven years. Mr. Anderson is a native of New York city, where the most 
of his long and useful life has been passed in the pursuit and perfection of his art. 

His father, a Scotchman from Aberdeen, was at the period of the American Revolution, 
the publisher of an uncompromising whig paper called "The Constitutional Gazette." 
When but a lad, Alexander made his first attempt at engraving under the auspices of the 
celebrated Hugh Gaines, and other printers and publishers of that eventful period. His 
love for the art having induced him to relinquish the study of medicine, which he was at 
that time pursuing, he resolved to avail himself of the instructions of Roberts, an engraver 
on copper, the result of which was the execution of numerous illustrations for newspaper 
advertisements on type-metal. His first ambitious efforts in the illustration of books were 
made as early as 1794, when he was employed by Durell, a bookseller, to engrave cuts 
for The Looking- Glass, from originals by Bewick. When he had finished about half of 
them on type-metal he learned that Bewick's cuts were engraved on wood ; he at once dis- 
carded the metal, procured the substitute, and succeeded in establishing the art of wood- 
engraving in America. Various editions of the Looking-Glass, and DihcortWs and Weh- 
stefs Spelling-Books, exhibit the progress of his skill in earlier years. He also engraved 
upon copper, and during the first quarter of the present century, most of the school and med- 
ical books published in New York, were illustrated by him. And now, at the age of nearly 
fourscore years, this pioneer of wood-engraving in America, plies the graver with the 
skill and industry of his prime. His style is bold and effective, and is adapted to any 
kind of letter-press printing. Wood-engraving has a distinct character, unlike, in many 
respects, every other species of the graphic art ; and this character Mr. Anderson has 
always preserved, never attempting to imitate metal-engraving. His pictures, therefore, 
exhibit that clear, bold, and effective character which belongs exclusively to engravings on 
wood. 

Designing for wood-engraving, is also a branch of art quite individual, and distinct from 
all others, and one in which few excel. Mr. Matteson, by whom the engravings in this 
volume were designed, has long been favorably known as one of the most successful in this 
department. This work attests his excellence. 
New Yoek, July 1, 1851, Publishers. 



CONTENTS. 



TO tAGS 



31 
49 



MEMOIR BY THE REV. WILLIAM HARNESS, M.A. iii 

DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE 3 

GLOSSARY ^^ 

THE TEMPEST 27 

TWO GENTLEMEN OP VERONA 45 

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR 63 77 

TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL 86 98 

MEASURE FOR MEASURE 106 116 

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 129 144 

MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 150 161 

LOVES LABOUR'S LOST 167 176 

MERCHANT OF VENICE 18^ 204 

AS YOU LIKE IT 209 222 

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 231 241 

TAMING OF THE SHREW 254 269 

WINTER'S TALE 275 283 

COMEDY OF ERRORS ^00 302 

MACBETH ^^^ ^^^ 

KING JOHN ^^2 ^^^ 

KING RICHARD II ^^^ ^^^ 

FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV 376 386 

SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV 399 419 

KING HENRY V ^^^ ^~^ 

FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI 450 455 

SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI 472 489 

THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI 497 500 

KING RICHARD III ^^"^ ^'^^ 

KING HENRY VHI ^^^ ^^^ 

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA S" ^^^ 

TIMON OF ATHENS ^^^ ^^^ 

B04 644 

CORIOLANUS ^-^ 

JULIUS C^SAR ^^^ ^^^ 

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA ^^^ "^^"^ 

CYMBELINE ''' '^« 

TITUS ANDRONICUS ^^° '^^^ 

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE '=° ^^^ 

„ 770 784 

KING LEAR "^ 

ROMEO AND JULIET - "^^^ ^'^^ 

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK 822 841 

, ^ 853 857 

OTHELLO 

VENUS AND ADONIS ^^^ ^^^ 

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE 880 903 

003 
SONNETS 

PASSIONATE PILGRIM ^^^ 

A LOVERS COMPLAINT ••'•■• •• ^^^ ®^^ 



THE LIFE 



OF 



WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



The name of Shakspeare, which is mentioned by 
Verstegan, among those 'syrnames imposed upon 
the first beareis of them for valour and feats of 
arms,'* is one of great antiquity in the woodland 
districts of Warwickshire. The family, thus 
honourably distinguished, appears to have re- 
ceived its origin either at Rowington or Lap- 
worth. Long before the genius of our great 
dramatic poet had rendered their name a subject 
of national interest, the Shakspearcs were esta- 
blished among the more affluent inhabitants of 
those villages, and thence several individuals of 
the race, from time to time, removed, and became 
settlers in the principal places of the county. 

After the most indefatigable researches Malone 
found himself unable to trace the particular 
branch of the family from which Shakspeare 
himself descended, beyond his immediate an- 
cestor ; but it is mentioned by Rowe, as being 
'of good figure and fashion, '-(■ in the town of 
Stratford. This statement is supported by the 
authority of a document, preserved in the Col- 
lege of Heralds, conferring the grant of a coat 
of arms on John Shakspeare, the father of the 
poet, in which the title of gentleman is added to 
his denomination ; and it is stated, that ' his 
great grandfather had been rewarded by king 
Henry the Seventh, for his faithful and approved 
services, with lands and tenements given him in 
those parts of Warwickshire, where they have 
continued by some descents in good reputation 
and credit. 'I 

If Shakspeare's father inherited any portion of 

* Restitution of Decayed Intelligence, 4to. 1605. 
p. 294. ♦ 

t Rowe's Life of Shakspeare. 

X Grant of arms to John Shakspeare, made 1599. 
Malone, who always appears to have had a double ob- 
ject in bis researches, first, to discredit all received 
opinions respecting our poet and his family, and se- 
condly, to introduce some fanciful conjecture of his 
own, suggests that these expressions relate not to 
the ancestor of John Shakspeare, but to the ancestor 
of his wife. His arguments are not devoid of plausi- 
bility ; but what certainty can we ever hope to obtain 



the estate which the royal munificence had thus 
conferred on his ancestor, it was insufficient for 
his wants ; and he was obliged to have rec()urse 
to trade to increase the narrow measure of his 
patrimony. The traditional accounts that have 
been received respecting him are consistent in 
describing him as engaged in business, though 
they disagree in the nature of the employment 
which they ascribe to him. In the MS. notes 
which Aubrey had collected for a life of the 
poet, it is affirmed, that ' his father was a but- 
cher;' while on the other hand, it is stated by 
Rowe that he was 'a considerable dealer in 
wool.' The truth of the latter report it is 
scarcely possible to doubt. It was received from 
Betterton the player, whose veneration for the 
poet induced him to make a pilgrimage to War- 
wickshire, that he might collect all the infor- 
mation respecting the object of his enthusiasm 
which remained among his townsmen, at a time 
when such prominent facts as the circumstances 
and avocation of his parents could not yet 
have sunk into oblivion. § It is indeed, not im- 
probable that both these accounts may be correct. 
' Few occupations,' observes Malone, ' can be 
named which are more naturally connected with 
each other.' Dr. Farmer has shewn that the two 
trades were occasionally united :|( or if they 
were not thus exercised together by the poet's 
father, his having adopted them separately at 
different periods of his life, is not inconsistent 
with the changeful character of his circum- 
stances. The new notion of John Shikspeare's 

in the consideration of remote events, if the express 
authority of contemporary official documents is to be 
set aside by the questionable conjectures of the anti- 
quarian ? 

§ Betterton was born in 1635. Shakspeare's young- 
est daughter lived till 1662, and his grand daughter 
till 1670 ; and many of his relatives and connexions, 
the Harts and the Hathaways, were surviving at the 
time of Betterton'* visit to Stratford. 

11 See Reed's Shakspeare, vol. 18. p. 346, 347. Stee- 
veus' note. 



VJ 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



having been a glover, which has been advanced 
in Malone's last edition of our author's works, 
I have no hesitation in dismissing. It is neither 
supported by tradition, nor probability ; and the 
brief minute which the laborious editor disco- 
vered in the bailiff's court at Stratford, must 
have referred to some other of the innumerable 
John Shakspeares, whom we find mentioned in 
the wills and registers of the time. 

The father of Shakspeare married, probably 
about the year 1555 or 1556, Mary the daughter 
of Robert Arden, of Willingcote, in the county 
of Warwick ; by which connexion he obtained a 
small estate in land, some property in money,* 
and such accession of respectability as is derived 
from an equal and honourable alliance. The 
family of Mary Arden, like his own, was one of 
great antiquity in the county, and her ancestors 
also had been rewarded for their faithful and im- 
portant services by the gratitude of Henry the 
Seventh. The third child, and the eldest son of 
this union, was the celebrated subject of the 
present memoirs. 

William Shakspeare was bom on the 23d 
of April, 1564, and 'baptized on the 26th of the 
same month. 

At the time of the birth of his illustrious off- 
spring, John Shakspeare evidently enjoyed no 
slight degree of estimation among his townsmen. 
He was already a member of the corporation, 
and for two successive yea-s, had been nominated 
one of the chamberlains of Stratford. -f- From 
this time he began to be chosen in due succes- 
sion to the highest municipal offices of the 
borough. In 1569, he was appointed to dis- 
charge the important duties of high bailiff; and 
was subsequently elected and sworn chief alder- 
man for the year 1571. 

During this period of his life, which con- 
stitutes the poet's years of childhood, the fortune 
of Master John Shakspeare — for so he is uni- 
formly designated in the public writings of the 
borough, from the time of his acting as high 
bailiff — perfectly corresponded with the station 
which we find him holding among his townsmen. 
His charities rank him with the second class of 
the inhabitants of Stratford. In a subscription 
for the relief of the poor, 1564, out of twenty- 
four persons, twelve gave more, six the same, 
and six less, than the poet's father ; and in a 
second subscription, of fourteen persons, eight 
gave more, five the same, and one less. So early 
as 1556, he held the lease of two houses in the 
town, one in Green Hill, and the other in Hen- 

* The whole was worth little ruore than 100^, at 
that time considered a fair provision for a daughter. 

t He was admitted to the corporation probably in 
1557. He was elected chamberlain in 15(51. 

% ' From the sentiment and the language, this con- 
fe.ssion appears to be the ef'usion of a Roman Catho- 
lic mind, and was probably drawn up by some Roman 
Catholic priest. If these premises be granted, it will 



ley Street ; in 1570 he rented fourteen acres of 
land, called Ington Meadow: and we find him 
four years afterwards, becoming tlie purchaser of 
two additional houses in Henley Street, with a 
garden and orchard attached to each. 

In this season of prosperity, Mr. John Shak- 
speare was not careless of the abilities of his 
child. His own talents had been wholly unim- 
proved by education, and he was one of the 
twelve, out of the nineteen aldermen of Strat- 
ford, whose accomplishments did not extend to 
being able to sign their own names. This cir- 
cumstance, by the bye, most satisfactorily esta- 
blishes the fact, that he could not have written 
the confession of faith vihich was found in re- 
pairing the roof of his residence at Stratford.^ 
But, whatever were his own deficiences, he was 
careful that the talents of his son should not 
suffer from a similar neglect of education. Wil- 
liam was placed at the Free School of Stratford : 
it is not uninteresting to know the names of the 
instructors of Shakspeare. They have been 
traced by the minute researches of Malone. Mr. 
Thomas Hunt, and Mr. Thomas Jenkins, were 
successively the masters of the school, from 1572 
to 1580, which must have included the school- 
boy days of our poet. 

At this time, Shakspeare would have pos- 
sessed ample means of obtaining access to all 
those books of history, poetry, and romance, with 
which he seems to have had so intimate an 
acquaintance, and which were calculated to 
attract his early taste, and excite the admiration 
of his young and ardent fancy; and he might 
also thus early have become imbued with a taste 
for the drama, by attending the performances of 
the different companies of players, the comedians 
of the Queen, of the Earl of Worcester, of Lord 
Leicester, and of other noblemen, who were con- 
tinually making the Guildhall of Stratford, the 
scene of their representations. But he was soon 
called to other cares, and the discharge of more 
serious duties. The prosperity of his father was 
not of permanent duration. In 1578, Mr. John 
Shakspeare mortgaged the estate which he had 
received from his wife ; in the following year he 
was exempted from the contribution of four- 
pence a week for the poor, which was paid by 
the other aldermen ; and that this exception in 
his favour was made in consequence of the 
pecuniary embarrassments under which he was 
known to labour, is manifest from his having 
been at the same period #educed to the necessity 
of obtaining Mr. Lambert's security for the pay- 



follow, as a fair deduction, that the family of Shak- 
speare were Roman Catholics.' Chalmers' Apology, 
p. 198. The paper was found in 1770, and communi- 
cated to Malone ; but are not the official situations 
held by Shakspeare's father in the borough conclu- 
sive ajxainst the opinion which Mr. Chalmers has 
grounded upon it 1 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



Vll 



ment of a debt of five pounds, to Sadler, a baker. 
This depression of his circumstances is alluded 
to by Rowe, and attributed to the expenses in- 
cidental to a large and increasing family ; but in 
this statement, the real cause of his difficulties is 
mistaken. It has been ascertained, by the dili- 
gence of Malone, that the family of Shakspeare's 
father was by no means numerous; for of his 
eight children, five only attained to the years 
of maturity.* The decay of his affairs was 
the natural consequence of the decline of the 
branch of trade in which he was engaged. As a 
woolstapler, Mr. John Shakspeare had flourished 
as long as the business itself was prosperous ; 
and with its failure, his fortunes had fallen into 
decay. He became involved in the gradual ruin 
which fell on the principal trade of the place, 
and which, in 1590, drew from the bailiff and 
burgesses of Stratford, a supplication to the Lord 
Treasurer Burghley, lamenting the distresses of 
the town ; ' for want of such trade as heretofore 
they had by clothinge, and making of yarne, 
ymploying and mayntayninge a number of poore 
people by the same, which now live in great 
penury and miserie, by reason they are not set 
at worke, as before they have been.'f 

In this unfavourable state of the affairs of his 
family, Shakspeare was withdrawn from school ; 
'his assistance was wanted at home.'^ It was, I 
should imagine, at this juncture, that his father, 
no longer able to secure a respectable subsis- 
tence for his wife and children, by his original 
trade as a woolstapler, had recourse to the 
inferior occupation of a butcher ; and, if the tale 
be founded in fact, which Aubrey says 'he was 
told heretofore by some of his neighbours,' then 
it must have been, that Shakspeare began to 
exhibit his dramatic propensities, and ' when he 
killed a calfe, would do it in a high style, and 
make a speech. '§ 

The assistance, however, which the poet ren- 
dered his father in his business, was not of long 
duration. He had just attained the age of 
eighteen, when he married. The object of this 
early attachment was Anne, the daughter of 
Richard Hathaway, a substantial yeoman, in the 
neighbourhood of his native town. She was 
eight years older than her husband ; and Oldys, 
without stating his authority, in one of his MSS. 
mentions her as beautiful. || It may be feared 
that this marriage was not perfectly happy. 

• His family consisted of four sons and four daug-h- 
ters. Joan, died iu infancy : Margaret, when only 
four months old. William, was the poet: of Gil- 
bert, nothing is known but the date of his baptism, 
and that he lived till aftei; the restoration of Charles 
the Second : Joan, married William Hart, a hatter, 
at Stratford; she died in 164fi, leaving three sons: 
and in 1794, one of Shakspeare's two houses, in Hen- 
ley Street, was the property of Thomas Hart, a but- 
cher, the sixth in descent from Joan. Ann, died in 
infancy. Richard, was buried in 1G1213. Edmund, 
was a player at the Globe ; he lived in St. Saviour's, 



From the celebrated passage in Twelfth Night, 
concluding with 

'Then let thy love be younger than thyself. 
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent,' 

we may suspect that Shakspeare, at the time of 
writing this, which was probably his last, play, 
had lived to repent his too early marriage, and 
the indulgence of an affection so much ' mis- 
grafted in respect of years. 'f Such is the con- 
jecture of Malone ; but it is hardly fair to apply 
personally to the poet the general maxims that 
may be discovered in his works. His daughter 
Susanna was born in the following year. The 
parish register of Stratford informs us that 
within eighteen months afterwards his wife bore 
twins, a son and daughter, who were baptized by 
the names of Hamnet and Judith : and thus, 
when little more than twenty, Shakspeare had 
already a wife and three children dependant on 
his exertions for support. 

Malone supposes that our author was at this 
time employed in an attorney's office, and gives 
a long list of quotations from his works, which 
shew how familiarly he was acquainted with the 
terms and the usages of the law, in support of 
his conjecture. As there are no other grounds 
for entertaining such a supposition ; as testimony 
of the same nature, and equally strong, might be 
adduced to prove that Shakspeare was a member 
of almost every other trade or profession, for he 
was ignorant of none ; and as the legal know- 
ledge which he displays might easily have been 
caught up in conversation, or indeed from expe- 
rience in the quirks and technicalities of the 
law, during the course of his own and his father's 
difficulties; I have little hesitation in classing 
this among the many ingenious but unsound 
conjectures of the learned editor, and adopting 
the tradition of Aubrey respecting the avocation 
of this portion of his life. To satisfy the claims 
that were multiplying around him, Shakspeare 
endeavoured to draw upon his talents and ac- 
quirements as the source of his supplies, and 
undertook the instruction of children.** 

The portion of classical knowledge that he 
brought to the task, has given occasion for much 
controversy, which it is now impossible to deter- 
mine. The school at which he was educated, 
produced several individuals, among the contem- 
poraries of our great poet, who were not deficient 

and was buried in the church of that parish, on the 
31st of Dt^cember, 1607.— Skoitowe's Life of Shak- 
speare, vol. i. p. 7, 8. 

t Supplication to Lord Treasurer Bitrghley, Nov. 
9, 1590, preserved in the chamber at Stratford. 

I Rowe's Life of Shakspeare. 

§ Aubrey's MS. Ashniol. Oxon. 

II Boswell's Shakspeare. Note to the 93d Sonnet. 
II Boswell's Shakspeare, vol. ii. p. 112. 

•* ' He understood Latin pretty well, for he had 
been in his younger years a schoolmaster in the 
country.' — Au brey. 



VIU 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



in learning;* and, though he was prematurely 
withdrawn from their companionship, it would 
be difficult to believe, that with his quickness of 
apprehension, ho could have mingled for any 
considerable time in their course of study, without 
attaining a proportionate share of their informa- 
tion. ' He understood Latin pretty well,' says 
Aubrey ; and this account corresponds exactly 
with the description of his friend Ben Jonson, 
who speaks of him as one possessed ' of little 
Latin and less Greek.' Dr. Farmer, indeed, has 
proved, that translations of all the classics to 
which Shakspeare has referred, were already in 
circulation before he wrote ; and that in most of 
his allusions to Greek and Latin authors, evident 
traces are discoverable of his having consulted 
the translation instead of the original. But this 
fact establishes very little: it might have pro- 
ceeded from indolence, or from the haste of com 
position, urging him to the readiest sources of 
information, rather than from any incapacity of 
availing himself of those which were more pure, 
but less accessible. That he should appear un- 
learned in the judgment of Jonson, who, perhaps, 
measured him by the scale of his own enormous 
erudition, is no imputation on his classical attain- 
ments. A man may have made great advances 
in the knowledge of the dead languages, and yet 
be esteemed as having 'little Latin and less 
Greek,' by one who had reached those heights of 
scholarship, which the friend and companion of 
Shakspeare had achieved. It is a proof that his 
acquirements in the classic languages were con- 
siderable, or Jonson would scarcely have deemed 
them of sufficient value to be at all numbered 
among his qualifications. As to French, it is cer- 
tain that he did not deal with translations only ; 
for the last line of one of his most celebrated 
speeches, the Seven Ages of Man, in As you like 
it, is imitated from a poem called the Henriade, 
which was first published in 1594, in France, and 
never translated. Garnier, the author of it, is 
describing the appearance of the ghost of Admi- 
ral Coligny, on the night after his murder, at 
the massacre of St. Bartholomew, and introduces 
the following passage : — 

Sans pieds, sans mains, sans nex, sans oreilles, sans 

yeux, 
Meurtri de toutes farts. + 

The verse of Shakspeare, 

Sans teeth, sans eyes, satis taste, sans every thing, 

scarcely exceeds the rules of legitimate transla- 
tion ; and the introduction and repetition of the 
French preposition, indicates that the coinci- 
dence was intentional, and stands as an acknow- 
ledgment of the imitation. Mr. Capel Loftl has, 

• Malone shews that the Quineys, Stratford men, 
and educated at the same school, were familiarly 
conversant with Latin, and even corresponded in 
that language. Boswei.l's edition of Malone's 
Shakspeare, vol. ii. p. 182. 



perhaps, very fairly estimated the real extent of 
Shakspeare's literary acquirements : ' He had 
what would now be considered a very reasonable 
proportion of Latin ; he was not wholly ignorant 
of Greek ; he had a knowledge of the French so 
as to read it with ease ; and I believe not less of 
the Italian. He was habitually conversant in 
the chronicles of his country. He had deeply 
imbibed the Scriptures.' — And again, in speaking 
of his Venus and Adonis and the Rape of Lucrece 
which were the first published efforts of Shak- 
speare's genius, Mr. Lofft continues : ' I think it 
not easy, with due attention to these poems, to 
doubt of his having acquired, when a boy, no 
ordinary facility in the classic language of Rome ; 
and, when Jonson said he had " less Greek," had 
it been true that he had none, it would have been 
as easy for the verse as for the sentiment, to have 
said " no Greek." '^ 

With these qualifications for the task, Shak- 
speare applied himself to the labour of tuition. 
But both the time and the habits of his life, ren- 
dered him peculiarly unfit for the situation. The 
gaiety of his disposition naturally inclined him to 
society; and the thoughtlessness of youth pre- 
vented his being sufficiently scrupulous about the 
conduct and the characters of his associates. ' He 
had by a misfortune, common enough to young 
fellows, fallen into ill company,' says Rowe ;§ 
and the excesses into which they seduced him, 
were by no means consistent with that serious- 
ness of deportment and behaviour which is ex- 
pected to accompany the occupation that he had 
adopted. The following anecdote of these days 
of his riot, is still current at Stratford, and the 
neighbouring village of Bidford. I give it in 
the words of the author from whom it is taken. 
Speaking of Bidford, he says, 'there were an- 
ciently two societies of village-yeomanry in this 
place, who frequently met under the appellation 
of Bidford topers. It was a custom of these 
heroes to challenge any of their neighbours, 
famed for the love of good ale, to a drunken 
combat : among others, the people of Stratford 
were called out to a trial of strength, and in the 
number of their champions, as the traditional 
story runs, our Shakspeare, who forswore all thin 
potations, and addicted himself to ale as lustily 
as Falstaff to his sack, is said to have entered the 
lists. In confirmation of this tradition, we find 
an epigram written by Sir Aston Cockayn, and 
published in his poems in' 1658, p. 124; it runs 
thus : — 

TO MR. CLEMENT FISHER, OF WINCOT. 

Shakspeare, your Wincot ale hath much renown'd, 
That fox'd a beggar so (by chance was found 

t Censura Litteraria, vol. vs.. p. 288. 
X Aphorisms from Shakspeare. Introd. p. 13, 
13, 24. 
§ Life of Shakspeare. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



ix 



Sleeping) that there needed not many a word 
To make him to believe he was a lord : 
But you affirm (and in it seems most eager), 
'Twill make a lord as drunk as any beggar. 
Bid Norton brew such ale as Shakspeare fancies 
Did put Kit Sly into such lordly trances : 
And let us meet there (tor a fit of gladness), 
And drink ourselves men-y in sober sadness. 

' When the Stratford lads went over to Bid- 
ford, they found the topers were gone to Eves- 
ham fair ; but were told, if they wished to try 
their strength with the sippers, they were ready 
for the contest. This being acceded to, our 
bard and his companions were staggered at the 
first outset, when they thought it advisable to 
sound a retreat, while the means of retreat were 
practicable ; and then had scarce marched half a 
mile, before they were all forced to lay down 
more than their arms, and encamp in a very 
disorderly and unmilitary form, under no better 
covering than a large crab-tree ; and there they 
rested till morning. 

' This tree is yet standing by the side of the 
road. If, as it has been observed by the late 
Mr. T. Warton, the meanest hovel to which 
Shakspeare has an allusion interests curiosity, 
and acquires an importance, surely the tree 
which has spread its shade over him, and shel- 
tered him from the dews of the night, has a 
claim to our attention. 

* In the morning, when the company awaken- 
ed our bard, the story says, they entreated him to 
return to Bidford, and renew the charge ; but 
this he declined, and looking round upon the ad- 
joining villages, exclaimed, " No ! I have had 
enough ; I have drank with 

Piping Pebworth, Dancing Marston, 
Haunted Hillhro', Hungry Gralton, 
Dudging Exhall, Papist Wicksford, 
Beggarly Broom, and Drunken Bidford." 

' Of the truth of this story, I have very little 
doubt ; it is certain, that the crab-tiee is known 
all round the country by the name of Shak- 
speare's crab ; and that the villages to which the 
allusion is made, all bear the epithets here given 
them: the people of Pebworth are still famed 
for their skill on the pipe and tabor: Hiilborough 
is now called Haunted Hiilborough ; and Grafton 
is notorious for the poverty of its soil.'* 

The above relation, if it be true, presents us 
with a most unfavourable picture of the manners 
and morals prevalent among the youth of War- 
wickshire, in the early years of Shakspeare ; and 

♦ Ireland's Picturesque rifHW, p. 229 — 233. 

t Wood, speaking of Dr. John Thornborough, 
bishop of Worcester, and his kinsman, Robert Pin- 
key, says, ' they seldom gave themselves to their 
books, but spent their time in the fencing-schools 
and dancing-schools, in stealing deer, and conies, 
Scc'—Athen. O.wn. i. an. 

\ Malone disputes the deer's having been stolen 
from Sir Thomas Lucy. Possibly the ' deer and 
conies* were not stolen from him ; and he was only 
the magistrate that committed and punished the 



it fills us with regret, to find our immortal poet, 
with faculties so exalted, competing the bad 
pre-eminence in such abominable contests. It 
is some relief to know that^ though he erred in 
uniting himself with such gross associations, he 
was the first to retreat from them in disgust. 

We can scarcely, at the present day, form a 
correct and impartial judgment of a subsequent 
offence, in which these mischievous connexions 
involved him as a party. The transgression, 
weighty as it would now be considered, appears 
to admit of great extenuation, on account of the 
manners and sentiments that prevailed at the 
time ; and when we contemplate the conse- 
quences to which it led, we find it difficult to 
condemn with much severity of censure the oc- 
casion by which Shakspeare was removed from 
the intercourse of such unworthy companions, 
and by which those powerful energies of intel- 
lect were awakened in one, who might otherwise, 
perhaps, have been degraded in the course of 
vulgar sensualities, to an equality with his 
associates, or have attained to no higher dis- 
tinction than the applauses of a country town. 

One of the favourite amusements of the wild 
companions with whom Shakspeare had con- 
nected himself, was the stealing of ' deer and 
conies.' This violation of the rights of propert}', 
must not, however, be estimated with the rigour 
which would at the present day attach to a simi- 
lar offence. In those ruder ages, the spirit of 
Robin Hood was yet abroad, and deer and coney- 
dealing classed, with robbing orchards, among the 
more adventurous but ordinary levities of youth. 
It was considered in the light of an indiscretion, 
rather than of a criminal offence ; and in this 
particular, the young men of Stratford were 
countenanced by the practice of the students of 
the Universities. f In these hazardous exploits, 
Shakspeare was not backward in accompanying 
his comrades. The person in whose neighbour- 
hood, perhaps on whose property,:): these en- 
croachments were made, was of all others the 
individual from whose hands they were least 
likely to escape with impunity in case of detec- 
tiofi. Sir Thomas Lucy was a Puritan ; and the 
severity of manners which has always charac- 
terized this sect, would teach him to extend very 
little indulgence to the excesses of Shakspeare 
and his wilful companions. He was besides a 
game preserver : in his place as a member of 
parliament, he had been an active instrument in 

offenders. Nothing, however, can be more uniform 
than the tiadition that ' deer and conies' were really 
stolen from some one, by Shakspeare and his friends. 
Mr. Jones, who died in 1703, aged upwards of ninety, 
and who lived at Turbich, a village about eighteen 
miles from Stratford, related the story to Mr. Thomas 
Wilks, and ' remembered to have heard it from se- 
veral old people.' — Betterton was told it at Stratford, 
and communicated it to Rowe. — Oldj's has the same 
story, — so has Davies, whose additions to Fulman's 
Notes for a Life of Shakspeare were made in 1G90 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



the formation of the game laws : * and the tres- 
passes of our poet, whether committed on the 
demesne of himself or others, were as offensive 
to his predilections as to his principles. Shak- 
speare and his compeers were discovered, and 
fell under the rigid lash of Sir Thomas Lucy's 
authority and resentment. The knight attacked 
the poet with the penalties of the law ; and the 
poet revenged himself by sticking the following 
satirical copy of verses on the gate of the 
knight's park. 

COPY OF THE VERSES ON SIR THOMAS LUCY. 

' A parliement member, a justice of peace, 
At home a poore scarecrowe, in London an asse ; 
If Lucy is Lowsie, as some volke misscall it, 
Synge Lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 

He thinks hyniself gfeate, yet an asse in hys state. 
We allowe bye his eaves but with asses to mate ; 
If Lucy is Lowsie, as some volke misscall it, 
Synge Lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 

He 's a haughty proud insolent knighte of the shire. 
At home nobodye loves, yet theres many him feare ; 
If Lucy is Lowsie, as some volke misscall it, 
Synge Lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 

To the sessions he weiit, and dyd sorely complain. 
His parke had been rob'd, and his deer they were 

slain ; 
This Lucy is Lowsie, as some volke misscall it, 
Synge Lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 

He sayd 'twas a ryot, his men had been beat. 
His venson was stole, and clandestinely eat ; 
Soe Lucy is Lowsie, as some volke misscall it, 
Synge Lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 

Soe haughty was he when the fact was confess'd. 
He said 'twas a crime that could not bee redress'd ; 
Soe Lucy is Lowsie, as some volke misscall it, 
Synge Lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 

Though Lucies a dozen he paints in his coat. 
His name it shall Lowsie for Lucy bee wrote ; 
For Lucy is Lowsie, as some volke misscall it, 
Synge Lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 

If a iuvenile frolick he cannot forgive. 
We '11 synge Lovvsie Lucy as long as we live; 
And Lucy the Lowsie a libel may call it. 
We '11 syuge Lowsie Lucy whatever befall it.t 

It would appear that the above song, the first 
effort we have received of our author's poetical 
talents, was not his only attempt at this kind of 
retaliation. It is said, in a book called a Manu- 
script History of the Stage, which is supposed by 
Malone to have been written between 1727 and 
1730, 'that the learned Mr. Joshua Barnes, late 
Greek professor of the University of Cambridge, 
baiting about forty years ago at an inn in Strat- 
ford, and hearing an old woman singing part of 
the abovesaid song, such was his respect for Mr. 
Shakspeare's genius, that he gave her a new 

• D'EwEs's Journal, p. 363. 

+ One verse of this pasquinade was retained by 
memory, and transmitted by Mr. Jones, to Oldys 
and Capel. The entire song was recently discovered 
in a chest of drawers, that formerly belonged to 
Mrs. Dorothy Tyler, of Shottery, near Stratford, who 



gown for the two following stanzas in it ; and 
could she have said it all, he would (as he often 
said in company, when any discourse has casu- 
ally arose about him) have given her ten 
guineas. 

' Sir Thomas was too covetous. 

To covet so much deer; 
When horns enough upon his bead 
Most plainly did appear. 

Had not his worship one deer left ? 

What then ? He had a wife. 
Took pains enough to find-him horns, 

Should last him during life.' 

The volume in which this anecdote is found, 
is not much to be relied upon ; for the author 
has been, in several instances, detected as too 
credulous in receiving the reports of others, or as 
actually criminal, in giving the reins to his ima- 
gination, and supplying the want of facts by the 
resources of his invention. The verses, however, 
which prove not to have been, as was originally 
supposed, part of the first satirical effusion, but 
the fragment of another je" d' esprit of the same 
kind, and on the same subject, sufficiently au- 
thenticate themselves. The quibble on the word 
deer, is one that was familiar with our author ;| 
and, says Whiter, ' the lines may be readily con- 
ceived to have proceeded from our young bard, 
before he was removed from the little circle of 
his native place. '|| Besides, the author of the 
book in which they were first published must 
have possessed an intrepidity of falsehood unpa- 
ralleled in the history of literary forgeries, if he 
had dared, so soon after the death of Joshua 
Barnes, to advance a story of this kind as a no- 
torious fact, when, had it been a fiction, any of 
the professor's friends would have had an oppor- 
tunity of contradicting him. Malone considers 
these verses, as well as the first, a forgery ; and 
cites the epitaph erected by Sir Thomas Lucy, 
in praise of his wife, as evidence of their spu- 
riousness. Exaggerated censure is the very 
essence of a satire : exaggerated praise is the 
universal characteristic of the epitaph. Each is 
equally wide of the truth : it is probable, that 
the real character of Lady Lucy neither warranted 
the panegyric of her husband, nor the severity of 
Shakspeare. But it would, at the present day, 
yuzzle the ingenuity of an CEdipus, to determine 
which was most likely to afford the fairest esti- 
mate of her worth. 

The contest between Shakspeare and Sir 
Thomas Lucy was unequal ; and the result was 
such as might have been anticipated, from the 
disproportion that existed between the strength 
and weapons of the opposing parties. The poet 

died in 1778, at the age of eighty. Malone considers 
the whole a forgery. The last stanza is indeed of a 
very suspicious appearance. 

X Henry VL part 1, act IV. scene 2, and Henry 
IV. part 1, act V. scene 4. 

I| Specimen of a Commentary on Shakspeare, p. 94, 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



zi 



might irritate by his wit; but the magistrate 
could wound by his authority. It is recorded 
by Mr. Davies, that the knight 'had him oft 
wbipt, and sometimes imprisoned, and at last 
made him fly his native country.'* That the 
severity was undue, there can be little room for 
doubting. Every contemporary who has spoken 
of our author, has been lavish in the praise of 
his temper and disposition. ' The gentle Shak- 
speare' seems to have been his distinguishing ap- 
pellation. No slight portion of our enthusiasm 
for his writings, may be traced to the fair picture 
which they present of our author's character : 
we love the tenderness of heart — the candour and 
openness, and singleness of mind — the largeness 
of sentiment — the liberality of opinion, which 
the whole tenor of his works prove him to have 
possessed : his faults seem to have been the tran- 
sient aberrations of a thoughtless moment, which 
reflection never failed to correct. The ebulli- 
tions of high spii^ts might mislead him ; but the 
principles and the affections never swerved from 
what was right. Against such a person, the 
extreme severity of the magistrate should not 
have been exerted. His youth — his genius — his 
accomplishments — his wife and children, should 
have mitigated the rigour of the authority that 
was armed against him. The powerful enemy 
of Shakspeare was not to be appeased : the heart 
of the Puritan or the game-preserver is very 
rarely 'framed of penetrable stuff.' Our author 
fled from the inflexible persecutions of his oppo- 
nent, to seek a shelter in the metropolis ; and he 
found friends, and honour, and wealth, and fame ; 
where he had only hoped for an asylum. Sir 
Thomas Lucy remained to enjoy the triumph of 
his victory; and he yet survives in the character 
of Justice Shallow, as the laughing-stock of 
posterity, and as another specimen of the exqui- 
site skill, with which the victim of his magiste- 
rial authority was capable of painting the pecu- 
liarities of the weak and the vain, the arrogant 
and the servile. f 

About the year 1587, in the twenty-third of 
his age, Shakspeare arrived in London. It is 
not possible to discover the inducements which 
led our poet, after his flight from Stratford, to 
seek his home and his subsistence in the neigh- 
bourhood of a theatre. Probably, in the course 
of their travels, he might have formed an ac- 



• Fulraan's MSS. vol. XV., art. Shakspeare. 

;■ There can he no douht, that Justice Shallow was 
desitciied as the representative of the kniiiht. If the 
ti'aditional authoi-ity of this fact were not ijuite satis- 
factory, the description of his coat of arms, in the 
first scene of The Merry Ifires of Windsor, which 
is, with very slight deviation, that of the Lucies, 
would be sufficient to direct us to the original of the 
portrait. 

{ Malone. Reed's Shakspeare, \o\. i. p. 63. 

5 Johnson. Reed's Shakspeare, vol. 1. p. 120. One 
reason alleged for discrediting this account, is, its 



quaintance with some of the performers, during 
the occasional visits which they had made to 
Stratford. Heminge and Burbage, distinguished 
performers of the time, were both Warwickshire 
men, and born in the vicinity of Stratford. 
Greene, another celebrated comedian of the day, 
was the townsman, and he is thought to have 
been the relation, of Shakspeare. On arriving 
in the metropolis, these were perhaps his only 
acquaintance, and they secured his introduction 
to the theatre. It seems however agreed, that 
his first occupation there was of the very lowest 
order. One tradition relates, that his original 
office was that of call-hoy, or prompter's attend- 
ant ; whose employment it is, to give the per- 
formers notice to be ready to enter, as oi'ten as 
the business of the pla3''requires their appearance 
on the stage: J while another account, vbich has 
descended in a very regular line from Sir William 
D'Avenant to Dr. Johnson, states, that Shak- 
speare's first expedient was to wait at the door of 
the playhouse, and hold the horses of those who 
rode to the theatre, and had no servants to take 
charge of them during the hours of performance. 
It is said, 'that he became so conspicuous in this 
oilice, for his care and readiness, that in a short 
time, every man as he alighted called for Will 
Sliakipeare ; and scarcely any other waiter was 
trusted with a horse, while Will Shakspeare 
could be had. This was the first dawn of batter 
fortune. Shakspeare finding more horses put 
into his hand than he could hold, hired boys to 
wait under his inspection, who, when Will Shak- 
speare was summoned, were immediately to pre- 
sent themselves, I am Shakspeare'' i boy, sir. In 
time, Shakspeare found higher employment, but 
as long as the practice of riding to the playhouse 
continued, the waiters that held the horses 
retained the appellation of Shakspeare's boys.^ 
That the above anecdote was really communi- 
cated by Pope, there is no room to doubt. This 
fact Dr. Johnson states upon his own authority, 
and coming from such a source, the story is cer- 
tainly deserving of more respect than the com- 
mentators have been inclined to attach to it. It 
was originally related by D'Avenant, who, if the 
frequenters of the theatre had ever been in the 
habit of riding to the play, must have remembered 
the time ; and if at that time, the lads who took 
charge of the horses were, as he affirmed, called 



having appeared first in Cibber's Lives of the Poets, 
a book of no authority. But the general inaccuracy 
of that work, ought not, in the present instance, to 
be considered as impugning- the credibility of its 
nanation. The book was, in fact, written by Shiells, 
the amanuensis of Dr. Johnson, and he, most proba- 
bly, picked up from his employer this piece of origi- 
nal information. Johnson, in his edition of Shak 
speare, repeated it, without any allusion to Shiells's 
work, as having come to him immediately from 
Pope, and in apparent ignorance of its ever having 
been printed before. 



xu 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



Shakspeare's hoys, that circumstance is the 
strongest possible corroboration of the story. 
But it was known to Rowe, and rejected by him; 
and Steevens advances this omission as a proof 
that our author's first biographer considered the 
anecdote incredible, and wholly undeserving his 
attention. Rowe's suppression of the fact may 
however have originated in some other cause 
than his suspicion of its truth. Might he not 
have been actuated by that absurd spirit of re- 
finement, which is only too common among the 
writers of biography, as well as history, and 
which induces them to conceal or misrepresent 
every occurrence which is at all of a humiliating 
nature, and does not accord with those false and 
effeminate notions so generally entertained re- 
specting the dignity of that peculiar class of 
composit.'oq ? But, however inferior the situa- 
tion whicn Shakspeare occupied on first entering 
upon his dramatic career, his talents were not 

• The most ancient as well as most complete col- 
lection of this kind is 77)e Chester Mysteries, which 
were written not by Ralph Higden, as was supposed 
by W'artou, M alone, and others, but by an earlier 
ecclesiastic of the Abbey of Chester, named Randall, 
and were tirst represented between the years 12G3 
and 1276. The following extract is from MSS. Harl. 
2013, &c. ' Exhibited at Chester in the year 1327, 
at the expense of the different trading- companies of 
that city. The Fall of Lucifer, by the Tanners. 
The Creation,, by the Drapers. The Deluge, by the 
Dyers. Abraham, Melchisedcck, and Lot, by the 
Barbers. Moses, Balak, and Balaam, by the Cap- 
pers. The Salutation and Nativity, hy the Wrig-htes. 
The Shepherds feeding their Flocks by Night, by the 
Painters and Glaziers. The three Kings, by the 
Vintners. The Oblation of the three Kings, by the 
Mercers. The killing of the Innocents, by the 
Goldsmiths. The Purification, by the Blacksmiths. 
The Temptation,hy the Butchers. The Last Supper, 
by the Bakers. The Blind Men and Lazarus, by 
the Glovers. Jesus and the Lepers, by the Corve- 
sarys. Christ's Passion, by the Bowyers, Fletchers, 
and Ironmongers. Descent into Hell, by the Cooks 
and Innkeepers. The Besurrection, hy the Skinners. 
The Ascension, by the Taylors. The Election of St. 
Mathias, sending of the Holy Ghost, 4:c. by the 
Fishmongers. Antichrist, by the Clothiers. Day 
of Judgment, by the Websters. The reader will 
perhaps smile at some of these combinations. This 
is the substance and order of the former part of the 
play. God enters creating the world : he breathes 
life into Adam, leads him into Paradise, and opens 
his side while sleeping. Adam and Eve appear 
naked, and not ashamed, and the old serpent enters, 
lamenting his fall. He converses with Eve. She 
eats of the forbidden fruit, and gives part to Adam. 
They propose, according to the stage-direction, to 
make themselves subligacula a foliis qztibus tega- 
mus pudenda. Cover their nakedness with leaves, 
and converse with God. God's curse. The serpent 
exit hissing. They are driven from Paradise by 
four angels and the cherubim with a flaming sword. 
Adam appears digging the ground, and Ere spinning. 
Their children Cain and .4bel enter : the former 
kills his brother. Adam's lamentation. Cain is 
banished,' &c. — Wakton's History of English Poetry, 
vol. i. p. 243. 

Indulgences were granted to those who attended 
the representation of these mysteries 



long buried in obscurity. He rapidly rose to the 
highest station in the theatre ; and, by the power 
of his genius, raised our national dramatic 
poetry, then in its merest infancy, to the highest 
state of perfection which it is perhaps capable of 
reaching. 

It is impossible for any art to have attained a 
more rapid growth, than was attained by the art 
of dramatic writing in this country. The people 
had, indeed, been long accustomed to a species 
of exhibition, called miracles, or mysteries,* 
founded on sacred subjects, and performed by the 
ministers of religion themselves, on the holy 
festivals, in or near the churches, and designed 
to instruct the ignorant in the leading facts of 
sacred history. From the occasional introduc- 
tion of allegorical characters, such as Faith, 
Death, Hope, or Sin, into these religious dramas, 
representations of another kind, cdled morali- 
TiEs,f had by degrees arisen, of which the plots 

t We have a curious account in a book entitled 
Mount Tabor, or private Exercises of a Penitent 
Sinner, hy R. \V. [R. Willis,] Esq. publislied in the 
year of his age 75, Anno Domini, 1039; an extract 
from which will give the reader a moi'e accurate no- 
tion of the old Moralities, than a long dissertation 
on the subject. 

' UPON A STAGE-PLAY WHICH I SAW WHEN I 
WAS A CHILD. 

' In the city of Gloucester the manner is (as I think 
it is in other like corporations), that when players of 
interludes come to towne, they first attend the 
Mayor, to enforme him what nobleman's servants 
they are, and so to get licence for their publike play- 
ing ; and if the Mayor like the actors, or would shew 
respect to their lord and master, he appoints them to 
play their first play before himself, and the Alder- 
man and Common-Counsell of the city ; and that is 
called the Mayor's play : where every one that will, 
comes in without money, the Mayor giving the 
players a reward as hee tliiuks fit to shew respect 
unto them. At such a play, my father tooke me 
with him and made me stand between his leggs, as 
he sate upon one of the benches, where we saw and 
heard very well. The play was called The Cradle 
of Security, wherein was personated a king or some 
great prince, with his courtiers of several kinds, 
among- which three ladies were in special grace with 
him; and they keeping him in delights and plea- 
sures, drew him from his graver counsellors, hearing 
of sermons, and listening to good councell and ad 
monitions, that in the end they got him to lye down 
in a cradle upon the stage, where these three ladies 
joyning in a sweet song, rocked him asleepe, and he 
snorted againe ; and in the mean time closely con 
veyed under the cloaths wherewithall he was cover- 
ed, a vizard, like a swine's snout, upon his face, with 
three wire chains fastened thereunto, the other end 
whereof being holden severally by those three la- 
dies ; who fall to singing againe, and then disco- 
vered his face, that the spectators might see how 
they had transformed him, going on with their 
singing. Whilst all this was acting, there came 
forth of another doore at the farthest end of the 
stage, two old men ; the one in blew, with a Serjeant 
at armes, his mace on his shoulder ; the other in red, 
with a drawn sword in his hand, and leaning with 
the other hand upon the other's shoulder; and so 
they went along with a soft pace round about the 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



xui 



were more artificial, regular, and connected, and 
which were entirely formed of such personifica- 
tions ; but the first rough draught of a regular 
tragedy and comedy that appeared, Lord Sack- 
ville's Gorhoduc, and Still's Gammer Gurt07i's 
Needle, were not produced till within the latter 
half of the sixteenth century, and but little more 
than twenty years previous to Shakspeare's arri- 
val in the metropolis.* 

About that time, the attention of the public 
began to be more generally directed to the stage ; 
and it throve admirably beneath the cheerful 
beams of popularity. The theatrical perform- 
ances which had, in the early part of the reign 
of Elizabeth, been exhibited on temporary stages, 
erected in such halls or apartments as the actors 
could procure, or, more generally, in the yards 
of the great inns, while the spectators surveyed 
them from the surrounding windows and galleries, 
beffan to be established in more convenient and 
permanent situations. About the year 1569, a 
regular playhouse, under the appropriate name 
of The Theatre, was built. It is supposed to have 
stood somewhere in Blackfriars ; and three years 
after the commencement of this establishment, 
yielding to her inclination for the amusements of 
the theatre, and disregarding the remonstrances 
of the Puritans, the queen granted license and 
authority to the Servants of the Earl of Leicester, 
'to use, exercise, and occupie, the arte and fa- 
cultie of playinge commedies, tragedies, inter- 
ludes, stage-playes, as well for the recreation of 
our lovinge subjects, as for our solace and plea- 
sure, when we shall thinke good to see them, 
throughoute our realme of England.' From this 
time, the number of theatres increased with the 
ripening taste and the increasing demands of the 
Deople. Various noblemen had their respective 
companies of performers, who were associated as 
their servants, and acted under their protection ; 
and during the period of Shakspeare's theatrical 
career, not less than seven principal playhouses 
were open in the metropolis. 

Of these the Globe, and the playhouse in 
Blackfriars, were the property of the company 
to which Shakspeare was himself attached, and 

skirt of the stage, till at last they came to the cradle, 
when all the court was in the gi'eatest jollity ; and 
then the foremost old man with bis mace stroke a 
fearfuU blow upon the cradle ; wherewith all the 
courtiers, with the three ladies, and the vizard, all 
vanished ; and the desolate prince starting up bare- 
faced, and finding- himself thus sent for to judgment, 
made a lamentable complaint of his miserable case, 
and so was carried away by wicked spirits. This 
prince did personate in the Morall, the wicked of 
the world ; the three ladies. Pride, Covetousness, 
and Luxury; the two old men, the end of the world, 
and the last judgment. This sight took such impres- 
sion in me, that when 1 came towards man's estate, 
it was as fresh in my memory, as if I had seen it 
newly acted.' 

The writer of this book appears to have been bom 
ill the same year with our {jreat ipoel (IStH). Sup- 



by whom all his productions were exhibited. 
The Globe appears to have been a wooden build- 
ing of a considerable size, hexagonal without, 
and circular within ; it was thatched in part, but 
a large portion of the roof was open to the wea- 
ther. This was the company's summer theatre ; 
and the plays were acted by day-light : at the 
Blackfriars, on the contrary, which was the win- 
ter theatre, the top was entirely closed, and the 
performances were exhibited by candle-light. In 
every other respect, the economy and usages of 
these houses appear to have been the same, and 
to have resembled those of every other contem- 
porary theatre. 

With respect to the interior arrangements, 
there were very few points of difference between 
our modern theatres and those of the days of 
Shakspeare. The terms of admission, indeed, 
were considerably cheaper; to the boxes, the 
entrance was a shilling, to the pit and galleries 
only sixpence. f Sixpence, also, was the price 
paid for stools upon the stage ; and these seats, 
as we learn from Decker's Gull's Hornbook, were 
peculiarly affected by the wits and critics at the 
time. The conduct of the audience was less 
restrained by the sense of public decorum, and 
smoking tobacco, playing at cards, eating and 
drinking, were generally prevalent among them : 
the hour of performance also was earlier ; the 
play beginning at first at one, and afterwards at 
three o'clock, in the afternoon. During the time 
of representation, a flag was unfurled at the top 
of the theatre ; and the floor of the stage (as was 
the case with every floor at the time, from the 
cottage to the palace) was strewn with rushes. 
But in other respects, the ancient theatres seem 
to have been very nearly similar to those of mo- 
dern times : they had their pit, where the infe- 
rior class of spectators — the groundimgs — vented 
their clamorous censure or approbation ; they 
had their boxes, and even their private boxes, of 
which the right of exclusive admission was hired 
by the night, for the more wealthy and refined 
portion of the audience ;| and there were again 
the galleries, or scaffolds above the boxes, for 
those who were content to purchase inferior 

posing him to have been seven or eight years old 
when he saw this interlude, the exhibition must 
have been in 1571, or 1572. — Malone, History of the 
Englisk Stage. 

• Gorboduc was produced in 1562. Gammer Gur- 
ton, in 1566. 

+ These prices appear latterly to have risen to two 
shillings and half-a-crown for the best places. The 
prices at the Blackfriars, were higher than at the 
Globe. — Reed's Shakspeare, vol. iii. p. 78. 

I A little pique happened betwixt the duke of 
Lenox, and the Lord Chamberlain, about a box, 
in a new play at the Blackfriars, of whicli the duke 
had got the key ; which if it had come to be debated 
betwixt them, as it was once intended, some heat 
or perhaps other inconvenience might have hap- 
pened.' — Letter from Mr. Garrard, iatei Jan. 25th, 
1335. Straflf. Letters, vol. i. p. 511. 



XIV 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



accommodation at a cheaper rate. On the stage, 
the arrangements appear to have been nearly the 
same as at present — the curtain divided the au- 
dience from the actors ; which, at the third sound- 
ing, not indeed of the bell, but of the trumpet, was 
drawn for the commencement of the performance. 
Malone has puzzled himself and his readers, in 
his account of the ancient theatre, by the suppo- 
sition that there was a permanent elevation of 
about nine feet, at the back of the stage, from 
which, in many of the old plays, part of the dia- 
logue was spoken ; and that there was a private 
box on each side of this platform. Such an ar- 
rangement would have precluded the possibility 
of all theatrical illusion ; and it seems an extra- 
ordinary place to fix upon as a station for specta- 
tors, where they could have seen nothing but the 
backs and trains of the performers. But as Ma- 
lone himself acknowledges the spot to have been 
inconvenient, and that ' it is not very easy to 
ascertain the precise situation where these boxes 
really were ;'* it may be presumed, from our 
knowledge of the good sense of our forefathers, 
that, if indeed such boxes existed at all, they cer- 
tainly were not where the historian of the Eng- 
lish stage has placed them. Malone was possessed 
with an opinion, that the use of scenes was 
unknown in the early years of our national drama, 
and he was perhaps not unwilling to adopt such 
a theory respecting the distribution of the stage 
as would effectually preclude the supposition 
that such aids to the imagination of the audience 
had ever been employed. That he was in error 
respecting the want of painted scenery, I cannot 
help suspecting, even against the high authority 
of Mr. Gilford, f As to his permanent platform, 
Dr upper stage, he may, or may not, be correct in 
his opinion ; all that is certain upon this subject 
is, that his quotations do not authorize the con- 
clusion that he has deduced from them ; and only 
prove that in the old, as in the modern theatre, 
when the actor was to speak from a window, or 
appear upon a balcony, or on the walls of a for- 
tress, the requisite ingenuity was not wanting 
to contrive an adequate representation of the 
place. But, with regard to the use of scenery, 
it is scarcely possible, from the very circumstances 
of the case, that such a contrivance should have 
escaped our ancestors. All the materials were 
ready to their hands ; they had not to invent for 
themselves, but to adapt an old invention to their 
own purposes : and at a time when every better 
apartment was adorned with tapestry ; when even 
the rooms of the commonest taverns were hung 
with painted cloths ; while all the essentials of 
scenery were continually before their eyes, we 
can hardly believe our forefathers to have been 
so deficient in ingenuity, as to suppose that they 
never should have conceived the design of con- 

* Reed's Shakxpeare, vol. iii. p. 83, note 9. 
+ Massi/iger, vol. i. p. 103. 



verting the common ornaments of their walls 
into the decorations of their theatres. But, the 
fact appears to be, that the use of scenery was 
almost coexistent with the introduction of dra- 
matic representations in this country. In the 
Chester Mysteries, written in 1268, and which 
are the most ancient and complete collection of 
the kind that we possess, we have the following 
stage direction : ' Then Noe shall go into the 
arke with all his familye, his wife excepte. The 
arke must be hoarded round about, and upon the 
hordes all the heastes and jowies hereafter rehearsed 
must be painted, that their wordes may agree 
with the pictures.'^ In this passage, then, is a 
distinct reference to a painted scene ; and it is 
not likely, that in the lapse of three centuries, 
while all other arts were in a state of rapid im- 
provement, and the art of dramatic writing per- 
haps more rapidly and successfully improved than 
any other, the art of theatrical decoration should 
have alone stood still. It is not improbable that 
their scenes were few ; and that these were varied 
as occasion might require, by the introduction of 
different pieces of stage furniture. Mr. Gifford, 
who adheres to Malone's opinion, says, ' a table 
with a pen and ink thrust in, signified that the 
stage was a counting-house ; if these were with- 
drawn, and two stools put in their places, it was 
then a tavern ;'§ and this might be perfectly 
satisfactory, as long as the business of the play 
was supposed to be passing within doors, but 
when it was removed to the open air, such mea- 
gre devices would no longer be sufficient to guide 
the imagination of the audience, and some new 
method must have been adopted to indicate the 
place of action. After giving the subject consi- 
derable attention, I cannot help thinking that 
Steevens was right in rejecting the evidence of 
Malone, strong as it may in some instances 
appear ; and concluding that the spectators were, 
as at the present day, assisted in following the 
progress of the story, by means of painted and 
moveable scenery. This opinion is confirmed 
by the ancient stage directions. In the folio 
Shakspeare, of 1623, we read, ' Enter Brutus, 
in his orchard.' ' Enter Timon, in the woods.' 
' Enter Timon, yVom /lis care.' In Coriolanus : 
' Marcius follows them to the gates, and is shut in.' 
Innumerable instances of the same kind might 
be cited, to prove that the ancient stage was not 
so defective in the necessary decorations as some 
antiquarians of great authority would represent. 
' It may be added,' says Steevens, ' that the dia- 
logue of Shakspeare has such perpetual reference 
to objects supposed visible to the audience, that 
the want of scenery could not have failed to 
render many of the descriptions uttered by his 
speakers absurd and laughable. Banquo ex- 
amines the outside of Inverness castle with such 

} Reed's Shakxpeare, vol. iii. p. 15. 
$ Massinger, vol. i. p. 103. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



XV 



minuteness, that he distinguishes even the nests 
which the martins had built under the projecting 
parts of its roof. Romeo, standing in a garden, 
points to the tops of fruit-trees gilded by the moon. 
The prologue speaker to the Second Part of King 
Hcr.ry IV., expressly shews the spectators, "this 
worm-eaten hold of ragged stone," in which 
Northumberland was lodged. lachimo takes the 
most exact inventory of every article in Imogen's 
bed-chamber, from the silk and silver of which 
her tapestry was wrought, down to the Cupids 
that support her andirons. Had not the inside 
of this apartment, with its proper furniture, been 
represented, how ridiculous must the action of 
lachimo have appeared 1 He must have stood 
looking out of the room for the particulars sup- 
posed to be visible within it. In one of the parts 
of King Henry VI., a cannon is discharged 
against a tower ; and conversations are held in 
almost every scene from different walls, turrets, 
and battlements.' Indeed, must not all the hu- 
mour of the mock play in the Midsummer Night's 
Dream have failed in its intent, unless the au- 
dience before whom it was performed were 
accustomed to be gratified by the combination of 
all the embellishments requisite to give effect to 
a dramatic representation, and could therefore 
estimate the absurdity of those shallow contri- 
vances, and mean substitutes for scenery, which 
were devised by the ignorance of the clowns?* 

In only one respect do I perceive any material 
difference between the mode of representation 
at the time of Shakspeare and at present. In 
his day, the female parts were performed by 
boys :f this custom, which must in many cases 
have materially injured the illusion of the scene, 
was in others of considerable advantage. It 
furnished the stage with a succession of youths 
regularly educated to the art, and experienced 
to fill the parts appropriate for their age. It 



• Tliia question appears to be set at rest by the 
following: extracts of expenses from the Book of 
Bevels, the oldest that exists, in the office of the 
auditors of the Imprest. ' The CuUorer, William 
Lyzard, for gold, sylver, and sundry other cullers by 
him spent, in painting the houses that served for 
the playes and players at the coorte, with their pro- 
perties and necessaries incident, &c., I3l. X&s. Id. 

' Paper for patternes, and for leaves of trees, and 
other garnishing, 4 reams, Us. 

• Mrs. Dane, the lynnen dealer, for canvas to paynte 
for houses for the players, and other properties, as 
monsters, great hollow trees, and such other, twenty 
dozen ells, Vll. 

' William Lyzarde, for syze, cullers, pottes.nayles, 
and pensills, used and occupied upon the payntinge 
of seven cities, one villadge, one countrey house, 
one battlement, nine axes, a braunche, lillyes, and a 
mpunte for Christmas three holidays, 4/. I5s. Sd.' 

There are several other references to ' payntlng 
preat clothe.s of canvas,' which were evidently 
neither more nor less than moveable canvass scenes. 
—See Boswbll's Shakspeare, vol. iii. p. 304 — 409. 

+ The first woman who appeared in a regular 
drama, on a public stage, performed the part of Deft- 



obviated the necessity of obtruding performers 
before the public in parts that were unsuited to 
their time of life. When the lid had become 
too tall for Juliet, he was prepared to act, and was 
most admirably calculated in age to assume, the 
character of the ardent Romeo: when the voice 
had the 'mannish crack,' that rendered the 
youth unfit to appear as the representative of the 
gentle Imogen, he was skilled in the knowledge 
of the stage, and capable of doing justice to the 
princely sentiments of Arviragus or Guidcrius. 

Such then was the state of the stage when 
Shakspeare entered into its service, in the double 
capacity of actor and author. As an author, 
though Dryden says, that 

' Shakspeare's own muse his Pericles first bore,'J 
it is most probable that Titus Andronicus was the 
earliest dramatic effort of his pen. Shakspeare 
arrived in London about the year 1587, and ac- 
cording to the date of the latter play, as intimated 
by Ben Jonson, in his introduction to BartholO' 
mew Fair,^ we find it to have been produced 
immediately after his arrival. That Titus An- 
dronicus is really the work of Shakspeare, it 
would be a defiance to all contemporary evidence 
to doubt. It was not only printed among his works 
by his friends, Heminge and Condell, but is 
mentioned as one of his tragedies by an author,|| 
who appears to have been on such terms of inti- 
macy with him, as to have been admitted to a 
sight of his MS. sonnets. Against this testimony, 
the critics have nothing to oppose but the accu- 
mulated horrors of its plot; the stately march 
of its versification ; and the dissimilarity of its 
style from the other efforts of Shakspeare's 
genius. It does not strike me that these argu- 
ments are sufficient to lead us to reject the play 
as the composition of our great dramatist. He 
was, perhaps, little more than three-and- twenty 
years of age when it was composed. The plays^ 



demona, about the year 1660. Her name is unknown. 
— Reed's Shakspeare, vol iii. p. 133. 

X Prologue to the Tragedy of Circe. 

$ In the year 1614, he speaks of it as a play which 
had then been exhibited ' five-and-twenty or thirty 
years.' 

II Mkres, Palladis Tamia. 

V Acolastus 1540. 

Gorboduc 1561. 

Damon and Pythias 1562. 

Tancrcd and Gismund 1568. 

Cambyses, before 1570. 

Appius «7irf Virginia ) „ 

Gam. Gurton's Needle S 

Promos and Cassandra 1578. 

Arruigiiment of Paris ^ 

Sapho and Phaon % . . . , 1584. 

Alexander and Campaspe 3 

Misfortunes of Arthur 1587. 

Jeionimo J 

Spanish Tragedy > 1588. 

Tamburlaine 3 

Titus Andronicus 1589. 

Rbed's Shakspeare, toI. iii. p. 3, 4. note 



SV] 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



which at the time had possession of the stage, of 
which very few had been written, and not above 
fifteen are extant, supposing Andronictis to have 
been produced in 1589, were all of the same 
bombastic and exaggerated character; and the 
youthful poet naturally imitated the popular 
manner, and strove to beat his contemporaries 
with their own weapons. However tiresome the 
tragedy may be to us, it was a great favourite at 
its first appearance. It was full of barbarities 
that shock the refined taste ; but these formed a 
mode of exciting the interest of the audience 
which was very commonly had recourse to by the 
play-writers of the age, and from which Shak- 
speare never became fully weaned, even at a 
period when his judgment was matured ; as we 
may learn from the murder of Macduff's children, 
the hamstringing of Cassio, and the plucking out 
the eyes of Gloucester. The versification and 
language of the play, are certainly very different 
from those of Othello, of Hamlet, of Macbeth, or 
Lear. The author had not yet acquired that 
facility of composition for which he was after- 
wards distinguished. He wrote with labour, and 
left in every line the trace of the labour with 
which he wrote. He had not yet discovered 
(and it was he who eventually made the disco- 
very), that the true language of nature and of 
passion is that which passes most directly to the 
heart : but it is not with the works of his expe- 
rienced years, that this ' bloody tragedy' should 
be compared ; if it be, we certainly should find 
a difficulty in admitting that writings of such 
opposite descriptions, could be the eifusions of 
the same intellect ; but, compare this tragedy 
with the other works of his youth, and the diffi- 
culty vanishes. Is it improbable that the author 
of the Venus and Adonis, and the Rape of Lucrece, 
should, on turning his attention to the stage, 
produce as heavy and monotonous a performance 
as the Titus Andronicus ? 

I have been rather more diffuse upon this sub- 
ject, than the nature of the present notice would 
appear to warrant, because it aflTords the means 
of ascertaining the time when Shakspeare com- 
menced writer for the stage. If Titus Androni- 
cus be really his, as I suppose, he became an 
author immediately on finding himself in the 
service of the theatre. His first play, though 
we now despise and reject it, was the best play 
that had been presented to the public ; and im- 
mediately placed him in the first ranks of the pro- 
fession, and among the principal supports of the 
company to which he was attached. 

Pericles, if the work of Shakspeare, was pro- 
oably his next dramatic production. Dryden 
has most unequivocally attributed this play to 
Shakspeare, and he was also commended as its 
author, in 1646, by S. Shepherd, in a poem 
called Time displayed. It is true that it was 
omitted by Heminge and Condell, in their col- 



lection of our poet's works ; but this may have 
proceeded from forgetfulness, and it was only by 
an afterthought, that Troilus and Cressida escaped 
a similar fortune. How far Pericles, as originally 
written, was, or was not, worthy the talents of 
Shakspeare, we have no means of judging. The 
only editions of this tragedy that have come down 
to us, are three spurious quartos, of which the 
text was printed from copies taken by* illiterate 
persons during representation, and published 
without any regard to the property or the repu- 
tation of the author, to impose on the curiosity 
of the public. The Pericles of Shakspeare may 
have been a splendid composition, and yet not 
have shewn so in the garbled editions of the 
booksellers. We may estimate the injuries that 
Pericles received, by the injuries which we know 
were inflicted upon Hamlet on its first issuing, 
after such a process, from the press. In the first 
edition of Hamlet, 1603, there is scarcely a trace 
of the beauty and majesty of Shakspeare's work. 
Long passages, and even scenes, are misplaced ; 
grammar is set wholly at defiance ; half lines 
frequently omitted, so as to destroy the sense ; 
and sentences brought together without any 
imaginable connexion. Sometimes the tran- 
scriber caught the expression, but lost the senti- 
ment ; and huddled the words together, without 
any regard to the meaning or no-meaning that 
they might happen to convey : at other times he 
remembered the sentiment, but lost the expres- 
sion ; and considered it no presumption to sup- 
ply the lines of Shakspeare with doggerel verses 
of his own. Such were, for the most part, the 
early quarto impressions of our author's plays : 
and it is not difficult to conceive, that Pericles, 
which seems to have suffered more than any other 
play in passing through the ignorant and neg- 
ligent hands of the transcriber and the printer, 
might have been originally the work of Shak- 
speare, without retaining in its published form 
any distinguishing characteristics of the magic 
hand that framed it. To attempt tracing the 
literary life of our great dramatist were a work 
of unprofitable toil. I have given in the appen- 
dix (No. 2.) the list of his plays, according to 
the order in which Chalmers, Malone, and Dr. 
Drake, suppose them to have been composed ; 
but the grounds of their conjectures are so un- 
certain, that little reliance can be placed in them, 
and all we really know upon the subject, is what 
we learn from Meres,* that previously to the 
year 1598, that is, within twelve years after his 
attaching himself to the theatre, Shakspeare had 
not only published his two poems, the Venus and 
Adonis, and the Rttpe of Lucrece ; but had already 
written Titus Andronicus, King John, Richard the 



* Palladis Tamia, or Second Part of Wit's Com- 
mon Place Book, by Francis Meres, and printed at 
London, 1598. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



xvn 



Second, Henry the Fourth, Richard the Third, 
Romeo and Juliet, The Midsummer Night's Dream, 
Two Gentlemen of Verona, The Comedy of Errors, 
The Love's Labour Lost, The Love's Labour Won,* 
and The Merchant of Venire. He had also written 
a great number of his Sonnets, and the minor 
pieces of poetry which were collected and printed 
by Jaffgart, in 1599, under the somewhat affected 
title of the Passionate Pilgrim. After this, we 
have no means of ascertaining the succession in 
which the plays of Shakspeare were composed. 

Very early in his dramatic career, he appears 
to have attained to a principal share in the direc- 
tion and emoluments of the theatres to which he 
was attached. His name stands second in the 
list of proprietors of the Globe, and Btackfriars, 
in the license granted to them by James the 
First in 1603: and his industry in supporting 
these establishments was indefatigable. Besides 
the plays which were entirely of his own com- 
position, or which he so completely rewrote as 
to make them his own, lie seems to have been 
frequently engaged in revising, and adding to, 
and remodelling, the works of others.f This 
task, however beneficial to the interests of his 
theatre, and necessary to give attraction to the 
pieces themselves, was viewed with an eye of 
jealousy by the original authors ; and Robert 
Greene, in his Groatsworth of Wit, himself a 
writer for the stage, in admonishing his feilow- 
dramatists to abandon their pursuit, and apply 
themselves to some more profitable vocation, 
refers them to this part of our author's labours 
with no little asperity. ' Trust them not (i. e. 
the players), for there is an upstart crow beau- 
tified with our feathers, that with his tyger's 
heart wrapt in a player's hide, supposes he is 
as well able to bombast out a blank-verse as the 
best of you ; and being an absolute Johannes fac- 
totum, is in his own conceit the only Shah-scene 
in a country.' This sarcasm, however, was 
nothing more than the unwarranted effusion of 
a dissolute and disappointed spirit. Greene was 
a bad man. The pamphlet from which the 
above passage is extracted was published after 
his death by Henry Chettle ; and the editor, 
after he had given it to the world, was so satis- 
fied of the falsehood of the charges insinuated 
against our author, that he made a public apo- 
logy for his indiscretion in the preface to a sub- 
sequent pamphlet of his own, entitled. Kind 
Hart's Dreame ; lamenting that he had not omit- 

• There is no such play extant as Love's Labour 
Won. Dr. Farmer supposes this to have been an- 
other name for All's Well that Ends Jf'ell. 

t As was the case with Henry the Sixth ; and 
probably many other plays that have not come down 

to us. T • r> 

t In the present copies we read— Julius Caesar, act 
iii. sc. 1. 

Know, Casar doth not wrong ; nor without cause. 
Will he be satisfied : 



ted, or at least moderated, what Greene had 
written against Shakspeare, and adding, ' I am 
as sorry as if the original fault had been my 
fault; because myself have seen his demeanour, no 
less civil than he exrelleth in the ({ualitie he prO' 
f esses : besides divers of icorship have reported his 
uprightness of dealing, which argui's his honest ie, 
and his facetious grace in writing, that approves his 
art.' 

It may be conceived from the abundance of 
his works, of which, perhaps, very many have 
been lost, that our author's facility of composi- 
tion must have been extremely great ; and, on 
this point, we have the contemporary testimony 
of his sincere, kind-hearted, generous, and much 
slandered friend, Ben Jonson, who writes in his 
Discoveries, ' I remember the players have often 
mentioned it as an honour to Shakspeare, that 
in writing (whatsoever he penned) he never 
blotted out a line. My answer hath been. Would 
he had blotted out a thousand ! which they thought 
a malevolent speech. I had not told posterity 
this, but for their ignorance, who chose that cir- 
cumstance to commend their friend by, wherein 
he most faulted ; and to justify mine own can- 
dour, for I loved the man, and do honour his 
memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any. 
He was, indeed, honest, and of an open and free 
nature, had an excellent fancy, brave notions, 
and gentle expressions ; wherein he flowed with 
that felicity, that sometimes it was necessary he 
should be stopped : Sujjknninatidus erat, as Au- 
gustus said of Haterius. His wit was in his own 
power; would the rule of it had been so too 
Many times he fell into those things which could 
not escape laughter ; as when he said, in the 
person of Caesar, one speaking to him, 

♦ Caesar, thou dost me wrong.' 

' He replied : 

' Csesar did never wrong, but with just cause, 't 

' and such like, which were ridiculous. But he 
redeemed his vices with his virtues ; there was 
ever more in him to be praised than to be par- 
doned. '§ 

But Shakspeare was not only an author but an 
actor. In this union of the two professions he 
was not singular ; his friend Ben Jonson resem- 
bled him in this. With respect to the merits of 
Shakspeare as a performer, there has existed 
some doubt. From the expression used in 



and so the speech ends with a defective line. The 
original passage, we may presume, ran as Jonson 
has quoted it : 

Know, Casar doth not wrong, but with just cause ; 
Nor without cause, will he be satisjied. 

The line was attacked by the formidable criticism of 
Jonson, and the offending words withdrawn. 

^ "Qzn Jonsoa's Discoveries. .- ■ 

a 



xvm 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



Rowe's Life, it would appear that he had been 
but inditferently skilled in the inferior half of his 
double vocation, and never attempted any parts 
superior to the Ghost in Hamlet ; but the vpords 
of Chcttle, speaking of him as ' one excellent in 
the qualitie lie professes,' confirm the account of 
Aubrey, that 'he did act exceedingly well.' That 
he understood the theory of his profession is 
manifest from the invaluable instructions which 
he has written, for the use of all future actors, 
in the third act of Hamlet. His class of cha- 
racters was probably not very extensive. If 
the names ■ of the performers prefixed to the 
early editions of Every Man in his Humour 
were arranged in the same order as the per- 
sons of the drama, which was most probably 
the case, he was the original representative of 
Old Knowell ; and an anecdote preserved by 
Oldys would also make it appear that he played 
Adiiin in As you like it. ' One of Shakspeare's 
brothers,* who lived to a good old age, even 
some years after the restoration of Charles the 
Second, would, in his younger days, come to 
London to visit his brother Will, as he called 
him, and be a spectator of him as an actor in some 
of his own plays. This custom, as his brother's 
fame enlarged, and his dramatic entertainments 
grew the greatest support of our principal, if not 
of all our theatres, he continued it seems so long 
after his brother's death as even to the latter end 
of his own life. The curiosity at this time of the 
most noted actors (exciting them) to learn some- 
thing from him of his brother, &c. they justly 
held him in the highest veneration. And it may 
be well believed, as there was, besides, a kinsman 
and descendant of the family, who was then a 
celebrated actor among them (Charles Hart. 
See Shakspeare's Will). This opportunity made 
them greedily inquisitive into every little cir- 
cumstance, more especially in his dramatic cha- 
racter, which his brother could relate of him. 
But he, it seems, was so stricken in years, and 
possibly his memory so weakened with infirmities 
(which might make him the easier pass for a man 
of weak intellects), that he could give them but 
little light into their inquiries ; and all that 
could be recollected from him of his brother 
(Vill in that station was, the faint, general, and 
almost lost ideas he had of having once seen him 
act a part in one of his own comedies, wherein, 
being to personate a decrepit old man, he wore a 
long beard, and appeared so weak and drooping 
and unable to walk, that he was forced to be 
supported and carried by another person to a 
table, at which he was seated among some com- 
pany, who were eating, and one of them sung a 
song.'f From this it would appear, that the class 
of characters to which the histrionic exertions 

• Gilbert. 

t Reeu's Sliaksjieare, vol. i. 122. 



of Shakspeare were confined, was that of elderly 
persons; parts, rather of declamation than of 
passion. With a countenance which, if any one 
of his pictures is a genuine resemblance of him, 
we may adduce that one as our authority for 
esteeming capable of every variety of expression ; 
with a knowledge of the art that rendered him 
fit to be the teacher of the first actors of his day, 
and to instmct Joseph Taylor in the character of 
Hamlet, and John Lowine in that of King Henry 
the Eighth ;j: with such admirable qualifications 
for pre-eminence, we must infer that nothing but 
some personal defect could have reduced him to 
limit the exercise of his powers, and even in 
youth assume the slow and deliberate motion, 
which is the characteristic of old age. In his 
minor poems we, perhaps, trace the origin of 
this direction of his talents. It appears from two 
places in his Sonnets, that he was lamed by some 
accident. In the 37th sonnet he writes — 

' So I made lame by Fortune's dearest spite.' 

And, in the 89th, he again alludes to his infir- 
mity, and says — 

' Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt.' 

This imperfection would necessarily have ren- 
dered him unfit to appear as the representative 
of any characters of youthful ardour, in which 
rapidity of movement or violence of exertion 
was demanded ; and would oblige him to apply 
his powers to such parts as were compatible with 
his measured and impeded action. Malone has 
most inefficiently attempted to explain away the 
palpable meaning of the above lines ; and adds, 
' If Shakspeare was in truth lame, he had it not 
in his power to halt occasionally for this or any 
other purpose. The defect must have been fixed 
and permanent.' Not so. Surely, many an in- 
firmity of the kind may be skilfully concealed ; or 
only become visible in the moments of hurried 
movement. Either Sir Walter Scott or Lord 
Byron might, without any impropriety, have 
written the verses in question. They would 
have been applicable to either of them. Indeed 
the lameness of Lord Byron was exactly such as 
Shakspeare's might have been ; and I remember 
as a boy, that he selected those speeches for de- 
clamation, which would not constrain him to the 
use of such exertions, as might obtrude the defect 
of his person into notice. 

Shakspeare's extraordinary merits, both as an 
author and as an actor, did not fail of obtaining 
for him the fame and the remuneration that they 
deserved. He was soon honoured by the patron- 
age of the young Lord Southampton, one of 
the most amiable and accomplished noblemen of 
the court of Elizabeth, and one of the earliest 



t Bosclus A nglicanits, commonly called, Downei) 
the Prompter's Book. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



XIX 



patrons of our national drama.* To this dis- 
tinguished person our author dedicated, ' the first 
heir of his invention,'! the poem of Venus and 
Adonis, in 1593. This was within five years 
after Shakspeare arrived in London ; and, in the 
following- year, he inscribed the Rape if Lucrece 
to the same nobleman, in terms which prove that 
the barriers imposed by difference of condition 
had become gradually levelled, and that, between 
these young men, the cold and formal inter- 
course of the patron and the client had been 
rapidly exchanged for the kinder familiarity of 
friendship. The first address is respectful ; the 
second affectionate. When this intimacy began 
Shakspeare was in his twenty-seventh, and Lord 
Southampton in his twentieth year ; a time of 
life when the expansion of our kindness is not 
restrained by any of those apprehensions and 
suspicions which, in after-life, impede the de- 
velopment of the affections ; and when, in the 
enthusiastic admiration of excellence, we hasten 
to seek fellowship with it, and disregard every 
impediment to free communication which may be 
opposed by the artificial distinctions of society. 
The superiority of Shakspeare's genius raised 
him to a level with his friend. Lord Southamp- 
ton allowed the gifts of Nature to claim equal 
privilege with the gifts of Fortune ; and the 
splendid present of a thousand pounds, which 
our great poet received from him, was bestowed 
and accepted in the true spirit of generosity ; as 
coming from one, who was exercising to its 
noblest uses the power of his affluence, and re- 
ceived by one whose soul was large enough to 
contain the sense of obligation without any mix- 
ture of petty shame or any sacrifice of indepen- 
dence. The name of Henry Wriothesley, earl of 
Southampton, should be dear to every English- 
man, as the first patron — the youthful friend — 
and author of the fortunes of Sliakspeare. 

The authority for believing that this magnifi- 
cent present was made — which is equivalent to 
at least five thousand pounds at the present day 
— is the best that can be obtained respecting the 
events of our author's life ; that of Sir William 
D'Avenant. ' It was given,' he says, 'to complete 
a purchase.' Malone doubts the extent of the 
earl's munificence — and what does he not doubt ? 
He says, 'no such purchase was ever made.'f 
This is a mere gratuitous assumption ; for it is 
evident that Shakspeare had a very considerable 
property in two principal theatres, which must 



* ' My Lord Southampton and Lord Rutland came 
not to the court; the one doth but very seldome: 
they pass away the time in London, merely in going 
to plays every rfai^.'— Rowland Whyte's Letter to 
Sir Robert Sidney, 1599. Sydney Papers, vol. ii. 
p. 132. 

t Dedication to Venus and Adonis. 

t Boswell's Shakspeare, vol. ii. p. 4S0. 

§ The GUibe was, perhaps, worth about 5001. ; the 
RlackJ'riars somewhat more : but this was the least 
valuable portion of the concern. The .scenery, the 



have been obtained by purchase, and could not 
have been obtained for an inconsiderable sum ;§ 
nor by any means that our author could of him- 
self have procured, by the most indefatigable 
exertions of his talents and economy. At a time 
when the most successful dramatic representation 
did not produce to its author so much as twenty 
pounds, and generally little more than ten ; || 
when, as an actor, his salary would have amount- 
ed to a mere trifle ; and when, as we have before 
seen, the circumstances of his father could not 
have aided him by any supplies from home, it is 
only by adopting D'Avenant's statement, and 
admitting the munificence of Lord Southampton, 
that we can account for the sudden prosperity of 
Shakspeare. But, says Malone, 'it is more 
likely that he presented the poet with a hundred 
pounds in return for his dedications. 'f And this 
instance of liberality, which is so creditable to 
Shakspeare and his patron — to him who merited, 
and the high-spirited and noble youth who com- 
prehended and rewarded his exalted merit — is to 
be discredited, because such an ardour of admira- 
tion does not square with the frigid views of pro- 
bability entertained by the aged antiquarian in 
the seclusion of his closet ! 

The fortunes of Shakspeare were indeed rapid 
in their rise ; but he did not selfishly monopolize 
the emoluments of his success. On being driven 
from Stratford, he left, as we have seen, a father 
in reduced circumstances, and a wife and chil- 
dren who were to be supported by his labours. 
We may confidently assert, on a comparison of 
facts and dates, that the spirit of Shakspeare was 
not of a niggard and undiffusive kind. The 
course of his success is marked by the returning 
prosperity of his family. In 1578, his father was 
unable to pay, as a member of the corporation, 
his usual contribution of four-pence a-week to 
the poor; and in 1588, a distress was issued for 
the seizure of his goods, which his poverty ren- 
dered nugatory ; for it was returned, * Johannes 
Shakspeare nihil habet unde distributio potest 
levari.'** Yet, from this state of poverty, we find 
him within ten years rising with the fortunes of 
his child; cheered and invigorated by the first 
dawning of his illustrious son's prosperity ; and 
in 1590, applying at the Herald's Office for a re- 
newal of his grant of arms,f f and described as 
a Justice of the Peace, and one possessing lands 
and tenements to the amount of 500/. That 
this restoration of Mr. John Shakspeare's affairs 

properties, and the dresses, must have been worth 
infinitely more. In Greene's Groate's worth oflVit, 
a player is introduced, boasting that his share in the 
stage apparel could not be sold for tico hundred 
pounds. Shakspeare was also the purchaser of pro- 
perty at Stratford so early as 1597. 

II Gifkord's Massingcr, vol. i. p. 64. 

% Boswkll's Sliakspeare, vol. ii. p 47S. 

** Register of the Bailijfs Coiirl of Stratford. 

■ft They were oriLiinally granted to Lim in 15ti9 
while highbaililF of the town. 
«2 



XX 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



originated in tlie filial piety of his son, appears 
evident, from our knowledge that the branch of 
traffic with which his circumstances in life were 
inseparably coimccted, was at that period in its 
most extreme state of depression.* 

The kindness of Shakspeare was not restricted 
to his family ; and the only letter which remains 
out of the many lie must have received, is one 
from his townsman, Richard Quiney, requesting 
in terms that speak him confident of success, the 
loan of thirty pounds, a sum in those days by no 
means inconsiderable. f 

Pecuniary emolument and literary reputation 
were not the only reward that our poet received 
for his labours : the smiles of royalty itself shone 
upon him. ' Queen Elizabeth," says Rowe, ' gave 
him many gracious marks of her favour ;':f and 
so delighted was she with the character of Fal- 
staff, that she desired our author to continue it in 
another play, and exhibit him in love. To this 
command we owe The Merri^ Wives of Windsor. 
Dennis adds, that, from the Queen's eagerness to 
see it acted, ' she commanded it to be iinished in 
fourteen days, and was afterwards, as tradition 
tells us, very well pleased with the representa- 
tion. '§ If Queen Elizabeth was pleased to direct 
the course of our author's imagination, with her 
successor he was a distinguished favourite : and 
James the First, whose talents and judgment 
have deserved more respect than they have re- 
ceived, wrote him a letter with his own hand, 
■which was long in the possession of Sir W. 
D'Avenant. II Dr. Fanner supposes this letter 
to have been written in return for the compli- 
ment paid the monarch in Macbeth ; but he has 
overlooked an equally probable occasion. The 
Tempest was written for the festivities that at- 
tended the marriage of the Princess Elizabeth 
with the Prince Palatine ; and was performed at 
court in the beginning of the year 1613. In the 
island Princess, Miranda, Shakspeare undoubtedly 
designed a poetic representative of the virgin and 
high-born bride ; in the royal and learned Pros- 
pero, we may trace a complimentary allusion to the 
literary character and mysterious studies of her 
royal father ; and it is at all events as likely that 
the letter of James to Shakspeare should have 
had reference to The Tempest as to Mactieth. Our 
author seems to have formed a far more correct 
estimate of the talents of his sovereign, than that 
which we have blindly received and adopted on 
the authority of his political enemies, the Non- 



• Supplication to the Lord Treasurer Burghley, 
1590. 

+ This letter is jiveserved in Boswcll's Shakspeare, 
vol. ii. p. 495. 

\ Life of Shakspeare. 

^ Epistle DedicatDvy to the Comical Gallant. 

{{ James was the patron of Jonson and of Shak- 
speare; he possessed himself no inconsiderable talent 
for poetry. See Boswell's Shakspeare, voVii-p.^il, 



conformists; and in a MS. volume of poeme, 
which was purchased by Boswell, the following 
complimentary lines are preserved. 

SHAKSPEARE UPON THE KIWG. 

' Crownes have their compass, length of dayes their 

date, 
Triumphes tbeir tombs, felicity her fate : 
Of more than earth cann earth make none partaker ; 
But knowledge makes the king most like his Makev.'^ 

Thus honoured and applauded by the great, 
the intercourse of Shakspeare with that bright 
band and company of gifted spirits, which en- 
nobled the reigns of Elizabeth and James by 
their writings, must have been a source of the 
highest intellectual delight. The familiarity 
with which they seem to have communicated ; 
the constant practice of uniting their powers in 
the completion of a joint production ; the un- 
envying admiration with which they rejoiced in 
the triumphs of their literary companions, and 
introduced the compositions of one another to 
the world by recommendatory verses, present us 
with such a picture of kind and gay and intelli- 
gent society, as the imagination finds it difficult 
to entertain an adequate conception of. ' Sii 
Walter Raleigh, previously to his unfortunate 
engagement with the wretched Cobham and 
others, had instituted a meeting of beaux esprits 
at the Mermaid, a celebrated tavern in Friday- 
street. Of this club, which combined more talent 
and genius, perhaps, than ever met together be- 
fore or since, our author was a member ; and 
here, for many years, he regularly repaired with 
Ben Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Selden, Cotton, 
Carew, Martin, Donne, and many others, whose 
names, even at this distant period, call up a 
mingled feeling of reverence and respect. Here, 
in the full flow and confidence of friendship, the 
lively and interesting " wit combats" took place 
between Ben Jonson and our author ; and hither, 
in probable allusion to them, Beaumont fondly 
lets his thoughts wander, in his letter to Jonson, 
from the country : 



-What things have we seen 



Done at the Mermaid I heard words that have been 
So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, 
As if that every one from whom they came, 
Had meant to put his "whole wit in a jest, &c." '•• 

The 'wit combats' alluded to in this interesting 
passage are mentioned by Fuller, who, speaking 
of Shakspeare, says, ' Many were the wit com- 



4S2. He was called a pedant; 'but,' says Mr. D'ls- 
raeli, ' he was no more a pedant than the ablest of 
his contemporaries; nor abhorred the taste of tobacco, 
nor feared witches, more than they did : he was a 
great wit, a most acute disputant '&c. — Calamities of 
Authors, vol. ii. p. 245. 

H Boswell's Shakspeare, vol. ii.p. 481. 

•• Gifhord's Den Jonson, vol. i. p. Ixv. Ixvi. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



rxi 



bates between Shakspeare and Ben Jonson. I 
behold them like a Spanish great galleon, and 
an English man of war. Master Johnson, like 
the former, was built far higher in learning, solid 
but slow in his performances. Shakspeare, like 
the latter, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, 
could turn with all tides, tack about, and take 
advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his 
wit and invention.'* 

Of these encounters of the keenest intellects 
not a vestige now remains. The memory of 
Fuller, perhaps, teemed with their sallies ; but 
nothing on which we can depend has descended 
to us. The few traditionary tales that remain, 
are without any authority ; but such as they are, 
I present them to the reader as Dr. Drake has 
collected them.f 

Shakspeare was godfather to one of Ben Jon- 
son's children ; and after the christening, being 
in deep study, Jonson came to cheer him up, and 
asked him, why he was so melancholy ? ' No 
faith, Ben,' says he, ' not I ; but I have been con- 
sidering a great while what should be the fittest 
gift for me to bestow upon my godchild, and I 
have resolved at last.' ' I prithee, what?' says 
he. ' I'faith, Ben, I'll e'en give her a dozen 
good Latin (lattenj) spoons, and thou shalt 
translate them.' 

' The above,' says Archdeacon Nares, ' is a 
pleasant raillery enough on Jonson's love for 
translating.' The second is not so worthy of 
preservation. ' Mr. Ben Jonson and Mr. Wil- 
liam Shakspeare being nierrie at a tavern, Mr. 
Jonson begins this for his epitaph : 

' Here lies Ben Jonson, 
Who was once one 

* He gives it to Mr. Shakspeare to make up, who 
presently writte, 

'That, while he liv'd, was a slow thin^, j^ 
Aud now, being dead, is no-thing." 

• This stuff,' adds Mr. Gifford, ' is copied from 
the Ashmole MS. 38. '§ 

The next may be said to be rather of a ' better 
leer.' 

' Verses by Ben Jonson and Shakspeare, oc- 
casioned by the motto to the Globe Theatre — 
Tutus mutidus agit histrionem. 

JONSOK. 

' If, but stage actors, all the world displays, 
Where shall we find spectators o{ their plays?' 

SHAKSPEARE. 

' Little, or ranch, of what we see, we do ; 
We are all both actors and spectators too.'|| 



* Worthies, folio edition, p. HI. 126. 
^Shakspeare and his Times, vol. ii. p. 393. 
t Latten, i. e. brass. The anecdote is from the 
Had. MSS. No. 0395. 



The intimacy of Shakspeare and Ben Jonson 
is alluded to in the following letter, written by 
G. Peel, a dramatic poet, to his friend Marie : — 

'friend marle, 

' I never longed for thy company more than 
last night. We were all very merrye at the 
Globe, when Ned Alleyn did not scruple to 
afiyrme pleasantely to thy friend Will, that he 
had stolen his speeche about the qualilyes of an 
actor's excellencye, in Hamlet hys tragedye, from 
conversations manyfold which had passed be- 
tween tiiem, and opinyons given by Alleyn 
touchinge the subject. Shakspeare did not taice 
this talke in good sorte ; but Jonson put an end 
to the strife, ,wittylie remarking, This affaire 
needeth no contentione ; you stole it from Ned, 
no doubt ; do not marvel : have you not seen 
him act tymes out of number? 

G. Peel.' 

The first appearance of this Letter was in the 
Annual Register for 1770, whence it was copied 
into the Biographia Britannica, and in both these 
works it commences in the following manner : 
' I must desyre that my syster hyr watche, and 
the cookerie book you promysed, may be sente bye 
the man. — I never longed, ^c.' ' Of the four, 
this is the only anecdote worth preserving ; but,' 
concludes Dr. Drake, ' I apprehend it to be a 
mere forgery.' 

The names of Shakspeare and Ben Jonson, as 
friends, and the most successful cultivators of our 
early dramatic literature, are so intimately con- 
nected, that the life of one involves the frequent 
mention of the other. Indeed, it is reported by 
Rowe, that Shakspeare was the original means 
of introducing the works of Jonson to the stage. 
' Jonson, altogether unknown to the world, had 
offered one of his pkys to the players, in order 
to have it acted; and the persons into whose 
hands it was put, after having turned it carelessly 
and superciliously over, were just upon returning 
it to him with an ill-natured answer, that it would 
be of no service to their company, when Shak- 
speare luckily cast his eye upon it, and found 
something so well in it, as to engage him first to 
read it through, and afterwards to recommend 
Jonson and his writings to the public.'* — This 
anecdote is disputed by Mr. Gifford. He proves 
that in 1598, when Every Man in his Humour, 
the first effort of Jonson's genius which we are 
acquainted with, was produced, ' its author was 
as well known as Shakspeare, and, perhaps, bet- 
ter.'** Very true ; but this does not in the least 
impugn the credibility of Rowe's tradition. It 



5 Gifford's Ben Jonson, vol. i. p. Ixxx. 
II Poetical Characteristics, vol. i. MS. some time 
iu the Harleian Library. 
T Rome's Life of Shakspeare. 
** Ben Jonson, vol. i. p. xliii. 

A 2 



xxn 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



is nowhere asserted, that Every Mun in his Hu- 
mour was the play which thus attracted the at- 
tention of Shakspeare ; all arguments therefore 
deduced from the situation held by Jonson in the 
literary world, at the time that comedy was first 
acted, are perfectly invalid. The performance 
which recommended him to Shakspeare, was 
most probably a boyish effort, full of talent and 
inexperience, which soon passed from the public 
mind, but not sooner than the author wished it 
to be forgotten ; which he had the good sense to 
omit in the collection of his works published in 
1616, and which, perhaps, he only remembered 
with pleasure from its having been the means of 
introducing him to the friendship of his great 
contemporary. 

But whatever cause might have originated the 
mutual kindness which subsisted between these 
two excellent and distinguished men, it is certain 
that an intimacy the most sincere and affectionate 
really did subsist between them. On the part 
of Jonson, indeed, the memorial of their attach- 
ment has been handed down to us in expressions 
as strong and unequivocal as any which the 
power of language can combine. He speaks of 
Shakspeare, not indeed as one blinded to the 
many defects by which the beauty of his produc- 
tions was impaired, but with such candour and 
tenderness, as every reasonable man would desire 
at the hands of his friends, and in terms which 
secured a credit to his commendations, by shewing 
that they were not the vain effects of a blind and 
ridiculous partiality. Jonson writes, ' / love the 
man, iind do honour liis inenwvjf, on tliis side idola- 
try, as much as any.' And it is from his Elegy, 
To the Memory of his beloved Master William 
Shakspeare, that we have derived the two most 
endearing appellations, the 'Gentle Shakspeare,' 
and ' Sueel Sitan of Avon ;' by which our poet 
has been known and characterized for nearly tv/o 
centuries. * 

It must appear extraordinary, that in opposi- 
tion to sucli decisive proofs of the kindness en- 
tertained by Jonson for our author, his memory 
should have been persecuted for the last century 
by the most unfounded calumnies, as if he had 
been the insidious and persevering enemy of his 
reputation. The rise and progress of this slander, 
which has been propagated through every modern 
edition of Shakspeare's works, is not wholly un- 
deserving of our attention. Rovve, indeed, has 
the following anecdote, which he relates, perhaps, 
on the authority of Dryden, that ' in a conversa- 
tion between Sir John Suckling, Sir William 
D'Avonant, Endymion Porter, Mr. Hales of 
Eton, and Ben Jonson, Sir John Suckling, who 
was a professed admirer of Shakspeare, had un- 
dertaken his defence against Ben Jonson with 
some warmth ; Mr. Hales, who had sat still for 



* GiFFORu's Ben Jonson, vol. viii. p. 332, note. 



some time, told them, that, if Mr. Shakspeare had 
not read the ancients, neither hud he stolen any 
thing from them; and that if he uoald produce 
any one topic finely treated by anyone of them, he 
would undertake to shew something upon the same 
subject at least as well written by Shakspeare,' This 
anecdote was written nearly a hundred years after 
the death of our author, and more than seventy 
after the death of Jonson. Even supposing all 
the circumstances to be correct,-f it only repre- 
sents Jonson as maintaining an opinion in con- 
versation which he has printed in his Discoveries, 
that ' many times Shakspeare fell into those 
things which could not escape laughter,' and 
arguing, that a deeper knowledge of the classic 
writers would have improved his genius, and 
taught him to lop away all such unseemly exube- 
rances of style. It shews the most learned poet 
of his time, or, perhaps, of any time, honestly as- 
serting the advantages that a poet may derive 
from variety of learning ; but this is all ; and 
it supposes no undue or unfriendly attempt in 
Jonson to depreciate the fame of Shakspeare. 
Indeed no hint of the existence of any difference 
or unkindness between those celebrated indivi- 
duals is to be found in any contemporary author. 
Dryden thought Jonson's Verses to Shakspeare 
sparing and invidious ; but to this opinion Pope 
very justly recorded his dissent; and wondered 
that Dryden should have held it. Howe in the 
first edition of his Life of Shakspeare, insinuates 
a doubt of the sincerity of Jonson's friendship ; 
before the publication of his second edition he 
found cause to reject a suspicion so injurious to 
the reputation of Jonson, and had the honesty to 
erase the passage from his work. The words, 
however, did not escape the vigilance of Mai one : 
they were re-printed, and the sentiment re- 
adppted ; and, as if it were more valuable to the 
commentators, from having been condemned by 
its author, their united labours and ingenuity have 
been hidefatigably employed in inventing and 
straining evidence to support an insinuation, 
which was too carelessly disseminated, and too 
silently withdrawn. Rowe should have made 
such an explicit recantation of his error, as might 
have repaired the ill he had occasioned, and 
guarded the good name of one of our greatest 
poets against the revival of the calumny : this he 
unfortunately omitted ; and he thus left the cha- 
racter of Jonson bare to the senseless and gra- 
tuitous malignity of every puny spirit, that chose 
to amuse its spleen by insulting the memory of the 
mighty dead. For years, the friend and eulogist 
of Shakspeare was aspersed as envious and ungrate- 
ful, in almost every second note of every edition 
of our author's works ; and it is only lately that the 
judicious exertions of Gilchrist and of Gifford 
have exposed the fallacy of such unwarranted 



+ Which is very doubtful. See Oiffoed's BeTi 
Jonson, vol. i. p. cclix. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



xxni 



imputations, and demonstrated beyond the possi- 
bility of future doubt, that ' Jonson and Shak- 
speare were friends and associates, till the latter 
finally retired— that no feud, no jealousy, ever 
disturbed their connexion — that Shakspeare was 
pleased with Jonson, and that Jonson loved and 
admired Shakspeare.'* 

But courted, praised, and rewarded as he was, 
the stage, as a profession, was little fitted to the 
disposition of our poet. In his Soiinets,f which 
alford us the only means of attaining a knowledge 
of his sentiments upon the subject, we find him 
lamenting the nature of his life with that dissatis- 
faction, which every noble spirit would necessa- 
rily sufter, in a state of unimportant labour and 
undignified publicity. In the hundred and tenth 
he exclaims, 

' Alas, 'tis true J have gone here and there. 
And made myself a motleyX to the view.' 

And again, in the hundred and eleventh ; with 
evident allusion to his being obliged to appear on 
the stage, and write for the theatre, he repeats, 

' 0, for my sate, do you with fortune chide 

The guilty g-oddess of my harmful deeds. 

That did not better for my life provide. 

Than public means, tchich public manners breeds' 

With this distaste for a course of life, to which 
adversity had originally driven him, it is not ex- 
traordinary to find that he availed himself of the 
first moment of independence, to abandon the 
histrionic part of his double profession. This 
occurred so early as 1604. After that time his 
name never appears on the lists of performers 
which were attached to the original editions of 
the old plays. Ben Jonson's Sejanus, which 
came out in 1603, is the last play in which he is 

• Gifford's Ben, Jonson, vol. i. p. ccli. in which 
work the question of Jonson's supposed malignity is 
most satisfactorily discussed and disproved. 

t Mr Boswell doubts whether we are justified in 
referring' to the Sonnets of Shakspeare, as contain- 
ing any true intimations respecting- the life and feel- 
ings of the author; but I believe very few have 
looked into the volume, without conceiving that tliese 
short poems were flung off at different periods of the 
poet's life, from his boyhood till his forty fifth year, 
when he consented to their publication, as they were 
elicited by circumstances. Boswell defends his po- 
sition by asserting, that the language of many of the 
Sonnets is not applicable to what we know of Shak- 
speare. He instances the 73d, which he says ' is such, 
as could scarcely, without violent' exaggeration, be 
applicable to a man o{ forty-five.'^ — To me it appears 
to be just such a description of that age when the 
prime of life is past, and no more remains 

' but twilight of such day, 

As after sun-set fadeth in the west,' 

as a poet would naturally be inclined to give. But 
we must not believe that these poems allude to the 
actual state of Shakspeare's existence, for they speak 
of his ' harmful deeds,' of something from which ' his 
name had received a brand,' and of the 'impression 
vvhich vulgar scandal stampt upon his brow.' But 

a Bosw ell's Shakspeare, vol. kx. 220. 



mentioned as a performer. As a writer for the 
stage, and part proprietor of two principal thea- 
tres, he was obliged to be much in London ; but 
he never took root and settled there. His family 
always resided at Stratford, and thither he once 
a year repaired to them. In the privacy of his 
native town all the affections of his heart appear 
to have been 'garner'd up;' and there, from his 
beginning to reap the wages of success, he de- 
posited the emoluments of his labours, and 
hoped to find a home in his retirement. In 1597, 
he purchased New Place, a house which he re- 
paired and adorned to his own taste, and which 
remained in the family till the death of his grand- 
daughter, Lady Barnard ; and in the garden of 
which he planted the celebrated mulberry-tree, 
which was so long an object of veneration as the 
flourishing memorial of the poet. To the pos- 
session of New Place, Shakspeare successively 
added in the course of the following eight years, 
an estate of about one hundred and seven acres 
of land, and a moiety of the great and small 
tithes of Stratford. § 

It was in one of his periodical journeys from 
London to Stratford, that ' one midsummer 
night' he met at Crcndon, in Bucks, with the 
original of Dogberry. Aubrey says, that the con- 
stable was still alive about 1642. ' He and Ben 
Jonson did gather humours of men wherever they 
came;' II and as the constable of Crendon sat for 
the picture of Dogberry, so we are told, on the 
authority of Bowman the player, that part of 
Sir John FuUtufs character was drawn from a 
townsman of Stratford, ' who either faithlessly 
broke a contract, or spitefully refused to part 
with some land for a valuable consideration, ad- 
joining to Shakspeare's house. '^ Oldys has 

whei-e is the man who has not offences to repent of T 
Why are we to suppose Shakspeare alone immacu- 
late ? And would it not be continually urged as a 
reproach by the calumnious voice of Envy against 
the favoured friend of Southampton, that he had 
been obliged to fly his country in poverty and dis- 
grace 1 

t Motley, i.e. a fool, a buffoo7i. 

§ The house at Stratford that Shakspeare had con- 
secrated by his residence, exists no longer. New 
Place descended from his daughter Susanna, to his 
grand-daughter, Mrs. Nash, afterwards Lady Bar- 
nard; and there, during the civil wars, that lady 
and her husband, in 1613, received Henrietta Maria, 
the queen of Charles the First, who sojouraed with 
them for three weeks. After passing through the 
hands of several intervening proprietors, it fell into 
the possession of Sir Hugh Clopton.who pulled down 
the ancient house, and built one more elegant on 
the same spot. This was in its turn destroyed by 
the Rev. Mr. Gastrell, because he conceived himself 
assessed too highly ; and it was by the same barba- 
rous hands, that the celebrated mulberry-tree, which 
Shakspeare himself had planted, was cut down, be- 
cause he found himself inconvenienced by the visi- 
tors, who were dra%vii by admiration cif the poet, to 
visit the classic ground on which it stood. 

{{ AuBKEY. MS. Mas. Ashmol. 

% Reed's Shakspeare, vol. i. p. 130. » 



XXIV 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPE/iRE. 



recorded in his MS. another anecdote connected 
with these journeys of our poet to Stratford, 
which I shall give in his own words. — ' If tradi- 
tion may be trusted, Shakspeare often baited at 
the Crown Inn or Tavern in Oxford, in his jour- 
ney to and from London. The landlady was a 
woman of great beauty and sprightly wit, and 
her husband, Mr. John Davenant (afterwards 
mayor of that city), a grave, melancholy man ; 
who, as well as his wife, used much to delight in 
Shakspeare's pleasant company. Their son, 
young Will. Davenant (afterwards Sir William), 
was then a little school-boy in the town, of about 
seven or eight years old, and so fond also of 
Shakspeare, that whenever he heard of his arri- 
val, he would fly from school to see him. One 
day, an old townsman observing the boy running 
homeward, almost out of breath, asked him 
whither he was posting in that heat and hurry. 
He answered, to see his ^ofi-father Shakspeare. 
There's a good boy, said the other, but have 
a care that you don't take God's name in vain. 
This story Mr. Pope told me at the Earl of 
Oxford's table, upon occasion of some discourse 
which arose about Shakspeare's monument, 
then newly erected in Westminster Abbey; 
and he quoted Mr. Betterton, the player, for 
his authority.'* This tale is also mentioned 
by Anthony Wood ; and certain it is, that the 
traditionary scandal of Oxford, has always 
spoken of Shakspeare as the father of D'Ave- 
nant :f but it imputes a crime to our author, 
of which we may, without much stretch of cha- 
rity, acquit him. It originated in the wicked 
vanity of D'Avenant himself, who disdaining his 
honest but mean descent from the vintner, had 
the shameless impiety to deny his father, and 
reproach the memory of his mother, by claiming 
consanguinity with Shakspeare. 

We are informed by a constant tradition, that 
a few years previous to his death, our author re- 
tired from the theatre, and spent his time at 
Stratford, ' in ease, retirement, and the conversa- 
tion of his friends.' This event appears to have 
taken place about the close of 1613. He had 
his wife and family about him ; he was sur- 
rounded by familiar scenes and faces ; and he 
was in possession of a property of about 300/. 
a-ycar, equal to much more than 1000/. at pre- 
sent ; \ and which must have been fully adequate 
to his modest views of happiness. 

The anecdotes that are in circulation respect- 
ing this portion of his life, are few, trivial, and 
very probably unfounded in fact ; but, such as 
they are, I have collected them, rather that no- 
thing connected with the name of Shakspeare 



• Reed's Shakspeare, vol. i. p. 124, 123. 
tRKED's Shakspeare, note ix. p. 126, 127. 
J I take Gildou's estimate of his fortune rather 
than Maloue'a, as it agrees with Aubrey's. 



should be omitted in this edition, than from any 
regard for their intrinsic value. 

A story, preserved by the tradition of Strat- 
ford, and which, according to Malone, ' was re- 
lated fifty years ago to a gentleman of that place, 
by a person upwards of eighty years of age, 
whose father was contemporary with Shakspeare,' 
may not improperly be attributed to this portion 
of his life. It is said, that as Shakspeare was 
leaning over the hatch of a mercer's door at 
Stratford, a drunken blacksmith, with a carbun- 
cled face, reeled up to him and demanded, 

' Now, Mr. Shakspeare, tell nie if you can. 
The difference between a youth and a young m&nl' 

to which our poet instantly rejoined : 

' Thou son of fire, with thy face like a maple, 
The same difference as between a scalded and 
coddled apple.' 

' A part of the wit,' says Dr. Drake, ' turns upon 
the comparison between the blacksmith's face, 
and a species of maple, the bark of which is un- 
commonly rough, and the grain undulated and 
crisped into a variety of curls. '§ 

Rowe relates, that he had a particular intimacy 
with Mr. Combe, ' an old gentleman noted there- 
abouts for his wealth and usury : it happened, 
that in a pleasant conversation amongst their 
common friends, Mr. Combe told Shakspeare, 
in a laughing manner, that he fancied he intended 
to write his epitaph, if he happened to outlive 
him ; and since he could not know what might 
be said of him when he was dead, he desired it 
might be done immediately ; upon which Shak • 
speare gave him these four verses : 

' Ten in the hundred lies here ingrav'd ; 
'Tis a hundred to ten his soul is not sav'd : 
If any man ask, who lies in this tomb? 
Oh ! oh ! quoth the devil, 'tis my Johu-a-Combe. 

' But the sharpness of the satire is said to have 
stung the man so severely, that he never forgave 
it. 'II Aubrey narrates the story differently, and 
says, ' that one time as Shakspeare was at the 
tavern at Stratford, Mr. Coombes, an old usurer, 
was to be buried, he makes there this extempore 
epitaph upon him : 

' Ten in the hundred the devil allows. 

But Combe will have twelve, he swea>B and be 

vows ; 
If any one ask, \Vho lies in this tomb? 
Hah ! quoth the devil, 'tis my John-a-Combe.* 

Dr. Drake considers Aubrey's version of the 
event as the most probable. In some of its cir- 
cumstances Rowe's account is contradicted ; for 
it is certain, that Shakspeare and Combe con- 
tinued friends till the death of the latter ; who 



§ Drake's Shakspeare and his Time«, vol. i.p. 6& 
[1 Heed's Shakspeare, vol. i. p. 77 — 80. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



XXV 



left him 5/. as a token of kind remembrance in 
his will ; and that no feud afterwards arose be- 
tween our poet and the relations of Combe, 
seems pretty evident from Shakspeare's having 
bequeathed his sword to Mr. Thomas Combe, 
the nephew of the usurer. 

In addition to the above ludicrous verses, two 
epitaphs of a serious character have been as- 
cribed to Shakspeare by Sir William Dugdale, 
which are preserved in a collection of epitaphs at 
the end of the Visitation of Salop. Among the 
monuments in Tongue Church, in the county of 
Salop, is one erected in remembrance of Sir 
Thomas Stanly, knight, whom Malone supposes 
to have died about 1600. The tomb stands on 
the north side of the chancel, supported with 
Corinthian columns. It hath two figures of men 
in armour lying on it, one below the arches and 
columns, the other above them ; and besides a 
prose inscription in front, the monument is en- 
riched by the following verses of Shakspeare. 

Written on the east end of the tomb : 

Aske who lyes here, but do not weepe ; 

He is not dead, he doth but sleepe. 

This stony register is for his hones, 

His fame is more perpetual than these stones : 

And his own goodness, witli himself being gone. 

Shall live, wlien earthly monument is none. 

Written on the west end thereof : 

' Not monumental stone preserves our fame, 
Nor skye-aspiving pyramids our name. 
The memory of him for whom this stands, 
Shall outlive marble, and defacer's hands. 
When all to time's consumption shall be given, 
Stanley, for whom this stands, shall stand in 
heaven.' 

Besides these inscriptions for the monument of 
Sir Thomas Stanly, which we have the authority 
of Dugdale, a Warwickshire man, and who spent 
the greater part of liis life in that county, for at- 
tributing to our author ; we find another epitaph 
ascribed to him in a manuscript volume of poems 
by William Herrick, and others. The volume, 
which is in the hand-writing of the time of 
Charles the First, is among Rawlinson's Collec- 
tions, in the Bodleian Library, and contains the 
following epitaph : 

When God was pleas'd, the world unwilling yet, 

Elias James to Nature payd his debt. 

And here reposeth : as he lived, he dyde ; 

The saying in him strongly veritide, — 

Such life, such death : then, the known truth to 

tell. 
He lived a godly life, and dyde as well. 

' Wm. SUAKSPEARB.' 

There was a family of the surname of James, 
formerly resident at Stratford, to some one of 
whom the above verses were probably inscribed. 



• Ii<.i.AS.B's Shakspeare and Ais Tjotm, vol. ii. p.Cll. 



The life of our poet was now drawing towards 
its close ; and he was soon to require from the 
hands of others those last honours to the dead, 
which, while alive, he had shewn himself so ready 
to contribute. His eldest and favourite daughter, 
Susanna, had been married as early as 1607, to 
Dr. Hall, a physician of considerable skill and 
reputation in his profession, who resided at 
Stratford ; and early in 1616, his youngest 
daughter, Judith, married Mr. Thomas Quiney, 
a vintner of the same place. This ceremony 
took place on February the 10th. On the twenty- 
fifth of the following month, her father made his 
will — being, according to his own account, in 
perject health and memoiy — and a second month 
had not elapsed before Shakspeare was no more. 
He died on the twenty- third of April, 1616, and 
on his birth-day, having completed his fifty- 
second year. ' It is remarkable,' says Dr. Drake, 
'that on the same day expired, in Spain, his 
great and amiable contemporary Cervantes ; and 
the world was thus deprived, nearly at the same 
moment, of the two most original writers which 
modern Europe has produced.'* 

Of the disease by which the life of our poet 
was thus suddenly terminated, we are left in 
ignorance. His son-in-law. Dr. Hall, left for 
publication a manuscript collection of cases, se- 
lected from not less than a thousand diseases ; 
but the earliest case recorded is dated 1617, and 
thus all mention is omitted of the only one which 
could have secured to his work any permanent 
interest or value. 

On the second day after his decease, the re- 
mains of Shakspeare were interred on the north 
side of the chancel of the great church of Strat- 
ford. Here a monument, containing a bust of 
the poet, was erected to his memory. He is 
represented under an arch, in a sitting posture, 
a cushion spread before him, with a pen in his 
right hand, and his left rested on a scroll of 
paper. The following Latin distich is engraved 
under the cushion : 

Judicio Pylium, genio Socraiem, arte Maronem, 
Terra legit, poyulas maret, Olymyus habet. 

The first syllable in Socratem is here made short, 
which cannot be allowed. Perhaps we should 
read Sophoclem. Shakspeare is then appositely 
compared with a dramatic author among the an- 
cients : but still it should be remembered, that 
the eulogium is lessened while the metre is re- 
formed ; and it is well known, that some of our 
early writers of Latin poetry were uncommonly 
negligent in their prosody, especially in proper 
names. The thought of this disiich, as Mr. 
Toilet observes, might have been taken from 
T/i.' Faerii Queene of Spenser.f 



t Book 2. c. 9. St. 48, and c. !0. st. 3. 



xxvn 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



To this Latin inscription on Sha'k^peare, 
should be added the lines which are found under- 
neath it on his monument : 

Stay passenger, why dost thou go so fast f 
Read, if thou canst, whom envious death hath plac'd 
Witliin this monument; Shakspeare, with whom 
Quick, nature dy'd ; whose name doth deck the 

tomb 
Far more than cost ; since all that he hath writ 
Leaves living art but page to sevve his wit.' 
• Obiit Ano. Dni. 1GI6. 
^t. 53, die 23 Apri.' 

And on his grave-stone underneath, is inscribed : 

• Good friend, for Jesus' sake, forbear 
To dig the dust inclosed here. 
Blest be the man that spares these stones. 
And curst be he that moves my bones.' 

The tomb at Stratford is not the only monu- 
mental tribute that has been raised to the honour 
of Shakspeare. A cenotaph was subsequently 
erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey, 
by the direction of the Earl of Burlington, Pope, 
Dr. Mead, and Mr. Martyn. This monument, 
which cost three hundred pounds, was the work 
of Scheeraaker, after a design by Kent, and was 
opened in January, 1741; one hundred and 
twenty-five years alter the death of our author. 
The dean and chapter of Westminster gave the 
ground, and the expenses of the statuary were 
defrayed by a benefit at each of the London thea- 
tres. The receipts of Drury Lane exceeded two 
hundred pounds; at Covent Garden they did 
not amount to more than half that sum. 

Of the genius of Shakspeare it were in this 
place superfluous to write : that task has been 
performed by others ; and is sufficiently discussed 
in the discourses of Rowe, and Pope, and 
Johnson ; but of his disposition and moral cha- 
racter, it may not be uninteresting to give the 
following passage from Dr. Drake : — ' To these 
tradition has ever borne the most uniform and 
favourable testimony. And, indeed, had she been 
silent on the subject, his own works would have 
whispered to us the truth ; would have told us, 
in almost every page, of the gentleness, the be- 
nevolence, and the goodness, of his heart. For, 
though no one has exceeded him in painting the 
stronger passions of the human breast, it is evi- 
dent that he delighted most in the expression of 
loveliness and simplicity, and was ever willing 
to descend from the loftiest soarings of imagina- 
tion, to sport with innocence and beauty. Though 
" the world of spirits and of nature," says the ad- 
mirable Schlegel, " had laid all their treasures at 
his feet : in strength a dcmi-god, in profundity 
of view a prophet, in all-seeing wisdom a pro- 
tecting spirit of a higher order, he yet lowered 
himself to mortals, as if unconscious of his supe- 
riority, and was as open and unassuming as a 
child." 

' That a temper of this description, and com- 



bined with such talents, should be the object of 
sincere and ardent friendship, can excite no sur- 
prise. " I loved the man," says Jonson, with a 
noble burst of enthusiasm, " and do honour his 
memory on this side idolatry, as much as any. 
He was, indeed, honest ; and of an open and free 
nature ;" and Rowe, repeating the uncontra- 
dicted rumour of times past, has told us, — " that 
every one, who had a true taste of merit, and 
could distinguish men, had generally a just value 
and esteem for him ;" adding, " that his exceed- 
ing candour and good-nature must certainly have 
inclined all the gentler part of the world to love 
him." 

' No greater proof, indeed, can be given of the 
felicity of his temper, and the sweetness of his 
manners, than that all who addressed him, seem 
to have uniformly connected his name with the 
epithets worthy, gentle, or beloved ; nor was ho 
backward in returning this esteem, many of his 
sonnets indicating the warmth with which he 
cherished the remembrance of his friends. Thus 
the thirtieth opens with the following pensive 
retrospect : — 

' When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
I summon up remembrance of things past, 

I sigh 

For precious friends, hid in death's dateless night.' 

' And in the thirty-first he tenderly exclaims -. — 

• How many a holy and obsequious tear, 
Hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye. 
As interest of the dead I' 

' Another very fascinating feature in the cha- 
racter of Shakspeare, was the almost constant 
cheerfulness and serenity of his mind: he was 
" verie good company," says Aubrey, " and of a 
very ready, and pleasant, and smooth witt." In 
this, as Mr. Godwin has justly observed, he bore 
a striking resemblance to Chaucer, who was re- 
markable for the placidity and cheerfulness of 
his disposition ; nor can there, probably, be a 
surer indication of that peace and sunshine of 
the soul which surpasses all other gifts, tnan tnis 
habitual tone of mind. 

' That Shakspeare was entitled to its posses- 
sion from his m>ral virtues, we have already 
seen ; and that, in a religious point of view, he 
had a claim to the enjoyment, the numerous pas- 
sages in his works, which breathe a spirit of pious 
gratitude and devotional rapture, will sufficiently 
declare. In fact, upon the topic of religious, as 
upon that of ethic wisdom, no profane poet can 
furnish us with a greater number of just and 
luminous aphorisms; passages which dwell upon 
the heart, and reach the soul ; for they have 
issued from lips of re, from conceptions worthy 
of a superior nature, from feelings solemn and 
unearthly.'* 

* Drake's Shakspeare and his Times, vol. ii.-p, &li 
—616. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



xxvu 



Of the descendants of Shakspeare there is not 
one remaining. Hamnet, his only son, died in 
childhood. His eldest daughter, Mrs. Hall, sur- 
vived her father upwards of thirty years ; and if 
the inscription of her tomb present us with a fair 
estimate of her talents and her virtues, she was 
the worthy child of Shakspeare.* She left one 
daughter only, who is mentioned in our poet's 
will, as his 'niece Elizabeth.' This lady was 
twice married ; to Thomas Nashe, Esq. and 
afterwards to Sir John Barnard, of Abington, 
near Northampton, but had no issue by either 
husband. Judith, the other daughter of our 
poet, was the mother of several children ; of 
which the eldest, with an honest pride in that 
maiden name, which her father's genius had 
rendered illustrious, was christened Shakspeare ; 
but none of her offspring arrived at years of 
maturity. 

It must strike every one as extraordinary, that 
the writings of a poet so distinguished should 
have been handed down to us in so corrupt and 
imperfect a state; and that so little should be 
known with any degree of certainty respecting 
the author of them. Shakspeare himself ap- 
pears to have been entirely careless of lite- 
rary fame. In his early works he was suffi- 
ciently cautious in superintending their pro- 
gress through the press ; and the Venus and 
Adonis, the Rape of Lucrece, and the Titus An- 
droniciis, were presented to the public with as 
much tvpographical accuracy as any volumes of 
the time. He was at first not indifferent to 
celebrity as an author ; but it was a mere youth- 
ful vanity, and having attained the object of his 
ambition, and perceived its worthlessness, he 
afterwards only considered his genius and his 
improved skill in composition as the means of 
acquiring independence for his family, and se- 
curing an early retirement from the anxieties of 
public life. He wrote only for the theatre ; his 

• ' Here lyeth the body of Susanna, wife to John 
Hall, Gent, y^ daughter of William Shakspeare, Gent 
She deceased the lUh of July, Ao. 1G49, aged 66.' 
' Witty above her sexe, but that's not all, 
Wise to salvation was good Mistriss Hall. 
Something- of Shakspeare was in that, but this 
Wholly of him with whom she's now in blisse. 
Then, passenser, hast ne're a teare, 

Toweepe with her that wept with all : 
That wept, yet set herselfe to chere 

Them up with comforts cordiall. 
Her love shall live, her mercy spread. 
When thou hast ne'er a teare to shed.' 
' The foregoing English verses, which are pre- 
served by Dugdale, are not now remaining, half of 
the tombstone having been cut away, and another 
half stone joined to it, with the following inscription 
on it: — " Here lyeth the body of Richard Watts, of 
Ryhon-CIiftbrd, in the parish of Old Stratford, Gent, 
who departed this life the 23d of May, Auno Dom. 
1707, and in the 46th year of his age." This Mr. 
Watts, as I am informed by the Rev. Mr. Daven- 
port, was owner of, and lived at, the estate of Ryhon- 
Clifford, which was once the property of Dr. Hall. 



purpose was answered, if his pieces were suc- 
cessful on the stage ; and he was perfectly care- 
less of the manner in which his most splendid 
productions were disfigured in surreptitious and 
defective editions, and his most exquisite pas- 
sages rendered ridiculous by the blunders of 
ignorant transcribers. The plays that were 
printed in his life-time, with the exception of 
Titits Atidroniciis, had all issued from the press 
under circumstances the most injurious to the 
reputation of their author, without his revision or 
superintendence, and perhaps without his consent 
or knowledge ; and when, eight years after his 
death, his friends Heminge and Condell under- 
took the collection and publication of his works, 
it is scarcely possible that the MSS. from which 
the edition was printed should have been the 
genuine M S S. of Shakspeare. Those had most 
probably perished in the fire that destroyed the 
Globe Theatre in 1613; and the first folio was 
made up from the playhouse copies, and de- 
formed by all the omissions and the additions 
which had been adopted to suit the imperfections 
or the caprice of the several performers — If 
Shakspeare still appears to us the first of poets, 
it is in spite of every possible disadvantage, to 
which his own sublime contempt of applause had 
exposed his fame, from the ignorance, the negli- 
gence, the avarice, or the officiousness, of his 
early editors, f 

To these causes it is to be ascribed that the 
writings of Shakspeare have come down to us 
in a state more imperfect than those of any 
other author of his time, and requiring every 
exertion of critical skill to illustrate and amend 
them. That so little should be known with cer- 
tainty of the history of his life, was the natural 
consequence of the events which immediately 
followed his dissolution. It is true, that the 
ao-e in which he flourished was little curious 
about the lives of literary men : but our ignorance 

' Mrs. Hall was buried on the ICth July, 1649, as 
appears from the register of Stratford.'— Malone. 

+ It may be perceived that many passages must 
have been corrupted beyond the reach of restoration, 
by comparing the following lines from Lear, which 
the inu-enuity of the commentators has fortunately 
been able to set right, with the original text : 

' I am ashamed 



That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus : 
That these hot tears, which break from me p8rfo7-ce. 
Should make thee worth them. — Blasts and foijs 

upon thee ! 
The untented woundings of a father's curse 
Pierce every sense about thee ! — Old fond eyes, 
Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck you out. 
And cast you, with the waters that you lose. 
To temper clay.' 

The first edition reads the first line correctly, and 
continues, ' that these hot tears, that break from me 
perforce, should make the worst blasts and fogs 
when the untender woundings of a father's curse, 
peruse every sense about the old fond eyes, beweep 
this cause again,' &c. 



xxvm 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



must not wholly be attributed to the want of 
curiosity in the immediate successors of the poet. 
The public mind soon became violently agitated 
in the conflict of opposite opinions. Every indi- 
vidual was called upon to take his stand as the 
partisan of a religious or political faction. Each 
was too intimately occupied with his personal 
interest to find leisure for so peaceful a pursuit 
as tracing the biography of a poet. If this was 
the case during the time of civil commotion, 
under the puritanical dynasty of Cromwell the 
stage was totally destroyed ; and the life of a dra- 
matic author, however eminent his merits, would 
not only have been considered as a subject un- 
deserving of inquiry, but only worthy of contempt 
and abomination. The genius of Shakspeare was 
dear to Milton and Dryden ; to a few lofty minds 
and gifted spirits ; but it was dead to the multi- 
tude of his countrymen, who, in their foolish 
bigotry, would have considered their very houses 
as polluted, if they had contained a copy of his 
works. * After the Restoration, these severe re- 
strictions were relaxed, and, as is universally the 
case, the counteraction was correspondent to the 
action. The nation suddenly exchanged the 
rigid austerity of Puritanism for the extreme of 
profligacy and licentiousness. When the drama 
was revived, it existed no longer to inculcate 
such lessons of morality as were enforced by the 
contrition of Macbeth, the purity of Isabel, or the 
suffering constancy of Imogen ; but to teach 
modesty to blush at its own innocence, to corrupt 
the heart by pictures of debauchery, and to exalt 
a gay selfishness and daring sensuality above all 
that is noble in principle and honourable in 
action. At this period Shakspeare was forgotten. 
He wrote not for such profligate timps. His sen- 
timents would have been met hj no corre- 
spondent feelings in the breasts of such audiences 
as were then collected within the walls of the 



* Even in the reign of Elizabeth, the enmity against 
the stage was carried to a great extent ; play-books 
wefe burnt privately by the bishops, and publicly by 
the Puritans. 



metropolitan theatres, composed of men who 
came to hear their vices flattered ; and of women 
masked, ashamed to shew their faces at repre- 
sentations which they were sufficiently abandoned 
to delight in. The jesting, lying, bold intriguing 
rake, whom Shakspeare had rendered contempt- 
ible in Liicio, and hateful in luchimo, was the 
very character that the dramatists of Charles's 
time were painting after the model of the court 
favourites, and representing in false colours as a 
deserving object of approbation. French taste 
and French morals had banished our author from 
the stage, and his name had faded from the 
memory of the people. Tate, in his altered play 
of King Lear, mentions the original in his dedi- 
cation as an obscure piece : the author of the Tat- 
ler, in quoting some lines of Macbeth, cites them 
from the disfigured alteration of D'Avenant- 
The works of Shakspeare were only read by 
those whom the desire of literary plunder in- 
duced to pry into the volumes of antiquated 
authors, with the hopes of discovering some neg- 
lected jewels that might be clandestinely trans- 
planted to enrich their own poverty of invention ; 
and so little were the productions of the most 
gifted poet that ever ventured to embark on the 
varying waters of the imagination known to the 
generality of his countrymen, that Otway stole 
the character of the Nurse and all the love scenes 
of Romeo and Juliet, and published them as his 
own, without the slightest acknowledgment of 
the obligation, or any apprehension of detection. 
A better taste returned : but when, nearly a cen- 
tury after the death of Shakspeare, Rowe under- 
took to superintend an edition of his Plays, and 
to collect the Memoirs of his Life ; the race had 
passed away from whom any certain recollec- 
tions of our great national poet might have been 
gathered ; and nothing better was to be obtained 
than the slight notes of Aubrey, the scattered 
hints of Oldys, the loose intimations which had 
escaped from D''Avenant ; and the vague reports 
which Betterton had gleaned in his pilgrimage to 
Stratford. 



APPENDIX. 



No. 1. 



SHAKSPEARE'S WILL, 



FROM THE ORIGINAL 



IN THE OFFICE OF THE PREROGATIVE COURT OF CANTERBURY. 



Vicesimo quinto die Martii* Anno Be^ni Domini 
nostri Jacohi mine Regis Aiiglicr, &;c. decinw 
quarto, et ScotiiE quadragesiino nono. Anno 
Domini 1616. 

In the name of God, Amen. I William Shak- 
speare, of Stratford-upon-Avon, in the county of 
Warwick, gent, in perfect health and memory 
(God be praised!) do make and ordain this my 
last will and testament in manner and form fol- 
lowing ; that is to say : 

First, I commend my soul into the hands of 
God my Creator, hoping, and assuredly believing 
through the only merits of Jesus Christ my 
Saviour, to be made partaker of life everlasting ; 
and my body to the earth whereof it is made. 

Item, I give and bequeath unto my daughter 
Judith, one hundred and fifty pounds of lawful 
English money, to be paid unto her in manner 
and form following : that is to say, one hundred 
pounds in discharge of her marriage portion 
within one year after my decease, with conside-- 
ration after the rate of two shillings in the pound 
for so long time as the same shall be unpaid 
unto her after my decease ; and the fifty pounds 
residue thereof, upon her surrendering of, or giving 
of such suflScient security as the overseers of this 
my will shall like of, to surrender or grant, all 
her estate and right that shall descend or come 
unto her after my decease, or that she now hath, 
of, in, or to, one copyhold tenement, with the 
appurtenances, lying and being in Stratford- 



• Our poet's will appears to have been drawn up 
in February, though not executed till the following 
month ; for February was first written, and after- 
wards struck out, and March written over it. — 

Ma LONE. 

+ This was found to be unnecessary, as it was 
ascertained that the copyhold descended to the 



upon- Avon aforesaid, in the said county of \Var- 
wick, being parcel or holden of the manor of 
Rowington, unto my daughter Susanna Hall, 
and her heirs for ever.-f- 

Item, I give and bequeath unto my said daugh- 
ter Judith one hundred and fifty pounds more, if 
she, or any issue of her body, be living at the end 
of three years next ensuing the day of the date 
of this my will, during which time my executors 
to pay her consideration from my decease ac- 
cording to the rate aforesaid : and if she die 
within the said term without issue of her body, 
then my will is, and I do give and bequeath one 
hundred pounds thereof to my niecef Elizabeth 
Hall, and the fifty pounds to be set forth by my 
executors during the life of my sister Joan Hart, 
and the use and profit thereof coming, shall be 
paid to my said sister Joan, and after her decease 
the said fifty pounds shall remain amongst the 
children of my said sister, equally to be divided 
amongst them ; but if my said daughter Judith 
be living at the end of the said three years, or 
any issue of her body, then my will is, and so I 
devise and bequeath the said hundred and fifty 
pounds to be set out by my executors and over- 
seers for the best benefit of her and her issue, 
and the stock not to be paid unto her so long as 
she shall be married and covert baron ; but my will 
is, that she shall have the consideration yearly 
paid unto her during her life, and after her 
decease the said stock and consideration to be 



eldest daughter by the custom of the manor. — Ma- 
LONE, edit. 1821. 

X to mij niece — ] Elizabeth Hall was onr poet's 

grand-daughter. So, in Othello, Act I. sc. 1. lago 
says to Brabantio: 'You'll have your nephews neigh 
to you ;' meaning his grand-children. — Malone. 



XXX 



SHAKSPEARE'S WILL. 



paid to ner children, if she have any, and if not, 
to her executors or assigns, she living the said 
lerni after my decease : provided that if such 
husband as she shall at the end of the said three 
years be married unto, or at any [time] after, do 
sufficiently assure unto her, and the issue of her 
body, lands answerable to the portion by this my 
will given unto her, and to be adjudged so by 
my executors and overseers, then my will is, that 
the said hundred and fifty pounds shall be paid 
to such husband as shall make such assurance, 
to his own use. 

hem, I give and bequeath unto ray said sister 
Joan tweuty pounds, and all my wearing apparel 
to be paid and delivered within one year after 
my decease ; and I do will and devise unto her 
the house, with the appurtenances, in Stratford, 
wherein she dwelleth, for her natural life, under 
the yearly rent of twelve-pence. 

Item, I give and bequeath unto her three sons, 

William Hart, Hart,* and Michael Hart, 

five pounds a piece, to be paid within one year 
after my decease. 

Item, I give and bequeath unto the said Eliza- 
beth Hall all my plate (except my broad silver 
and gilt bowlf), that I now have at the date of 
this my will. 

Item, 1 give and bequeath unto the poor of 
Stratford aforesaid ten pounds ; to Mr. Thomas 
Combe, ^ my sword ; to Thomas Russel, esq. 
five pounds ; and to Francis Collins§ of the bo- 

• Hart,] It is singular that neither Shak- 

Bpeave nor any of his family should have recollected 
the Christian name of his nepliew, who was born at 
Stratford but eleven years before the making- of his 
will. His Chiistian name was Thomas; and he was 
baptized in that town, July 24, 1605.— Malone. 

+ except my hroud silver and gilt bowl.] This 

bowl, as we afterwards find, our poet bequeathed to 
his daughter Judith. 

% Mr. Thiimas Combe,] This gentleman was 

baptized at Stratford, Feb. 9, 158S-9, so that he was 
twenty seven years old at the time of Shakspeare's 
deatli He died at Stratford in July 1(557, aged 68; 
and las elder brother William died at the same 
place, Jan. 30, 1666-7, ag-ed 80. Mr. Thomas Combe 
by his will, made June 20, 1656, directed his execu- 
tors to convert all his personal property into money, 
and to lay it out in the purchase of lands, to be set- 
tled on William Combe the eldest son of John Combe 
of AUchurch in the county of Worcester, gent, and 
his lieirs-male ; remainder to his two brothers suc- 
cessively. Where, therefoi'e, our poet's sword has 
wandered, I have not been able to discover. 1 have 
taken the trouble to ascertain the ages of Shak- 
speare's friends and relations, and the time of their 
deaths, because we are thus enabled to judge how 
far the traditions concerning him which were com- 
municated to Mr. Rowe in the beginning- of this 
century, are worthy of credit. — Malone. 

§ to Francis Collin'!—] This gentleman was, 

I believe, baptized at Warwick. He died the year 
after our poet, and was buried at Stratford, Sep. 27, 
1617, on which day he died.— Malone, edit. 1821. 

il to Jlamnet Sadler,] This gentleman was 

godfather to Sliakspeare's only son, who was called 
after him. Mr. Sadler, 1 believe, was born about 



rough of Warwick, in the county of Warwick,, 
gent, thirteen pounds six shillings and eight- 
pence, to be paid within one year after my de- 
cease. 

Item, I give and bequeath to Hamlet [^Hamnet'] 
Sadler II twenty-six shillings eight-pence, to buy 
him a ring ; to William Reynolds, gent, twenty- 
six shilling eight-pence, to buy him a ring ; 
to my godson, William Walker,^ twenty shillings 
in gold ; to Anthony Nash,** gent, twenty-six 
shillings eight-pence ; and to Mr. John Nash,f f 
twenty-six shillings eight-pence ; and to my 
fellows, John Hemynge, Richard Burbage, and 
Henry Cundell,fj: twenty-six shillings eight- 
pence a piece, to buy them rings. 

Item, I give, will, bequeath, and devise, unto 
my daughter, Susannah Hall, for better enabling 
of her to perform this my will, and towards the 
performance thereof, all that capital messuage or 
tenement, with the appurtenances, in Stratford 
aforesaid, called The New Place, wherein I now 
dwell, and two messuages or tenements, with the 
appurtenances, situate, lying, and being in Hen- 
ley-street, within the borough of Stratford afore- 
said ; and all my barns, stables, orchards, gar- 
dens, lands, tenements, and hereditaments, what- 
soever, situate, lying, and being, or to be had, 
received, perceived, or taken, within the towns, 
hamlets, villages, fields, and grounds, of Strat- 
ford-upon-Avon, Old Stratford, Bishopton, and 
Welcombe,§§ or in any of them, in the said 



the year 1550, and died at Stratford-upon-Avon, in 
October 1624. His wife, Judith Sadler, who was 
godmother to Shakspeare's youngest daughter, was 
buried there, March 23, 1613-14. Our poet probably 
was godfather to their son William, who was bap 
tized at Stratford, Feb. 5, 1597-8.- Malone. 

IT to my godson, William Walker,] William, 

the son of Henry Walker, was baptized at Stratford, 
Oct. 16, 1608. I mention this circumstance, because 
it ascertains that our author was at his native town 
in the autumn of that year. Mr. William Walker 
was buried at Stratford, March 1, 1679-80.— Malone. 

•* to Anthony Nash,] He was father of Mi. 

Thomas Nash, who married our poet's grand-daugh- 
ter, Elizabeth Hall. He lived, I believe, at Wel- 
combe, where his estate lay ; and was buried at 
Stratford, Nov. 18, 1622.— Malone. 

tt to Mr. John Nash,] This gentleman died 

at Stratford, and was buried there, Nov. 10, 1623. — 
Malone. 

\X t,o my fellows John Hemynge, Richard 

Burbage, and Henry Cundell,] These our poet's 
/e/to;<'5 did not very long survive him. Burbage died 
in March, 1619; Cundell in December 1627; and He- 
minge in October, 1613.— Malone. 

^5 Old Stratford, Bishojiton, and Welcombe,] 

The lands of Old Stratford, Bishopton, and Wel- 
combe, here devised, were, in Shakspeare's time, a 
continuation of one large field, all in the parish ot 
Stratford. Bishopton is two miles from Stratford, 
and Welcombe one. For Bishopton, Mr. Theobald 
enoneously printed Bushaxton, and the error ha.s 
been continued in all the subsequent editions. The 
word in Sliakspeare's original will is spelt Bushop- 
ton, the vulgar pronunciation of Bishopton. 
I searched the Indexes in the Rolls Chapel from 



SHAKSPEARE'S WILL. 



3X3U 



county of Warwick ; and also all that messuage or 
tenement, with the appurtenances, wherein one 
John Robinson dwelleth, situate, lying-, and 
being, in the Blackfriars in London near the 
Wardrobe : * and all other my lands, tenements, 
and hereditaments, whatsoever : to have and to 
hold all and singular the said premises, with their 
appurtenances, unto the said Susanna Hall, for 
and during the term of her natural life ; and after 
her decease to the first son of her body lawfully 
issuing, and to the heirs-males of the body of 
the said first son lawfully issuing ; and for default 
of such issue, to the second son of her body law- 
fully issuing, and to the heirs-males of the body 
of the said second son lawfully issuing ; and for 
default of such heirs, to the third son of the body 
of the said Susanna lawfully issuing, and to the 
heirs-males of the body of the said third son law- 
fully issuiug ; and for default of such issue, the 
same so to be and remain to the fourth, fifth, sixth, 
and seventh sons of her body lawfully issuing one 
after another, and to the heirs-males of the bodies 
of the said fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh sons 
lawfully issuing, in such manner as it is before 
limited to be and remain to the first, second, and 
third sons of her body, and to their heirs-males ; 
and for default of such issue, the said premises to 
be and remain to my said niece Hall, and the heirs- 
males 01 her body lawfully issuing ; and for default 
of such issue, to my daughter Judith, and the 
heirs-males of her body lawfully issuing ; and for 
default of such issue, to the right heirs of me 
the said William Shakspeare for ever. 

the year 1589 to 1616, with the hope of finding an 
eniolment of the purchase-deed of the estate here 
devised by our iioet, and of ascertaiiiing- its extent 
and vaUie ; but it vvas not enrolled during that pei-iod, 
nor could I find any inquisition taken after his death, 
by which its value niiglit have been ascertained. I 
suppose it was conveyed by the former owner to 
Shakspeare, not by bar^^aiu and sale, but by a deed of 
feoffment, which it was not necessary to enroll. — 
Malo.ne. 

• that messuage or tenement — in the Slack- 
friars in lAiiidon near the Wardrobe ;] This was the 
house which was raorta;aged to Henry Walker. 

By tlie Wardrobe is meant tlie King's Great 
Wardrobe, a royal house, near Puddle-wharf, pur- 
chased by Kinsj Edward the Third from Sir John 
Beauchanip, who built it. Kiu^ Richard III. was 



Item, I give unto my wife my second best bed, 
with the furniture. f 

Item, I give and bequeath to my said daughtei 
Judith, my broad silver gilt bowl. All the rest 
of my goods, chattels, leases, plate, jewels, and 
household stuff whatsoever, after my debts and 
legacies paid, and my funeral expenses dis- 
charged, I give, devise, and bequeath to my son- 
in-law, John Hall, gent, and my daughter, Su- 
sanna, his wife, whom I ordain and make execu- 
tors of this my last will and testament. And I do 
entreat and appoint the said Thomas Russell, 
esq. and Francis Collins, gent, to be overseers 
hereof. And do revoke all former wills, and 
publish this to be my last will and testament. 
In witness whereof I have hereunto put my hand, 
the day and year first above written. 

By me WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 

Witness to the publiihing hereof, 

Fra. Collyns, 
Julius Shaw, 
John Robinson, 
Hamnet Sadler, 
Robert Whatcott. 

Prohatnm fu'it testamentiim svprascriptum apud 
London, ccr am Magistro William Byrde, Legum 
Dociore, ^c. viresimo secundo die viensis Junii, 
Anno Domiiii, 1616; juramento Johajinis Hall 
unius ex. cui, iifc. ile bene, 3jT. jurat, reservata 
poteslaie, &fc. SusanncB Hall, all. ex. ^c. eain 
cum venerit, iSfe. petilnr, 8)c. 



lodged in this house, in the second year of his reign. 
See Stowe's Survey, p. 693, edit. I(il8. After the fire 
of London this office was kept in the Savoy: but it is 
now abolished. — Malone. 

t nnj second best bed, iiith the furniture.] 

Thus Shakspeare's original will. 

It appears, in the oi-iginal will of Shakspeare (now 
in the Prero-iative-office, Doctors' Commons), that 
he had forgot his wife ; the legacy to her being ex- 
pressed by an interlineation, as well as those to 
Heminge, Burbage, and Condell. 

The will is written on three sheets of paper, the 
last two of which are undoubtedly subscribed with 
Shakspeare's own hand. The iirst indeed has his 
name in the margin, but it dilfers somewhat in spell- 
ing as well as manner, from the two signatures 
that follow. — Malone and Stbjjvens. 



xxxii APPENDIX. 






No. 2. 






CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER 




IN 


WHICH 






THE PLAYS OF SHAKSPEARE 


ARE SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN, ACCORDING TO 


THE 


ARRANGEMENTS OF 






CHALMERS, MALONE, AND DR. DRAKE. 


Chalmers and Malone reject Titus Andmnicus, 


poses it to have been produced in 1590. The j 


and Peiicies, as spurious. Dr. Drake does not 


dates which 


they severally ascribe to the re- |1 


notice the former play, but. on the authority ol 


maining plays 


are as follows :- 


— 


Dryden, admits the latter as genuine, and sup- 










Chalmers. 


Malone. 


Dr. Drake. 


1. The Comedy of Errors 


1591 


1592 


1.591 


2. Love's Labour Lost .... 


1592 


1594 


1591 


3. Romeo and Juliet .... 


1592 


1596 


1593 


4. Henry VI. the First Part . 


1593 


1589 


1592 


5. Henry VI. the Second Part 


1595 


1591 


1592 


6. Henry VI. the Third Part 


1595 


1591 




7. The Two Gentlemen of Verona . 


1595 


1591 


1595 


8. Richard III 


1595 


1593 


1595 


9. Richard II 


1596 


1593 


1596 


10. The Merry Wives of W^indsor . 


1596 


1601 


1601 


11. Henry IV. the First Part . 


1S96 


1597 


1596 


12. Henry IV. the Second Part 


1597 


1599 


1596 


13. Henry V 


1597 


1599 


1599 


14. The Merchant of Venice . 


1597 


1594 


1597 


15. Hamlet 


1597 


I6U0 


1597 


16. Kin:; John 


1598 


1596 


1598 


17. A Midsummer-Night's Dream . 


1598 


1594 


1593 ■ 


18. The Taming of the Shrew 


159S 


1596 


1594 


19. All's Well that Ends Well . 


1599 


1606 


1598 


20. Much Ado About Nothing . 




1599 


1600 


1593 


21. As You Like It . . . 




1599 


1599 


1600 


22. Troilus and Cressida . 




1600 


1602 


1601 


23. Timon of Athens 




1601 


1610 


1602 


24. The Winter's Tale 




1601 


1611 


1610 


25. Measure for Measure 




1604 


1603 


1603 


26. Lear .... 




1605 


1605 


1604 


27. Cymbeline .... 




1606 


1609 


1605 


28. Macbeth 




1606 


1606 


1606 


29. Julius Cajsar 




1607 


1607 


1607 


30. Antony and Cleopatra 




1603 


1608 


1608 


31. Coriolanus . . . 




1609 


1610 


1609 


32. The Tempest 




1613 


1611 


1611 


33. The Twelfth Night 




I6I3 


1607 


1613 


34. Henry VIII. 




1613 


1603 


1602 


35. Othello . 




1614 


1604 


1612 



APPENDIX. 



XXXlll 



No. 3. 



EDITIONS OF SHAKSPEARE'S WORKS. 

Of the following plays, editions were printed during the life-time of Shakspeare. 

EARLY QUARTOS. 



Titus Andronicus 1600 . 

Pericles 1009 

Henry VI. Parts 2 and 3 .... 

Richard II 1597 . 

Richard III 159r . 

Romeo and Juliet 1597 . 

Love's Labour Lost 1598 

Henry IV. the First Part .... 1598 . 

Henry IV. the Second Part . . . 1600 

Henry V 1600 . 

Merchant of Venice 1600 

Midsummer-Night's Dream . . . 1600 

Much Ado About Nothing . . . 1600 

Merry Wives of Windsor .... 1602 

Hamlet 1603 . 

Lear • . . . 1608 

Troilus and Cressida 1609 

Othello no date 

The above are the only dramatic productions 
of our Author which were published during his 
life-time. All of them were sent into the world 
imperfectly ; some printed from copies surrepti- 
tiously obtained by means of inferior performers, 
wno, deriving no benefit from the theatre, except 
their salary, were uninterested in the retention 
of copies, which was one of the chief concerns of 



1611 



1598 . 


. 1603 . 


. 1615 


1598 . 


. 1602 . 


. 1612 


1599 . 


. 1003 




1599 . 


. 1604 . 


. 1603 


1602 , 


. 1608 





1613 



1604 



1605 



1607 



1609 



our ancient managers ; and the rest, as Hamlet in 
its first edition, The Merry Wives of Windsor, 
Romeo and Juliet, Henry the Fifth, and the tioo 
Parts of Henry the Fottrth, appear to have been 
published from copies inaccurately taken by the 
ear during representation, without any assistance 
from the origmals belonging to the playhouses 



FOLIOS. 



As Shakspeare had himself shewn such an 
entire disregard for posthumous reputation as to 
omit publishing a collected edition of his vcorks, 
an attempt was made to atone for his neglect by 
his friends Heminge and Condell, about eight 
years after his death, who published, in 1623, the 
only authentic edition of his works. 

The title-page is as follows : 

'Mr. William Shakspeare's Comedies, Histo- 
ries, and Tragedies. Published according to 
the true original Copies, 1623, Fol. Printed at 
the Charges of W. Jaggard, Ed. Blount, 
J. Smethvveeke, and W. Apsley. 

The Dedication of the Players, prefixed to the 
first folio, 1623. 

To the most Noble and Incomparable Paire of 
Brethren, William Earle of Pembroke, &c. 



Lord Chamberlaine to the Kings most Excel- 
lent Majesty, and Philip Earle of Montgomery. 
&c. Gentleman of his Majesties Bed-chamber. 
Both Knights of the Most Noble Order of the 
Garter, and our singular good Lords. 

Right Honourable, 

Whilst we studie to be thankful in our particu- 
lar, for the many favours we have received from 
your L. L. we are falne upon the ill fortune, to 
mingle two the most diverse things that can bee, 
feare and rashnesse ; rashnesse in the enterprize, 
and feare of the successe. For, when we valew 
the places your H. H. sustaine, we cannot but 
know their dignity greater, then to descend to 
the reading of these trifles : and, while we name 
them trifles, we have depriv'd ourselves of the 
defence of our Dedication. But since your L. L. 
have been pleased to thinke these trifles some- 
B 



XXXIV 



APPENDIX. 



thing, heeretofore , and have prosequuted both 
them, and their Authour living, with so much fa- 
vour: we hope that (they out-living him, and he 
not having the fate, common with some, to be 
exequutor to his owne writings) you will use the 
same indulgence toward them, you have done 
unto their parent. There is a great difference, 
whether any booke choose his Patrones, or finde 
them : This hath done both. For, so much were 
your L. L. likings of the severall parts, when 
they were acted, as before they were published, 
the Volume ask'd to be yours. We have but 
collected them, and done an office to the dead, to 
procure his Orphanes, Guardians ; without am- 
bition either of selfe-profit, or fame : onely to 
keepe the memory of so worthy a Friend, and 
Fellow alive, as was our Shakespeare, by humble 
offer of his playcs, to your most noble patronage. 
Wherein, as we have justly observed, no man to 
come neere your L. L. but with a kind of reli- 
gious addresse, it hath bin the height of our care, 
who are the Presenters, to make the present 
worthy of your H. H. by the perfection. But, 
there we must also crave our abilities to be con- 
sidered, my Lords. We cannot go beyond our 
owne powers. Country hands reach foorthmilke, 
creame, fruites, or what they have : and many 
Nations (we have heard) that had not gummes 
and incense, obtained their requests with a lea- 
vened Cake. It was no fault to approch th^jr 
Gods by whatmeanes they could: And the most, 
though meanest, of things are made more pre- 
cious, when they are dedicated to Temples. In 
that name therefore, we most humbly consecrate 
to your H. H. these remaines of your servant 
Shakespeare ; that what delight is in them may 
be ever your L. L. the reputation his, and the 
faults ours, if any be committed, by a payre so 
careful 1 to shew their gratitude both to the living, 
and the dead, as is 

Your Lordshippes most bounden, 

John Heminge, 
Henry Condell. 

The Preface of the Players. Prefixed to the first 
folio edition, published in 1623. 

To the great variety of Readers, 

From the most able, to him that can but spell r 
there you are number'd. We had rather you 
were weigh'd. Especially, when the fate of all 
Bookes depends upon your capacities : and not 
of your heads alone, but of your purses. Well 1 
it is now publique, and you wil stand for your 
priviledges wee know : to read, and censure. 
Do so, but buy it first. That doth best commend 
a Booke, the Stationer sales. Then, how odde 
soever your braines be, or your wisdomes, make 
your licence the same, and spare not. Judge 
your sixe-pen'orth, your shillings worth, your 
five shillings worth at a time, or higher, so you 



rise to tne just rates, and welcome. Bat, what- 
ever you do. Buy. Censure will not drive a 
Trade, or make the Jacke go. And though you 
be a Magistrate of wit, and sit on the Stage at 
Black- Friers, or the Cock-pit, to arraigne Playes 
dailie, know, these Playes have had their triall 
alreadie, and stood out all Appeales: and do 
now come forth quitted rather by a Decree of 
Court, than any purchas'd Letters of commen- 
dation. 

It had bene a thing, we confesse, worthie to 
have bene wished, that the Author himselfe had 
lived to have set forth, and overseen his owne 
writings ; But since it hath bin ordain'd other- 
wise, and he by death departed from that right, 
we pray you, doe not envie his Friends, the 
office of their care and paine, to have collected 
and publish'd them ; and so to have publish'd 
them, as where (before) you were abus'd with 
divers stolne, and surreptitious copies, maimed 
and deformed by the frauds and stealthes of in- 
jurious impostors, that expos'd them . even those 
are now offer'd to your view cur'd, and perfect 
of their limbes ; and all the rest, absolute in 
their numbers, as he conceived the : Who, as he 
was a happie imitator of Nature, was a most 
gentle expresser of it. His mind and hand went 
together : and what he thought, he uttered with 
that easinesse, that wee have scarse received from 
him a blot in his papers. But it is not our pro- 
vince, who onely gather his works, and give 
them you, to praise him. It is yours that reade 
him. And there we hope, to your divers capa- 
cities, you will finde enough, both to draw, and 
hold you : for his wit can no more lie hid, then 
it could be lost. Reade him, therefore ; and 
againe, and againe ; And if then you doe not like 
him, surely you are in some manifest danger, not 
to understand him. And so we leave you to 
other of his Friends, whom if you need, can bee 
your guides: if you neede them not, j'ou can 
leade yourselves, and others. And such readers 
we wish him. 

John Heminge, 
Henrie Condeli- 

Steevens, with some degree of probability, sup- 
poses these prefaces to be the productions of 
Ben Jonson. 

In 1632, the works of Shakspeare were re- 
printed in folio by Thomas Cotes, for Robert 
Allot. Of this edition Malone speaks most con- 
temptuously, though many of the errors of the 
first are corrected in it, and he himself silently 
adopted 186 of its corrections without acknow- 
ledging the debt. The judgment passed by 
Steevens on this edition is, ' Though it be more 
incorrectly printed than the preceding one, it has 
likewise the advantage of various readings, which 
are not merely such as reiterature of copies vrill 
naturally produce. The curious examiner of 



APPENDIX. 



XXIV 



Slmkspeare's text, who possesses the first of these, 
ought not to be unfurnished with the second.' 

The third folio was printed in 1664, for P. C. * 
And a fourth, for H. Herringham, E. Brewster, 
and R. Bentley, in 1682. 

' As to these impressions,' says Steevcns, ' they 
are little better than waste paper, for they differ 
only from the preceding ones by a larger accu- 
mulation of errors.' 

These are all the ancient editions of Shak- 
speare. 



MODERN EDITIONS. 

Ocavo, Rowe's, London, 1709, 7 vols. 
Duodecimo, Rowe''s, ditto, 1714, 9 ditto. 
Quarto, Pope's, ditto, 1725, 6 ditto. 
Duodecimo, Pope's, ditto, 1728, 10 ditto. 
Octavo, Theobald's, ditto, 1733, 7 ditto. 
Duodecimo, Theobald's, ditto, 1740, 8 ditto. 
Quarto, Hanmer's, Oxford, 1744, 6 ditto. 
Octavo, Warburton's, London, 1747, 8 ditto. 
Ditto, Johnson's, ditto, 1765, 8 ditto. 
Ditto, Steevens's, ditto, 1766, 4 ditto. 
Crown 8vo. Capell's, 1768, 10 ditto. 
Quarto, Hanmer's, Oxford, 1771, 6 ditto. 
Octavo, Johnson and Steevens, London, 1773, 
10 ditto. 



Octavo, Johnson and Steevens, Loudon, 1778, 

10 vols. 
Ditto (published by Stockdale), 1784, 1 ditto. 
Ditto, Johnson and Steevens, 1785, third edition, 

revised and augmented by the editor of 

Dodsley's Collection of old Plays (i. e. Mr. 

Reed), 10 ditto. 
Duodecimo (published by Bell), London, 1788, 

20 vols. 
Octavo (published by Stockdale), 1790, 1 ditto. 
Crown 8vo. Malone's, ditto, 1790, 10 ditto. 
Octavo, fourth edition, Johnson and Steevens, 

&c. ditto, 1793, 15 ditto. 
Octavo, fifth edition, Johnson and Steevens, by 

Reed, 1803, 21 ditto. 
The dramatic Works of Shakspeare, in 6 vols. 

8vo. with Notes, by Joseph Raan, A. M. 

Vicar of St. Trinity, in Coventry. — Cla- 
rendon Press, Oxford. 

Vol. i 1786 

Vol. ii 1787 

Vol. iii 1789 

Vol. iv 1791 

!;°!-^:-- h794 

Vol. VI i 

The Plays and Poems of William Shakspeare, 

with the corrections and illustrations of various 

commentators : comprehending a Life of the 

Poet, ajid an erdarged history of the stage, by 

the late Edward Malone, 1821. This editiou 

was superintended by the late Mr. BoswelL 



No. 4. 



FLAYS ASCRIBED TO SHAKSPEARE. 



BITHER EV THE EDITORS OF THE TWO LATER FOLIOS, OR BV THE COStPILERS OP 

ANCIENT CATALOGUES. 



Locrine, 

Sir John Oldcastle. 

Lord Cromwell. 

The London Prodigal. 

The Puritan. 

The Yorkshire Tragedy. 
These were all printed as Shakspeare's in the 
third folio, 1664, without having the slightest 
claim to such a distinction. Steevens thought 
that the Ycrrkshire Tragedy might probably be a 
hasty sketch of our great poet ; but he after- 
wards silently abandoned this opinion. We find 



* This edition is more scarce than even that of 
1623 ; most of the copies haviog been deitroyed ia 
tJjiB fire of Loudon, 1060. 



from the papers of Henslowef that Sir John Old' 
castle was the work of four writers — Munday, 
Drayton, Wilson, and Hathway. It is impossible 
to discover to whom the rest are to be attributed. 

Some other plays, with about equal pretensions, 
have likewise been given to our author. 

The Arraignment of Paris, which is known to 
have been written by George Peele. 

The Birth of Merlin, the work of Rowley, al- 
though in the title-page, 1662, probably by a 
fraud of the bookseller, it is stated to be the joint 
production of Rowley and Shakspeare. 



t He appears to have been proprietor of the Rose 
Theatre, near the bank side in Southwark. The MSS. 
ailuded to were found at Dulwich College. 

B2 



XXXVI 



APPENDIX. 



I 



Edward the Third. Thss play Capell ascribed 
to Shakspeare, for no other reason but that he 
thought it too good to be the work of any of his 
eontemporaries. 

Fair Emma. There is no other ground for 
supposing this play to be among our author's 
productions, than its having been met with in a 
volume, which formerly belonged to Charles II. 
which is lettered on the back, SHAKSPEARE, 
Vol. I. 

The Merry Devil of Edmonton, entered on the 
Stationers' books as Shakspeare's about the time 
of the Restoration ; but there is a former entry, 
in 1608, in which it is said to be wi-ittenby T. B. 
whom Maloae supposes to have been Tony or 
Antony Brewer. 

Mucedorus. The real author unknown. Ma- 
lone conceives that he might be R. Greene. 

Shakspeare is supposed to have had a share 
in two other plays, and to have assisted Ben 
Jratson in. SsjauuSy ?jad Fletcher in the T'm. NuMs 



Kinsmen. If he was the person who united xtith 
Jonson in the composition of Sejanvs, which Mr. 
Gifford very reasonably doubts, no portion of his 
work is now remaining. The piece, as originally 
written, was not successful ; and the passages 
supplied by the nameless friend of Jonson were 
omitted in publication. The fact of his having 
co-of)erated with Fletcher in the Two Noble KinS' 
men has been much discussed ; Pope favours the 
supposition that Shakspeare's hand may be dis- 
covered in the tragedy : Dr. Warburtoa ex- 
presses a belief that our great poet wrote ' the 
first act, but in his worst manner.' All the rest 
of the commentators, without exception, agree 
in rejecting this opinion ; and attribute the origin 
of the tale to the puff of a bookseller, who found 
bis profit in uniting the name of Shakspeare with 
that of Fletcher on publishing the play. The 
judgment of the majority appears in, this cass to 
be the most ccrrect. 



I;: 



I 



DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 



n^HAT praises are without reason lavished on the 1 

dead, and that the honours due only to exeellence 
are paid to antiquity, is a complaint likely to be 
ahvavs continued by those, who, being able to add 
nothing to truth, hope for eminence from the here- 
sies of paradox ; or those, who, being forced by dis- 
appointment upon consolatory expedients, are will- 
ing to hope from posterity what the present age re- 
fuses, and flatter themselves that the regard which is 
yet denied by envy, will be at last bestowed by time. 
Antiquity, like every other quality that attracts 
the notice of mankind, has undoubtedly votaries that 
severence it, not from reason, but from prejudice. 
Some seem to admire indiscriminately whatever has 
been long preserved, without considering that time 
has sometimes co-operated with chance ; all perhaps 
are more willing to honour past than present excel- 
lence: and the mind contemplates genius through the 
shades of age, as the eye surveys the sun through 
artificial opacity. The great contention of criticism 
is to find the faults of the moderns, and the beauties 
of the ancients. While an author is yet living, we 
estimate his powers by his worst performance, and 
when he is dead, we rate them by his best. 

To works, however, of which the excellence is not 
absolute and definite, but gradual and comparative ; 
to works not raised upon principles demonstrative 
and scientific, but appealing wholly to observation 
and experience, no other test can be applied than 
length of duration and continuance of esteem. What 
mankind have long possessed they have often ex- 
amined and compared, and if they persist to value 
the possession, it is because frequent comparisons 
have confirmed opinion in its favour. As among the 
works of nature, no man can properly call a river 
deep, or a mountain high, without the knowledge of 
many mountains, and many rivers ; so in the pro- 
ductions of genius, nothing can be styled excellent 
till it has been compared with other works of the 
same kind. Demonstration immediately displays its 
power, and has nothing to hope or fear from the flux 
of years : but works tentative and experimental must 
t)e estimated by their proportion to the general and 
collective ability of man, as it is discovered in a long 
succession of endeavours. Of the first building that 
was raised, it might be with certainty determined 
that it was round or square ; but whether it was 
spacious OP lofty must have been referred to time. 
The Pythagorean scale of numbers was at once dis- 
covered to be perfect ; but the poems of Homer we 
{'el know not to transcend the common limits of 
luman intelligence, but by remarking, that nation 
after nation, and century after century, has been able 
to do little more than transpose his incidents, new 
name his characters, and paraphrase his sentiments. 
The reverence due to writings that have long sub- 
sisted, arises therefore not from any credulous con- 
fidence in the superior wisdom of past ages, or 
gloomy persuasion of the degeneracy of mankind, 
but is the consequence of acknowledged and indu- 
bitable positions, that what has been longest known 
has been most considered, and what is most con- 
sidered is best understood. 

The poet, of whose works I have undertaken the 
revision, may now begin to assume the dignity of an 



ancient, and claim the privilege of established fame 
and prescriptive veneration. He has long outlived 
his century, the term commonly fixed as the test of 
literary merit. Whatever advantages he might once 
derive from personal allusions, local customs, or 
temporary opinions, have for many years been lost ; 
and every topic of merriment or motive of sorrow, 
which the modes of artificial life afforded him, now 
only obscure the scenes which they once illuminated. 
The effects of favour and competition are at an end ; 
the tradition of his friendships and his enmities has 
perished ; his works support no opinion with argu- 
ments, nor supply any faction with invectives ; they 
can neither indulge vanity, nor gratify malignity ; 
but are read without any other reason than the desire 
of pleasure, and are therefore praised only as plea- 
sure is obtained ; yet, thus unassisted by interest or 
passion, they have passed through variations of taste 
and changes of manners, and, as they are devolved 
from one g-eneration to another, have received new 
honours at every transmission. 

But because human judgment, though it be gra- 
dually gaining upon certainty, never becomes in- 
fallible ; and approbation, though long continued, 
may yet be only the approbation of prejudice or 
fashion ; it is proper to inquire, by what peculiarities 
of excellence Shakspeare has gained and kept the 
favour of his countrymen. 

Nothing can please many, and please long, but 
just representations of general nature. Particular 
manners can be known to few, and therefore few only 
can judge how nearly they are copied. The irregu- 
lar combinations of fanciful invention may delight 
awhile, by that novelty of which the common satiety 
of life sends us all in quest ; but the pleasures of 
sudden wonder aie soon exliausted, and the mind can 
only repose on the stability of truth. 

Shakspeare is above all writers, at least above all 
modern writers, the poet of nature ; the poet that 
holds up to his readers a faithful mirror of manners 
and of life. His characters are not modified by the 
customs of particular places, unpractised by the rest 
of the world ; by the peculiarities of studies or pro- 
fessions, which can operate but upon small numbers ; 
or by the accidents of transient fashions or temporary 
opinions : they are the genuine progeny of common 
humanity, such as the world will always supply, and 
observation will always find. His persons act and 
speak by the influence of those general passions and 
principles by which all minds are agitated, and the 
whole system of life is continued in motion. In the 
writings of other poets a character is too often an 
individual ; in those of Shakspeare it is commonly a 
species. 

It is from this wide extension of design that so 
much instruction is derived. It is this which fills 
the plays of Shakspeare with practical axioms and 
domestic wisdom. It was said of Euripides, thai 
every verse was a precept ; and it may be said of 
Shakspeare, that from his works may be collected a 
system of civil and oeconomical prudence. Yet his 
real power is not shewn in the splendour of parti- 
cular passages, but by the progress of his fable, and 
the tenor of his dialogue ; and he that tries to re- 
commend him bv select quotations, will succeed 



DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 



like the pedant in Hierocles, who, when he offered 
his house to sale, carried a brick in his pocket as a 
specimen. 

It will not easily be imagined how much Shak- 
speare excels in accommodating his sentiments to 
real life, but by comparing him with other authors. 
It was observed of the ancient schools of declama- 
tion, that the more diligently they were frequented, 
the more was the student disqualified for the world, 
because he found nothing there which he should 
ever meet in any other place. The same remark 
may be applied to every stage but that of Shakspeare. 
The theatre, when it is under any other direction, is 
peopled by such characters as were never seen, con- 
versing in a language which was never heard, upon 
topics which will never arise in the commerce of 
mankind. But the dialogue of this author is often 
so evidently determined by the incident which pro- 
duces it, and is pursued with so much ease and 
simplicity, that it seems scarcely to claim the merit 
of fiction, but to have been gleaned by diligent se- 
lection out of common conversation, and common 
occurrences. 

Upon every other stage the universal agent is love, 
by whose power all good and evil is distributed, and 
every action quickened or retarded. To bring a lover, 
a lady, and a rival into the fable ; to entangle them 
in contradictory obligations, perplex them with op- 
positions of interest, and harass them with violence 
of desires inconsistent with each other ; to make 
them meet in rapture, and part in agony ; to fill 
their mouths with hyperbolical joy and outrageous 
sorrow ; to distress them as nothing human ever was 
distressed ; to deliver them as nothing human ever 
was delivered, 's the business of a modern dramatist. 
For this, probability is violated, life is misrepresented, 
and language is depraved, liut love is" only one of 
many passions, and as it has no great influence upon 
the sum of life, it has little operation in the dramas 
of a poet, who caught his ideas from the living world, 
and exhibited only what he saw before him. He 
knew, that any other passion, as it was regular or 
exorbitant, was a cause of happiness or calamity. 

Characters thus ample and general were not easily 
discriminated and preserved, yet perhaps no poet 
ever kept his personages more distinct from each 
other. 1 will not say with Pope, that every speech 
may be assigned to the proper speaker, because many 
speeches there are which have nothing characteris- 
tical : but, perhaps, though some may be equally 
adapted to every person, it will be difficult to find 
any that can be properly transferred from the present 
possessor to another claimant. The choice is right, 
when there is reason for choice. 

Other dramatists can only gain attention by hy- 
perbolical or aggravated characters, by fabulous and 
unexampled excellence or depravity, as the writers 
of barbarous romances invigorated the reader by a 
giant and a dvarf ; and he that should form his ex- 
pectation of human aftairs from the play, or from the 
tale, would be equally deceived. Shakspeare has no 
heroes ; his scenes are occupied only by men, who 
act and speak as the reader thinks that he should 
himself have spoken or acted on the same occasion ; 
even where the agency is supernatural, the dialogue 
is level with life. Other writers disguise the most 
natural passions and most frequent incidents ; so that 
he who contemplates them in the book will not know 
tiiem in the world : Shakspeare approximates the re- 
mote, and familiarizes the wonderful ; the event 
which he represents will not happen, but if it were 
possible, its effects would probably be such as he 



has assigned ; and it may be said, that he has Dot 
only shewn human nature as it acts in real exigences, 
but as it would be found in trials, to which it cannot 
be exposed. 

This therefore is the praise of Shakspeare, that 
his drama is the mirror of life ; that he who has 
mazed his imagination, in following the phantoms 
which othcB writers raise up before him, may here be 
cured of his delirious ecstacies, by reading human 
sentiments in human language ; by scenes from 
which a hermit may estimate the transactions of the 
world, and a confessor predict the progress of the 
passions. 

His adherence to general nature has exposed him 
to the censure of critics, who form their judgments 
upon narrower principles. Dennis and Rymer think 
his Romans not sufficiently Roman, and Voltaire 
censures his kings as not completely royal. Dennis 
is offended, that Menenius, a senator of Rome, should 
play the buffoon; and, Voltaire perhaps thinks de- 
cency violated when the Danish usurper is repre- 
sented as a drunkard. But Shakspeare always makes 
nature predominate over accident ; and if he pre- 
serves the essential character, is not very careful of 
distinctions superinduced and adventitious. His 
story requires Romans or kings, but he thinks only 
on men. He knows that Rome, like every other city, 
had men of all dispositions ; and wanting a buffoon, 
he went into the senate-house for that which the 
senate-house would certainly have afforded him. He 
was inclined to shew an usurper and a murderer not 
only odious, but despicable ; • he therefore added 
drunkenness to his other qualities, knowing that 
kings love wine like other men, and that wine exerts 
its natural power upon kings. These are the petty 
cavils of petty minds ; a poet overlooks the casual 
distinction of country and condition, as a painter, 
satisfied with the figure, neglects the drapery. 

The censure which he has incurred by mixing 
comic and tragic scenes, as it extends to all his works, 
deserves more consideration. Let the fact be first 
stated, and then examined. 

Shakspeare's plays are not in the rigorous and cri- 
tical sense either tragedies or comedies, but compo- 
sitions of a distinct kind ; exhibiting the real state 
of sublunary nature, which partakes of good and evil, 
joy and sorrow, mingled with endless variety of pro- 
portion and innumerable modes of combination ; and 
expressing the course of the world, in which the loss 
of one is the gain of another ; in which, at the same 
time, the reveller is hasting to his wine, and the 
mourner burying his friend ; in which the malignity 
of one is sometimes defeated by the frolic of an- 
other : and many mischiefs and many benefits are 
done and hindered without design. 

Out of this chaos of mingled purposes and casual- 
ties, the ancient poets, according to the laws which 
custom had prescribed, selected some the crimes of 
men, and some their absurdities ; some the moment- 
ous vicissitudes of life, and some the lighter occur- 
rences ; some the terrors of distress, and some the 
gaieties of prosperity. Thus rose the two modes of 
imitation, known by the names oi tragedy a.nd comedii, 
compositions intended to promote different ends by 
contrary means, and considered as so little allied, 
that 1 do not recollect among the Greek or Romans 
a single writer who attempted both. 

Shakspeare has united the powers of exciting 
laughter and sorrow not only in one mmd, but in 
one composition. Almost all his plays are divided 
between serious and ludicrous characters, and, in the 
successive evolutions of the design, sometimes pro- 



DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 



duce seriousness and sorrow, and sometimes levity 
and laughier. 

'I'hat this is a practice conttary to the rules of 
criticism will be readily allowed • but there is always 
an appeal open from criticism to nature. The end 
of writing is to instruct ; the end of poetry to instruct 
by pleasing. That the mingled drama may convey 
all the instruction of tragedy Oi comedy cannot be 
denied, because it includes both in its alternations of 
exhibition, and approaches nearer than either to the 
appearance of life, by shewing how great machina- 
tions and slender designs may promote or obviate 
one another, and the high and the low co-operate in 
the general system by unavoidable concatenation. 

It is objected, tiiat by this change of scenes the 
passions are inteiruptcd in their progression, and 
that the principal event, being not advanced by a 
due gradation of preparatory incidents, wants at last 
tlie power to move, whicii constitutes tiie perfection 
of dramatic poetry. This reasoning is so specious, 
that it is received as true even by those who in daily 
experience feel it to be false. The interchanges of 
mingled scenes seldom fail to produce the intended 
vicissitudes of passion. Fiction cannot move so 
much, but that the attention may be easily trans- 
ferred ; and though it must be allowed that pleasing 
melancholy be sometimes interrupted by unwelcome 
levity, yet let it be considered likewise, that melan- 
choly is often not pleasing, and that the disturbance 
of one man may be the relief of another ; that differ- 
ent auditors have different habitudes ; and that, upon 
the whole, all pleasure consists in variety. 

The players, who in their edition divided our au- 
thor's works into comedies, histories, and tragedies, 
seem not to have distinguished the three kinds, by 
any very exact or definite ideas. 

An action which ended happily to the principal 
persons, however serious or distressful through its 
intermediate incidents, in their opinion constituted 
a comedy. This idea of a comedy continued long 
amongst us, and plays were written, which, by chang- 
ing the catastrophe, were tragedies to-day, and co- 
medies to-morrow. 

Tragedy was not in those times a poem of more 
general dignity or elevation than comedy ; it required 
only a calamitous conclusion, with which the com- 
mon criticism of that age was satisfied, whatever 
lighter pleasure it afforded in its progress. 

History was a series of actions, with no other 
than chronological succession, independent on each 
other, and without any tendency to introduce and 
regulate the conclusion. It is not always very nicely 
distinguished from tragedy. There is not much 
nearer approach to unity of action in the tragedy of 
Anlonx) and Cleopatra, than in the history of liichard 
the Second. But a history might be continued through 
many plays ; as it had no plan, it had no limits. 

Through all these denominations of the drama, 
Shakspeare's mode of composition is the same ; an 
interchange of seriousness and merriment, by which 
the mind is softened at one time, and exiiilarated at 
another. l?ut whatever be his purpose, whether to 
gladden or depress, or to conduct the story, without 
vehemence oi emotion, through tracts of easy and 
familiar dialogue, he never fails to attain his pur- 
pose ; as he commands us, we laugh or mourn, or 
sit silent with quiet expectation, in tranquillity with- 
out indifference. 

When Shakspeare's plan is understood, niost of 
the criticisms of liymer and Voltaire vanish away. 
The play of Hamlet is opened, without impropriety, 
by two centinels ; lago bellows at lirabantio's win- 



dow, without injury to the scheme of the play, though 
in temis which a modern audience would not easil> 
endure ; the character of I'olonius is seasonable and 
useful ; and the Gravediggers themselves may be 
heard with applause. 

Shakspeare engaged in dramatic poetry with the 
world open before him ; tiie rules of the ancients 
were yet known to few ; the public judgment was 
unformed ; he had no example of such fame as might 
force him upon imitation, nor critics of such autho- 
rity as might restrain iiis extravagance : he therefore 
indulged his natural disposition, and his disposition, 
as Rymer has remarked, led him to comedy. In tra- 
gedy he oi'ten writes with great appearance of toil 
and study, what is written at last with little felicity ; 
but in his comic scenes, he seems to produce without 
labour, what no labour can improve. In tragedy he 
is always struggling after some occasion to be comic, 
but in comedy he seems to repose, or to luxuriate, 
as in a mode of thinking congenial to his nature. In 
his tragic scenes there is always something wanting, 
but his comedy often surpasses expectation or desire. 
His comedy pleases by the thoughts and the language, 
and his tragedy for the greater part by incident and 
action. His tragedy seems to be skill, his comedy to 
be instinct. 

The force of his comic scenes has suffered little 
diminution from the changes made by a century and 
a half, in manners or in words. As his personages 
act upon principles arising from genuine passion^ 
very little modified by particular forms, their plea- 
sures and vexations are communicable to all times 
and to all places; they are natural, and therefore 
durable ; the adventitious peculiarities of personal 
habits, are only superficial dies, bright and pleasing 
for a little while, yet soon fading to a deep tinct, with- 
out any remains of former lustre ; but the discrimi- 
nations of true passion are the colours of nature ; 
they pervade the whole mass, and can only perish 
with the body that exhibits them. The accidental 
compositions of heterogeneous modes are dissolved 
by the chance which combined them : but the uniform 
simplicity of primitive qualities neither admits in- 
creas«, nor suffers decay. The sand heaped by one 
flood is scattered by anothei', but the rock always 
continues in its place. The stream of time, which is 
continually washing the dissoluble fabrics of other 
poets, passes without injury by the adamant of Shak- 
speare. 

If there be, what I believe there is, in every nation, 
a style whicii never becomes obsolete, a certain mode 
of phraseology so consonant and congenial to the 
analogy and principles of its respective language, as 
to remain settled and unalteied : this style is pro- 
bably to be sought in tiie common intercourse of life, 
among those who speak only to be understood, with- 
out ambition of elegance. The polite are always 
catching modish innovations, and the learned depart 
from established forms of speech, in hope of finding 
or making better ; those who wish for distinction 
forsake the vulgar, when the vulgar is right : but 
there is a conversation above grossness and below 
refinement, where propriety resides, and wheie this 
poet seems to have gathered his comic dialogue. He 
is therefore more agreeable to the ears of the present 
age than any other author equally remote, and among 
his other excellencies deserves to be studied as one 
of the original masters of our language. 

These observations are to be considered not as un- 

exceptionally constant, but as containing general and 

predoniinant truth. Shakspeare's familiar dialogue 

i is affirmed to be smooth and clear, yet not wholly 



6 



DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 



wathout ruggedness or difficulty : as a country may 
be eminently fruitful, though it has spots unfit for 
cultivation : his characters are praised as natural, 
tliough their sentiments are sometimes forced, and 
their actions improbable ; as the earth upon the 
whole is spherical, though its surface is varied with 
protuberances and cavities. 

Shakspeare with his excellencies has likewise faults, 
and faults sufficient to obscure and overwhelm any 
other merit. I shall shew them in the proportion in 
which they appear to me, without envious malignity 
or superstitious veneration. No question can be 
more innoceatly discussed than a dead poet's pre- 
tensions to renown ; and little regard is due to that 
bigotry which sets candour higher than truth. 

His first defect is that to which may be imputed 
most of the evil in books or in men. He sacrifices 
virtue to convenience, and is so much more careful 
to please than to instruct, that he seems to write 
without any moral purpose. From his writings in- 
deed a system of social duty may be selected, for he 
that thinks reasonably must think morally ; but his 
precepts and axioms drop casually from him ; he 
makes no just distribution of good or evil, nor is 
always careful to shew in the virtuous a disapproba- 
tion of the wicked ; he carries his persons indiffer- 
ently through right or wrong, and at the close dis- 
misses them without further care, and leaves their 
examples to operate by chance. This fault the 
barbarity of his age cannot extenuate ; for it is 
always a writer's duty to make the world better, and 
justice is a virtue independent on time or place. 

The plots are often so loosely formed, that a very 
slight consideiation may improve them, and so care- 
lessly pursued, that he seems not always fully to 
comprehend his own design. He omits opportuni- 
ties of instructing or delighting, which the train of 
his story seems to force upon him, and apparently 
rejects those exhibitions which would be more af- 
fecting, for the sake of those which are more easy. 

It may be observed, that in many of his plays the 
latter part is evidently neglected. When he found 
himself near the end of his work, and in view of his 
reward, he shortened the labour, to snatch the profit. 
He therefore remits his efforts where he should most 
vigorously exert them, and bis catastrophe is impro- 
bably produced or imperfectly represented. 

He had no regard to distinction of time or place, 
but gives to one age or nation, without scruple, the 
customs, institutions, and opinions of another, at the 
expence not only of likelihood, but of possibility. 
These faults Pope has endeavoured, with more. zeal 
than judgment, to transfer to his imagined interpo- 
la ors. We need not to wonder to find Hector quot- 
ing Aristotle, when we see the loves of Theseus and 
Hyppolyta combined with the Gothic mythology of 
fairies. Shakspeare, indeed, was not the only vio- 
lator of chronology, for in the same age Sidney, who 
wanted not the advantages of learning, has in his 
Arcadia, confounded the pastoral with the feudal 
times, the days of innocence, quiet, and security, 
with those of turbulence, violence, and adventure. 

In his comic scenes, he is seldom very successful, 
when he engages his characters in reciprocations of 
smartness and contests of sarcasm ; their jests are 
commonly gross, and their pleasantry licentious ; 
neither his gentlemen nor his ladies have much deli- 
cacy, nor are suflicienlly distinguished from his 
clowns by any appearance of refined manners. 
AVhether he represented the real conversation of his 
time is not easy to determine ; the reign of Elizabeth 
is commonly supposed to have been a time of state- 



liness, formality, and reserve, yet perhaps the re- 
laxations of that severity were not very elegant. 
There must, however, have been always some modes 
of gaiety preferable to others, and a writer ought to 
choose the best. 

In tragedy his performance seems constantly to be 
worse, as his labour is more. The effusions of pas- 
sion, which exigence forces out, are for the most part 
striking and energetic ; but whenever he solicits his 
invention, or strains his faculties, the offspring of 
his throes is tumour, meanness, tediousness, and 
obscurity. 

In narration he affects a disproportionate pomp of 
diction, and a wearisome train of circumlocution, 
and tells the incident imperfectly in many words, 
which might have been more plainly delivered in 
few. Narration in dramatic poetry is naturally tedi- 
ous, as it is unanimated and inactive, and obstructs 
the progress of the action ; it should therefore always 
be rapid, and enlivened by frequent interruption. 
Shakspeare found it an incumbrance, and instead of 
lightening it by brevity, endeavoured to recommend 
it by dignity and splendour. 

His declamations or set speeches are commonly 
cold and weak, for his power was the power of nature; 
when he endeavoured, like other tragic writers, to 
catch opportunities of amplification, and instead of 
inquiring what the occasion demanded, to shew how 
much his stores of knowledge could supply, he 
seldom escapes without the pity or resentment of his 
reader. 

It is incident to him to be now and then entangled 
with an unwieldy sentiment, which he cannot well 
express, and will not reject ; he struggles with it a 
while, and if it continues stubborn, comprises it in 
words such as occur, and leaves it to be disentangled 
and evolved by those who have more leisure to bestow 
upon it. 

Not that always where the language is intricate, 
the thought is subtle, or the image always great 
where the line is bulky ; the equality of words to 
things is very often neglected, and trivial sentiments 
and vulgar ideas disappoint the attention, to which 
they are recommended by sonorous epithets and 
swelling figures. 

But the admirers of this great poet have most rea- 
son to complain when he approaches nearest to his 
highest excellence, and seems fully resolved to sink 
them in dejection and mollify tliem with tender 
emotions by the fall of greatness, tlie danger of in- 
nocence, or the crosses of love. What he does best, 
he soon ceases to do. He is not long soft and pa- 
thetic without some idle conceit, or contemptible 
equivocation. He no sooner begins to move, than 
he counteracts himself; and terror and I'ity, as they 
are rising in the mind, are checked and blasted by 
sudden frigidity. 

A quibble is to Shakspeare, what luminous vapours 
are to the traveller ; he follows it at all adventures ; 
it is sure to lead him out of his way, and sure to en- 
gulf him in the mire. It has some malignant power 
over his mind, and its fascinations aie irresistible 
Whatever be the dignity or profundity of his disqui- 
sitions, whether he be enlarging knowledge, or ex- 
alting affection, whether he be amusing attention 
with incidents, or enchanting it in suspense, let bul 
a quibble spring up before him, and he leaves his 
work unfinished. A quibble is the golden apple for 
which he will always turn aside from his career, or 
stoop from his elevation. A quibble, poor and barren 
as it is, gave hiin such delight, that he was content 
to purchase it by tlie sacrifice of reason, propriety, 



DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 



and truth. A quibble was to him the fatal Cleo- 
patra for which he lost the world, and was content 
to lose it. 

It will be thought strange, that, in enumerating 
the defects of this writer, 1 have not yet mentioned 
his neglect of the unities ; his violation of those 
laws which have been instituted and established by 
the joint authority of poets and of critics. 

For his other deviations from the art of writing, I 
resifrn him to critical justice, without making any 
other demand in his favour, than that which must be 
indulged to all humao excellence ; that his virtues 
be rated with his failings : but, from the censure 
which this irregularity may bring upon him, I shall, 
with due reverence to that learning which I must 
oppose, adventure to try how 1 can defend him. 

His histories, being neither tragedies nor comedies, 
are not subject to any of their laws ; nothing more 
is necessary to all the praise which they expect, than 
that the changes of action be so prepared as to be 
understood, that the incidents be various and aftcct- 
ing, and the characters consistent, natural, and dis- 
tinct. No other unity is intended, and tlierefore none 
is to be sought. 

In his other works he has well enough preserved 
the unity of action. He has not, indeed, an intrigue 
perplexed and regularly unravelled ; he does not en- 
deavour to hide his design only to discover it, for 
this is seldom the order of real events, and Shak- 
speare is the poet of nature : but his plan has com- 
monly what Aristotle requires, a beginning, a middle, 
and an end ; one event is concatenated with another, 
and the conclusion follows by easy consequence. 
There are perhaps some incidents that might be 
spared, as in other poets there is much talk that only 
fills uptime upon the stage ; but the general system 
makes gradual advances, and the end of the play is 
the end of expectation. 

To the unities of time and place he has shewn no 
regard : and perhaps a nearer view of the principles 
on which they stand will diminish their value, and 
withdraw from them the veneration which, from the 
time of Corneille, they have very generally received, 
by discovering that they have given more trouble to 
the poet, than pleasure to the auditor. 

The necessity of observing the unities of time and 
place arises from the supposed necessity of making 
the drama credible. The critics hold it impossible, 
that an action of months or years can be possibly 
believed to pass in three hours ; or that the specta- 
tor can suppose himself to sit in the theatre, while 
ambassadors go and return between distant kings, 
while armies are levietl and towns besieged, while 
an exile wanders and returns, or till he whom they 
saw courting his mistress, shall lament the untimely 
fall of his son. The mind revolts from evident false- 
hood, and fiction loses its force when it departs from 
the resemblance of reality. 

From the narrow limitation of time necessarily 
arises the contraction of place. The spectator, who 
knows that he saw the first act at Alexandria, can- 
not suppose that he sees the next at Rome, at a dis- 
tance to whicli not the dragons of Medea could, in 
so short a time, have transported him ; he knows with 
certainty that he has not changed his place ; and he 
knows that place cannot change itself ; that what 
was a house cannot become a plain ; that what was 
Thebes can never be Persepolis. 

Such is the triumphant language with which a 
critic exults over the misery of an irregular poet, 
and exults commonly without resistance or reply. 
It is time therefore to tell him, by the authority of 



Shakspeare, that he assumes, as an unquestionable 
principle, a position, which, while his breath is form- 
ing it into words, his understanding pronounces to be 
false. It is false, that any representation is mis- 
taken for reality ; that any dramatic fable in its ma- 
teriality was ever credible, or, for a single moment, 
was ever credited. 

The objection arising from the impossibility of 
passing the first hour at Alexandria, and the next at 
Rome, supposes, that when the play opens, the spec- 
tator really imagines himself at Alexandria, and be- 
lieves that his walk to the theatre has been a voyage 
to Egypt, and that he lives in the days of Anthony 
and Cleopatra. Surely he that imagines this may 
imagine more. He that can take the stage at one 
time for the palace of the Ptolemies, may take it in 
half an hour for the promontory of Actium. Delu- 
sion, if delusion be admitted, has no certain limita- 
tion ; if the spectator can be once persuaded, that 
his old accpiaintance are Alexander and Cffisar, that 
a room illuminated with candles is the plain of Phar- 
salia, or the banks of Granicus, he is in a state of 
elevation above the reach of reason, or of truth, and 
from the heights of empyrean poetry, may despise 
the circumscriptions of terrestrial nature. There is 
no reason why a mind thus wandering in ecstacy 
should count the clock, or why an hour should not 
be a century in that calenture of the brains that can 
make the stage a field. 

The truth is, that the spectators are always in their 
senses, and know, from the first act to the last, that 
the stage is only a stage, and that the players are 
only players. They come to hear a certain number 
of lines recited with just gesture and elegant modu- 
lation. The lines relate to some action, and an ac- 
tion must be in some place ; but the different ac- 
tions that complete a story may be in places very 
remote from each other, and where is the absurdity 
of allowing that space to represent first Athens, and 
then Sicily, which was always known to be neither 
Sicily nor Athens, but a lEodern theatre 1 

By supposition, as place is introduced, time maybe 
extended ; the time required by the fable elapses 
for the most part between the acts ; for, of so much 
of the action as is represented, the real and poetical 
duration is the same. If, in the first act, prepara- 
tions for war against Mithridates are represented to 
be made in Rome, the event of the war may, without 
absurdity, be represented, in the catastrophe, as hap- 
pening in Pontus ; we know tiiat there is neither war, 
nor preparation for war ; we know that we are neither 
in Rome nor Pontus : that neither Mithridates nor Lu- 
cullus are before us. The drama exhibits successive 
imitations of successive actions, and why may not 
the second imitation represent an action that hap- 
pened years after the first ; if it be so connected with 
it, that nothing but time can be supposed to inter- 
vene"! Time is, of all modes of existence, most ob- 
sequious to the imagination ; a lapse of years is as 
easily conceived as a passage of hours. In contem- 
plation we easily contract the time of .eal actions, 
and therefore willingly permit it to be contracted 
when we only see their imitation. 

It will be asked, how the drama moves, if it is not 
credited. It is credited with all the credit due to a 
drama. It is credited, whenever it moves, as a just 
picture of a real original ; as representing to the au- 
ditor wiiat he would himself feel, if he were to do or 
suffer what is there feigned to be suffered or to be 
done. The reflection that strikes the heart is not, 
that the evils before us are real evils, but that they 
are evils to which we ourselves may be exposed. If 



DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 



there be any fallacy, it is not that we fancy the play- 
ers, but that we fancy ourselves unhappy for a mo- 
ment ; but we rather lament the possibility than sup- 
pose the presence of misery, as a mother weeps over 
ijcr babe, when she remembers that deatli may take 
it fr^.m her. The delight of tragedy proceeds from 
our consciousness of fiction ; if we thought murders 
and treasons real, they would please no more. 

Imitations produce pain or pleasure, not because 
they are mistaken for realities, but because they bring 
realities to mind. When the imagination is recreated 
by a painted landscape, the trees are not supposed 
capable to give us shade, or the fountains coolness ; 
but we consider, how we should be pleased with such 
fountains playing beside us, and such woods waving 
over us. We are agitated in reading the history bf 
Ileiiru the Fifth, yet no man takes his book for the 
field of Agincourt. A dramatic exhibition is a book 
recited with concomitants that increase or diminish 
its effect. Familiar comedy is often more powerful 
in the theatre, than in the page ; imperial tragedy 
is always less. The humour of Petruchio may be 
heightened by grimace ; but what voice or what ges- 
ture can hope to add dignity or force to the soliloquy 
of Cato 1 

A play read, affects the mind like a play acted. 
It is thferefore evident, that the action is not sup- 
posed to be real ; and it follows, that between the 
acts a longer or shorter time may be allowed to pass, 
and that no more account of space or duration is to be 
taken by the auditor of a drama, than by the reader 
of a narrative, before whom may pass in an hour 
the life of a hero, or the revolutions of an empire. 

Whether Shakspeare knew the unities, and re- 

iected them by design, or deviated from them by 
lappy ignorance, it is, I think, impossible to decide, 
and useless to inquire. We may reasonably sup- 
pose, that, when he rose to notice, he did not want 
the counsels and admonitions of scholars and critics, 
and that he at last deliberately persisted in a prac- 
tice, which he might have begun by chance. As 
nothing is essential to the fable, but unity of action, 
and as the unities of time and place arise evidently 
from false assumptions, and, by circumscribing the 
extent of the drama, lessen its variety, I cannot think 
It much to be lamented, that they were not known 
by him, or not observed : nor, if such another poet 
could arise, should I very vehemently reproach him, 
that his first act passed at Venice, and his next in 
Cyprus. Such violations of rules merely positive, 
become the comprehensive genius of Shakspeare, and 
such censures are suitable to the minute and slender 
criticisms of Voltaire : 

" Non usque adeo permiscuit imis 
Loiib'us summa dies, ut non, si voce Metelli 
Serventur leges, malint a Csesare tolli." 

Yet when I speak thus slightly of dramatic rules, 
I cannot but recollect how much wit and learning 
may be produced against me ; before such authori- 
ties I am afraid to stand, not that 1 think the present 
question one of those that are to be decided by mere 
authority, but because it is to be suspected, that these 
precepts have not been so easily received, but for 
better reasons than I have yet been able to find. The 
result of my inquiries, in which it would be ludicrous 
to boast of impartiality, is, that the unities of time 
and place are not essential to a just drama; that 
though they may sometimes conduce to pleasure, they 
are always to be sacrificed to the nobler beauties of 
variety and instruction ; and that a play, written with 
nice observation of critical rules, is to be contem- 
plated as an elaborate curiosity, as the product of 



superfluous and ostentatious art, by which is shewn, 
rather what is possible, than what is necessary. 

Jle that, without diminution of any other excel- 
lence, shall preserve all the unities unbroken, de- 
serves the like applause with the architect, who shall 
'display all the orders of architecture in a citadel, 
without any deduction from its strength ; but the prin- 
cipal beauty of a citadel is to exclude the enemy ; 
and the greatest graces of a play are to copy nature, 
and instruct life. 

Perhaps, what I have here not dogmatically but 
deliberately written, may recal the principles of the 
drama to a new examination. I am almost frighted 
at my own temerity ; and when I estimate the fame 
and strength of tliose that maintain the contrary 
opinion, am ready to sink down in reverential silence , 
as ^neas withdrew from the defence of I'roy, when 
he saw Neptune shaking the wall, and Juno heading 
the besiegers. 

Those whom my arguments cannot persuade to 
give their approbation to the judgment of Shakspeare, 
will easily, if they consider the condition of his life, 
make some allowance for his ignorance. 

Every man's performances, to be rightly estimated, 
must be compared to the state of the age in which he 
lived, and with his own particular opportunities ; 
and though to a reader a book be not worse or better 
for the circumstances of the author, yet as there is 
always a silent reference of human works to human 
abilities, and as the inquiry, how far man may extend 
his designs, or how high he may rate his native force, is 
of far greater dignity than in what rank we shall place 
any particular performance, curiosity is always busy 
to discover the instruments, as well as to survey the 
workmanship, to know how much is to be ascribed 
to original powers, and how much to casual and ad- 
ventitious help. The palaces of Peru or Mexico were 
certainly mean and incommodious habitations, if 
compared to the houses of European monarclis ; yet 
who could forbear to view them with astonishment, 
who remembered that they were built without the use 
of iron ■? 

The English nation, in the time of Shakspeare, was 
yet struggling to emerge from barbarity. The phi- 
lology of Italy had been transplanted hither in the 
reign of Henry the Eighth ; and the learned lan- 
guages had been successfully cultivated by Lilly, 
Linacre, and More : by Pole, Cheke, and Gardiner; 
and afterwards by Smith, Clerk, Haddon, and As- 
cham. Greek was now taught to boys in the principal 
schools ; and those who united elegance with learning, 
read, with great diligence, the Italian and Spanish 
poets. But literature was yet confined to professed 
scholars, or to men and women of high rank. The 
public was gross and dark ; and to be able to read 
and write, was an accomplishment still valued foi 
its raritj^ 

Nations, like individuals, have their infancy. A 
people newl\ awakened to literary curiosity, being 
yet unacquainted with the true state of things, knows 
not how to judge of that which is proposed as its re- 
semblance. Whatever is remote from common ap- 
pearances is always welcome to vulgar, as to childish 
credulity ; and of a country unenlightened by learn- 
ing, the whole people is the vulgar. I'he study of 
those who then aspired to plebeian learning was laid 
out upon adventures, giants, dragons, and enchant- 
ments. TheDeaih i>/\4)f/n(r was the favourite volume. 

The mind, which has feasted on the luxurious won- 
ders of fiction, has no taste of the insipidity of truth. 
A play which imitated only the common occurrences 
of the world, would, upon the admirers of Palnu^in 



DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 



i) 



and Gu>i of Warwick, have made little impression ; 
he that wrole for such an audience was under the 
necessity of looking round for strange events and 
fabulous transactions, and that incredibility, by 
whicli niaturer knowledge is offended, wa^ tlie chief 
recommendation of writings, to unskilful curiosity. 

Our author's plots are generally borrowed from 
novels ; and it is reasonable to suppose, that he 
chose tlie most popular, such as were read by many, 
and related by more ; for his audience could not have 
followed him through the intricacies of the drama, 
had they not held the thread of the story in their 
hands. 

The stories, which we now find only in remoter 
authors, were in his time accessible and familiar. 
The fable of As you like it, which is supposed to be 
copied from Chaucer's Gamelun, was a little pam- 
hlet of those times ; and old J\Ir. Cibber remem- 
ered the tale of Hamlet in plain English prose, 
which the critics have now to seek in Saxo Gram- 
maticus. 

His English histories he look from English chro- 
nicles and English ballads ; and as the ancient wri- 
ters were made known to his countrymen by versions, 
they supplied him with new subjects ; he dilated 
some of Plutarch's lives into plays, when they had 
been translated by North. 

His plots, whether historical or fabulous, are al- 
ways crowded with incidents, by which the attention 
of a rude people was more easily caught than by sen- 
timent or argumentation ; and such is the power of 
the marvellous, even over those who despise it, that 
every man finds his mind more strongly seized by the 
tragedies of Shakspeare than of any other writer ; 
others please us by particular speeches, but he always 
makes us anxious for the event, and has perhaps ex- 
celled all but Homer in securing the first purpose of 
a writer, by exciting restless and unquenchable cu- 
riosity, and compelling him that reads his work to 
read it through. 

Tne snows and bustle with which his plays abound 
have the same original. As knowledge advances, 
pleasure passes from the eye to the ear, but returns, 
as it declines, from the ear to the eye. Those to 
whom our author's labours were exhibited had more 
skill in pomps or processions than in poetical lan- 
guage, and perhaps wanted some visible and discri- 
minated events, as comments on the dialogue. He 
knew how he should most please ; and whether his 
practice is more agreeable to nature, or whether his 
example has prejudiced the nation, we still find that 
on our stage something must be done as well as said, 
and inactive declamation is very coldly heard, how- 
ever musical or elegant, passionate or sublime. 

Voltaire expresses his wonder, that our author's 
extravagancies are endured by a nation which has 
seen the tragedy of Cato. Let him be answered, that 
Addison speaks the language of poets, and Shak- 
speare, of men. We find in Cato innumerable beau- 
ties which enamour us of its author, but we see no- 
thing that acquaints us with human sentiments or 
human actions ; we place it with the fairest and the 
noblest progeny which judgment propagates by con- 
junction with learning ; but Othello is the vigorous 
and vivacious offspring of observation impregnated 
by genius. Cato affords a splendid exhibition of 
artificial and fictitious manners, and delivers just 
and noble sentiments, in diction easy, elevated, and 
harmonious, but its hopes and fears communicate no 
vibration to the heart ; the composition refers us only 
to the writer ; we pronounce the name of Cato, but 
we thmk on Addison 



The work of a correct and regular writer is a gar- 
den accurately formed and diligently planted, varied 
with shades and scented with flowers : the composi- 
tion of Shakspeare is a forest, in which oaks extend 
their branches, and pines tower in the air, inter- 
spersed sometimes with weeds and brambles, and 
sometimes giving shelter to myrtles and to roses ; 
filling the eye with awful pomp, and gratifying the 
mind with endless diversity. Other poets' display 
cabinets of precious rarities, minutely finished, 
wrought into shape, and polished into brightness. 
Shakspeare opens a mine which contains gold and 
diamonds in inexliauslible plenty, though clouded 
bv incrustations, debased by impurities, and mingled 
with a mass of meaner minerals. 

It has been mucli disputed, whether Shakspeare 
owed his excellence to his own native force, or whe- 
ther he had the common helps of scholastic educa- 
tion, the precepts of critical science, and the exam- 
ples of ancient authors. 

There has always prevailed a tradition, that Shak- 
speare wanted learning, that he had no regular edu- 
cation, nor much skill in tlie dead languages. Jon- 
son, his friend, affirms, that lie had small Latin, and 
less Greek ; who, besides that he had no imaginable 
temptation to falsehood, wrote at a time when the 
character and ac(|uisitions of Shakspeare were known 
to multitudes. His evidence ought therefore to de- 
cide the controversy, unless some testimony of equal 
force could be opposed. 

Some have imagined, that they have discovered 
deep learning in many imitations of old writers; but 
the examples which 1 have known urged, were drawn 
from books translated in his time ; or were such easy 
coincidences of thought, as will happen to all who 
consider the same subjects ; oi such remarks on life 
or axioms of morality as float in conversation, and are 
transmitted through the world in proverbial sentences. 

1 have found it remarked, that in- this important 
sentence. Go before, I'll follow, we read a translation 
of, I prw, sequar. I have been told, that when Ca- 
liban, after a pleasing dream, says, I cried to sleep 
again, the author imitates Anacreon, who had, like 
every other man, the same wish on the same occasion. 

There are a few passages which may pass for imi 
tations, but so few, that the exception only confirms 
the rule ; he obtained them from accidental quotations, 
or by oral communication, and as he used what he 
had, would have used more if he had obtained it. 

The Comedy of Errors is confessedly taken from 
the Moiachmi of Plautus ; from the only play of 
Plautus which was then in English. What can be 
more probable, than that he who copied that, would 
have copied more ; but that those which were not 
translated were inaccessible 1 

Whether he knew the modern languages is uncer- 
tain. That his plays have some French scenes proves 
but little ; he might easily procure them to be writ- 
ten, and probably, even though he had known the 
language in the common degree, he could not have 
written it without assistance. In the story of Romeo 
and Juliet he is observed to have followed the i^ng- 
lish translation, where it deviates from the Italian ; 
but this on the other part j)roves nothing against his 
knowledge of the original. He was to copy, not what 
he knew himself, but what was known to his audience. 

It is most likely that he had learned Latin suffi- 
ciently to make him acquainted with construction, 
but that he never advanced to an easy perusal of the 
Roman authors. Concerning his skill in modern 
languages, I can find no sufficient ground of deter- 
mination i but as no imitations of French or Italian 



10 



DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 



authors have been discovered, though the Italian 
poetvy was then high in esteem, I am inclined to be- 
lieve, that he read little more than English, and chose 
for his fables only such tales as he found translated. 

That much knowledge is scattered over his works 
is very justly observed by I'ope, but it is often such 
knowledge as books did not supply. He that will 
understand Shakspeare, must not be content to study 
him in the closet, he must look for his meaning 
sometimes among the sports of the field, and some- 
times among the manufactures of the shop. 

There is, however, proof enough that he was a 
very diligent reader, nor was our language then so 
indigent of books, but that he might very liberally 
indulge his curiosity without excursion into foreign 
literature. Many of the Roman authors were trans- 
lated, and some of the Greek ; the Reformation had 
filled the kingdom with theological learning ; most 
of the topics of human disquisition had found Eng- 
lish writers ; and poetry had been cultivated, not 
only with diligence, but success. This was a stock 
of knowledge sufficient for a mind so capable of 
appropriating and improving it. 

But the greater part of his excellence was the pro- 
duct of his own genius. He found the English stage 
in a state of the utmost rudeness ; no essays either 
in tragedy or comedy had appeared, from which it 
could be discovered to what degree of delight either 
one or other might be carried. Neither character 
nor dialogue were yet understood. Shakspeare may 
be truly said to have introduced them both amongst 
us, and in some of his happier scenes to have carried 
them both to the utmost height. 

By what gradations of improvement he proceeded, 
is not easily known ; for the chronology of his works 
is yet unsettled. Rowe is of opinion, that perhaps 
we are not to look for his beginning, tike those of other 
writers, in his least perfect works ; art had so little, 
and nature so large a share in ivhat he did, that for 
aught I know, lays he, the performances of his youth, 
as they loere the most vigorous, were the best. But the 
power of nature is only the power of using to any 
certain purpose the materials which diligence pro- 
cures, or opportunity supplies. Nature gives no man 
knowledge, and when images are collected by study 
and experience, can only assist in combining or ap- 
plying them. Shakspeare, however, favoured by 
nature, could impart only what he had learned ; and 
as he must increase his ideas, like other mortals, by 
gradual acquisition, he, like them, grew wiser as he 
grew older, could display life better, as he knew it 
more, and instruct with more efficacy, as he was 
himself more amply instructed. 

There is a vigilance of observation and accuracy 
of distinction which books and precepts cannot con- 
fer ; from this almost all original and native excel- 
lence proceeds. Shakspeare must have looked upon 
mankind with perspicacity, in the highest degree 
curious and attentive. Other writers borrow their 
characters from preceding writers, and diversify them 
only by the accidental appendages of present man- 
ners ; the dress is a little varied, but the body is the 
same. Our author had both matter and form to pro- 
vide ; for, except the characters of Chaucer, to whom 
I think he is not much indebted, there were no writers 
in English, and perhaps not many in other modern 
languages, which shewed life in its native colours. 

The contest about the original benevolence or ma- 
lignity of man had not yet commenced. Speculation 
had not yet attempted to analyse the mind, to trace 
the passions to their sources, to unfold the seminal 
principles of vice and virtue, or sound the depths of 



the heart for the motives of action. All those in- 
quiries, which from that time that human nature be- 
came the fashionable study, have been made some- 
times with nice discernment, but often with idle , 
subtilty, were yet unattempted. The tales, with 
which the infancy of learning was satisfied, exhibited 
only the superficial appearances of action, related 
the events, but omitted the causes, and were formed 
for such as delighted in wonders rather than in truth. 
Mankind was not then to be studied in the closet ; 
he that would know the world, was under the neces- 
sity of gleaning his own remarks, by mingling as he 
could in its business and amusements 

Boyle congratulated himself upon his high birth, 
because it favoured his curiosity, by facilitating his 
access. Shakspeare had no such advantage ; he came 
to London a needy adventurer, and lived for a time 
by very mean employments. Many works of genius 
and learning have been performed in states of life 
that appear very little favourable to thought or to 
inquiry ; so many, that he who considers them is 
inclined to think that he sees enterprize and perse- 
verance predominating over all external agency, and 
bidding help and hindrance banish before them. 
The genius of Shakspeare was not to be depressed by 
the weight of poverty, nor limited by the narrow con- 
versation to which men in want are inevitably con- 
demned : the incumbrances of his fortune were 
shaken from his mind, as dew drops from a lion's mane> 

Though he had so many difficulties to encounter, 
and so little assistance to surmount them, he has 
been able to obtain an exact knowledge of many 
modes of life, and many casts of native dispositions ; 
to vary them with great multiplicity ; to mark them 
by nice distinctions ; and to shew them in full view 
by proper combinations. In this part of his perfor- 
mances he had none to imitate, but has himself been 
imitated by all succeeding writers ; and it may be 
doubted, whether from all his successors more 
maxims of theoretical knowledge, or more rules ol 
practical prudence, can be collected, than he alone 
has given to his country. 

Nor was his attention confined to the actions oJ 
men ; he was an exact surveyor of the inanimate 
world ; his descriptions have always some peculiari- 
ties, gathered by contemplating things as they really 
exist. It may be observed, that the oldest poets of 
many nations preserve their reputation, and that the 
following generations of wit, after a short celebrity, 
sink into oblivion. The first, whoever they be, must 
take their sentiments and descriptions immediately 
from knowledge ; the resemblance is therefore just, 
their descriptions are verified by every eye, and their 
sentiments acknowledged by every breast. Those 
whom their fame invites to the same studies, copy 
partly them, and partly nature, till the books of one 
age gain such authority, as to stand in the place of 
nature to another, and imitation, always deviating a 
little, becomes at last capricious and casual. Shak- 
speare, whether life or nature be his subject, shews 
plainly, that he has seen with his own eyes ; he gives 
the image which he receives, not weakened or dis- 
torted by the intervention of any other mind ; the 
ignorant feel his representations to be just, and the 
learned see that they are complete. 

Perhaps it would not be easy to find any author, 
except Homer, who invented so much as Shakspeare, 
who so much advanced the studies which he culti- 
vated, or efl^used so much novelty upon his age or 
country. The form, the characters, the language, 
and the shows of the English drama are his. He 
seems, says Dennis, to hove been the very original qf 



DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 



11 



our English tragical harmony, that Is, the harmony of 
blank verse, diversified often by dissyllable and tris- 
syliuble terminations. For the diversity distinguislies 
it from heroic harmony, and by bringing it nearer to 
cojumon use makes it more proper to gain attention, 
and more fit for action and dialogue. Such verse we 
make when we are writing prose ; we make such verse 
in common conversation. 

I know not whether this praise is rigorously just. 
The dissyllable termination, which the critic rightly 
appropriates to the drama, is to be found, though, I 
think, not in Gorboduc, which is confessedly before 
our author ; yet in Hieronymo, of which the date is 
not certain, but which there is reason to believe at 
least as old as his earliest plays. This however is 
certain, that he is the first who taught either tragedy 
or comedy to please, there being no theatrical piece 
of any older writer, of which the name is known, 
except to antiquaries and collectors of books, which 
are sought because they are scarce, and would not 
have been scarce had they been much esteemed. 

To him we must ascribe the praise, unless Spenser 
may divide it with him, of having first discovered to 
how much smoothness and harmony the English 
language could be softened. He has speeches, per- 
haps sometimes scenes, which have all the delicacy 
of Rowe, without his effeminacy. He endeavours 
indeed commonly to strike by the force and vigour 
of his dialogue, but he never executes his purpose 
better than when he tries to soothe by softness. 

' Yet it must be at last confessed, that as we owe 
every thing to him, he owes something to us ; that, 
if much of his praise is paid by perception and judg- 
ment, much is likewise given by custom and venera- 
tion. We fix our eyes upon his graces, and turn 
them from hi.s deformities, and endure in him what 
we should in another loath or despise. If we en- 
dured without praising, respect for the father of our 
drama might excuse us ; but I have seen, in the 
book of some modern critic, a collection of anoma- 
lies, which shew that he has corrupted language by 
every mode of depravation, but which his admirer 
has accumulated as a monument of honour. 

He has scenes of undoubted and perpetual excel- 
lence, but perhaps not one play, which, if it were 
now exhibited as the work of a contemporary writer, 
would be heard to the conclusion. I am indeed far 
from thinking, that his works were wrought to his 
own ideas of perfection ; when they were such as 
would satisfy the audience, they satisfied the writer. 
It is seldom that authors, though more studious of 
fame than Shakspeare, rise much above the standard 
of their own age ; to add a little to what is best will 
always be sufficient for present praise, and those who 
find themselves exalted into fame, are willing to cre- 
dit their encomiasts, and to spare the labour of con- 
tending with themselves. 

It does not appear, that Shakspeare thought his 
works worthy of posterity, that he levied any ideal 
tribute upon future times, or had any further pros- 
pect, than of present popularity, and present profit. 
When his plays had been acted, his hope was at an 
end ; he solicited no addition of honour from the 
reader. He therefore made no scruple to repeat the 
same jests in many dialogues, or to entangle different 
plots by the same knot of perplexity, which may be 
at least forgiven him, by those who recollect, that of 
Congreve's four comedies, two are concluded by a 
marriage in a mask, by a deception, which perhaps 
never happened, and which, whether likely or not, 
he did not invent. 

So careless was this great poet of future fame, 



that, though he retired to ease and plenty, while he 
was yet little declined into the vale of years, before he 
could be disgusted with fatigue, or disabled by infir- 
mity, he made no collection of his works, nor desired 
to rescue those that had been already published from 
the depravations that obscured them, or secure to the 
rest a better destiny, by giving them to the world in 
their genuine state. 

Of the plays which bear the name of Shakspeare 
in the late editions, the greater part were not pub- 
lished till about seven years after his death, and the 
few which appeared in his life are apparently thrust 
into the world without the care of the author, and 
therefore probably without his knowledge. 

Of all the puljlishers, clandestine or professed, 
the negligence and unskilfulness has by the late re- 
visers been sufficiently shewn. The faults of all are 
indeed numerous and gross, and have not only cor- 
rupted majiy passages, perhaps beyond recovery, but 
have brought others into suspicion, which are only 
obscured by obsolete phraseology, or by the writer's 
unskilfulness and affectation. To alter is more easy 
than to explain, and temerity is a more common 
quality than diligence. Those who saw that they 
must employ conjecture to a certain degree, were 
willing to indulge it a little further. Had the author 
published his own works, we should have sat quietly 
down to disentangle his intricacies, and clear his 
obscurities ; but now we tear what we cannot loose, 
and eject what we happen not to understand. 

The faults are more than could have happened 
without the concurrence of many causes. The style 
of Shakspeare was in itself ungrammatical, perplexed, 
and obscure ; his works were transcribed for the 
players by those who may be supposed to have sel- 
dom understood them ; they were transmitted by 
copiers equally unskilful, who still multiplied errors ; 
they were perhaps sometimes mutilated by the actors, 
for the sake of shortening the speeches : and were 
at last printed without correction of the press. 

In this state they remained, not as D'- Warburton 
supposes, because they were unregarded, but be- 
cause the editor's art was not yet applied to modern 
languages, and our ancestors were accustomed to so 
much negligence of English printers, that they could 
very patiently endure it. At last an edition was 
undertaken by Rowe ; not because a poet was to be 
published by a poet, for Rowe seems to have thought 
very little on correction or explanation, but that our 
author's works might appear like those of his frater- 
nity, with the appendages of a life and recommenda- 
tory preface. Rowe has been clamorously blamed 
for not performing what he did not undertake, and 
it is time that justice be done him, by confessing, 
that though he seems to have had no thought of cor- 
ruption beyond the printer's errors, yet he tias made 
many emendations, if they were not made before, 
vvhich his successors have received without acknow- 
ledgment, and which, if they had produced them, 
would have filled pages and pages with censures of 
the stupidity by which the faults were committed, 
with displays of the absurdities which they involved, 
with ostentatious expositions of the new reading, and 
self-congratulations on the happiness of discovering it. 

As of the other editors I have preserved the pre- 
faces, I have likewise borrowed the author's life from 
Rowe, though not written with much elegance or 
spirit ; it relates, however, what is now to be known, 
and therefore deserves to pass through all succeed- 
ing publications. 

The nation had been for many years content enough 
with Mr. Rowe's performance, when Mr. Pope made 



12 



DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 



theiu acquainted with the true state of Shakspeare's 
text, shewed that it was extremely corrupt, and gave 
reason to hope that there were means of reforming it. 
He collated the old copies, which none had thought 
to examine before, and restored many lines to their 
integrity ; but by a very compendious criticism, he 
rejected whatever he disliked, and thought more of 
amputation than of cure. 

1 know not why he is commended by Dr. Warbur- 
lon for distinguishing the genuine from the spurious 
plays. In this choice he exerted no judgment of his 
own ; the plays which he received, were given by 
Hemings and Condel, the first editors ; and those 
which he rejected, though, according to the licen- 
tiousness of the press in those times, they were 
printed during Shakspeare's life, with his name, had 
been omitted by his friends, and were never added 
lo his works before the edition of 1664, from which 
they were copied by the later printers. 

This was a work wliich Pope seems to have thought 
unworthy of his abilities, being notable to suppress 
his contempt of the dull dntii of an editor. He under- 
stood but half his undertaking. The duty of a col- 
lator is indeed dull, yet, like other tedious tasks, is 
very necessary ; but an emendatory critic would ill 
discharge his duty, without qualities very different 
from dulness. In perusing a corrupted piece, he 
must have before him all possibilities of meaning, 
witii all possibilities of expression. Such must be 
his comprehension of thought, and such his copious- 
ness of language. Out of many readings possible, 
he must be able to select that which best suits with 
the slate, opinions, and modes of language prevail- 
ing in every age, and with his author's particular 
cast of thought, and turn of expression. Such must 
be his knowledge, and such his taste. Conjecturjil 
criticism demands more than humanity possesses, 
and he that exercises it with most praise, has very 
frequent need of indulgence. Let us now be told no 
more of the dull duty of an editor. 

Confidence is the common consequence of success. 
They whose excellence of any kind lias been loudly 
celebrated, are ready to conclude, that their powers 
are universal. Pope's edition fell below his own ex- 
pectations, and he was so much offended, when he 
was found to have left any thing for others to do, 
that he passed the latter part of his life in a state of 
hostility with verbal criticism. 

I have retained all his notes, that no fragment of 
so great a writer may be lost ; his preface, valuable 
alike for elegance of composition and justness of re- 
mark, and containing a general criticism on his au- 
thor, so extensive that little can be added, and so 
exact, that little can be disputed, every editor has 
an interest to suppress, but that every reader would 
demand its insertion. 

Pope was succeeded by Theobald, a man of narrow 
comprehension, and small acquisitions, with no native 
and intrinsic splendour of genius, with little of the 
artificial light of learning, but zealous for minute 
accuracy, and not negligent in pursuing it. He col- 
lated the ancient copies, and reftified many errors. 
A man so anxiously scrupulous might have been ex- 
pected to do more, but what little he did was com- 
monly right. 

In his report of copies and editions he is not to be 
trusted witiiout examination. He speaks sometimes 
indefinitely of copies, when he has only one. In his 
enumeration of editions, he mentions the two first 
folios as of high, and the third folio as of middle au- 
thority ; but the truth is, that the first is equivalent 
to all others, and that the rest only deviate from it 



by the printer's negligence. Whoever has any of the 
folios has all, excepting those diversities which inere 
reiteration of editions will produce. I collated tiiera 
all at the beginning, but afterwards used only the first. 
Of his notes I have generally retained those which 
he retained himself in his second edition, except when 
they were confuted by subsequent annotators, or were 
too minute to merit preservation. I have sometimes 
adopted his restoration of a comma, without insert- 
ing the panegyric in which he celebrated himself for 
his achievement. The exuberant excrescence of his 
diction I have often lopped, his triumphant exulta- 
tions over Pope and Rowe I have sometimes sup- 
pressed, and his contemptible ostentation I have fre- 
quently concealed ; but I have in some places shewn 
him, as he would have shewn himself, for the reader's 
diversion, that the inflated emptiness of some notes 
may justify or excuse the contraction of the rest. 

Theobald, thus weak and ignorant, thus mean and 
faithless, thus petulant and ostentatious, by the good 
luck of having Pope for his enemy, has escaped, and 
escaped alone, with reputation, from this undertak- 
ing. So willingly does the world support those who 
solicit favour, against those who command reverence ', 
and so easily is he praised, whom no man can envy. 

Our author fell then into the hands of Sir Thomas 
Hanmer, the Oxford editor, a man, in my opinion, 
eminently qualified by nature for such studies. He 
had, what is the first requisite to emendatory criticism, 
that intuition by which the poet's intention is imme- 
diately discovered, and that dexterity of intellect 
which despatches its work by the easiest means. He 
had undoubtedly read much : his acquaintance with 
customs, opinions, and traditions, seems to have been 
large ; and he is often learned without show. He 
seldom passes what he does not understand, without 
an attempt to find or to make a meaning, and some- 
times hastily makes what a little more attention 
would have found. He is solicitous to reduce to 
grammar, what he could not be sure that his author 
intended to be grammatical. Shakspeare regarded 
more the series of ideas than of words ; and his lan- 
guage, not being designed for the reader's desk, was 
all that he desired it to be, if it conveyed his mean- 
ing to the audience. 

Hanmer's care of the metre has been too violently 
censured. He found the measure reformed in so many 
passages, by the silent labours of some editors, with 
the silent acquiescence of the rest, that he thought 
himself allowed to extend a little further Uie licence"^ 
which had already been carried so far without re»^ 
prehension ; and of his corrections in general, it 
must be confessed, that they are often just, and made 
commonly with the least possible violation of the text. 

But, by inserting his emendations, whether in- 
vented or borrowed, into the page, without any notice 
of varying copies, he has appropriated the labour of 
his predecessors, and made his own edition of little 
authority. His confidence, indeed, both in himself 
and others, was too great ; he supposes all to be right 
that was done by Pope and Theobald ; he seems not to 
suspect a critic of fallibility, and it was but reasonable 
that he should claim what he so liberally granted 

As he never writes without careful inquiry and 
diligent consideration, I have received all his notes, 
and believe that every reader will wish for more. 

Of the last editor it is more ditHcult to speak. Re- 
spect is due to high place, tenderness to living re- 
putation, and veneration to genius and learning ; but 
he cannot be justly offended at that liberty of which 
he has himself so frequently given an example, nor 
very solicitous what is thought of notes which he 



DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 



13 



ought never to have considered as part of his serious 
employments, and which, I suppose, since the ardour 
of composition is remitted, he no longer numbers 
among his happy effusions. 

The oriu^inal and predominant error of his com- 
mentary, is acquiescence in his first thoughts ; that 
precipitation which is produced by consciousness of 
quick discernment ; and that confidence which pre- 
sumes to do, by surveying the surface, what labour 
only can perforin, by penetrating the bottom. His 
notes exhibit sometimes perverse interpretations, and 
sometimes improbable conjectures ; he at one time 
gives the author more profundity of meaning than 
the sentence admits, and at another discovers absur- 
dities, where the sense is plain to every other reader. 
But his emendations are likewise often happy and 
just: and his interpretation of obscure passages 
learned and sagacious. 

Of his notes, I have commonly rejected those, 
against which the general voice of the public has ex- 
claimed, or which their own incongruity immediately 
condemns, and which, I suppose, the author himself 
would desire to be forgotten. Of the rest, to part 
T have given the highest approbation, by inserting 
the offered reading in the text ; part I have left to 
the judgment of the reader, as doubtful, though 
specious ; and part 1 have censured without reserve, 
but I am sure without bitterness of malice, and, I 
hope, without wantonness of insult. 

It is no pleasure to me, in revising my volumes, 
to observe how much paper is wasted in confutation. 
Whoever considers the revolutions of learning, and 
the various questions of greater or less importance, 
upon which wit and reason have exercised their power, 
must lament the unsuccessfulness of inquiry, and the 
slow advances of truth, when he reflects, tliat great 
part of the labour of every writer is only the destruc- 
tion of those that went before him. The first care 
of the builder of a new system is to demolish the fa- 
brics which are standing. The chief desire of him 
that comments an author, is to shew how much other 
commentators have corrupted and obscured him. The 
opinions prevalent in one age, as truths above the 
reach of controversy, are confuted and rejected in 
another, and rise again to reception in remoter times. 
Thus the human mind is kept in motion without pro- 
gress. Thus sometimes truth and error, and some- 
times contrarieties of error, take each other's place 
by reciprocal invasion. The tide of seeniing know- 
ledge which is poured over one generation, retires 
and leaves another naked and barren ; the sudden 
meteors of intelligence, which for a while appear to 
shoot their beams into the regions of obscurity, on a 
sudden withdraw their lustre, and leave mortals again 
to grope their way. 

These elevations and depressions of renown, and 
the contradictions to which all improvers of know- 
ledge must for ever be exposed, since they are not 
escaped by the highest and brightest of mankind, 
may surely be endured with patience by critics and 
annotators, who can rank themselves but as the 
satellites of their authors. How canst thou beg for 
life, says Homer's hero to his captive, when thou 
knowest that thou art now to suffer only what must 
another day be suffered by Achilles'! 

Dr. Warburton had a name sufficient to confer 
celebrity on those who could exa't themselves into 
antagonists, and his notes have raised a clamour too 
loud^'to be distinct. His chief assailants are the au- 
thors of The ('unons of Criticism, and of The Uevisal 
of Sliakspearn' s Text; of whom one ridicules his errors 
with airy petulance, suitable enough to the levity of 



the controversy ; the other attacks them with gloomy 
malignity, as if he were dragging to justice an as- 
sassin or incendiary. The one stings like a tly, sucks 
a little blood, takes a gay flutter, and returns for 
more ; the other bites like a viper, and would be 
glad to leave inflammations and gangrene behind 
him. When I think on one, with his confederates, 
I remember the danger of Coriolanus, who was afraid 
that g-i'ris with ijjits, and boijs with stones, should slay 
him in puny battle: when the other crosses my ima- 
gination, I remember the prodigy in Macbeth : 

" A falcon tow'ring in his pride of place. 
Was bj a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd." 

Let me however do them justice. One is a wit, 
and one a scholar. They have both shewn acute- 
ness sufficient in the discovery of faults, and have 
both advanced some probable interpretations of ob- 
scure passages ; but when they aspire to conjecture 
and emendation, it appears how falsely we all esti- 
mate our own abilities, and the little which they have 
been able to perform might have taught them more 
candour to the endeavours of others. 

Before Dr. Warburton's edition, Critical Observa- 
tions on Sliuhspeare had been published by Mr. Upton, 
a man skilled in languages, and acquainted with 
books, but who seems to have had no great vigour of 
genius or nicety of taste. Many of his explanations 
are curious and useful, but he likewise, though he 
professed to oppose the licentious confidence of edi- 
tors, and adhere to the old copies, is unable to re- 
strain the rage of emendation, though his ardour is 
ill seconded by his skill. Every cold empiric, when 
his heart is expanded by a successful experiment, 
swells into a theorist, and the laborious collator at 
some unlucky moments frolics in conjecture. 

Critical, historical, and explanatory Notes have been 
likewise published upon Shakspeare by Dr. Grey, 
whose diligent perusal of the old English writers has 
enabled him to make some useful observations. What 
he undertook he has well enough performed, but as 
he neither attempts judicial nor emendatory criticism, 
he employs rather his memory than his sagacity. It 
were to be wished that all would endeavour to imi- 
tate his modesty, who have not been able to surpass 
his knowledge. 

I can say with great sincerity of all my predeces- 
sors, what I hope will hereafter be said of me, that 
not one has left Shakspeare without improvement, 
nor is there one to whom I have not been indebted 
for assistance and information. Whatever I have 
taken from them, it was my intention to refer to its 
original author, and it is certain, that what I have 
not given to another, I believed when I wrote it to 
be my own. In some perhaps I have been antici- 
pated ; but if I am ever found to encroach upon the 
remarks of any other commentator, I am willing that 
the honour, be it more or less, should be transferred to 
the first claimant, for his right, and his alone, stands 
above dispute ; the second can prove his pretensions 
only to himself, nor can himself always distinguish 
invention, with sufficient certainty, from recollection. 

They have all been treated by me with candour, 
which they have not been careful of observing to one 
another. It is not easy to discover from what cause 
the acrimony of a scholiast can naturally proceed. 
The subjects to be discussed by him are of very small 
importance ; they involve neither property no li- 
berty ; nor favour the interest of sect or party. The 
various readings of copies, and different interpreta- 
tions of a passage, seem to be questions that might 
exercise the wit, without engaging the passions. But 
whether it be, that small t/ii«^s make mean menproud, 



14 



DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 



and vanity catches small occasions ; or that all con- 
trariety of opinion, even in those that can defend it no 
longer, makes proud men angry ; there is often found 
in commentaries a spontaneous train of invective and 
contempt, more eager and venomous than is vented 
by the most furious controvertist in politics against 
those whom he is hired to defame. 

Perhaps the lightness of the matter may conduce 
to the vehemence o{ the agency ; when the truth to 
be investigated is so near to inexistence, as to escape 
attention, its bulk is to be enlarged by rage and ex- 
clamation : that to which all would be indifferent in 
its original state, may attract notice when the fate of 
a name is apiierided to it. A commentator has in- 
deed great temptations to supply by tui bulence what 
he wants of dignity, to beat his little gold to a spa- 
cious surface, to work that to foam which no art or 
diligence can exalt to spirit. 

The notes wiiich I have borrowed or written are ei- 
ther illustrative, by which difficulties are explained ; or 
judicial, by which faults and beauties are remarked; 
or emendatory, by which depravations are corrected. 

The explanations transcribed from others, if I do 
not subjoin any other interpretation, I suppose com- 
monly to be right, at least 1 intend by acquiescence 
to confess, that I have nothing better to propose. 

After the labours of all the editors, I found many 
passages which appeared to me likely to obstruct the 
greater number of readers, and thought it my duty to 
facilitate their passage. It is impossible for an ex- 
positor not to write too little for some, and too much 
for others. He can only judge what is necessary by 
his own experience ; and how long soever he may de- 
liberate, will at last explain many lines which the 
learned will think impossible to be mistaken, and 
omit many for which the ignorant will want liis help. 
These are censures merely relative, and must be 
quietly endured. I have endeavoured to be neither 
superfluously copious, nor scrupulously 'eserved, and 
hope that I have made my author's meaning acces- 
sible to many who before were frightened from pe- 
rusing him, and contributed something to the public, 
by dilFusing innocent and rational pleasure. 

The complete explanation of an author not sys- 
tematic and consequential, but desultory and vagrant, 
abounding in casual allusions and light hints, is not 
to be expected from any single scholiast. All per- 
sonal reflections, when names are suppressed, must 
be in a few years irrecoverably obliterated ; and cus- 
toms, too minute to attract the notice of law, such 
as modes of dress, formalities of conversation, rules 
of visits, disposition of furniture, and practices of 
ceremony, which naturally find places in familiar 
dialogue, are so fugitive and unsubstantial, that they 
are not easily retained or recovered. What can be 
known will be collected by chance, from the recesses 
of obscure and obsolete papers, perused commonly 
with some other view. Of this knowledge every man 
has some, and none has much ; but when an author 
has engaged the public attention, those who can add 
any thing to his illustration, communicate their dis- 
coveries, and time produceswhat had eluded diligence. 

To time I have been obliged to resign many pas- 
sages, which, though I did not understand them, will 
perhaps hereafter be explained, having, 1 hope, illus- 
trated some, which others have neglected or mistaken, 
sometimes by short remarks, or marginal directions, 
such as every editor has added at his will, and often 
by comments more laborious than the matter will 
seem to deserve •, but tl-at which is most difficult is 
not always most important, and to an editor nothing 
is a trifle by which his author is obscure. 



The poetical beauties or defects 1 have not been 
very diligent to observe. Some plays have more, 
and some fewer judicial observations, not in propor- 
tion to their difl'erence of merit, but because I give 
this part of my design to chance and to caprice. 'J'he 
reader, I believe, is seldom pleased to fird his opi- 
nion anticipated; it is natural to deliglt more in 
what we find or make, than in what we receive. 
Judgment, like other faculties, is improved by prac- 
tice, and its advancement is hindered by submission 
to dictatorial decisions, as the memory grows torpid 
by the use of a table book. Some initiation is how- 
ever necessary ; of all skill, part is infused by pre- 
cept, and part is obtained by habit : I have there- 
fore shewn so much as may enable the candidate of 
criticism to discover the rest. 

To the end of most plays I have added short stric- 
tures, containing a general censure of faults, or praise 
of excellence ; in which 1 know not how much 1 have 
concurred with the current of opinion ; but I have 
not, by any affectation of singularity, deviated from 
it. Nothing is minutely and particularly examined, 
and therefore it is to be supposed, that in the play.s 
which are condemned there is much to be praised, 
and in those which are praised much to be condemned. 
The part of criticism in which the whole succession 
of editors has laboured with the greatest diligence, 
which has occasioned the most arrogant ostentation, 
and excited the keenest acrimony, is the emendation 
of corrupted passages, to which the public attention 
having been first drawn by the violence of the con- 
tention between Pope and Theobald, has been con- 
tinued by the persecution, which, with a kind of con- 
spiracy, has been since raised against all the pub- 
lishers of Shakspeare. 

That many passages have passed in a state of de- 
pravation through all the editions is indubitably cer- 
tain ; of these, the restoration is only to be attempted 
by collation of copies, or sagacity of conjecture. The 
collator's province is safe and easy, the conjecturer's 
perilous and difficult. Yet as the greater part of the 
plays are extant only in one copy, the peril must not 
be avoided, nor the difficulty refused. 

Of the readings which this emulation of amend- 
ment has hitherto produced, some from the labours 
of every publisher I have advanced into the text ; 
those are to be considered as in my opinion suffi- 
ciently supported ; some 1 have rejected without men- 
tion, as evidently erroneous ; some I have left, in the 
notes without censure or approbation, as restingin 
equipoise between objection and defence ; and some, 
which seemed specious but not right, I have inserted 
with a subse(juent animadversion. 

Having classed the observations of others, I was 
at last to try wliat 1 could substitute for their mis- 
takes, and how 1 could supply their omissions. 1 col- 
lated such copies as 1 could procure, and wished for 
more, but have not found the collectors of these ra- 
rities very communicative. Of the editions which 
chance or kindness put into my hands I have given 
an enumeration, that I may not be blamed for neg- 
lecting what 1 had not the power to do. 

By examining the old copies, I soon found that 
the latter publishers, with all their boasts of diligence, 
suffered many passages to stand unauthorized, and 
contented themselves with Rowe's regulation of the 
text, even where they knew it to be arbitrary, and 
with a little consideration might have found it to be 
wrong. Some of these alterations are only the ejec- 
tion of a word for one that appeared to him more ele- 
gant or more intelligible. These corruptions I have 
often silently rectified ; for the history of our Ian- 



DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 



15 



gTiag-e, and the true force of our words, can only be 
preserved, l>y keeping the text of authors free from 
adulteration." Others, and those very frequent, 
smoothed the cadence, or regulated the measure ; 
on these 1 have not exercised the same rigour ; if 
Only a word was transposed, or a particle inserted 
or omitted, I have sometimes suffered the line to 
stand ; for the inconstancy of the copies is such, as 
that some liberties may be easily permitted. But 
this practice 1 have not suffered to proceed far, hav- 
ing restored the primitive diction wherever it could 
for any reason be preferred. 

The emendations, which comparison of copies sup- 
plied, I have inserted in the text ; sometimes, where 
the improvement was slight, without notice, and some- 
times with an account of the reasons of the change. 

Conjecture, though it be sometimes unavoidable, 
I have not wantonly nor licentiously indulged- It 
has been my settled principle, that the reading of the 
ancient books is probably true, and therefore is not 
to be disturbed for the sake of elegance, perspicuity, 
or mere improvement of the sense. For though much 
credit is not due to the fidelity, nor any to liie judg- 
ment of the first publishers, yet they who had the 
copy before their eyes were more liicely to read it 
right, than we who read it only by imagination. But 
it is evident that they have often made strange mistakes 
by ignorance or negligence, and that therefore some- 
thing may be properly attempted by criticism, keeping 
the middle way between presumption and timidity. 

Such criticism 1 have attempted to practise, and 
where any passage appeared inextricably perplexed, 
have endeavoured to discover how it may be recalled 
to sense, with least violence. But my first labour is, 
always to turn the old text on every side, and try if 
there be any interstice, through which light can find 
its way ; nor would Huetius himself condemn me, as 
refusing the trouble of research, for the ambition of 
alteration. In this modest industry, I have not been 
unsuccessful. I have rescued many lines from the 
violations of temerity, and secured many scenes from 
the inroads of correction. I have adopted the Ro- 
man sentiment, that it is more honourable to save a 
citizen, than to kill an enemy, and have been more 
careful to protect than to attack. 

I have preserved the common distribution of the 
plays into acts, though I believe it to be in almost 
all the plays void of authority. Some of those which 
are divided in the later editions have no division in 
the first folio, and some that are divided in the folio 
have no division in the preceding copies. The settled 
mode of the theatre requires four intervals in the play, 
but few, if any, of our author's compositions can be 
properly distributed in that manner. An act is so 
much of the drama as passes without intervention of 
time, or change of place. A pause makes a new act. 
In every real, and therefore in every imitative action, 
the intervals may be more or fewer, the restriction of 
five acts being accidental and arbitrary. This Shak- 
speare knew, and this he practised ; his plays were 
written, and at first printed in one unbroken conti- 
nuity, and ought now to be exhibited with short 
pauses, interposed as often as the scene is changed, 
or any considerable time is required to pass. This 
method would at once quell a thousand absurdities. 

In restoring the author's works to their integrity, 
I have considered the pui.ctuation as wholly in my 
power ; for what could be their care of colons and 
commas, who corrupted words and sentences '! ^^'hat- 
ever could be done by adjusting points, is therefore 
silently performed, in some plays with much dili- 
gence, in others with less ; it is hard to keep a busy 



eye steadily fixed upon evanescent atoms, or a dis- 
cursive mind upon evanescent truth. 

The same liberty has been taken with a few par- 
ticles, or other words of slight effect. I have some- 
times inserted or omitted them without notice. I 
have done that sometimes which the other editors 
have done always, and which indeed the state of the 
text may sufficiently justify. 

The greater part of readers, instead of blaming us 
for passing trifles, will wonder that on mere trifles 
so much labour is expended, with such importance 
of debate, and such solemnity of diction. To these 
1 answer with confidence, that they are judging of an 
art which they do not understand ; yet cannot much 
reproach ihem with their ignorance, nor promise that 
they would become in general, by learning criticism, 
more useful, happier, or wiser. 

As I practised conjecture more, I learned to trust 
it less ; and after 1 had printed a few plays, resolved 
to insert none of my own readings in the text. Upon 
this caution I now congratulate myself, for every day 
increases my doubt of my emendation. 

Since I have confined my imagination to the mar- 
gin, it must not be considered as very reprehensible, 
if I have suffered it to play some freaks in its own 
dominion. There is no danger in conjecture, if it 
be proposed as conjecture ; and while the text re- 
mains uninjured, those changes may be safely offer- 
ed, which are not considered even by lam that offers 
them as necessary or safe. 

If my readings are of little value, they have not 
been ostentatiously displayed or importunately ob- 
truded. I could have written longer notes, for the 
art of writing notes is not of difficult attainment. 
The work is performed, first by railing at the stupi- 
dity, negligence, ignorance, and asinine tastelessness 
of the former editors, shewing, from all that goes 
before and all that follows, the inelegance and absur- 
dity of the old reading ; then by proposing something, 
which to superficial readers would seem specious, 
but which the editor rejects with indignation ; then 
by producing the true reading, with a long paraphrase, 
and concluding with loud acclamations on the dis- 
covery, and a sober wish for the advancement and 
prosperity of genuine criticism. 

All this may be done, and perhaps done sometimes 
without impropriety. But I have always suspected 
that the reading is right, which requires many words 
to prove it wrong ; and Ure emendation wrong, that 
cannot without so much labour appear to be right. 
The justness of a happy restoration strikes at once, 
and the moral precept may be well applied to criti- 
cism, (juod dubitus nefeceris. 

To dread the shore which he sees spread with 
wrecks, is natural to the sailor. I had before my eye, 
so many critical adventures ended in miscarriage, that 
caution was forced upon me. I encountered in every 
page wit struggling with its own sophistry, and learn- 
ing confused by the multiplicity of its views. I was 
forced to censure those whom 1 admired, and could 
not but reflect, while 1 was dispossessing their emenda- 
tions, how soon the same fate might happen to my own, 
and how many of the readings which 1 have corrected 
may be by some other editor defended and established. 

" Critics I saw, that others' names efface, 
And fix their own, with labour, in the place ; 
1 heir own, Wkv oihers, soon their place resign'd. 
Or (iisappear'd, and left the first behind."— Pope. 

That a conjectural critic should often be mistaken, 

cannot be wonderful, either to others, or himself, if 

it be considered, that in his art there is no system, 

no principal and axiomatical truth that regulates 

B B 



16 

subordinate positions. His chance of error is renewed 
at every attempt ; an oblique view of the passage a 
slight misapprehension of a phrase, a casual inatten- 
tion to the parties connected, is sufficient to make 
him not only fail, but fail ridiculously ; and when 
he succeeds best, he produces perhaps but one read- 
ing of many probable, and he that suggests another 
will always be able to dispute his claims. 

It is an unhappy state, in which danger is hid 
under pleasure. I'he allurements of emendation are 
scarcely resistible. Conjecture has all the joy and 
all the pride of invention, and he that has once 
started a happy change, is too much delighted to 
consider what objections may rise against it. 

Yet conjectural criticism has been of great use in 
the learned world ; nor is it my intention to depre- 
ciate a study, that has exercised so many mighty 
minds, from the revival of learning to our own age, 
from the Bishop of Aleria to English Bentley. The 
critics on ancient authors have, in the exercise of 
their sagacity, many assistances, which the editor of 
Shakspeare is condemned to want. They are em- 
ployed upon grammatical and settled languages, 
whose construction contribute so much to perspi- 
cuity, that Homer has fewer passages unintelligible 
than Chaucer. The words have not only a known 
regimen, but invariable quantities, which direct and 
confine the choice. Tiiere are commonly more manu- 
scripts than one ; and they do not often conspire in 
the same mistakes. Yet Scaliger could confess to 
Salmasius how little satisfaction his emendations 
gave him, Jlliulunt nobis coiijectiircB nostrce, qxiarum 
nos pudet, posteuquam in meliores codices i/icidimus. 
And Lipsius could complain, that critics were making 
faults, by trying to remove them, Ut olim vitiis, ita 
nunc remediis lahanitur. And indeed, when mere 
conjecture is to be used, the emendations of Scaliger 
and Lipsius, notwithstanding their wonderful saga- 
city and erudition, are often vague and disputable, 
like mine or Theobald's. 

Perhaps I may not be more censured for doing 
wrong, than for doing little ; for raising in the pub- 
lic expectations, which at last 1 have not answered. 
The expectation of ignorance is indefinite, and that 
of knowledge is often tyrannical. It is hard to satisfy 
those who know not what to demand, or those who 
demand by design what they think impossible to be 
done. I have indeed disappointed no opinion more 
than my own ; yet I have endeavoured to perform 
my task with no slight solicitude. Not a single pas 
sage in the whole work has appeared to me corrupt, 
which I have not attempted to restore : or obscure, 
which I have not endeavoured to illustrate. In many 
I have failed like others ; and from many, after all 
my efforts, I have retreated, and confessed the re- 
pulse. I have not passed over, with affected supe- 
riority, what is equally ditficult to the reader and to 
myself, but where I could not instruct him, have 
owned my ignorance. I might easily have accumu- 
lated a mass of seeming learning upon easy scenes ; 
but it ought not to be imputed to negligence, that where 
nothing was necessary, nothing has been done, or that, 
where others have said enough, I have said no more. 

Notes are often necessary, but they are necessary 
evils. Let him, that is yet unacquainted with the 
powers of Shakspeare, and who desires to feel the 
highest pleasure that the drama can give, read every 
play from the first scene to the last, with utter negli- 
gence of all his commentators. When his fancy is 
once on the wing, let it not stoop at correction or 



DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 



explanation. When his attention is strongly engaged, 
let it disdain alike to turn aside to the name of Theo 
bald and of Pope. Let him read on through bright- 
ness and obscurity, through integrity and corruption ; 
let him preserve his comprehension of the dialogue, 
and his interest in the fable. And when the plea- 
sures of novelty have ceased, let him attempt exact- 
ness, and read the commentators. 

Particular passages are cleared by notes, but the 
general effect of the work is weakened. The mind 
is refrigerated by interruption ; the thoughts are 
diverted from the principal subject ; the reader is 
weary, he suspects not why ; and at last throws 
away the book which he has too diligently studied. 

Parts are not to be examined till the whole has 
been surveyed ; there is a kind of intellectual re- 
moteness necessary for the comprehension of any 
great work in its full design and in its true propor- 
tions ; a close approach shews the smaller niceties, 
but the beauty of the whole is discerned no longer. 

It is not very grateful to consider how little the 
succession of editors has added to this author's power 
of pleasing. He was read, admired, studied, and 
imitated, while he was yet .deformed with all the 
improprieties which ignorance and neglect could ac- 
cumulate upon him ; while the reading was yet not 
rectified, nor his allusions understood ; yet then did 
Dryden pronounce, " that Shakspeare was the man, 
who, of all modern and perhaps ancient poets, had 
the largest and most comprehensive soul. All the 
images of nature were still present to him, and he 
drew them not laboriously, but luckily: when he de- 
scribes any thing, you more than see it, you feel it 
too. Those, who accuse him to have wanted learn- 
ing, give him the greater commendation ; he was na- 
turally learned ; he needed not the spectacles of 
books to read nature ; he looked inv^ards, and found 
her there. I cannot say he is every where alike ; 
were he so, I should do him injury to compare him 
with the greatest of mankind. He is many times flat 
and insipid ; his comic wit degenerating into 
clenches, his serious swelling into bombast. But he 
is always great, when some great occasion is pre- 
sented to him ; no man can say, he ever had a fit 
subject for his wit, and did not then raise himself as 
high above the rest of poets, 

' Quantum lenta soleot inter viburna cupressi.' " 

It is to be lamented, that such a writer should 
want a commentary ; that his language should be- 
come obsolete, or his sentiments obscure. But it is 
vain to carry wishes beyond the condition of human 
tilings ; that which must happen to all, has happen- 
ed to Shakspeare, by accident and time ; and more 
than has been suffered by any other writer since the 
use of types, has been suffered by him through his 
own negligence of fame, or perhaps by that superio- 
rity of mind, which despised its own performances, 
when it compaied them with its powers, and judged 
those works unworthy to be preserved, which the 
critics of following ages were to contend for the fame 
of restoring and explaining. 

Among these candidates of inferior fame, I am 
now to stand the judgment of the public : and wish 
that I could confidently prod-ce my commentary as 
equal to the encouragement which I have had the 
honour of receiving. Every work of this kind is by 
its nature deficient, and 1 should feel little solicitude 
about the sentence, were it to be pronounced only 
by the skilful and the learned. 



GLOSSARY. 



ABATE, to depress, sink, sub- 
dtte. 

ABC-book, a catechism. 

Abjects, servile perboiis. 

Able, to qualify or uphold. 

Abortive, issuiug before its 
time. 

Absolut«,highly accomplished, 
perfect. 

Abused, deceived. 

A by, to pay dear for. 

Abysm, abyss. 

Accuse, accusation. 

Achieve, to obtain. 

Acquittance, requital. 

Action, direction by mute 
signs, charge, or accusation. 

Action-takiiig, litigious. 

Additions, titles or descrij)- 
tions. 

Address, to make ready. 

Addressed, or addrest, ready. 

Advance, to prefer, to raise to 
honour. 

Adversity, contrariety. 

Advertisement, admonition. 

Advertising, attentive. 

Advice, consideratioQ, discre- 
tion, thought. 

Advise, to consider, recollect. 

Advised, not precipitant, cool, 
cautious. 

Afeard, afraid. 

Affect, love. 

Affection, affectation, imagi- 
nation, disposition, quality. 

Affectioned, affected. 

Affections, passions, iaordinate 
desires. 

Affeered, confirmed. 

Affied, betrothed. 

Affined, joined by affinity. 

Affront, to meet or face. 

Affy, to betroth in marriag^. 

Aglet-baby, diminutive being. 

Agnize, acknowledge, confess. 

A-good, in good earnest. 

Aiery, the nest of an eagle or 
hawk. 

Aim, guess, encouragement, 
suspicion. 

Aliler-liefest, beloved above all 
things. 

Ale, a merry meeting. 

Allow, to approve. 

Allowance, approbation. 

Amaze, to perplex or confuse. 

Ames-ace, the lowest chance 
of the dice. 

Amort, sunk and dispirited. 

An, as if. 

Anchor, anchoret. 

Ancient, an ensign. 

Anight, in the night. 

Answer, retaliation. 

Anthropophaginiaa, cannibal. 

Antic, the fool of the old 
farces. 

Antiquity, old age. 

Antres, caves and dens. 

Apparent, seeming, not real, 
heir apparent, or next clai- 
mant. 

Appe.ll, to accuse. 

Appeared, rendered apparent. 

Apply, to attend to, consider. 

Appointment, preparation. 

Apprehensiou, opinion. 

Apprehensive, quick to under- 
stand. 

Approbation, entry on proba- 
tion. 

Approof, proof, approbation. 

Approve, to justify, to make 
good, to establish, to recom- 
mend to approbation. 

Approved, felt, experienced, 
convicted by proof. 

Approvers, persons who try. 

Aqua-vitae, strong waters. 

Aroitrate, to determine. 

Arch, chief. 

Argentine, silver. 

Argier. Algiers. 

Argosies, ships of great bur- 
then, galleoiis. 

Argument, subject for conver- 
sation, evidence, proof. 

Arm, to take up in the arms. 

Aroint, avaunt, be gone. 



A row, successively, one after 
another. 

Art, practice as distinguished 
from theory, theory. 

Articulate, enter into articles. 

Articulated, exhibited in arti- 
cles. 

Artificial, ingenious, artful. 

As, as if. 

Aspect, countenance. 

Asi>ersion, sprinkling. 

Assay, test. 

Assiaego, a he-ass. 

Assurance, conveyance, deed. 

Assured, affianced. 

A stringer, a falconer. 

Ates, instigation from Ate, the 
mischievous goddess that in- 
cites bloodshed. 

Atomies, minute particles dis- 
cernible in a stream of sun- 
shine that breaks into a dark- 
ened room, atoms. 

Atone, to reconcile. 

Attasked, reprehended, cor- 
rected. 

Attended, waited for, 

Attent, attentive. 

Attorney, deputation. 

Attorneyship, the discretional 
agency of another. 

Attornied, supplied by substi- 
tution of emoassies. 

Attributive, that which attri- 
butes or gives. 

Avaunt, contemptuous dismis- 
sion. 

Averring, confirming. 

Audacious, spirited, animated. 

Audrey, acorruption of Ethel- 
dreda. 

Augurs, auguries or prognosti- 
cations. 

Aukward, adverse. 

Authentic, an epithet applied 
to the learned. 

Awful, reverend, worshipful. 

Awless, not producing awe. 

Baccare, stand back, give 
place. 

Bale, misery, calamity. 

Baleful, baneful. 

Balked, bathed or piled up. 

Balm, the oil of consecration. 

Band, bond. 

Bandog, village dog or mastiff. 

Bank, to sail along the banks. 

Banning, cursing. 

Banquet, a slight refection, a 
desert. 

Bans, curses. 

Bar, barrier. 

Barbed, cai>arisoned in a war- 
like manner. 

Barful, full of impediments. 

Barm, yeast. 

Barn, or bairn, a child. 

Barnacle, a kind of shell-fish. 

Base, dishonoured. 

Base, a rustic game, called pri- 
son-base. 

Base'i, a kind of dress used by 
knights on horseback. 

Basilisks, a species of cannon. 

Basta, Spanish, 'tis enough. 

Bastard, raisin wine. 

Bat, a club, or staff. 

Bate, strife, contention. 

Bate, to flutter as a hawk. 

Batlet.an instrument used by 
washers of clothes. 

Batten, to grow fat. 

Battle, army. 

Bavin, brushwood. 

Bawcock, a jolly cock. 

Bay, the space between the 
main beams of a roof. 

Bay-window, bow window, one 
in a recess. 

Beak, the forecastle, or the 
boltsprii. 

Beard, to oppose in a hostile 
manner, to set at defiance. 

Bearing, carriage, demeanour. 

Bearing-cloth, a mantle used 
at christenings. 

Beat, in falconry, to flutter. 

Beating, hammering, dwelling 
avon. 



Beaver, helmet in general. 

Beck, a salutation made with 
the head. 

Becomed, becoming. 

Beet le, to hang over the base , 

Being, abode. 

Belongings, endowments. 

Be-mete, be-aieasure, 

Be-moiled, be-draggled, be- 
niired. 

Bending, unequal to the 
weight. 

Benetit, beneficiary. 

Beat, the utmost degree of any 
passion. 

Benumbed, inflexible, immove- 
able. 

Beshrew, ill befall. 

Be.st, bravest. 

Bestowed, left, stowed, or 
lodged. 

Bestraught, distraught or dis- 
tracted. 

Beteem, to give, to pour out, 
to permit, or suffer. 

Bewray, betray, discover. 

Bezonian, a term of reproach. 

Bid, to invite, to pray. 

Biding, place, abiding. 

Biggiug, a kind of cap. 

Bilberry, the whortleberry. 

Bilbo, a Spanish blade of pecu- 
liar excellence. 

Bilboes, a specits of fetters. 

Bill, a weapon carried by 
watchmen, a label, or adver- 
tisement, articles of accusa- 
tion. 

Bird-bolt, a species of arrow. 

Bisson, blind. 

Blank, the white mark at 
which an arrow is shot. 

Blast, burst. 

Blear, to deceive. 

Blench, to start off. 

Blent, blended, mixed. 

Blind-worm, the slow-worm. 

Blistered, pufi'ed out like blis- 
ters. 

Blood, ancestry, high spirits, 
true metal, passions, natural 
propensities. 

BfooQ-boltered, daubed with 
blood. 

151own, puffed or swollen. 

Blows, swells. 

Blum, stupid, insensible. 

Board, to accost, to address. 

Bobb, to trick, to make a fool 
of. 

Bodged, boggled, made bung- 
ling work. 

Bodkin, a small dagger. 

Bold, confident, to embolden. 

Boldness, confidence. 

Bolted, sifted, refined. 

Bolting-hutch, the receptacle 
in which the meal is bolted. 

Bombard, or bumbard, a bar- 
rel. 

Bombast, stuffing of clothes. 

Bona-robas, strumpets. 

Bond, bounden duty. 

Bony, or bonny, handsome, 
goodlooking. 

Book, paper of conditions. 

Boot, profit, advantage, some- 
thing over and above. 

Bore, demeaned. 

liore, the caliber of a gun, the 
capacity of the barrel. 

Bores, stabs, or wounds. 

Bosky, woody. 

Bosom, wish, heart's desire. 

Bots, worms in the stomach of 
a horse. 

Bourn, boundary, rivulet. 

Bow, yoke. 

Brace, armour for the arm, 
state of defence. 

Brach, a si>ecies of hound. 

Braid, crafty or deceitful. 

Brake, a thicket, furze-hush. 

Brave, to make fine or splen- 
did. 

Bravery, showy dress. 

Brawl, a kind of dance. 

Breach, of the sea, breaking of 
the sea. 

Breast, voice, surface. 



Breath, breathing, voice. 

Breathe, to utter. 

Brea'hed, inured by constant 
practice. 

Breathing, complimentary. 

Breeched, sheathed. 

Breeching, liable to school-boy 
punishment. 

Bridal, the nuptial feast. 

Brief, a short account, letter, 
or enumeratiiin. 

Bring, to attend or accompany 

Biize, the gad, or horse-liy. 

Broached, spitted, transfixed. 

Brock, a badger. 

Broke, to deal with a pander. 

Broken, toothless. 

Broker, a matchmaker, a pro- 
curess or pimp. 

Brooch, an ornamental buckle. 

Brooched, adorusd as with a 
brooch. 

Brotherhoods, confraternities, 
or corporations. 

Brow, height. 

Brownist, the name of a sect. 

Bruit, noise, report. 

Bruited, reported with cla- 
mour. 

Brush, detrition, decay. 

Buckle, to bend, to yield to 
pressure. 

Bugs, bugbears, terrors. 

Bulk, the body. 

Bumbard. .See Bombard. 

Bunting, a bird ouiwardl}' 
like a skylark. 

Burgouet, a kind of helmet. 

liurst, broken. 

Bury, to conceal, to keep se- 
cret. 

Bush, the sign of a public- 
house. 

Busky, woody. See Bosky. 

But, only, unless, except. 

fiutt-shaft, an arrow to shoot 
at butts with. 

Buxom, obedient, under good 
command. 

By, according to, bj' means of. 

By 'rl akin, by our ladykiu or 
little lady. 

Caddis, a narrow worsted gal- 
loon. 

Cade, a barrel. 

Cadent, falling. 

Cage, a prison. 

Cain-coloured, yellow. 

Caitiff, a jjri.soner, a slave, a 
scoundrel. 

Calculate, to foretell or pro- 
phesy. 

Caliver, a species of musket. 

Call, to visit. 

Callet, a lewd woman. 

Calling, aijpellalion. 

Calm, qualm. 

Canary, a sprightly nimble 
dance. 

Candle-waisters, those who sit 
up all night to drink. 

(i^anker, the dog-ro.>e. 

Canstick, candlestick. 

Cantel, or Cantle, a comer or 
piece of any thing. 

Cantons, cantos. 

Canvas, to sift. 

Canvas-climber, a sailor who 
climbs to adjust the sails. 

Cap, the top, the princip.nl. 

Cap, to salute by taking off the 
cap. 

Capable, perceptible, intelli- 
gent, quick of apprehension, 
ample, capacious. 

Capitulate, to make henil. 

Capon, metaphnr for a letter. 

Capricious, lascivious. 

Captious, capacious, or reci- 
pient. 

Carack, a ship of great bulk. 

Carbonadoed, scotched like 
meat for the gridiron. 

Card, perhaps a sea-chart. 

Care, to make provision, to 
take care. 

Care, inclination. 

Careires, the motionof a horss. 

Carkanet necklace or chain. 



20 



GLOSSARY. 



Carl, clown or husbandman 

Harlot, jieasant. 

Ciarrer, u cruic. 

Carpet-cousideraticn, on a car- 
jiet, a iebiivity. 

Carnat^e, import. 

Carried, conducted, managed. 

Carry, to prevail over. 

Can, a chariot. 

Case, contemptuously lor skin, 
outside ijarb. 

Case, to strip naked. 

Castines, helmets. 

Cassock, a horseman'3 great- 
coat. 

Cast, to empty, as a pond, to 
dismiss or reject. 

Cast, cast up, reckoned. 

Castilian, an opprobrious term. 

Castiliauo vulgo, a caut term 
of coutempt. 

Catalan, some kind of sharper. 

Catlins, a small lute-string 
made of catgut. 

Cavaleroes, airy, gay fellows. 

Caviare, a delicacy made of 
the roe of sturgeon. 

Caulelous, insidious, cautious. 

Cease, decease, die, to stop. 

Censure, judgment, opinion. 

Censure, to judge. 

Censured, sentenced, esti- 
mated. 

Centuries, companies of an 
hundred men each. 

Ceremonies, honorary orna- 
ments, tokens of respect. 

Ceremonious, superstitious. 

Cartes, certainly, in truth. 

Cess, measure. 

Chace, a terra at tennis. 

Chair, throne. 

Chamber, ancient name for 
London. 

Chamber, a species of great 

Chamberers, men of intrigue. 

Champian, an open country. 

Chauce, fortune. 

Changeling, a child changed. 

Channel, a kennel. 

Character, description, hand- 
writing. 

Character, to write, to infix 
strongly. 

Charactery, the matter with 
■vhich letters are made. 

Chares, task-work. 

Charge, to put to expense. 

Charge, commission, employ- 
ment. 

Charge-house, the free-school. 

Chariest, most cautious. 

Ciiariness, caution. 

Charitable, dear, endearing. 

Charles's. wain, the constella- 
tion called the I'ear. 

Charneco, a sort of sweet wine. 

Charter, a i)rivilege. 

Chaudron, entrails. 

Cheater, escheator, an officer 
in the exchequer, gamester. 

Check, command, control. 

Check, to object to, to rebuke. 

Checks, probably for ethics. 

Cheer, countenance. 

Cherry-pit, a play with cherry- 
stones. 

Cheveril, soft or kid leather. 

Chew, to ruminate, consider. 

Chewet. noisy chiittering bird. 

Chide, to resound, to echo, to 
scold, to be clamorous. 

Chiding, sound. 

Chiding, noisy. 

Child, a female infant. 

Childing, unseasonably preg- 
nant. 

Choiiin, a high shoe or clog. 

Chough, abiid of the daw kind. 

(;hri>tom, the white cloth put 
on a new baptized child. 

Chrystals. eyes. 

Chuck, chicken, a term of en- 
dearment. 
Chuff, rich, avaricious. 
Cicatrice, the scar of a wonnd. 
Circumstance, detail of an ar- 
gument, a circumlocution. 
Cital, recital. 
Cite, to incite, to shew, to 

prove. 
Civil, grave or solemn. 
Civil, human creature, any 

thing hunuiD. 
Clack-disli, a beggar's-dish. 
Claw to flatter. 
Clear, pure, blameless, inno- 



cent, qnjte, fnlly, perfectly. 
Clearest, purest, freest from 

evil. 
Clear-story, a species of win- 
dows in a church. 
Cleave, to unite with closely. 
Clerkly, like a scholar. 
Cliff, a key in music. 
Cling, to shrink or shrivel op. 
Chnyuant, glittering, shining. 
Clip, to embrace, to info-Id. 
Closely, secretly, privately. 
Clout, the white mark at which 

archers take aim. 
Clown, a licensed jester in fa- 
milies. 
Clubs, a popular cry on a 

street-quarrel. 
Clutched, grasped. 
Coach-fellow, one who draws 

with a confederate. 
Coasting, conciliatory, invit- 
ing. 
Cobloaf, a crusty, uneven loaf. 
Cock, cock-boat. 
Cockle, a weed. 
Cockled, inshelled like a 

cockle. 
Cock-shut-time, twilight. 
Codling, anciently an imma- 
ture apple. 
Coffin, the cavity of a raised 

pie. 
Cog, to falsify, to lie, defraud. 
Cognizance, badge or token. 
Coigne, corner, 
Coil, bustle, stir. 
Cold, naked. 

Collect, to assemble by obser- 
vation. 
Collection, corollary, conse- 
quence. 
Collitd, black, smutted with 

coal. 
Collier, formerly a term of the 

highest reproach. 
Colour, pretence. 
Colourable, specious. 
Colours, aiipearances, deceits. 
Colt, to fool, to trick. 
Co-marl, a joint bargain. 
Combiuaie, betrothed. 
Combine, to bind. 
Combined, bound by agree- 
ment. 
C.iniforting, aiding. 
Commence, to give a t>egin- 

ning. 
Commended, committed. 
Commission, authority, power. 
Commodity, interest, profit. 
Commonly, a comedy. 
Compact, made up of 
Conipanitm, lellow. 
Company, companion. 
Comparative, a dealer in com- 
parisons. 
Compare, comparison. 
Compassed, round. 
Compassionate, plaintive. 
Competitors, confederates or 

associates. 
Complements, accomplish- 
ments. 
Complexion, humour. 
Comply, to compliment. 
Compose, to come to acompo- 

sition. 
Composition, contract or bar- 
gain, consistency, concor- 
dancy. 
Composture,composition,com- 

post. 
Coniptible, submissive. 
Con, to know. 
Conceit, fanciful conception, 

thought. 
Concent, connected harmony 

in general. 
Conclusion, determination, re- 
solution. 
Conclusions, experiments. 
Concujjy, concupiscence. 
Condition, temper, character, 
qualities, vocations or incli- 
nations. 
Condolcment, sorrow. 
Conduct, conductor. 
Coney-catched, deceived, 

cheated. 
Coney-catcher, a cheat, or 

sharjier. 
Confession, profession. 
Conject, conjecture. 
Conjecture, sus))icion. 
Confotind, to destroy, to ex- 
pend, to constime. 
Confounded, worn or wasted 



Consent, to agree. 
Consent, conspiracy, will, as- 
sent, united voice. 
Consigned, sealed. 
Consist, to stand upon. 
Consort, con pany. 
Consort, to keepcompany with. 
Constancy, consinency, stabi- 

.,'»y. 

Constant, firm, determined. 

Constantly, certainly, without 
fluctuation. 

Contemptible, contemptuous. 

Continent, the thing which 
contains. 

Continents, banks of rivers, 

Contiiiuate, uninterruiited. 

Contraction, marriage con- 
tract. 

Contrarious, different. 

Contrive, to spend and wear 
out. 

Control, to confute. 

Con\enl, to .serve or agree. 

Convented, cited, summoned. 

Conversation, familiar inter- 
course, conduct, behaviour. 

Converse, interchange. 

Conversion, change of condi- 
tion. 

Convertite, convert. 

Convey, to perform slight of 
hand, to manage artfully. 

Conveyance, theft, fraud. 

Convince, to overpower, sub- 
due, convict. 

Convicted, overpowered, baf- 
fled. 

Convive, to feast. 

Cope, to encounter, to engage. 

Cope, covering. 

Cojiped, rising to a cop, or 
head. 

Copy, theme. 

Coragio, an exclamation of en- 
couragement 

Corinthian, a wencher 

Corky, dry, withered, husky. 

Corners, by -places. 

Corollary, surplus. 

Coronet, a crown. 

Corrigible, corrected. 

Costard, the head. 

Coster-monger, meanly, mer- 
cenary. 

Cote, to overtake. 

Coted, quoted, observed, or 
regarded. 

Cotsale, Cotswoodin Glouces- 
tershire. 

Covered, hollow. 

Count, to make account, to 
reckon upon. 

Count Confect, a specious 
nobleman. 

Countenance, false appearance, 
hypocrisy. 

Counterfeit, a likeness, a por- 
trait. 

Counterpoints, counterpanes. 

County, count, earl. 

Cower, to sink by bending the 
hams. 

Cowl-stafF, a staff for carrying 
a large tub. 

Coy, to soothe or stroke. 

Coyed, condescended unwil- 
lingly. 

Coystril, a coward cock, a 
mean or drunken fellow. 

Cozier, a tiilor or botcher. 

Crab, a wild api>le. 

Crack, dissolution. 

Crack, a boy or child, a boy- 
child. 

Cranks, windings. 

Crants, chants. 

Crare, a small trading vessel. 

Craven, a degenerate, dispirit- 
ed cock. 

Craven, mean, cowardly, to 
make cowardly. 

Create, compounded, or made 
up. 

Credent, creditable, credible. 

Credit, account, information, 
credulity. 

Credit, a great light set upon a 

beacon. 
Cressive, increasing. 
Crest, the top, the height. 

Crestless. those who have no 

right to arms. 
Crisp, curling, winding, curl- 
ed, bent, hollow. 
Critic, cynic. 
Critical, censorious. 
Crone, an old worn-out woman. 



Crosses, money stamped with a 

cross. 
Crow, to exult over. 
Crow-keeper, a scars-grow. 
Crown, to conclude. 
Crowned, dignified, adorned. 
Crownet, last purpose. 
Cry, a troop or pack. 
Cue, in stage cant, the last 

words of the preceding 

speech. 
Cuisses, armour for the thighs. 
Cuilion. a despicable fellow. 
Cunning, sagacity, knowledge. 
Curb, to bend or truckle. 
Curiosity, finical delicacy, 

scrujmlousncss or captious- 

ntss. 
Curious, scrupulous. 
Curled, ostentatiously dressed. 
Currents, occurrences. 
Cursed, under the influence of 

a malediction. 
Curst, petulant, crabbed, 

shrewdish, or mischievous, 

severe, harsh, vehemently 

angry. 
Curstness, ill-humour. 
Curtail, a cur of little value. 
Curtal,a docked horse. 
Curtie-ax, or cutlace, abroad 

sword. 
Custard-coffin, the crust of a 

custard or pie. 
Customer, a common woman. 
Cut, a horse. 
Cyprus, a transparent stuff. 

Daff or doff, to do off, to put 

aside. 
Dally, to play or trifle. 
Damn, condemn. 
Danger, reach or control. 
Dank, wet, rotten. 
Danskers, natives of Denmark. 
Dare, to challenge or incite. 
Dark-house, a house made 

gloomy by discontent. 
Darkling, in the dark. 
Darraign, to arrange, put in 

order. 
Daub, to disguise. 
Daubery, falsehood and impo 

sition. 
Day bed, a couch. 
Day-light, broad-day. 
Day-woman, dairy maid. 
Dear, best, important, dire. 
Dearn, lonely solitary. 
Death tokens, spots appearing 

on those infected by the 

plague. 
Delvished. debauched. 
Decay, misfortunes. 
Deceivable, deceptious. 
Deck, to cover, a pack. 
Decline, to run through from 

first to last. 
Declined, the fallen. 
Deem, oiiinion, surmise. 
Defeat, destruction. 
Defeatures, features, changing 

features for the worse. 
Defence, art of fencing. 
Defend, to forbid. 
Defensible, furnishing the 

means of defence. 
Defiance, refusal. 
Deformed, deforming. 
Deftly, dexterously, with 

adroitness. 
Defy, to refuse, to disdain 
Degrees, steps. 
Delay, to let slip. 
Demerits, merits. 
Demise, to grant. 
Demurely, solemnly. 
Denay, denial. 

Denied, disbelieved, or con- 
temned. 
Denier, the twelfth part of a 

French sou. 
Denotements, indications or 

discoveries. 
Deny, to refuse. 
Depart, to part. 
Departing, separation. 
Depend, to be in service. 
Deprive, to disinherit. 
Deracinate, to force up by the 

roots. 
Derogate, degraded, blasted. 
Descant, a term in music. 
Desert, merit. 
Deserved, deserving. 
Design, to mark out. 
Despatched, bereft 
Desperate, bold, adventurous 





GLOSSARY. 


21 


Dstected, charged, or guilty. 

Uetermmtd, eHded. 


Element, initiation, previous 


Faith, fidelity. 


Foeman, an enemy in war. 


practice. 


lauhtul, not an infidel. 


Fowl, to thrust in ienciug. 


Oibble, au iustrumeat used by 


Embossed, inclosed, swollen, 


i'-iithfully, fervently. 


Foizon, plenty. 


gardeners. 


puffy. 


Faiiors, traitors, rascals. 


i'olly, depravity of mind. 


Dicii, dit or Jo it. 


Embowelled, exhausted- 


Fall, to let fall, to drop. 


Fond, foolish, prized by folly 


UicKoii, familiarly for Richard- 


Embraced, indulged in. 


Fall, an ebb. 


Fonder, more weak or foolish. 


Die, gaininK, 


Eminence, high honours. 


False, to make false. 


Fondly, foolishly. 


Diet, regimen. 


Enipery, dominion, sovereigu 


Falsely, dishonestly, treacher- 


Fool's zanies, baubles with the 


Diet, to oblige to fast. 


command. 


ously. 


head of a fool. 


Difluied, extravigaut, irregu- 


Emulation, rivalry, envy, fac- 


Falsing, falsifying. 


Foot-doth, a housing covering 


hc. 


tious contention. 


Familiar, a demon. 


the body of the horse, and al- 


Digress, to deviate from the 


Emulous, jealous of higher au- 


Fancy, love. 


most reaching to the ground. 


right. 


thority. 


Fancy free, exempt from the 


F'or, for that, since, because. 


Digi-essioa, trangressioa. 


Eivcave, to hide. 


jiower of love. 


Forbid, under interdiction. 


DiDt, impression. 


Enfeoff, to invest with posses- 


Fang, to seize or gripe. 


Force, power. 


Directjoii, judgment, skill. 


sion. 


Fanged, possessed of fangs. 


Force, to enforce, to urge. 


Disable, to undervalue. 


Engine, instrument of war. 


[•^aus, ancient. 


Force, to stufT. 


Disayiioiuttd, unprepared- 


military machine, the rack. 


Fantastical, creatures of fancy. 


Forced, false. 


Disclose, to hatch. 


Engross, to fatten, to pamper. 


Fap, drunk. 


Fordid, destroyed. 


Disconienting, discontented. 


Engrossments, accumulations. 


Far, extensively. 


Fordo, to undo, to destroy. 


DiscouteaL<i, malcontents. 


Enkindle, to stimulate. 


Farced, stuffed. 


Foredoue, overcome. 


Discourse, reason. 


Enmew, to coop up. 


Fashions, farcens or farcy. 


Forfended, prohibited, forbid- 


Disdained, disdainful. 


Ensconce, to protect as with a. 


Fast, determined, fixed. 


den. 


Disease.uneasmess, discontent. 


fort. 


Fat, dull. 


Foreign, employed in foreign 


Diseases, sayings. 


Enseamed, gre.isy. 


Fate, au action predetermined 


embassies. 


Disgrace, hardship, injury. 


Enshield, shielded. 


by fate. 


Forepast, already had. 


Dislimns, unpauits, obliterates. 


Entertain, to retain in service- 


Favour, countenance, features. 


Fore-slow, to be dilatory, to 


Di^park, to destroy a park. 


Entertainment, the pay of an 


indulgence, pardon, appear- 


loiter. 


Dispoage, to discharge as a 


army, admission to office. 


ance. 


Forestall, to prevent by antici 


S|.onge. 


Eotreatments, the objects of 


Fear, the objert of fear, danger. 


pation. 


Dispose, to make terms, to set- 


entreaty. 


Fear, to intimidate. 


Forgetive, inventive, imagiua- 


tle matters. 


Envy, hatred or malice. 


Feared, frightened. 


^tive. 


Disposition, frame. 


Ephesian, a cant term for a 


Fearful, timorous, formidable. 


Forked, horned. 


Disputable, disputatious. 


toper. 


Feat, ready, dexterous. 


Formal, not out of form, regu- 


Dispute, to talk over. 


Equipage, stolen goods- 


Feat, an exploit. 


lar, sensibJe.in form, in shape. 


Dissenible, to gloss over. 


Erewhile.just now- 


Feated, formed, made neat. 


i-'ormer, foremost. 


Dissembling, putting dissimi- 


Erring, wandering. 


Feature, beauty in general, 
cast and make of the face.' 


Forspent, wasted, exhausted. 


lar things together. 


Escuted, paid- 


Forspoke. contradicted, sijoken 


Distaste, to corrupt, to change 


Esil,a river so called, or vine- 


Federary, ;i confederate. 


against. 


to a worse state. 


gar. 


Fee-grief, a peculiar sorrow. 


Forthcoming, in custody. 


Distemper, intoxication. 


Esperance, the motto of the 


Feeder, an eater, a servant. 


Forweaned, worn out. 


Distemperature, perturbation. 


Percy family. 


Feere, or Pheere, acompanion. 


Foul, homely, not fair. 


Distempered, rutiled, out ol hu- 


Espials, spies- 


a husband. 


Fox, a cant word for a sword. 


mour. 


Essential, existent, real- 


Feet, fjoting. 


Foxship, mean, cunning. 


Distractions, detachments, se- 


Estimate, price- 


Fell, skin. 


Franipold, peevish, fretful, or 


parate bodies. 


Estimation, conjecture. 


Fell-feats, savage practices- 


cross. 


Distraught, distracted. 
Diverted, turned out of the 


F.ierne, eternal. 


Fellow, companion. 


Frank, a sty. 


Even, calm, equable, tempe- 


Fence, the art of, or skill in 


Franklin, alittle gentleman, or 


coarse of nature- 


rate, equal, fellow. 


defence. 


freeholder. 


Dividable, divided. 


Even, to act up to- 


Feodary, an accomplice, a con- 


Free, artless, free from art, ge- 


Division, the pauses or parts of 


Exaniined,questioned,doubted. 


federate. 


nerous. 


musical composition. 


Excrement, the beard. 


Fester, to corrupt. 


Fret, the stop of a musical in- 


Divulged, spoken of. 


Excrements, the hair, nails. 


Festinately, hastily. 


strument, which regulates 


Doctrine, skiH. 


feathers of birds, &c. 


Festival terms, splendid phra- 


the vibration of the string. 


Doff, see Daff. 


Execute, to employ, put to use. 


seology. 


Friend, a lover, a term appli- 


Dole, lot, allowance. 


Execution, employment or ex- 


Fet, fetched. 


cable to both sexes, a para- 


Dolphin, the Dauphin of 


ercise. 


Few, in short, in few words. 


iiiour. 


trance. 


Executors, executioners. 


Fico, a fig. 


Friend, friendship. 


Don, to do oa, to put on. 


Exempt, excluded. 


Fielded, in the field of battle. 


Frippery, a shoj) where old 


Done, expended, consumed. 


Exercise, exhortation, lecture. 


Fierce, proud, hasty, vehe- 


clothes were sold. 


Dotaiit, dotard. 


or confession. 


ment, rapid. 


FVize. a cloth made in Wales. 


Double, full of duplicity. 


Exhale, hale or lug out. 


Fig, to insult 


From, in opposition to. 


Doubt, to fear. 


Exhibition, allowance. 


Fights, clothes hung round a 


Fronted, ojiposed. 


Dout, to do out. extinguish. 


Exigent, end- 


ship to conceal the men from 


Frontier, forehead. 


Doule, a feather. 


Exorcist, a person who can 


the enemy. 


Frontlet, a forehe.ad cloth. 


Down-gyved, hanging down 


raise spirits. 


File, a list. 


Frush, to break or bruise. 


like what confines the fetters 


Expect, expectation. 


Filed, defiled. 


Frustrate, frustrated. 


round the ancles. 


Kxjiedient, expeditious. 


Filed, gone an equal pace with. 


Fulfilling, filling till there be 


Drab, whoring. 


Expiate, fully completed. 


Fills, the shafts. 


no room for more. 


Draught, the Jakes. 


Expostulate, inquire ordiscuss. 


Filths, common sewers. 


Full, complete. 


Drawn, embowelled, exente- 


Exposture, exposure- 


Fine, the conclusion. 


Fullams, loaded dice. 


rated. 


Express, to reveal. 


Fine, full of finesse, artful. 


Fullest, most complete and per 


Dread, epithet applied to kings. 


Expulsed. expelled. 


Fine, lo make showy, specious. 


feet. 


Drew, assembled. 


Exsufflicate .contemptible, abo- 


Fineless, boundless, endless. 


Fumiter, fumitory. 


Dribbling, a term of contempt. 


minable. 


Firago for Virago- 


FurnLshed, dressed. 


Drive, to fly with impetuosity- 


Extend, to seize. 


Fire-drake, will o'-the-wisp, or 




Drollery, a show performed by 


Extent, in law, violence in ge- 


a fire-work. 


Gabardine, a loose felt cloak. 


puppets. 


neral. 


Fire new, bren-new, new from 


Gad, a pointed instrument. 


Drugs, drudges. 


Extern, outward. 


the for'.je. 


Gain-giving, misgiving. 


Drunible, to act lazily and stu- 


Extirjied, rooted out. 


Firk, to chastise. 


Gainsay, to unsay, deny, con- 


pidly. 


Extracting, that which draws 


First, noblest, most eminent. 


tradict. 


Dry. thirsty- 


away from every thing but 


Fit, a division of a song. 


Gait, way or steps. 


Ducdame, due ad me, bring 


its own object. 


F'itchew. a polecat. 


Galliard.an ancient dance. 


him Co me- 


E^travagant. wandering. 


Fitly, exactly. 


Galliasses, a species of galleys. 


Dudgeon, the handle of a dag- 


Extremes.extravagance of con- 


Fives, a distemper in horses. 


(Jallowglasses, heavy arnied 


ger- 


duct, extremities- 


Flap-dragon, a small inflamma- 


foot. 


Due, to endue, deck, grace. 


Eyases, young nestlings. 


ble substance, which topers 


Gallow, to scare or frighten. 


Dul 1 .melancholy ,gentle,sooth 


Eyas musket, infant lilliputian. 


swallow in a glass of wine. 


Gallymawfry, a medley. 


ing. 
Dull, to render callous, insen- 
sible. 


Eye. a small shade of colour. 


Flap jacks, pan-cakes. 


fTame. sport, jest. 


Eyiiads, glances, looks- See 


Flask, a soldier's powder-horn. 


Gamester, a frolicsome per- 


Oeiliads- 


Flatness, lownoss, depth. 


son, a wanton. 


Dullard, a person stupidly un- 
concerned. 


Eyne, eyes. 


Flaw, a sudden violent gust of 


Gaping, shouting or roaring. 




wind. 


Garboils, commotion, stir. 


Dump, a mournful elegy. 


Face, to carry a foolish apiJear- 


Flayed, strippe:!. 


Garish, gaudy, sho« y. 


Dup, to do up, to lift up. 


ance. 


Flecked, spotted, dappled. 


Garner, to treasure up. 




Faced, turned un with facings. 
Facinorous. wicked. 


streaked. 


Gasted, frightened. 


Eager, sour, sharp, harsh. 


Fleet, to Hoat. 


(iaudy, a festival day. 


Eanlings, lambs just dropt. 


Fact, guilt. 


Fleeting, inconstant. 


Gawds, baubles, toys. 


Ear, to plough- 


Factious, active. 


Fleshrneni, first act of military 


Gaze, attention. 


Easy, slight, inconsiderable. 


Faculties, medicinal virtues. 


service. 


Gear, a general word for thing 


Eche. to eke out. 


office, exercise "f power. 


Flewed, havinff the flews or 


or matters. 


Ecstacy, alienation of mind. 


Fadce. to suitor fit. 


chaps of a hound. 


Geek, a fool. 


madness. 


Failing, the burthen of a song. 


Flickering. Hi:ttering like the 


General, generality. 


Effects, affects, or affertions, 


Fain, fond- 


motion of a tlan.e. 


General, compendious. 
Generation, children. 


actions, deeds effected- 


Fair, beauty, complexion, fair- 


Flight, a sort of shooting. 


Eftest, deftest, readiest. 


ness. 


Flourish, ornament. 


Generosity, high birth. 


Ei--vpt, a gypsy. 


Fair betrothed, fairly contract- 


Flote, wave. 


Generous, most noble. 


Kid. old tin>«. or persons. 


ed, honourably affianced. 


Flush, mature, ripe. 


Gemility, urbanity. 



22 

Gentle .noble , high-minded, be- 
loDgiiig 10 sieiury. 

Gentry, complaisance. 

German, akin. 

Germnis, seeds begun tosprout. 

(Jest, a stage or journey. 

Gib, a cat. 

Gifts, endowments. 

Giglot, a wanton wench. 

Gilder, a coin valued at is. od. 
or 2i. 

Gilt, gilding, golden money. 

Giuimal, a ring or engine. 

Ging, agang. 

Gird, a sarcasm or gibe, emo- 
tion. , 

Gleek, to joke or scoft, to be- 

Glimniering, faintly illuminat- 
ed by the stars. 

Glaze, to expound, to comment 
upon. ,, 

Glut, to euglut or swallow up. 

Gnarled, knotted. 

Good-deed, indeed, in very 

deed- 
Good-den, good evening., 
Good-hfe, of a moral or joviaf 
turn. , , 

Good-jer, gougere, morbus gal- 

licus. , , 

Gorbellied, fat and corpulent. 
Gossips, tattling women who 

attend lyings-in. 
Gossomer, the white cobweb- 
like exhalations that liy about 
in hot sunny weather. 
Government, evenness ot tem- 
per, decency of manners. 
Gourds, a species ol dice. 
Gouts, drops. 

Grace, acceptableness, tavour. 
Grace, to bless, to make happy. 
Gracious, graceful, lovely. 
Grained, tunowed, like the 
gram of wood, dyed in grain 
or indented. 
Gramercy, grand mercy, great 

thanks. 
Grange, the farm-house of a 

monastery ; a lone house. 
Gratilluy, gratuity. 
Gratulale, gralilying, accept- 
able. 
Grave, to entomb. 
Graves, or greaves, armour tor 

the legs. 
Greasily, gross.y. 
Greek, a bawd, or pander. 
Green, unripe.iiot tuUy tormed. 
Greenly, awkwardly, unskil- 
fully. 
Greets, pleases. 
Grief, pain, grievances. 
Griefs, grievances, wrongs. . 
Grievances, sorrows, sorrowful 

affections. 
Grieve, to lament for. 
txrise, a step. 
Grossly, palpably. 
Groundlings, the frequenters 
of the pit in the playhouse. 
Growing, accruing. 
Guard, defence 
Guard, to fringe or lace. 
Guarded, ornamented. 
Guards, badges of dignity. 
Guerdon, reward. 
Guerdoned, rewarded. 
Guiled, treacherous. 
Guinea-hen, a prostitute. 
Gules, red, a teim in heraldry. 
Gulf, the swallow, the throat. 
Gun-stones, cannon-balls. 
Gurnet, a fish resembling a 

piper. 
Gust, taste, rashne.>;s. 
Gyve, 10 catch, to shackle. 
Gyves, shackles. 

Hack, to become cheap and vul- 
gar. 

Haggard, a species of hawk. 

llagg;ird. wild. 

Hair, loinpiexion orcnaracter. 

Happily, accidentally, fortu- 
nately. 

Happv, arconiphsnea 

Hardin-.ent. hravery, stoutness. 

>I.Trlofks. wild mustard. 

Harlot, a liieat. 

Harp, to touch on a passion. 

Harrow, to conquer, to sub- 
Harry, toiise roughly, harass. 

Having, estate or fortune, pro 
motion, allowance of expense 

Haviour, behaviour. 



GLOSSARY. 



Hanght, hanghty. 
Haughty, high, elevated. 
Haunt, company. 
Hay, a term in the fencing 

school. 
Head, the source, the fountain. 
Head, body of forces. 
Hear;, the most valuable or 

precious part. 
Heat, heated. 

Heat, violence of rcsentmsnt. 
Heavy, slow. 
Hebenon, henbane. 
Hefted, heaved. 
Hetis, heavings. 
Hell, an obscure dungeon in a 

prison. 
Helmed, steered through. 
Hence, henceforth. 
Henchman, a page of honour. 
Hent, seized, or taken posses- 
sion of. 
Hereby, as it may happen. 
Heruiirs, beadsmen. 
1 1 est, behest, command. 
High-fantastical, fantastical to 

the heiglit. 
High-repented, repented to the 

utmost. 
Hight, called. 

Hilding, a paltry cowardly fel- 
low. 
Ilint,suggestion,circumstance. 
Iliren, a harlot. 
His, often used for its. 
Hit, to agree, 
rthist, hoisted. 
Hold, to esteem. 
Holla, a term of the manege. 
Holy, faithful. 

Home, completely, in full ex- 
tent. 
Honest, chaste. 
Honesty, liberality. 
Honey stalks, clover flowers. 
Honour, acquired reputation, 
iloop, a measure. 
Hope, to expect. 
Horologe, clock. 
Hox, to ham- string. 
Hull, to drive to and fro upon 
the water, without sails or 
rudder. 
Humorous, chargeable, hu- 
mid, moist. 
Hungry , steril, unprohfic. 
1 1 unt-counter, base tyke.worth- 

lessdog. 
Hunts-np, the name of a tune, 

a morning song. 
Hurlv, noise. 
Hurtling, merry with impetuo- 

Husbandry, thrift, frugality. 
Huswife, a jilt. 



Ice-brook, a brook of icy qnah- 

ties in .Spain. 

I' fecks, in laiih. 

Ignomy, ignominy. 

111-inhabued. ill-lodged. 

Ill-nurtured, ill-educated. 

Images, children, representa- 
tives. J , V 

Imaginary, produced by the 
power of imagination. 

Imbare, to lay open or display 
to view. 

Immanity, barbarity, savage- 
ness. 

Immediacy, close connexion. 

Imp, to supply. 

Imp, progeny. 

Impair, unsuitable. 

Impartial, sometimes used lor 

piiriial. , J , J 

Iiiipawned.wagcrcdanristaked. 

Impeach, tobriug into question. 

Imiieachment, reproach or im- 
putatio:i, hindrance. 

Imperious, imperial. 

1 niperseverant, per.seyerant. 

lmi)eticos, to impetticoat or 
inipocket. 

I mportance. importunacy . 

lmi)ortance,thetliing imported. 

Importing, implying, denoting. 

Impose, injunction, command. 

Impositions, commands. 

hr.possiiilf, incredible, or in- 
conceivable. 

Impress, to compel to serve. 

Impress, a device or motto. 

Impugn, oppose, controvert. 

Incapable, unintelligent. 

Incarniirdine, to stain of a red 
colour. 

Incensed, incited, sugge.sted. 



Inclining, compliant. 
I nclip, to embrace. 
Include, to shut up, conclude. 
Inclusive, enclosed. 
lncony,orkony, fine, delicate. 
Incorrect, ill-regulated. 
Increase, pTodnce. 
Indent, to bargain and article. 
Index, something preparatory. 
Indifferent, sometimes for dif- 
ferent, impartial. 
Indite, to convict. 
Induction, entrance, beginning, 

preparations. 
Indurance, delay, procrastina- 
tion. 
Infinite, extent or power. 
Ingaged, sometimes for unen- 
gaged. 
Ingraft, rooted, settled. 
Inhabitable, not habitable. 

Inherit, to possess. 
Inhibit, to forbid. 

Inhooped, enclosed, confined. 

Inkhorn-mate, a book-mate. 

Inkle, a kind of tape, crewell, 
or worsted. 

Inland, civilized, not rustic. 

Insane, that which makes in- 
sane. 

Insconce, to fortify. 

Insculi)ed, engraven. 

Inseparate, inseparable. 

Instance, example, proof. 

Instances, motives. 

Insult, solicitation. 

Intend, to pretend. 

Intending, regarding. 

Intendment, intention or dis- 
position. 

Intenible, incapable of retain- 

Intention, eagerness of desire. 

Intentively, with full attention. 

Interessed, interested. 

Intergatories, interrogatories. 

Intermission, pause, interven- 
ing time. 

Intrenchant, that which cannot 
be cut. 

Intrinse, intrinsicate. 

Invention, imagination. 

Inwardness, intimacy, confi- 
dence. 

Iron, clad in armour. 

Irregulous, lawless, licentinns. 

Issues, consequences, conclu- 
sions. 

Iteration, citation, recitation. 

Jack, a term of contempt. 
Jack-a-lent, a puppet thrown at 

in Lent- 
Jack guardant, a jack in office. 
Jaded, treated with contempt, 

worthless. 
Jar, the noise made by the pen- 
dulum of a clock. 
Jauncing, jaunting. 
Jesses, straps ot leather by 

which the hawk isheld on the 

fist. 
Jest, to play a part in a mask. 
Jet, to strut. 

Jovial, belonging to Jove. 
Journal, daily. 
Jump, to agree with, to put 

into agitation. 
Jump, hazard, to venture at. 
Jump, just. 

Justicer. justice, judge. 
Jut, to encroach. 
Jutty, to project. 
Juvenal, a young man. 



Know £>f, to consider. 



Kam.awry, crooked. 

Keech, a solid lump or mass. 

Keel, to cool. 

Keep, to restrain, to dwell, to 
reside. 

Keisar, Csesar. 

Kernes, light-armed Irish foot. 

Key, the key for tuning, a tun- 
ing hammer. 

Kicksy-wicksy, a wife. 

Kiln hole, a place into which 
coats are put under a stove. 

Kind, nature, species. 

Kindless, unnatural. 

Kindl3', nMur.illy. 

Kindly, kindred. 

Kinged, ruled by. 

Kinsman, near relative. 

Kjrtle.part of a woman's dress. 

Knave, servant. 

Knife, a sword or dagger. 

Knots, figures planted in box. 

Know, to aoknowledgs. 



Labras, lips. 

Laced motion, a wo-mau of tJae 

town. 
Lackeying, moving like a 

lackey or page. 
Lag, the meanest persons. 
Larices. lance-men. 
Land-damn, to destroy ia some 

way. 
Lands, landing-places. 
Lapsed, time suffered to slip- 
Large, licentious. 
Lass-lorn, forsaken of hismis- 

tress. 
Latch, to lay bold of. 
Latched or letched, licked over 
Late, lately. 

Lated, belated, benighted, 
Latten, thin as a lath. 
L;»voltas, a kind of dances. 
Laund, la-n'n. 
Lay, a wager. 
Leaguer, tne camp. 
Leasing, lying. 
Leather-coats, a species of 

apple. 
Leave, to part with, to give 

away. 
Leech, a physician. 
Leer, feature, complexion. 
Leet, conn-leet, or court of the 

manor. 
Legerity .lightnes.s,nimbleness. 
Leges, alleges. 
Leiger, resident. 
Leman, lover, mistress. 
Lenten, short and spare. 
L'envoy, moral, or conclusion 

of a poem. 
Let, to hinder. 
Let be, to desist. 
Lethe, death. 

Lewd, ignorant, idle, wicke.1. 
Lewdly, wickedly. 
Libbard, or lubbar, a leopard. 
Liberal, licentious or gross ia 

language. 
Liberty, libertinism. 
License, an appearance oflicen- 

tiotisness. 
Lie, to reside, to be imprisoned. 
Liefest, dearest. 
Lieger, an ambassador at a fo- 
reign court. 
Lifter, a thief. 
Light o' love, a dance tune. 
Lightly, commonly, in ortli- 

naiy course. 
Lightness, levity. 
Like, to comjiare. 
Likelihood, similitude. 
Likeness, specious or seeming 

virtue. 
Liking, condition of body. 
Limbeck, a vessel nsed in dis- 
tilling. 
Limbo, a place supposed to be 
in the neighbourhood of hell. 
Lime, bird lime. 
Lime, to cement. 
Limed, entangled or caught, as 

with bird-lime. 
Limit, appointed time. 
Limited, aijpointed, regular, 

orderly. 
Limits.estimates, calculations. 
Line, genealogy. 
Lined, delineated. 
Link, a torch of iiitch. 
Linstock, the staff to which the 
match is fixed when ordi- 
nance is fired. 
List, the hound or limit. 
Lither, Hexible, yielding. 
Little, miniature. 
Livelihood, appearance of life. 
Livery, alaw iihrase belonging 

to the feudal tenures. 
Living, estate, property. 
Living, speaking, manifest, ac- 
tual. 
Loach, a small fish. 
I. ob, looby, a term of contempt. 
Lockram, some kind of cheap 

linen. 
Lode-star, the leading or guid- 
ing star. 
Lodged, laid by the wind. 
Loffe, to laugh. 
Loggats. a game played with 

pins of wood. 
Longing, lunged for. 
Longly, longingly. 
Loof, to bring a vessel close to 

the wind. 
Loos or lowQ, a base isllow 



GLOSSARY. 



lop the branches. 

Lut, a prize. 

Lottery, allotment. 

Lover, a mistress. 

Lown. See Loon. 

Lowted, treated with contempt. 

Lowts, clown.s. 

Loze), wortiiless, dishonest. 

Lubbar. See Libbard. 

LuUaoy, sleep in house, i. c., 
cradle. 

Lunes, lunacy, frenzy. 

Lurch, to win. _ , 

Lure, a thing stuffed to tempt 
the hawk. 

Lush, rank, luscious. 

I.ust, inclination, will. 

Lustick, lusty, cheerful, plea- 
sant, 

I-ustv, saucy. 

Luxurious, lascivious. 

Luxuriously, wautonly. 

Luxury, lust. 

Lym, a species of dog. 



Mace, a sceptre. 
Wad, wild, inconstant. 
Made, enriched. 
Magnificeut, glorying, boast- 
ing. 
Magnifico, a chief man or 

grandee at Venice. 
Mailed, wrapped up, covered 

with. 
Main-top, top of the mam-mast. 
JIake, to bar, to shut. 
Makest, dost, 
ilalkin, a scullion, a coarse 

wench. , 

Mall, Mrs. alias Mary Frith, or 

Moll Cutpurse. 
Mallecho, mischief. 
Manimcring, hesititiiig. 
Mamniets, puppets. 
Mammock, to cut in pieces. 
Man. to tame a hawk. 
Manacle, a hondcuff. 
Manage, conduct, administra- 
tion. 
Mandrake, a root supposed to 

have the shape of a man. 
T<I;nikind, masculine. 

Marches, the borders, limits, 
or confines. 

Marchpane, a species of sweet- 
meat. 
Martial-hand.acareless scrawl. 

^lartlemas, the latter spring. 

Match, an appointment, a com- 
pact. 

Mate, to confound. 

Mated, amaied. dismayed. 

Meacock, a diistaidly creature. 

Mealed, sprinkled or mingled. 

Mean, the tenor in music. 

Mean, the middle. 

Means, interest, pains. 

Measure, the reach. 

Measure, stately solemn dance. 

Measure, means. 

Meazels. lei>ers. 

iledal, portrait. 

Meddle, to mix with. 

Sledicine, a she-physician. 

Meed, reward. 

Meed.mcrit, desert,exccnence. 

Meet, match. 

Meiny, ;)eoiJe, domestics. 

Memories, memorials, remem- 
brances. 

Memorized, roadememorabte. 

Memory, memorial. 

Ilcphistophilus. the name of a 
spirit or familiar. 

Mercatante, a merchant. 

Mere, exact, entire, absolute. 

Ivlered, mere. 

Mermaid, siren. 

Messes, degrees eibout court. 

Metal, temper 

Metaphysical, soiiematural. 

Mete-yard, measuring yard. 

Mewed, confined. 

Micher.a truant, lurkingthief. 

Miching, playing truant, skulk- 
ing about. 

Mien, countenance. 

Miuce, to walk with affected 
delicacy. 

Minding, calling to remem- 
brance, reminding. 

Mineral, a mine. 

Minnow, a small river fish, a 
term of contempt. 

Minstrelsy, office of minstrel. 
Misconceived, misconceivers. 
lliscreate. ill-t>egottfin. ilUgi- 
ttatala. 



Slisdoubt, to suspect. 
Miser, a miserable creature. 
Misery, avarice. 
Alisi)rised, mistaken. 
Misprisuig, despising, or un- 
dervaluing. 
Missives, messengers. 
MLstaken, n)isrepresented. 
Wisteniiiercd. angry. 
Mislhink, to think ill. 
Mistress, the jack in bowling. 
Mobled or maided, veiled. 

grossly covered. 
Mode, the form or state of 

things. 
Model, image, representative, 

copy. 
Modern, trite, common, mean- 
ly pretty. 
Modesty, moderation. 
Mo<lule, model, pattern. 
Moe or mowe, to make mouths. 
Moiety, a portion. 
Mollihcatiou, pacification. 

softening. 
Mome, a dull stupid blockhead. 
Momentany, momentary . 
Month's mind, a popish anni- 
versary. 
Mood, anger, resentment, man- 
ner. 
Moody, melancholy. 
Moon-calf, an inanimate shape- 
less mass. 
Moonish, variable. 
Mope, to appear stupid. 
Moral, secret meaning. 
Morisco, Moor or Moorish, or 

morris. 
Morris-pike, Moorish pike. 
Mortal, murderous, fatal. 
Mortal staring, that which 

stares fatally. 
Mortified, ascetic, religious. 
Most, greatest. 

Motion, akind of pupiJet show. 
Motion, divinitory agitation. 
Hlotion, de.sires. 
Motions, indignation. 
Motive, assistant or mover, 
that which contributes to 
motion. 
]\]ould, earth. 
Mouse, to mammock, to tear to 

pieces. 
Mouse, a term of endearment. 
Mouse-hunt, a weasel. 
Rlowe. .See Moe. 
Moy, a jiiece of money or a 

measure of corn. ... , . 
Much, an expression of disdain, 
ftluch, strange, wonderful. 
Muck-water, drain of a dung 
hill. , ,_ 

Muffler, a kind of dress for the 

lower part of the face. 
Milliters, muleteers. 
MuUed.snftened and dispirited. 
Multiplied, multitudinous. 
Alultiplying, niuliijdied. 
Multitudinous, full of multi- 
tudes. 
M ummy .thebalsamic liquor of. 
ISlundane, worldly. 
Mure, a wall. 
Murkv, dark. 
Murrian, a plague in cattle. 
Muse, to admire, to wonder. 
Must, a scramble. 
Mutine,to rise in mutiny, 
Mutines, mutineers. 



Nonce, on purpose, forthe turn. 

Nook-shotten, that which 
shoots into capes. 

Northern man, vir borealis, a 
clown. 

Note, notice, information, re- 
mark. 

Novice, a youth. 

Novum, some game at dice. 

Nourish, to nurse. 

Nowl, ahead. 

N urture, education, 

N ulhook, a thief. 



Obligations, bonds. 
Observed, paid respective at- 
tention to. 
Observing, religiously atten- 
tive. 
Obsequious, serious, as at fu- 
neral obsequies, careful of. 
Obsequiously, lunerally. 
Obstacle, obstinate. 
Occupation, men occupied in 

business. 
Oecurrents, incidents. 
Oe, a circle. 
Oeiliad, a cast or glance of the 

ej'e. See Eyliads. 
O'erdied, died too much. 
O'erlookcd, slighted. 
O'er-parted, having too consi- 
derable a pan. 
O'er-raught, over reached. 
O'er-wrested, wrested beyond 

the truth. 
Of, through. 
Offering, the assailant. 
Office, service. 
Offices, culinary or servants' 

apartments. 
Old, frequent, more than 

enough. 
Old age, ages past. 
Once, sometime. 
Oneyers, accountants, bankers. 
Opal, a precious stone of al- 
most all colours. 

Open, publicly. 

Operant, active. 

Opinion, obstinacy, conceit, 
character. 

Opposite, adverse, hostile, ad- 
versary. 

Opposition, combat. 

Or, before. 

Orbs, circles made by fairies 
on the ground. 

Orchard, a garden. 

Order, measures. 

Ordinance, rank. 

Orgulous, proud, disdainful. 

<.)sprey, a kind of eagle. 

Ostent, show, ostentation. 

Ostentation, show, apt earance. 

Overblow, to drive away, to 
keep off. 

Overture, opening, discovery. 

Ounce, a small tiger, or tiger- 
cat. 

Ouph, fairy, goblin. 

Ousel-cock, the cock blackbird. 

Out, be gone. 

Out, full, complete. 

Outlook, to face down. 

Outvied, a term at the game of 
gle'"''. 

Outward, not in the secret ot 
affairs. 

Owe, to own, possess, govern. 

Oxl-lip, the great cowslip. 



Napkin, handkerchief. 

Napless, threadbare. 

Native, formed by nature. 

N ature, natural parent. 

Nay-word, a watch-vvord or 
by -word . 

Heat, finical. 

Neb or nib, the mouth. 

Neeld, needle. 

Neif, fist. 

Nephew, a grandson or any li- 
neal des<-endant. 

Nether-sto<'ks, stockings. 

Newness, innovation. 

Newt, the eft. 

Next.neai'est. 

Nice, sillv, trifling. 

Nick, rtckoninu' orconnt. 

Nil k.to <.pt a mark of folly on. 

Mghted. ni.-ide dark as night. 

N ight-rule, frolic of the night. 

Nine men's morris, a game. 

Nobility,distnction, eminence. 

Nobiess. nobleness. 

Noddy, fnol.gameat cards. 

Koijse. mui>i£. 



Pack, to bargain with. 

Pack, combined, accomplice. 

Packing, plotting, underhand 
contrivance. 

Paddock, toad. 

Pagan, a loose vicious person. 

Pageant, a dumb show. 

Paid, punished. 

Pain, penalty. 

Pains, labour, toil. 

Palabras, words. 

Pale, to empaie, encircle with a 
crown. 

Pall, to wrap, to invest. 

Palled, vapid. 

Palmers, holy pilgrims. 

Palmv, victorious 

Palter, to juggle, or shuffle. 

Paiier, to svriie down, or ap- 
point by writing. 

Papir, written securities. 

Parcel, reikon up. 

Parcel-gilt, gilt only on certain 
parts. 

Parish -top, a large to|> formerly 
kept in every village to be 



23 

whipped for exercise. 
Paritor, an apparitor, an officer 

of the bishop's court. 
Parle, parity. 
I'arlous, perilous. 
Parlous, keen, shrewd. 
Part, to depart. 
Partake, to iiarticipate. 
Partaker, accomplice, confede- 
rate. 
Parted, shared. 
Parted, endowed with parts. 
Participate, participant, parti- 
cipating. 
Partizan, a pike. 
Parts, party. 
Pash, a head. 

Pash, to sinke with violence. 
Pasbed, bruised, crushed. 
Pass, to decide, to assure or 

convey. 
Pass, to exceed, to go beyond 

comnion liounds. 
Passed, excelling, past all ex- 
pression or bounds. 
Passes, what has passed. 
Passing, eminent, egregious. 
Passion, suflering. 
Passionate, a prey to mournful 

sensations. 
Passioning, being in a passion, 
Pf.ssy-ujeasure, a dance. 
Pastry, the room where pastry 

was made. 
Patch, a term of reproach. 
Patched, in a parti-coloured 

coat. 
Path, to walk. 
Paihetical, deeply affecting. 
Patient, to make patient, to 

compose. 
Patiiie, a dish used with the 
chalice, in the administration 
of the Lucharist. 
Pattern, instance, example. 
Pavin, a dance. 
Paucas, few. 
Pay, to beat, to hit. 
I'eat, a word of endearment. 
Peda3eule, a pedant. 
Peer, to come out, to appear. 
Peevish, toolish. 
Peize, to balance, to keep in 

suspense, to weigh down. 
Pelting, paltry, petty, inconsi- 
derable. 
Pennons, small flags. 
Penihesilia, Amazon.^ 
Perch, a measure of five yards 

and a half. 
Perdurable, lasting. 
Perdy, par Uicu, a French 

oath. 
Perfect, certain, well informed. 
Perfections, liver, brain, and 

heart. 
Perjure, a perjured person. 
Periapis, charms sewed up and 

worn about the neck. 
Perspectives, certain optical 

glasses. 
Pervert, to avert. 
Pew-fellow, a companion, 
rheere. See I'eeie. 
Pheece, to teazc or beat, to 

couibor curry. 
Pia mater, the membrane co- 
vering the substance of the 
brain. 
Pick, to pitch. 

Picked, nicely dressed, foppish. 
Pickers, the hands. 
Pieking.piddling, insignificant. 
Pickt-hatch, a place noted for 

brothels. 
Piece, a word of contempt for a 

woman. 
Piel'd, shaven. 
Pight, pitched, fixed. 
Pilcher, a pilche, the scabbard, 
I'illed, pillaged. 
Pin and web, disorders of the 



eye. 
Pinnace, small ship of burthen. 
Pix, a small chest in which the 

consecrated host was kept. 
Placket, a petticoat. 
Plague, to I'uni-^h. 
Plain song, the chant, in piano 

canlu. 
Plainly, openly. 
I'laitcd, complicated, involved. 
Planched.m.ide of brands. 
Plant, the foot. 
Platforms, plans, schemes. 
Plausive, gracious, pleasing, 

popular. 
Pleached, folded together. 



24 

Plot, piece or portion. 

t'oint, a metal hook fastened to 

the hose or breeches. 
Point, the utmost heiijht. 
Pot iit-de-vice, with the utmost 

possible exactness. 
Points, tags to the laces. 
Poize, weight or moment. 
Polled, bared, cleared. 
Pomander, a ball made of per- 
fumes. 
Pomewater, a species of apple. 
Poor-johu, hake dried, salted. 
Popinjay, a parrot. 
Popularity, plebeian inter- 
course. 
Port, external pomp, figure. 
Port, a gate. 
Portable, bearable. 
Portance, carriage, behaviour. 
Possess, to inform, to make to 

undcr.stand. 
Possessed, acquainted with, 

fully informed. 
Possessed, afflicted with mad- 
ness. 
Potch, to push violently. 
Potents, potentates. 
Pouncet-Dox, a small box for 

perfumes 
Power, forces, an army. 
Practice, unlawful or insidious 

stratagem. 
Practise, to employ unwarrant- 
able arts. 
Practisauts, confederates in 

stratagems. 
Prank, to adorn, to dress osten- 
tatiously, to plume. 
Precedent, original draft. 
Precept, a justice's warrant. 
Precisian, a great pretender to 

sanctity. 
Prefer, to recommend, to ad- 
vance. 
Pregnancy, readiness. 
Pregnant, ready, plain, evi- 
dent, apposite. 
Pregnant enemy, the enemy of 

mankind. 
Premised, sent before the time. 
Prenominate, already named. 
Pre-ordinance, ordinance al- 
ready established. 
Presence, the presence-cham- 
ber, a public room. 
Presence.dignity of mien, form, 

figure. 
Prest, ready. 

Pretence, design, intention. 
Pretend, to intend, design. 
Pretended, purposed, intended. 
Prevent, to anticipate. 
Prick, the point on the dial. 
Pricks, prickles, skewers. 
Pride, haughty power. 
Prig, to filch. 
Prime, youth, the vigour of 

life. 
Prime, prompt. 
Primer, more urgent, more 

in]|)i)rtant. 
Primero, a game at cards. 
Principality, the first or princi- 

cipal of women. 
Principals, rafters of a build- 
ing. 
Priucox, a coxcomb, orspoiled 

child. 
Probal, probable. 
Process, summons 
Procure, to bring. 
Prodigious, portentous, omi- 
nous. 
Proface, much good may it do 

you. 
Profane, love of talk, gross of 

language. 
Profession, end and purpose of 

coming. 
Progress, a royal journey of 

state. 
Project, to shape or form. 
Prompture, suggestion, temp- 
tation. 
Prone, sometimes humble. 
Prone, forward. 
Proof, confirmed state of man- 
hood. 
Propagate, to advance or im- 
prove. 
Propagation, getting. 
Proper, well-looking, hand- 
some. 
Proper-false, proper or fair, 

and fal.se or ileceilfni. 
Propertied, taken possession of. 
Properties, incidental necessa- 



GLOSSARY. 



ries to a theatre. 

Property, due performance 

Property, a thing quite at dis- 
posal. 

Propose, to image, to imagine. 

Prorosing, conversing. 

Propriety, regular and proper 
state. 

Prorogi.e. lengthen or prolong. 

Provand, provender. 

Proveucial, Provencal, from 
Provence. 

Provincial, belonging to one's 
province. 

Provost, sheriff or gaoler. 

Prune, to plume. 

Puck, or hobgoblin in fairy 
mythology. 

Pugging, thievish. 

Pun, to pound. 

Purchase, stolen goods. 

Purchased, acquired by unjust 
methods. 

Purlieu, border, enclosure. 

Pursuivants, heralds. 

Put to know, compelled to ac- 
knowledge. 

Putter-on, one who instigates. 

Putter-out, one who places out 
money at interest. 

Putting-on, spur, incitement. 

Puttock, a degenerate species 
of hawk. 

Quail, to faint, languish. 

(Juaint, fantastical, graceful. 

Quaint-mazes, a game running 
the figure of eight. 

Quaked, thrown into trepida- 
tion. 

Qualify, to lessen, moderate. 

Quality, confederates. 

Quality, profession, condition 
of life. 

Quarrel , a quarreller, the cause 
of a quarrel. 

Quarry, game after it is killed. 

Quart d'ecu, fourth part of a 
French crown. 

Quarter, the allotted posts, sta- 
titm. 

Quat, a pimple. 

Queasy, squeamish, delicate, 
unsettled. 

Quell, to murder, to destroy. 

Quench, to grow cool. 

Quern, a hand-mill. 

Quest, inquest or jury, search, 
expedition. , 

Question, conversation. 

Questrist, one who goes in 
search of another. 

Quests, reports. 

Quick, lively, sprightly.living. 

Quicken, toaninsate. 

Quiddits, subtilties. 

Quillets, law chicane. 

Quintain, a post set up for va- 
rious exercises. 

Quips, reproaches and scoffs. 

Quire, to play in concert. 

Quit, quitted. 

Quit, to requite or answer. 

Quittance, return of obliga- 
tions. 

Quiver, nimble, active. 

Quote, to observe. 

Rabato, an ornament for the 

neck. 

Rabbit-sucker, a sucking rab- 
bit. 

Race, original disposition, in- 
born qualities, a smack or 
Havour. 

Rack, wreck. 

Rack, to exaggerate. 

Rack, to harass by exactions. 

Uaek, the fieeting away of the 
clouds. 

Racking, in rapid motion. 

Rag, an opprobrious epithet. 

Ragged, rugged. 

Rake, to cover. 

Hank, rate or pace. 

Rank, grown up to a great 
height and strength. 

Rapt, rapturously affected. 

Rapture, » tit. 

Rarely, curiously, happily. 

Rascally, applied to lean deer. 

Rash, heady, thoughtless, 
quick, violent. 

Rash remonstrance, premature 
discovery. 

Rated, chided. 

Ravin, to devour eagerly. 

Ravin, ravenous. 



Ravined, glutted with prey. 

Kaught, reached. 

Raw, ignorant, unripe, unskil- 
ful. 

Rawly, young and helpless. 

Rayed, bewrayed. 

Razed, slashed, raised. 

Rear-mouse, a bat. 

Reason, discourse. 

Reason, to talk, to argue for. 

Rebeck, an old mtisical instru- 
ment. 

Receiving.ready apprehension. 

Receipt, receptacle. 

Recheate, a sound hy which the 
dogs are called back. 

Reck, to care for, to mind, to 
attend to. 

Reckless, careless, heedless. 

Recollected, stumeo or often 
repeated. 

Record, to sing. 

Recorder, a kind of flnte or 
flageolet. 

Recure, to recover. 

Red-lattice, tne sign of an ale- 
house. 

Reduce, to bring back. 

Reechy, discoloured by smoke, 
smoky, greasy. 

Refell, to refute. 

Refer, to reserve to. 

Regard, look. 

Regiment government, autho- 
rity 

Regreet, exchange of saluta- 
tion. 

Reguerdon, recompense, re- 
turn. 

Relative, nearly related, or 
connected. 

Remembered, remembering. 

Remembrance, admonition. 

Remorse, pity, tenderness of 
heart. 

Remotion, removal or remote- 
ness. 

Removed, remote, sequestered. 

Render, to describe. 

Render, a confession, au ac- 
count. 

Renege, to renounce. 

Repair, to renovate. 

Repeal, to recall. 

Reports, reporters. 

Reproof, confutation. 

Repugn, to resist. 

Reputing, boasting of. 

Requiem a mass for the soul 
of a person deceased. 

Resolve, to be firmly persuad- 
ed, satisfied. 

Resolve, to dissolve. 

Respect, consideration, cau- 
tion. 

Respective, respectable, re- 
spectful, formal. 

Respective, cool, considerate. 

Respectively, respectfully. 

Retailed, handed down. 

Retire, to draw back. 

Reverb, to reverberate. 

Revolts, revolters. 

Rib, to enclose. 

Rid, to destroy. 

Rift, split. 

Riggish, wanton. 

Right, just. even. 

Right drawn, drawn in a right 
cause. 

Rigoi, a circle. 

Ringed, environed, encircled. 

Ripe, come to the height. 

Rivage, the bank orshore. 

Rivaiity, equal rank. 

Rivals, partners. 

Rive, to burst, to fire. 

Road, the haven where ships 
ride at anchor. 

Rogues, vagrants. 

Romage, rummage. 

Ronyon, a scurvy woman. 

Rood, the cross. 

Rook, to squat down. 

Ropery, roguery. 

Rope-tricks, abusive language. 

Round, a diadeui. 

Round, rough, unceremonious. 

Rounded, whispered. 

Rounding, whisperine-. 

Roundel, a country otJice. 

Rounilure, circle. 

Rouse, a draught of joiiity. 

Royal, due to a king. 
Royalize, to make royal. 
Royalty, nobleness, supreme 
excellence. 

Roynish. mangy or scabby. 



Ruddock , the redbreast. 

Rufl, the folding of the tops of 
boots. 

Ruffle, to riot, to create dis- 
turbance. 

Ruffling, rustling. 

Ruin, displeasure producing 
ruin. 

Rule, a method of life. 

Ruth, pity, compassion. 

Sacred, accursed. 

Sacrilicial, worshipping. 

Sad, grave or serious. 

Sadly, seriously. 

Sadness, seriousness. 

Safe, to render safe. 

Sagg or swagg, to sink down. 

Sail, tears. 

Sanded, of asandy colour. 

Satisfy, rest with .satisfaction. 

Savage, silvan, uncultivated, 
wild. 

Savageness, wildness. 

Saucy, lascivious. 

Saw, anciently, not a proverb, 
but the whole tenor of any 
discourse. 

Say, silk. 

Say.asample. a taste or relish. 

ScaiToldage, the gallery partol 
the theatre. 

Scald, a word of contempt, 
poor, filthy. 

•Scale, disperse, put to flight. 

Scaled, over-reached. 

Scaling, weighing. 

Scall, an old word of reproach. 

Scamble, to scramble. 

Scan, to examine nicely. 

Scant, to be deficient in, to con- 
tract. 

Scantling, measure, proportion. 

Scapes of wit, sallies, irregi> 
larities. 

Scared, frightened. 

Scarfed, decorated with flags. 

Scath, destruction, harm. 

Scath, to do an injury. 

Scathful, mischievous, destrtic- 
tive. 

Scone, a petty fortification. 

Sconce, the head. 

Scotched, cut slightly. 

Scrimens, fencers. 

Scrip, a writing, a list. 

Scroyles, scabby fellows. 

Sculls, great numbers of fishes 
swimming together. 

Scutched, whipt, carted. 

Seal, to strengthen or coia- 
plete. 

.Seain, lard. 

Sear, to stigmatize, to close. 
See Sere. 

Season, to temper, to infix, to 
impress. 

Seasoned, established or settled 
by time. 

.Seat, throne. 

Seated, fixed, firmly placed. 

Sect, a cutting in gardening. 

Secur ly, with too great confi- 
dence. 

Seel, to close up. 

Seeling, blinding. 

Seeming, specious, hypocriti- 
cal. 

Seeming, seemly. 

Seen, versed, practised. 

Seld, seldom. 

Self-bounty, inherent genero- 
sity. 

Seipblably, in resemblance, 
alike. 

Seniory, seniority. 

Sennet, a flourish or soundinf?- 

Sense, reason .natural affectioji, 
feeling, sensual passion. 

Sensible, havingsensatioa, 

Septentrion, the north. 

Sequestration, separacioD. 

Sere or sear, dry. 

Ser.ieaut, a bailiff or sh?riff*3 
officer. 

Serpigo, a kind of tetter. 

Serve, to fulfil. 

Serve, to accompany. 

Set, seated. 

Setebos, a species of devil. 

Several, separated, appro- 
priated. 

Sewer, an oflr^cer who placed 
the aishes on the table. 

Shame, to disgrace. 

Shame, modesty. 

Shard-borne, born by shards est 
scaly wmgs. 



GLOSSARY. 



Shards, the wings of a beetle. 

Shards, broken pots or tiles. 

Sharked, picked up as a shark 
collects his prey. 

Sheen, shiuing, splendour, 
lustre. 

Sheer, pellucid, transparent. 

Shen;, scolded, rebuked, 
ashamed, disgraced. 

Sheiit, to reprove harshly. 

Sheriff 's-post, a large post set 
up at the door ot that officer 
for affixing proclamations. 

Shive, a slice. 

Shot, shooter. 

Shovel-board, a game. 

Shoughs, shocks, a species of 
dog. 

Shouldered, rudely thrust into. 

Shrewd, having the qualities 
of a shrew. 

Shrift, confession. 

Shrive, to confess, to call to 
confession. 

Shut-up, to conclude. 

Side-sleeves, long sleeves. 

Siege, stool, seat, rank. 

Sight, the perforated part of a 
helmet. 

Sightless, unsightly. 

Sign, to shew, todi-notc. 

Silly, simide or rustic. 

Silly, sooth, idain, simple truth. 

Sincere, honest. 

Sinew, strength. 

Single, weak, debile, small, 
voiU of duplicity or guile. 

Sink apace, cinque-pace, a 
dance. 

Sir, the designation of a parson. 

Sir-reverence, a corruption of 
save-reverence. 

Siih, since. 

Sitheiice, thence. 

Sizes, allowances of victuals. 

Skains-mates, loose compa- 
nions. 

Skirr, to scour, to ride hastily. 

Slack, to neglect. 

Slave, to treat as a slave. 

Sleave, the ravelled knotty part 
of the silk. 

Sledded, riding in a sled or 
sledge. 

Slights, arts, subtle practices. 

Slips, a contrivance of leather, 
to start two dogs at the same 
time. 

Sliver, to cut a piece or slice. 

Slops, loose breeches, or trow- 
sers, tawdry dress, 

Slough, the skin which the ser- 
pent anuually throws oft. 

Slower, more serious. 

Slubber, to do any thing care- 
lessly, imperfectly, obscure. 

Smilingly, with signs of plea- 
sure. 

Smirched «oiled or obscured. 

Smoothed, to stroke, to caress, 
to fondle. 

Sneap, to check or rebuke, a 
rebuke. 

Sneaning, nipping. 

Sneck-up, a cant-phrase, " go 
hang yourself." 

Snuff, hftsty anger. 

Snuff's, dislikes. 

Soil, spot, turpitude, reproach. 

Solely, alone. 

Solicit, courtship. 

Solicit, to excite. 

Soliciting, information. 

Solidares, an unknown coin. 

Sometimes, formerly. 

Soolh, truth. 

Sooth, sweetness. 

Sorriest, worthless, vile. 

Sorry, sorrowful or dismal. 

Sort, to choo>.e out. 

Sort, a company, a ])ack, ranks 
and degrees of men. 

Sort, to happen, to agree. 

Sort, the lot. 

Sort and suit, figure and rank. 

Sot, a fool. 

Soul-fearing, soul-appalling. 

Sound, to declare or publish. 

Sound, soundly. 

Sowi.topull by theears. 

Sowter, perhaps the name of a 
hound. 

Spanned, mea'^ured. 

Specialty, jiarticul.Tr rights. 

Sped, the fate decided. 

Speed, event. 

Sperr, to shut up, defend by 
bars, &:c. 



Spleen, humour, caprice, spirit, 

resentment. 

Spleen, violent hurry, tumul- 
tuous speed. 

Spleens, inclination to spiteful 
mirth. 

Spot, stain or disgrace. 

Spotted, wicked. 

Siirag, or spackt, apt to learn. 

Spread, to stand separately. 

Sprighted, haunted. 

Sprights, spinis 

Springhalt, a disease incident 
to horses. 

Springing, blooming, in the 
spring of life. 

Sprightly, ghostly. 

Spurs, the longest and largest 
roots of trees. 

Square, to quarrel . 

Square, regular, equitable, just, 
suitable. 

Square, compass, comprehen- 
sion, or complement. 

Squiirer, a quarrelsome fellow. 

Squash, an immature peascod. 

Squiny, to look asquint. 

Squire, asquai'e or rule. 

Staggers, delirious, perturba- 
tion. 

Stale, a bait or decoy to catch 
birds. 

Stale, a pretence. 

Stale, to allure. 

Stand, to withstand, to resist. 

Standing bowls, bowls elevated 
on feet. 

Stannyal, the common stone- 
hawk. 

Star a scar of that appearance. 

Stark, stiff. 

Starkly, stiffly. 

•Starred, destined. 

State, a chair with a canopy 
over it, 

State, standing. 

State, official state, dignity. 

Stales, persons of high rank. 

Station, the act of standing. 

Statist, statesman. 

■Statue, a portrait. 

Staves, the wood of the lances. 

Stay, ahinderer, a supporter. 

Stead, to assist, or help. 

Stick ing-place, the stop in a 
machine. 

Sticklers, arbitrators, judges, 
sidesmen. 

Stigmatical, marked or stigma- 
tized. 

Stigmatic, one on whom nature 
has set a mark of deformity. 

Still, constant or continual. 

Stilly, gently, lowly. 

Stint, to stop, to retard. 

Stith, an anvil. 

Stoccata, a thrust or stab ■with 
a rapier. 

Stock, a term in fencing. 

Stock, stocking. 

Stomach, passion, pride, stub- 
born resolution, constancy, 
resolution. 

Stoop, a measure somewhat 
more than half agallon. 

Stover, a kind of thaich. 

Stoup, a kind of flagon. 

Strachy, probably some kind of 
domestic office. 

Straight, immediately. 

Strain, descent, lineage. 

Strain, difficulty, doubt. 

Str.^it, narrow, avaricious. 

Strahed, put to difficulties. 

Strange, odd, different from. 

Strange, alien, becoming a 
stranger, a stranger. 

Strangely, wonderfully. 

Strangeness, shyness, distant 
behaviour. 

Stranger, an alien. 

Strangle, to suppress. 

Stratagem, great or dreadful 
event. 

Strict, hard. 

Strive, to contend. 

Stuck, a thrust in fencing. See 
Stoccata. Stock. 

Stuff, baggage. 

Stuff, substance or essence. 

Stuffed, plenty, more than 
enough. 

Subscribe, to agree to. 

Subscribe, to yield, to surren- 
der. 

Subscrii)tion, obedience. 

Submerged, whelmed under 
water. 



Subtilty, deception. 

Subtle, smooth, level. 

Success, succession. 

Successive, belonging to the 
succession. 

Successively, by order of suc- 
cession. 

Sudden, violent. 

Sufficiency, abilities. 

Suggest, to tempt, to prompt, 
to instigate. 

Suggestion, hint. 

Suggestions, temptations. 

Suited, dressed. 

Sullen, obstinately trouble- 
some. 

Summer-swelling, that which 
swells or e.xpands in summer. 

Summoners, summoning o£B- 
cers. 

Sumpter, a horse that carries 
necessaries on a journey. 

Superfluous, over-clothed. 

Superstitious, serving with 
superstitious attention. 

Suppo^ed, counterfeited, ima- 
gined. 

Sure, safe, out of danger, 
surely. 

Sur-reined, over-worked, or 
ridden. 

Suspire, to breathe. 

Swaggerer, a roaring, fighting 
fellow. 

Swart orswarth, black, or dark 
brown. 

Swarth or swath, as much 
grass or corn as a mower 
cuts down at one stroke of 
his scythe. 

Swashing, noisy, bullying. 

Swath, the dress of a new-born 
child. 

Sway, the whole weight, mo- 
mentum. 

Sweeting, a species of apple. 

Swift, ready. 

Swinge-bucklers, rakes, rioters. 

Swoop, the descent of a bird of 
prey. 

Table, the palm of the hand 
extended. 

Table, a jiicture. 

1 ables, table-books, memoran- 
dums. 

Tabourine, a small drum. 

Tag, the lowestof the populace. 

Taint, to throw a slur upon. 

Take, to strike with a disease, 
to blast. 

Take-in, to conquer, to get the 
better of. 

Take-up, to contradict, to call 
to an account. 

Take-up, to levy. 

Tall, stout, bold, courageous. 

Tallow-keech, the fat of an ox 
or cow. 

Tame, ineffectual. 

Tame snake, a contemptible 
fellow. 

Tamed, fiat, spiritless. 

Tarre, to stimulate, to excite, 
provoke. 

Tartar, Tartarus, the fabled 
place of future punishment. 

Task, to keep busied with scru- 
ples. 

Tasked, taxed. 

Taurus, sides and heart in me- 
dical astrology. 

Tawdry, a kind of necklaces 
worn by country girls. 

Taxation, censure or satire. 

1'een, sorrow, grief. 

Temper, to monld like wax. 

Temper, temperament, consti- 
tution. 

Temperaiice, temperature. 

1 empered, rendered pliable. 

Tend, to attend upon, to wait 
for. 

Tender, to regard with affec- 
tion. 

Tcnd'ring, watching with ten- 
derness. 

Tent, to take un residence. 

iercel.the male hawk. 

Termagant, the god of the 
Sarnreiis. 

Termagant, furious 

Testeii, brought to the test. 

Testern, to gratify with a tes- 
ter, or sixpence. 

Tetchy, touchy, peevish, fret- 
ful. 

Iharborougb, thirdborough, a 



25 

peace officer. 

Theme, a subject. 

'i heorick, theory. 

Ihewes, muscular strengtn. 

Thick, in quick succession. 

'I'hick-pleached, thickly inter- 
woven. 

Thill, the shafts of a cart. 

i hirdborough. See Thar- 
borough. 

Thought, melancholy. 

Ihrasouical, boastful, brag- 
ging. 

Thread fibre or part 

Thread, to pass through. 

Three-man-Deetle, an imple- 
ment used for driving piles. 

Three-pile, rich velvet. 

Thrift, a state of prosperity. 

Throes, emits as in parturition. 

Uhrum, the extremity of a 
weaver's warp. 

Thrummed, made of coarse 
woollen cloth. 

1 ib, a strumpet. 

Tickle, ticklish. 

Tickle-brain, som# strong 1> 
quor. 

Tight, handy, adroit. 

Tk'htly, cleverly, adroitly. 

Ti.ly-valley, an interjection of 
contempt. 

Tilth, tillage. 

I inielpss, untimely. 

Tinct, tincture. 

Tire, head-dress. 

'I ire, to fasten, to fix the taloM 
on. 

Tire, to be idly employed on. 

Tired, adorned with ribands. 

Tod.toyield or isroduce atod, 
or twenty-eight pounds. 

Tokened, spotted as in the 
plague. 

Toll, to enter on the toll-book. 

foiling, taking toll. 

Tomboy, a masculine, forward 
girl. 

Topless, that which has no- 
thing above it, supreme. 

Topple, to tumble. 

Touch, sensation, sense, feel- 
ing. 

Touch, exploit or stroke. 

Touch, a spice or particle. 

I'ouch, touchstone. 

Touches, features. 

Touched, tried. 

1 oward, in a state of readinesi;. 

Toys, rumours, idle reports) 

fancies, freaks of imagination. 

loze, to pull or pluck. 

Trace, to follow. 

Trade, a custom, an established 
habit. 

Tradition.traditiotial practices. 

Traditional, adherent to old 
customs. 

Trail, the scent left by the pas- 
sage of the game. 

Traitress.a term of endearment. 

Tranect, a fer'y. 

Translate, to transfer, to ex- 
plain. 

Trash, a hunting phrase, to cor- 
rect. 

Travel, to stroll. 

Traverse, a term in military 
exercise. 

Traversed, across. 

Tray-trip, some kind of game. 

Treachers, treacherous per- 
sons. 

Trenched, cut, caiTcd. 

Trick, trick of the times. 

Trick, peculiarity of voice, 
face, &c. 

Trick, smeared, painted, in he- 
raldry. 

Tricking, dress. 

Tricksy, clever, adroit. 

Triumphs, masques, revels, 
public exhibitions. 

Trojan, cant word for a thief. 

Troll, to dismiss trippingly 
from the tongue. 

Trol my-dames, a game. 

Trossers, trowsers. 

Trow, to believe. 

Truth, honesty. 

'1 ucket, or tucket sonnnance a 
flourish. 

Turlygood, orturlupin, a spe- 
cies of gipsy. 

Turn, to become acescent. 

Turquoise,! precious stone. 

Twangling an expression of 
contempt. 



26 



GLOSSARY 



Twigging, wickered. 

Tyed, limited, circumscribed. 

Type, distinguishing mark, 

show or emblem. 
Tything, division of a place, a 

district. 

Vail, to condesceno to look, to 
let down, to bow, to sink. 

Vailing, lowering. 

Vain, vanity. 

Vain, light oftongue, not vera- 
cious. 

Valance, fringed with a beard. 

Validity, value. 

Vanity, illusion. 

Vantage, convenience, oppor- 
tunity, advantage. 

Vantbrace, armour for the arm. 

Varlet, a servant or footman to 
a warrior. 

Vast, waste, dreary. 

Vaunt, the avant, what went be- 
fore. 

Vaward, the fore part. 

Velure, velvet. 

Venew, a bout, a term in fenc- 
ing. 

Vengeance, mischief. 

Vent, rumour, matter for dis- 
course. 

Ventages, the holes of a flute. 

Venys, hits in fencing. 

Verbal, verbose, full of talk. 

Verify, to bear true witness. 

Very, immediate. 

Via, a cant phrase of exultation. 

Vice, the fool of the old mo- 
ralities. 

Vice, to advise. 

Vice, grasp. 

V^ie, to contend in rivalry. 

Vied, bragged. 

Viewless, unseen, invisible. 

Villain, a worthless fellow, a 
servant. 

Virginalling, playing on the 
virginal, a spinnet. 

Virtue, the most efficacious, 
part, valour. 

Virtuous, salutiferous. 

Virtuous, belonging to good- 
breeding. 

Vixen, or fixen. a female fox. 

Vizaments, advisements. 

Voluntary, voluntarily. 

Votarist, supplicant. 

Vouchsafed, vouchsafing. 

Vox, tone or voice. 

Vulgar, common. 

Vulgarly, publicly. 

Umber, a dusky yellow-colour- 
ed earth. 

Umbered, discoloured by the 
gleam of fire. 

Unaccustomed, unseemly, in- 
decent. 

Unaneled, without extreme 
unction. 

Unavoided, unavoidable. 



Unbarbed, tntr'mmed, un- 
.shaven. 

Unbated, not blunted. 

Unbolt, to open, explain. 

Unbolted, coarse 

Unbookish, ignorant.^ 

Unbreathed, unexercised, un- 
practised. 

Uncape, to dig out, a term in 
fox-hunting. 

Uncharged, unattacked. 

Unclew,to draw out. exhaust. 

Uncoined, real, unrefined, un- 
adorned. 

Unconfirmed, unpractised in 
the ways of the world. 

Under generation, the anti- 
podes. 

Undergo, to be subject to. 

Under-skinker, a tapster, an 
underd rawer. 

Undertaker, one who takes 
upon himself the quarrel of 
another. 

Underwrite, to subscribe, to 
obey. 

Under-wrought, under-work- 
ed, undetermined. 

Undeserving, undeserved. 

Unearned, not deserved. 

Uneath, scarcely, not easily. 

Unexpressive, inexjiressible. 

Unhappy, mischievously wag- 
gish, unlucky. 

Unhidden, open, clear. 

Unhoused, free fro-m domestic 
cares. 

Unhouseled, not having re- 
ceived the sacrament. 

Unimproved, not crnided by 
knowledge, or experience. 

Union, a species of^ pearl. 

Unkind, coutrary to kind, or 
nature. 

Unmastered, licentious. 

Unowed, that which has no 
owner. 

Unpregnant, not quickened. 

Unproper, common. 

Unqualitied, unmanned, dis- 
armed of his faculties. 

Unquestionable, unwilling to 
be conversed with. 

Unready, undressed. 

Unrespective, inattentive to 
consequences. 

Unrest, disquiet. 

Unrough, smooth-faced, un- 
bearded. 

Unsisted, untried. 

Unsisiing, always open, never 
at rest. 

Unsmirched, clean, not defiled. 

Unsqnared, unadapted to their 
subject. 

Unstanched, incontinent. 

Untenipering, not tempering, 
not softening. 

Untraced, singular, not in com- 
mon use. 

Untriinmed, nndressed. 



Untnith,disloyalty, treachery. 

Unvalued, invaluable. 

Up-spring, upstart. 

Urchins, hedge-hogs, or per- 
haps fairies. 

Usance, usury. 

Use, practice long countenanc- 
ed by custom. 

Use, to make a practice of. 

Use, interest. 

Used, behaved. 

Usurping, false. 

Utis, a merry festival. 

Utter, to vend by retail. 

Utterance, a phrase in combat, 
extremity. 

Waft, to beckon. 

Wage, to fight, to combat, to 
prescribe to. 

Wages, is equal to. 

Waist, the part between the 
quarter-deck and the fore- 
castle. 

Waist, the middle. 

Walk, a district in a forest, 

Waonion, vengeance. 

Ward, posture of defence. 

Ward, guardianship. 

Warden, a species of pears. 

Warder, guard, sentinel. 

Warn, to summon. 

Wassels, meetings of rustic 
mirth. 

Watch, a watch-light. 

Water-work, water-colours. 

Wax, to grow. 

Waxen, increase. 

Wealth, advantage, happiness. 

Wear, the fashion. 

Wee, little. 

Weeds, clothing. 

Ween, to think, to imagine. 

Weet. to know. 

Weigh, lo value or esteem, to 
deliberate. 

Welkin, the colour of the sky, 
blue. 

Well-found, of acknowledged 
excellence. 

Well-liking, plump, embon- 
point. 

Wen, swollen excrescence. 

Wend, to go. 

Whelked,varied with protuber- 
ances. 

Whe'r, whether. 

Where, whereas. 

Whiffler, an officer who walks 
first in processions. 

Whiles, until. 

Whip, the crack, the best. 

Whipstock, a carter's whip. 

Whirring, whirring away. 

White, the white mark in ar- 
cherv. 

White death, the chlorosis. 

Whiting-time, bleachiug-time, 
spring. 

Whitsters, bleechors of liaea. 



Whittle, a species of knife. 

Whooping, measure or reckon 
ing. 

Wide, remotely from, wide of 
the mark. 

Wilderness, wildness. 

Will, wilfulness. 

Wimple, a hood or veil. 

Winter-ground, to protect a- 
gainst the inclemency of 
winter. 

Wis, to know. 

Wish, to recommend* 

Wit, to know. 

Witch, to charm, to bewitch. 

Wits, senses. 

Wittol, knowing, conscious o*" 

Witty, judicious, cunning. 

Woe, to be sorry. 

Woman, to affect suddenly and 
deeply. 

Woman-lired, hen-pecked. 

Wondered, able to perform 
wonders. 

Wood, crazy, frantic. 

Woodman, an attendant on the 
forester. 

Woolward, a phrase appro- 
priated to pilgrims and peni- 
tentiaries. 

Words, dispute, contention. 

Work , a term of fortification. 

Workings, labours of ihoughl. 

World, to go to the, to be mar- 
ried. 

Worm, a serpent. 

Worship, dignity, authority. 

Worth, wealth or fortune, ths 
value, full quota or propor- 
tion. 

Worts, cabbage. 

Wot, to know. 

Wound, twisted about. 

Wreak, resentment. 

Wreak, to revenge. 

Wrest, an instrument for tun- 
ing the harp. 

Wrested, obtained by violence. 

Writ, writing, composition. 

Writhled, wrinkled. 

Wrongs, persons who wrong. 

Wrongs, injurious practices. 

Wroth, misfortune. 

Wrought, worked, agitated. 

Wrung, pressed, strained. 

Yarely, readily, nimbly. 
Yearns, grieves or < exes. 
Yeasty, or yesty, foaming or 

frothy. 
Yeild, to inform of, condescend 

to. 
Yeild, to reward. 
Yell owness, jealousy. 
Yeoman, a bailift's follower. 

Zany, a bufloon, a merry an- 
drew. 



THE TEMPEST. 



Thbre was DO edition of this play previous to the first folio of 
the Author's works, in 1623.— It was one of the very latest of 
his productions : Mr. M alone supposesit to have been written 
in the jear 11)11 ;— but it was moM probably produced in the 
latter part of 1(312, or the beginning of 1613, as we find from 
Mr. Venue's MSS. that it " was acied by John Heniing and 
the rest of the King's company, before Prince Charles, the 
Lady Elizabeth, and the Prince Palatine Elector, in the be- 
ginning of the year 1613."— The Prince Palatine was married 
to the Ladv Elizabeth in February 1613, and thia e.xguisite 
poem, which relates the loves of a young prince and princess, 
and introduces a pageant of spirits to crown them with 

Honour, riches, marriage-blessing, 
Long continuance, and increasing, 
was not improbably composed on the occasion of their royal 
nuptials ; as we know that it made a part of the splendid fes- 
tivities in celebration of them. Mr. Walone imagines in this 
play a reference to the shii)wreck of Sir George Somersonthe 
Island of 13ermud:i. 1 cannot follow him in tracing the re- 
semblance.— It is difficult to perceive the connexion between 
a tempest in the Alediterranean and a hurricane in the At- 
lantic ; — or between the wreck of an English ship, with her 
crew of adventurous navigators, on the coast of Bermuda, and 
the loss of an Italian vessel, conveying the king of Naples and 
the Duke of Milan from a royal marriage in Tunis, on an 
imagin.iry island, near the coast of Africa.— I'he only cir- 
cumstance I can discover in the accounts of Sir George 
Somers's shipwreck, which Shakspeare appears to have had 
in his mind in writing this play, is the only circumstance that 
none of the comiuenthtors have noticed, though it is related 
in a voliimf to which they have all referred, viz. Ulii/i's 
Hiitoiy of f^irginia.— I'he assumption of royal authority by 
Stcpha'no, and the scenes between that character and Caliban 
and Irinculo, may have been suggested by the event related 
in the following passage.— When Sir George Somers left the 
Island of Bermuda in the jear 1609, " Christopher Carter, 
Edward Waters, and Edward Chard remained behind. Sir 
George's vessel being once out of sight, these three lords, 
and sole inhabitants of all these islands, began to erect their 
little commonwealth, with equal power and brotherly regency, 
building a house, preparing the ground, planting tneir corn, 
and such seeds and fruits as they had, and providing other 
necessaries and conveniences. Then making search among 
the crannies and corners of those craggy rocks, what the 
ocean, from the world's creation, had thrown up among them. 



besides divers smaller pieces, they happened upon the largest 
block of Ambergris that had ever been seen or heard (iT in 
one lump. It weighed fourscore pounds, and is said, itself 
alone, besides the others, to have been then worth nine or ten 
thousand pounds. And now being rich, they grew so rioty 
and ambitious, that these three forlorn men, above three 
thousand miles from their native country, and with "ittle 
probability of ever seeing it again, fell out for the sujieriority 
and rule ; and their competition and quarrel grew so high, 
that Chard and Waters, being of the greater spirit, had ap- 
pointed to decide the matter in the field. But Carter wisely 
.stopped their arms, choosing rather to bear with such trouble- 
some rivals, than, by being rid of them, to live alone." — 
iitit/i's Virgijiia, p. 120. — 11 Shakspeare in composing his play 
had any recollection of the above event, i'he I'empest could 
not have been written till after the year 1612, when the story 
was brought to England by Captain Matthew Somers. Ihis 
gentleman was nephew of Sir George Somers ; he accompanied 
his uncle both in his first and second visit to the Bermudas, 
and, after his death on the Island, returned to England with 
the body. 

Collins the poet informed Thomas Warton, that the subject of 
this play was taken from a novel called Aurelioand Isabella; 
but this information has proved to be incorrect. — The memory 
of Collins became confused in his last melancholy illness, 
and he probably gave the name of one novel for another. — 
A circumstance which he added, may perhaps lead to the 
discovery of the real tale :— the principal character of the 
romance, answering to .Shakspeare's Prospero, was a chemical 
necromancer, who had bound a .spirit, like Ariel, to perform 
his services.— .'Mr. Boswell relates, that a friend of his had 
met with an Italian novel which corresponded with Collins's 
description. 

Malone, Steevens, and Blackstone have discovered, in the fol- 
lowing words from the Induction to BenJvnsitn's Barlliolomevr 
Fair — "If there be never a servant-monster in the fair, who 
can help it?" an allusion to the character of Caliban, and 
another proof of that malignity against our Author which 
they have chosen to impute to the great contemporary and 
personal friend of Shakspeare.— 1 his subject is fully dis- 
cussed in the Life prefixed to Harness's edition, and only 
mentioned here, to shew on how slight authority this absurd 
falsehood has been propagated ; and as another instance to 
prove, that to the theories of a commentator, as to the dreams 
of jealousy, " trifles light as air. are confirmations strong as 
proofs of holy writ.' 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Alomso, King of Naples. 
Sebastian, hh brother, 
PnospERO, the rightful Dnhe o/" Milan. 
Antonio, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan. 
Ferdinand, son to the King o/" Naples. 
GoNZALO, an honest old counsellor ii/" Naples. 
Adrian, Francisco, lords, 
Caliban, a savnge and deformed slave, 
Trinculo, a jester. 
Stephano, a drunken butler. 
Master of a ship. Boatswain, avd Mariners. 
Miranda, daughter to Prospero. 
Ariel, an airif spirit. 

Iris, Ceres, Juno, Nymphs, Reapers, spirits. 
Other spirits attending on Prospero. 

SCENE. — The Sea, loith a Ship ; afterwards an 
uninhabited Island. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.— On a Ship at Sea A Storm with 

Thunder and Lightning. 

Enter a Ship-master and a Boatswain. 
Master. Boatswain, — 
Boats. Here, master : What cheer '> 
Must. Good : Speak to the mariners : fall to't yarely 
or we run ourselves aground : bestir, bestir. [Eait.' 

Enter Mariners. 

Boats, Heigh, my hearts ; cheerly, cheerly, my 



hearts ; yaie, yare : 
the master's whistle.- 
if room enough ! 



take in the top-sail ; Tend to 
-Blow till thou burst thy wind. 



Enter Alonzo, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, 
GoNZALO, and others. 

Alon. Good Boatswain, have care. Where's the 
master? Play the men. 

Boats. I pray now, keep below. 

Ant. Where is the master. Boatswain ? 

Boats. Do you not hear him 1 You mar our la- 
bour ; Keep your cabins : you do assist the storm. 

Gon, Nay, good, be patient. 

Boats. When the sea is. Hence ! What care 
these roarers for the name of king ? To cabin : si- 
lence : trouble us not. , 

Gon. Good ; yet remember whom thou hast aboard. 

Boats. None that I more love than myself. Vou 
are a counsellor ; if you can command these ele- 
ments to silence, and work the peace of the present, 
we will not hand a rope more ; use your authority. 
If you cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, 
and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mis- 
chance of the hour, if it so hap. — Cheerly, good 
hearts. — Out of our way, I say. [£.iit. 

Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow : me- 
thinks he iiath no drowning mark upon him ; his 
complexion is perfect gallows. .Stand fast, good 
fate, to his hanging ! make the rope of his destiny 
our cable, for our own doth little advantage ! If he 
be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable. 

[Eieunt. 



•28 



TEMPEST. 



Re-enter Boatswain. 

Boats. Down with the topmast ; yare ; lower, 
lower ; bring her to try with main-course. [A crii 
within.'] A plague upon this howling ! they are 
louder than the weather, or our office. — 

Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalo. 

Yet again 1 what do you here 1 Shall we give o'er, 
and drown ? Have you a mind to sink ? 

Seb. A pox o' your throat ! you bawling, blas- 
phemous, incharitable dog ! 

Boats. Work you, then. 

Ant. Hang, cur, hang! you whoreson, insolent 
noise-makei, we are less afraid to be drowned than 
tliou art. 

Gon. I'll warrant him from drowning ; though the 
ship were no stronger than a nut-shell, and as leaky 
as an unstanched wench. 

Boats, Lay her a-hold, a-hold : set her two courses 
off; to sea again, lay her off. 

Enter Mariners wet. 

Mar. All lost ! to prayers, to prayers ! all lost ! 

[^Eieunt. 

Boats. What, must our mouths be cold ? 

Gon. The king and prince at prayers ! let us as- 
For our case is as theirs. [sist them, 

Seb. I am out of patience. [drunkards. — 

Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives by 
This wide-chapped rascal ; — 'Would, thou might'st 
The washing of ten tides ! [lie drowning, 

Gon. He'll be hanged yet ; 
Though every drop of water swear against it. 
And gape at wid'st to glut him. 
[v4 confused noise within.~\ — Mercy on us ! We split, 
we split '.—Farewell, my wife and children ! Fare- 
well, brother ! We split, we split, we split ! — 

Ant. Let's all sink with the king. [Exit. 

Seb. Let's take leave of him. [Exit. 

Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of 
sea for an acre of barren grround ; long heath, brown 
furze, any thing : The wills above be done ! but I 
would fain die a dry death. [Exit. 

SCENE II. 

The Island : before the Cell of Prospero. 
Enter Prospero and ]\Iiranda. 

Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you have 
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them : 
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, 
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, 
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd 
With those that I saw suffer ! a brave vessel. 
Who had no doubt some noble creatures in her, 
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock 
Against my very heart ! Poor souls ! they perish'd. 
Had I been any god of power, I would 
Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er 
It should tlie good ship so have swallowed, and 
The freighting souls within her. 

Pro. Be collected ; 

No more amazement : tell your piteous heart, 
There's no harm done. 

Mira. O, woe the day ! 

Pro. No harm. 

I have done nothing but in care of thee, 
(Of thee, my dear one ! thee, my daughter !) who 
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing 
Of whence I am ; nor that I am more better 
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, 
And thy no greater father. 



Mira. More to know 

Did never meddle with my thoughts. 

Pro. 'Tis time 

I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand, 
And pluck my magic garment from me. — So ; 

[Lutfs down his mantle. 
Lie there my art. — Wipe thou thine eyes ; have 

comfort 
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd 
The very virtue of compassion in thee, 
I have with such provision in mine art 
So safely order'd, that there is no soul — 
No, not so much perdition as a liair. 
Betid to any creature in the vessel 
Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. — 
For thou must now know further. [Sit down ; 

Mira. "You have often 

Begun to tell me what I am ; but stopp'd 
And left me to a bootless inquisition ; 
Concluding, Stay, not yet. — 

Pro. The hour's now come , 

The very minute bids thee ope thine ear ; 
Obey, and be attentive. Can'st thou remember 
A time before we came unto this cell ? 
I do not think thou can'st ; for then thou wast not 
Out three years old. 

Mira, Certainly, sir, I can. 

Pro. By what t by any other house, or person 1 
Of any thing the image tell me, that 
Hath kept with thy remembrance. 

Mira, 'Tis far off; 

And rather like a dream than an assurance 
That my remembrance warrants : Had I not 
Four or five women once, that tended me ? [is it. 
Pro. Thou had'st, and more, Miranda : But how 
That this lives in thy mind 1 What see'st thou else 
In the dark backward and abysm of time 1 
If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here. 
How thou cam'st here, thou may'st. 

Mira. But that I do not. 

Pro, Twelve years since, Miranda, twelve years 
Thy father was the duke of INIilan, and [since, 

A prince of power. 

Mira, Sir, are not you my father ? 

Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and 
She said — thou wast my daughter ; and thy father 
Was duke of Milan ; and his only heir 
A princess, no worse issued. 

Mira. O, the heavens ! 

What foul play had we, that we came from thence; 
Or blessed was't, we did ? 

Pro. Both, both, my girl ; 

By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence ; 
But blessedly holp hither. 

Mira. O, my heart bleeds 

To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to, [ther. 
Which is from my remembrance ! Please you, far- 
Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio, — 
I pray thee, mark me, — that a brother should 
Be so perfidious ! — he whom, next thyself. 
Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put 
The manage of my state ; as, at that time, 
Through all the signiories it was the first. 
And Prospero the prime duke ; being so reputed 
In dignity, and, for the liberal arts. 
Without a parallel : those being all my study. 
The government 1 cast upon my brother. 
And to my state grew stranger, being transported. 
And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle — 
Dost thou attend me 1 

Mira. Sir, most heedfully. 

Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits. 



ACT 1.— SCENE II. 



29 



How to deny them ; whom to advance, and whom 
To trash for over- topping ; new created 
The creatures that were mine ; 1 say, or chang'd them, 
Or else new form'd them ; having botli tlie key 
Of officer and office, set all hearts i'th' state 
To what tune pleas'd his ear ; that now he was 
The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, 
And sucktl my verdure out on 't. — Thou attend'st 
I pray thee, mark me. [not : 

Mira. O good sir, I do. 

Pro. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicate 
To closeness, and the bettering of my mind 
With that, which, but by being so retired, 
O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother 
Awak'd an evil nature : and my trust, 
Like a good parent, did beget of him 
A falsehood, in its contrary as great 
As my trust was ; which had, indeed, no limit, 
A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, 
Not only with what my revenue yielded, 
But what my power might else exact, — like one, 
Who having, unto truth, by telling of it, 
INIade such a sinner of his memory, 
To credit his own lie, — he did believe 
He was indeed the duke ; out of the substitution, 
And executing the outward face of royalty, 
With all prerogative : — Hence his ambition 
Growing, — Dost hear? 

Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. 

Pro. To have no screen between this part he play'd, 
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be 
Absolute IMilan : JMe, poor man ! — my library 
Was dukedom large enough ; of temporal royalties 
He thinks me now incapable : confederates 
(So dry he was for sway) with the king of Naples, 
To give nim annual tribute, do him homage ; 
Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend 
The dukedom, yet unbow'd, (alas, poor iVIilan!) 
To most ignoble stooping. 

Mira. O the heavens ! 

Pro. Mark his condition, and the event ; then tell 
If this might be a brother. [me, 

Mira. I should sin 

To think but nobly of my grandmother : 
Good wombs have bonie bad sons. 

Pro. Now the condition. 

This king of Naples, being an enemy 
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit ; 
Which was, that he in lieu o" the premises, — 
Of homage, and I know not how much tribute, — 
Should presently extirpate me and mine 
Out of the dukedom ; and confer fair IMilan, 
With all the honours, on my brother : Whereon, 
A treacherous army levied, one midnight 
Fated to the purpose, did Antonio open 
The gates of JMilan ; and, i' the dead of darkness, 
I'he ministers for the purpose hurried thence 
Me, and thy crying self. 

Mira. Alack, for pity ! 

I, not rememb'ring how I cry'd out then, 
Will cry it o'er again : it is a hint. 
That wrings mine eyes to 't. 

Pro. Hear a little farther, 

And then I '11 bring thee to the present business 
Which now's upon us; without the which, this story 
Were most impertinent. 

Mira. Wherefore did they not 

That hour destroy us 7 

Pro. Well demanded, wench ; 

My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not ; 
(So dear the love my people bore me) nor set 
A mark so bloody on the business ; but 



With colours fairer paintec their foul ends. 
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark ; 
Bore us some leagues to sea ; where they prepar'd 
A rotten carcase of a boat, not rigg'd. 
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats 
Instinctively had quit it: there they hoist us, 
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us ; to sigh 
To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again, 
Did us but loving wrong. 

Mira. Alack! what trouble 

Was I then to you ! 

Pro. O ! a cherubim 

Thou wast, thou didst ])reserve me ! Thou didst smile. 
Infused with a fortitude from heaven, — 
When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt; 
Under my burden groan'd ; which rais'd in me 
An undergoing stomach, to bear up 
Against what should ensue. 

Mira. How came we ashore? 

Pro. By Providence divine. 
Some food we had, and some fresh water, that 
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, 
Out of his charity, (who being then appointed 
Master of this design, ) did give us ; with 
Rich garments, linens, stutl's, and necessaries. 
Which since have steaded much ; so, of his gentleness, 
Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me, 
From my own library, with volumes that 
I prize above my dukedom. 

Mira. 'Would I might 

But ever see that man 1 

Pro. Now I arise : — 

Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. 
Here in this island we arrived ; and here 
Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit 
Than other princes can, that have more time 
For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful, [you, sir, 
Mira. Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray 
(For still 'tis beating in my mind,) your reason 
For raising this sea-storm ? 

Pro. Know thus far forth. — 

By accident most strange, bountitul fortune. 
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies 
Brought to this shore: and by my prescience 
I find my zenith doth depend upon 
A most auspicious star ; whose influence 
If now 1 coujt not, but omit, my fortunes 
Will ever after droop. — Here cease more questions ; 
Thou art inclin'd to sleep ; 'tis a good dulness. 
And give it way ; — I know thou can'st not choose. 

[iNIiRANnA sleeps. 
Come away, servant, come: I am read) now; 
Approach, my Ariel ; come. 

Enter AniEL. 

Ari. All hail, great master ! grave sir, hail ! I come 
To answer thy best pleasure ; be 't to fly, 
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride 
On the curl'd clouds ; to thy strong bidding, task 
Ariel, and all his quality. 

Pro. Hast thou, spirit, 

Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee? 

Ari. To every article. 
I boarded the king's ship ; now on the beak. 
Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, 
I flam'd amazement: Sometimes, I'd divide. 
And burn in many places ; on the top-mast 
The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly. 
Then meet, and join : .love's lightnings, the precursors 
O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary 
And sight-out-running were not : 'I'he fire, and cracks 
Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune 



30 



TEMPEST. 



Seera'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble, 
Yea, his dread trident shake. 

Pro. My brave spirit ! 

Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil 
Would not infect his reason 1 

Ari. Not a soul 

But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd 
Some tricks of desperation: All, but mariners, 
Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, 
Then all a-fire with me. The king's son, Ferdinand, 
With hair upstaring, (then like reeds, not hair,) 
Was the first man that leap'd ; cried, Hell is empty, 
And all the devils are here. 

Pro. Why, that's my spirit ! 

But was not this nigh shore 1 

Ari. Close by, my master. 

Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe ? 

Ari. Not a hair perish'd ; 

On their sustaining garments not a blemish. 
But fresher than before : and, as thou bad'st me. 
In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle : 
The king's son have I landed by himself ; 
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs, 
In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting. 
His arms in this sad knot. 

Pro. Of the king's ship. 

The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd. 
And all the rest o' the fleet ? 

Ari. Safely in harbour 

Is the king's ship ; in the deep nook, where once 
Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew 
From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid: 
The mariners all under hatches stow'd ; 
Whom, with a charm join'd to their suifer'd labour, 
I have left asleep: and for the rest o' the fleet, 
Wliich I dispers'd, they all have met again ; 
And aie upon the Mediterranean flote. 
Bound sadly home for Naples ; 
Supposing tiiat they saw the king's ship wreck'd. 
And his great person perish. 

Pro. Ariel, thy charge 

Exactly is perform'd ; but there's more work : 
What is the time o' the day 1 

Ari. Past the mid season. 

Pro. At least two glasses: Tho time 'twixt six and 
Must by us both be spent most preciously. [now, 

Ari. Is there more toil 1 — Since thou dost give me 
pains. 
Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd. 
Which is not yet perform'd me. 

Pro. How now 1 moody 1 

What is 't thou can'st demand 1 

Ari. My liberty. 

Pro. Before the time be outl no more. 

Ari. ■ I pray thee 

Remember, I have done thee worthy service; 
Told thee no lies, made no mistakiugs, serv'd 
Without or grudge, or grumblings ■, thou didst pro- 
To bate me a full year. [mise 

Pro. Dost tliou forget 

From what a torment I did free thee 1 

Ari. No. 

Pro. Thou dost ; and think'st 
It much to tread the ooze 9( the sal t deep ; 
To run upon the sharp wind of the north ; 
To do me business in the veins o' the earth. 
When it is bak'd with frost. 

Ari. I do not, sir. 

Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing ! Hast thou forgot 
The foul witch Sycorax, who, witli age and envy. 
Was grown into a hoop 1 hast thou forgot her 1 

Ari. No, sir. 



Pro. Thou hast: Where was she bom ? 

Ari. Sir, in Argier. [speak; tell me. 

Pro. O, was she so ? I must, 

Once in a month, recount what thou hast been, 
Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch, Sycorax, 
For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible 
To enter human hearing, from Argier, 
Thou know'st, was banish'd; for one thjiPg she did, 
They would not take her life : Is not this true ? 

Ari. Ay, sir. [child. 

Pro. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with 
And here was left by the sailors ; Thou, my slave. 
As thou report'st thyself, was then her servant: 
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate 
To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, 
Refusing her grand bests, she did confine thee, 
By help of her more potent ministers, 
And in her most unmitigable rage, 
Into a cloven pine ; within which rift 
Imprison'd, thou did'st painfully remain 
A dozen years ; within which space she died. 
And left thee there ; where thou did'st vent thy groans, 
As fast as mill-wheels strike : Then was this island, 
(Save for the son that she did litter here, 
A freckled whelp, hag-born,) not honour'd with 
A human shape. 

Ari. Yes ; Caliban her son. 

Pro. Dull thing, I say so ; he, that Caliban, 
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st 
What torment I did find thee in : thy groans 
Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts 
Of ever- angry bears ; it was a torment 
To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax 
Could not again undo ; it was mine art. 
When I arriv'd, and heard thee, that made gape 
The pine, and let thee out. 

Ari. I thank thee, master. 

Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak, 
And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till 
Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. 

Ari. Pardon, master : 

I will be correspondent to command. 
And do my spiriting gently. 

Pro. Do so ; and after two days 

I will discharge thee. 

Ari. That's my noble master ! 

What shall I do ? say what ? what shall I do ? 

Pro. Go, make thyself like to a nymph o' the sea; 
Be subject to no sight but mine ; invisible 
To every eye-ball else. Go, take this shape. 
And hither come in't : hence, with diligence. 

^ [Exit Ariel. 
Awake, dear heart, awake ! thou hast slept well ; 
Awake ! 

Mira. The strangeness of your story put 
Heaviness in me. 

Pro. Shake it off; Come on, 

We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never 
Yields us a kind answer. 

Mira. 'Tis a villam, sii, 

I do not love to look on. 

Pro. But, as 'tis, 

We cannot miss him : he does make our fire. 
Fetch in our wood ; and serves in offices 
That profit us. What ho ! slave ! Caliban ! 
Thou earth, thou ! speak. 

Cal. [iyif/iin.] There 's wood enough within. 

Pro. Come forth, I say; there's other business for 
Come forth, thou tortoise! when? [thee: 

Re-enter Ahiel, like a water-nymph. 
Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel, 
Hark in thine ear. 




THE TEMPEST. 

pROSPERO. Thou poisonous slave, got by the Devil himself 
TTpon thy wicked dare come forth ! 

Jet I., Sretii 2. 



ACT I.— SCENE II. 



31 



Ari. My lord, it shall be done. [Exit. 

Pro. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself 
Upon thy wicked dam, come forth ! 

Enter Caliban. 
Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd 
With raven's feather from unwholesome fen. 
Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye, 
And blister you all o'er. [cramps. 

Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have 
Side-stitclies that shall pen thy breath up ; urchins 
Shall, for that vast of night that they may work. 
All exercise on thee : thou shalt be pinch'd 
As thick as honey-combs, each pinch more stinging 
Than bees that made them. 

Cal. I must eat my dinner. 

This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother. 
Which thou tak'st from me. When thou camest first. 
Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st much of me ; would'st 
Water with berries in 't ; and teach me how [give me 
To name the bigger light, and how the less, 
That burn by day and night: and then 1 lov'd thee, 
And shew'd thee all the {[ualities o' the isle. 
The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and fertile ; 
Cursed be I that I did so ! — All the charms 
Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you! 
For I am all the subjects tha|you have, 
Which first was mine own king ; and here you sty me 
In this hard rock, while you do keep from me 
The rest of the island. 

Pel. Thou most lying slave, [thee, 

Whom stripes may move, not kindness: 1 have us'd 
Filth as thou art, with human care ; and lodg'd thee 
In mine own cell, till thou did'st seek to violate 
The honour of my child. 

Cal. O ho, O ho ! — 'would it had been done ! 
Thou did'st prevent me ; I had peopled else 
This isle with Calibans. 

Pro. Abhorred slave ; 

Which any print of goodness will not take, 
Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee. 
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour 
One thing or other: when thou did'st not, savage. 
Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like 
A tiling most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes 
With words that made them known : But thy vile race, 
Though thou did'st learn, had that in 't which good 

natures 
Could not abide to be with ; therefore wast thou 
Deservedly confin'd into this rock. 
Who had'st deserv'd more than a prison. 

Cal. You taught me language ; and my profit on't 
Is, I know how to curse: the red plague rid you, 
For learning me your language ! 

Pro. Hag-seed, hence ! 

Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thou wert best. 
To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice? 
If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly 
What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps; 
Fill all thy bones with aches ; make thee roar 
That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 

Cal. No, pray thee ! — 

I must obey : his art is of such power, [Aside. 

It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 
And make a vassal of hint. 

Pro. So, slave; hence ! [E.Tit Caliban 

Re-enter Ariel invisible, playing and singing ; 
Y^RDiHA'SD following him. 

Ariel's Song. 

Come vnto these yellow sands, 
And then take hands: 



Court'sied when you have, and Mis'd, 

(The wild waves whist,) 
Font it featly here and there ; 
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. 

Hark, hark ! 
Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. [dispersedly. 

The watch- dogs bark : 
Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. [dispersedly. 

Hark, hark ! I hear 
The strain of strutting chanticlere 
Cry, Cock-a-doadle-doo. 

Fer. Where should this music be? i' the air, or the 
It sounds no more : — and sure it waits upon [earth ? 
Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank 
Weeping again the king my fathei's wreck. 
This music crept by me upon the waters ; 
Allaying both their fury, and my passion, 
With its sweet air : thence I have follow'd it, 
Or it hath drawn me rather : — But 'tis gone. 
No, it begins again. 

Ariel sings. 

Full fathom fve thy father lies: 

Of his bones are coral made ; 
Those are pearls, that tvere his eyes : 

A'otliing of him that doth fade, 
But doth snff'er a sea-cha)igB 
Into something rich and strange. 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 
Hark ! now I hear them, — ding-dong, bell. 
[Burden, ding-dong. 

Fer, The ditty does remember my drown'd father : — 
This is no mortal business, nor no sound 
That the earth owes : — I hear it now above me. 

Pro. The fringed curtain of thine eye advance 
And say, what thou seest yond'. 

Mira. What is 't? a spirit? 

Lord, how it looks about ! Believe me, sir. 
It carries a brave form : — But 'tis a spirit. 

Pro. No, wench ; it eats and sleeps, and hath 
such senses 
As we have, such : This gallant, which thou seest, 
Was in the wreck ; and but he's something stain'd 
With grief — that's beauty canker — thou might'st call 
A goodly person. He hath lost his fellows, [him 
And strays about to find them. 

Mira. I might call him 

A thing divine ; for nothing natural 
I ever saw so noble. 

Pro. It goes on, I see, [Asile. 

As my soul prompts it : — Spirit, fine spirit ! I'll free 
Within two days for this. [thee 

Fer. Most sure, the goddess 

On whom these airs attend! — Vouchsafe, my prayer 
May know, if you remain upon this island ; 
And that you will some good instruction give. 
How I may bear me here : My prime request. 
Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder ! 
If you be maid or no ? 

Mira. No wonder, sir j 

But, certainly a maid. 

Fer. My language ! heavens ' — 

I am the best of them that speak this speech. 
Were I but where 'tis spoken. 

Pro. How ! the best ? 

What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee ? 

Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders 
To hear thee speak of Naples : He does hear me ; 
And, that he does, I weep : myself am Naples ; 
Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld 
The king my father wreck'd. 



32 



TEMPEST. 



Mira. Alack, for mercy ! 

Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords ; the duke of 
And his brave son, being twain. [Milan, 

Pro. The duke of Milan, 

And his more braver daughter, could control thee. 
If now 'twere fit to do 't :— At the first sight [Aside. 
They have chang'd eyes :— Delicate Ariel, 
I'll set thee free for this ! — A word, good sir ; 
I fear you have done yourself some wrong : a word. 
Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently 1 This 
Is the third man that e'er I saw ; the first 
That e'er I sigh'd for : pity move ray father 
To be inclin'd my way 1 

Fer. 0, if a virgin, 

And your affection not gone forth, I '11 make you 
The queen of Naples. 

Pro. Soft, sir ; one word more. — 

They are both in cither's powers ; but this swift 
business [Aside. 

I must uneasy make, lest too light winning 
Make the prize light. — One word more ; I charge 
That thou attend me : thou dost here usurp [thee, 
The name thou ow'st not ; and hast put thyself 
Upon this island, as a spy, to win it 
From me, the lord on 't. 

Fer. No, as I am a man. 

Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a 
If the ill spirit have so fair an house, [temple : 

Good things will strive to dwell with 't. 

Pro. Follow me. — [To Ferd. 

Speak not you for him ; he 's a traitor. — Come. 
I '11 manacle thy neck and feet together : 
Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be 
The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and husks 
Wherein the acorn cradled : Follow. 

Fer. No ; 

I will resist such entertainment, till 
Mine enemy has more power. [He draws. 

Mira. O dear father, 

Make not too rash a trial of him, for 
He's gentle, and not fearful. 

Pro. What, I say, 

My foot my tutor ! Put thy sword up, traitor ; 
Who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy con- 
science 
Is so possess'd with guilt : come ; from thy ward ; 
For I can here disarm thee with this stick, 
And make thy weapon drop. 

Mira. Beseech you, father ! 

Pro. Hence ; hang not on my garments. 
Mira. Sir, have pity, 

I'll be his .surety. 

Pro. Silence ! one word more 

Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What ! 
An advocate for an impostor 1 hush ! 
Thou think'st there are no more such shapes as he, 
Having seen but him and Caliban : Foolish wench ! 
To the most of men this is a Caliban, 
And they to him are angels. 

Mira. My affections 

Are then most humble ; I have no ambition 
To see a goodlier man. 

Pro. Come on ; obey; [To Ferd. 

Thy nerves are in their infancy again. 
And have no vigour in them. 

Fer. So they are : 

My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. 
My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, 
The wreck of all my friends, or this man's threats. 
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, 
Might I but through my prison once a day 
Behold this maid : all corners else o' the earth 



Let liberty make use of;' space enough 
Have I, in such a prison. 

Pro. It works : — Come on. — 

Thou hast done well, fine Ariel ! — Follow me. — 

[To Ferd. and Min. 
Hark, what thou else shalt do me. [To Ariel. 

Mira. Be of comfort ; 

My father's of a better nature, sir. 
Than he appears by speech ; this is unwonted. 
Which now came from him. 

Pro. Thou shalt be as free 

As mountain winds ; but then exactly do 
All points of my command. 

Ari. To the syllable. 

Pro. Come, follow: speak not for him. [Exeunt. 



I 



ACT II. 



SCENE I 
Enter Alonso, 



— Another part of the Island, 

Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
Adrian, Francisco, and others. 

Gon. 'Beseech you, sir, be merry : you have cause 
(So have we all) of joy ; for our escape 
Is much beyond our loss : Our hint of woe > 
Is common ; every day, some sailor's wife, 
The masters of some merchant, and the merchant, 
Have just our theme of woe : but for the miracle, 
I mean our preservation, few in millions 
Can speak like us : then wisely, good sir, weigh 
Our sorrow with our comfort. 

Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. 

Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. 

Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. 

Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit ; 
By and by it will strike. 

Gon. Sir, — 

Seb. One:— Tell. 

Gon. When every grief is entertain'd that 's ofFer'd, 
Comes to the entertainer — 

Seb. A dollar. 

Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed ; you have 
spoken truer than you purposed. [should. 

Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you. 

Gon. Therefore, my lord, — 

Ant. Fye, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue 1 

Alon. 1 pr'ythee spare. 

Gon. Well, I have done : But yet — 

Seb. He will be talking. 

Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good 
wager, first begins to crow 2 

Seb. The old cock. 

Ant. The cockrel. 

Seb. Done: the wager? 

Ant. A laughter. 

Seb. A match. 

Adr. Though this island seem to be desert, — 

Seb. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Ant. So, you've pay'd. 

Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible, — 

Seb. Yet, 

Adr. Yet— 

Ant. He could not miss it, 

Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and deli- 
cate temperance. 

Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench, [livered. 

Seb. Ay, and a subtle ; as he most learnedly de- 

Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly, 

Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones. 

Ant. Or, as 'twere perfumed by a fen. 

Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life. 



ACT 11.— SCENE I. 



33 



Ant, True ; save means to live. 

Seb Of that there's none, or little. [green ! 

Gon, How lush and lusty the grass looks ! how 

Ant. "I'he ground, indeed, is tawny. 

Seb. With an eye of green in 't. 

Ant. He misses not much. 

Seb. No ; he doth but mistake the truth totally. 

Gon. But the rarity of it is (which is indeed al- 
most beyond credit) — 

Seb, As many vouch'd rarities are 

Goii. That our garments, being, as they were, 
drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their 
freshness, and glosses ; being rathernew dy'd, than 
stain'd with salt water. 

Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would 
it not say, he lies ? 

Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. 

Gvii. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as 
when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of 
the king's fair daughter Claribel to the king of Tunis 

Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well 
in our return. 

Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such a 
paragon to their queen. 

Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. 

Ant. Widow? a pox o'that ! How came that 
widow in 1 Widow Dido ! 

Seb. What if he had said, widower ^-Eneas tool 
good lord, how you take it ! 

Adr. Widow Dido, said you 1 yo\i make me study 
of that : She was of Carthage, not of Tunis. 

Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. 

Adr. Carthage 1 

Gon. I assure you, Carthage. 

Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp. 

Seb. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too. 

A nt.W hat impossible matter will he make easynextl 

Seb. I think he will carry this island home in his 
pocket, and give it his son for an apple. 

Aitt. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, 
bring forth more islands. 

Gon. Ayl 

Ant. Why, in good time. 

Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seem 
now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the mar- 
riage of your daughter, who is now queen. 

Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. 

Seb. 'Bate, 1 beseech you, widow Dido. 

Ant. O, widow Dido ; ay, widow Dido. 

Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first 
day I wore it? I mean, in a so^-t. 

Ant. That sort was well fish'd for. 

Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage ? 

Alan. You cram these words into mine ears, against 
The stomach of my sense : 'Would 1 had never 
Married my daughter there ! for, coming thence, 
My son is lost ; and, in my rate, she too, 
Who is so far from Italy remov'd, 
I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir 
Of Naples and of iMilan, what strange fish 
Hath made his meal on thee ! 

Fran. Sir, he may live ; 

I saw him beat the surges under him, 
And ride upon their backs ; he trod the water, 
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted 
The surge most swoln that met him ; his bold head 
'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd 
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke 
To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, 
Vs stooping to relieve him ; I not doubt, 
rie caiue alive to land. 

Aion. No, no, he's gone. 



Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss ; 
That would not bless our Europe with your daughter, 
But rather lose her to an African ; 
Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye, 
Who hath cause to wet thg grief on't. 

Aliiii, Pr'ythee, peace. 

Sel). You werekneel'd to,an(l importun'd otherwise 
By all of us ; and the fair soul herself 
\\ eigii'd, between lothness and obedience, at 
AVhich end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost 
I fear, for ever ; Milan and Naples have [your son, 
More widows in them of this business' making. 
Than we bring men to comfort them. The fault 's 
\ our own. 

A(on. So is the dearest of the loss. 

Gon. My lord Sebastian, 

The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, 
And time to speak it in ; you rub the sore, 
When you should bring the plaster. 

•S'e/». Very well. 

Ant. And most chirurgeonly. 

Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir. 
When you are cloudy. 

Seb. Foul weather ? 

Ant. Very foul. 

Gon. Had T a plantation of this isle, my lord, — 

Ant. He 'd sow it with nettle-seed. 

Seb. Or docks, or mallows. 

Gon. And were the king of it. What would I do ! 

Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine. 

Gon. r the commonwealth, I would by contraries 
Execute all things : for no kind of traffic 
Would I admit ; no name of magistrate ; 
Letters should not be known ; no use of service. 
Of riches, or of poverty ; no contracts. 
Successions ; bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none : 
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil : 
No occupation ; all men idle, all ; 
And women loo ; but innocent and pure ; 
No sovereignty : — 

Seb. And yet he would be king on't. [beginning. 

Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the 

Gon. All things in common nature should produce 
Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony, 
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, 
Would 1 not have ; but nature should bring forth. 
Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance, 
To feed my innocent people 

Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects ? 

Ant. None, man ; all idle ; whores and knaves. 

Goti. I would with such perfection govern, sir. 
To excel the golden age. 

Seb. 'Save his majesty ! 

Ant. Long live Gonzalo ! 

Gon. And, do you mark me, sir ? — [to me. 

Alon. Pr'ythee, no more: thou dost talk nothing 

Gon. I do well believe your highness ; and did it 
to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of 
such sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use 
to laugh at nothing:. 

Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at. 

Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am no- 
thing to you : so you may continue, and laugh at 
nothing still. 

Ant. What a blow was there given? 

Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long. 

Gon. ^'ou are gentlemen of brave mettle ; vou 
would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would 
continue in it five weeks without changing. 

Enter AniEi,, invisible, plat/ing solemn music. 

Seb. Wc would so, and then go a bat-fowling, 
C 



34 



TEMPEST. 



Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. 

Gon. No, I warrant you ; I will not adventure my 
discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, 
for 1 am very heavy 1 

Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. 

[All sleep but Alon Seb. and Ant. 

Alon. What, all so soon asleep ! I wish mine eyes 
Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts : 1 
■J'iiey are inclin'd to do so. [find, 

Seb. Please you, sir. 

Do not omit the heavy offer of it : 
It seldom visits sorrow ; when it doth, 
It is a comforter. 

Ant. We two, my lord. 

Will guard your person while you take your rest, 
And watch your safety. 

Alon. Thank you : wondrous heavy. — 

[Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel. 

Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them ! 

Ant. It is the quality o' the climate. 

Seb. Why 

Doth it not then our eye-lids sink "? I find not 
Myself dispos'd to sleep. 

Aut. IS' or I ; my spirits are nimble. 

They fell together all, as by consent ; 
They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might. 
Worthy Sebastian ?— O, what might •?— No more :— 
And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face. 
What thou should'st be : the occasion speaks thee ; 
.My strong imagination sees a crown [and 

Dropping upon thy head. 

Seb. What, art thou waking 1 

Ant. Do you not hear me speak 1 

Seb. I do ; and, surely. 

It is a sleepy language ; and thou speak'st 
Out of thy sleep : What is it thou did'st say ■? 
'i'his is a strange repose, to be asleep 
With eyes wide open ; standing, speaking, moving, 
And yet so fast asleep. 

Ant. ' Noble Sebastian, 

Thou let 'st thy fortune sleep — die rather; wink'st 
Whiles thou art waking. 

Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly ; 

'['here's meaning in thy snores. 

Ant. I am more serious than my custom : you 
Must be so too, if heed me ; which to do 
Trebles thee o'er. 

Seb. Well ; I am standing water. 

Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. 

Seb. Do so : to ebb, 

Hereditary sloth instructs me. 

Ant. O, 

If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish, 
Whiles thus you mock it ! how, in stripping it. 
You more invest it ! Ebbing men, indeed, 
Most often do so near the bottom run. 
By their own fear, or sloth. 

Seb. Pr'ythee, say on : 

The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim 
A matter ; and a birth, indeed. 
Which throes thee much to yield. 

Aiit. Thus, sir: 

Although this lord of weak remembrance, this 
(Who shall be of as little memory. 
When he is earth'd), hath here almost persuaded 
(For he's a spirit of persuasion only) 
The king, his son's alive : 'tis as impossible 
That he's undrown'd, as he that sleeps here, swims, 

Seb. I have no hope 
That he's undrown'd. 

Ant. O, out of that no hope, 

What great hope have you ! no hope, that way, is 



Another way so high a ht>pe, fbat even 
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, 
But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, with me, 
That Ferdinand is drown'd? 

Seb. He's gone. 

Ant. Then, tell me. 

Who 's the next heir of Naples ? 

Seb. Claribel. 

Ant. She that is queen of Tunis : she that dwells 
Ten leagues beyond man's life ; she that from Naples 
Can have no note, unless the sun were post, 
(The man i' the moon's too slow,) till new-born chins 
Be rough and razorable ; she, from whom 
W'e were all sea-swallow'd, though some cast again; 
And, by that, destin'd to perform an act, 
^Vhereof what's past is prologue ; what to come. 
In yours and my discharge. 

Seb. What stuff is this ? — How say you'? 

'Tis true, my brother's daughter 's queen of Tunis : 
So is she heir of Naples ; 'twixt which regions 
There is some space. 

Ant. A space whose every cubit 

Seems to cry out. How shall that Claribel 
Measure ns back to Naples? — Keep in Tunis, 
And let Sebastian wake! — Say, this were death 
That now hath seiz'd them ; why, they were no worse 
Than now they are : There be, that can rule Naples, 
As well as he that sleeps ; lords, that can prate 
As amply and unnecessarily. 
As this Gonzalo ; I myself could make 
A chough of as deep chat. 0, that you bore 
The mind that 1 do I what a sleep were this 
For your advancement ! Do you understand me ? 

Seb. Methinks, I do. 

Ant. And how does your content 

Tender your own good foitune 1 

Seb. I remember. 

You did supplant your brother Prospero. 

Ant. True: 

And, look, how well my garments sit upon me ; 
Much feater than before : Rly brother's servants 
Were then my fellows, now tliey are my men. 

Seb. But, for your conscience — 

Ant. Ay, sir ; where lies that ? if it were a kybe, 
'Twould put me to my slipper : But I feel not 
This deity in my bosom ; twenty consciences. 
That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they, 
And melt, ere they molest ! Here lies your brother. 
No better than the earth he lies upon, 
If he were that which now he's like : whom I, 
With this obedient steel, three inches of it. 
Can lay to bed for ever : whiles you, doing thus. 
To the perpetual wink for aye might put 
This ancient morsel, this sir Prudence, who 
Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest. 
They '11 take suggestion, as a cat laps milk ; 
They'll tell the clock to any business that 
We say befits the hour. 

Seb. Thy case, dear friend. 

Shall be my precedent ; as thou got'st Milan, 
1 "11 come by Naples. Draw thy sword : one stroke 
Siiall free thee from the tribute which thou pay'^t ; 
And 1 the king shall love thee. 

A nt. Draw together : 

And when I rear my hand, do you the lik». 
To fall it on Gonzalo. 

■Se6. O, but one word. 

l^They converse apart. 

Music. Re-enter Ariel, invisible. 

Art. My master through his art foresees the danger 
That these, his friends, are in ; and sends me forth. 



ACT II.— SCENE II. 



a5 



(For else his project dies,) to keep them living. 

[Si/ig-s in GoNEALo's ear. 

While yoti here do snoring lie 
Open-eij'a conspiract, 

His time (loth take : 
If of life you keep a care. 
Shake off' slumber, and beware: 
Awake! Awake! 
Ant. Then let us both be sudden. 
Gem. Now, good angels, preserve the king ! 

[T/iei/ aicake. 
Aloii. Why, how now, ho ! awake ! Why are you 
Wherefore this ghastly looking. [drawn 1 

Gon. What's the matter ? 

Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose. 
Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing 
Like bulls, or rather lions ; did it not wake you ? 
It struck mine ear most terribly 

Alon. I heard nothing. 

Ant. O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear ; 
To make an earthquake ! sure it was the roar 
Of a whole herd of lions. 

AioH. Heard you this, Gonzalo 1 

Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming, 
A nd that a strange one too, which did awake me : 
I shak'd you, sir, and cry'd ; as mine eyes open'd, 
t saw their weapons drawn : — there was a noise. 
That 's verity : 'Tis best we stand upon our guard ; 
Or tiiat we quit this place : let 's draw our weapons. 
Alon. Lead off this ground ; and let's make farther 
For my poor son. [search 

Gon. Heavens keep him from the beasts ! 

For he is, sure, i' the island. 
Alon. Lead away. 

Ari. Prosper©, my lord, shall know what I have 
done : [Aside. 

So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Another part of the Island. 
Enter Caliban, with a burden of wood, 
A reowe of thunder heard. 
Cat. All the infections that the sun sucks up 
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him 
By inch-meal a disease ! His spirits hear me, 
Aad yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch. 
Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i' the mire, 
Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark 
Out of my way, unless he bid them ; but 
For every trifle are they set upon me : 
Sometimes like apes, that moe and chatter at me. 
And after, bite me ; then like hedge-hogs, which 
Lie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount 
Their pricks at my foot-fall ; sometime am I 
All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues, 
Do hiss me into madness : — Lo ! now ! lo ! 

Enter Trinculo. 
Here comes a spirit of his ; and to torment me, 
Vov bringing wood in slowly : I '11 fall flat ; 
Perchance, he will not mind me. 

Trin. Here 's neither bush nor shrub to bear off 
any weather at all, and another storm brewing ; I 
hear it sing \ the wind : yond' same black cloud, 
yond' huge one, looks like a foul bumbard that would 
shed his liquor. If it should thunder, as it did be- 
fore, I know not where to hide my head : yond' same 
cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfulls.- What have 
we here "! a man or a fish 1 Dead or alive "! A fish : 
iie smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish- like 
smell ; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor-John. A 
strange fish ! Were I in England now, (as once 1 



was,) and had but this fish pamted, not a holiday 
fool there but would give a piece of silver : there 
would this monster make a man ; any strange beast 
there makes a man : when they will not give a doit 
to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see 
a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man ! and his fins 
like arms ! Warm, o' my troth ! I do now let loose 
rny opinion, hold it no longer ; this is no fish, but an 
islander, that hath lately sufl^ered by a thunder-bolt. 
[Thunder.'] Alas ! the storm is come again : my best 
way is to creep under his gaberdine ; there is no 
other shelter hereabout : Misery acquaints a man 
with strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud, till 
the dregs of the storm be past. 

Enter Stephano, singing ; a bottle in his hand. 

Ste. / shall no more to sea, to sea. 
Here shall 1 die a-shore ; — 
This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral : 
Well, here's my oomfort. [Drinks. 

The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, 
The gunner, and his mate, 

Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, 
But none of us cav'dfor Kate : 
For she had a tongue with a tang, 
Would cry to a sailor, Go, hang : 

She lov'd not the savour of tar nor of pitch. 

Yet a tailor might scratch her where-e'er she did itch : 
Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang. 
This is a scurvy tune too : But here 's my comfort. 

[Drinks. 

Cal. Do not torment me : O ! 

Ste. What 's the matter 1 Have we devils here ? 
Do you put tricks upon us with savages, and men of 
Inde 1 Ha ! I have not 'scap'd drowning, to be afeard 
now of your four legs ; for it hath been said. As 
proper a man as ever went on four legs, cannot make 
him give ground : and it shall be said so again, while 
Stephano breathes at nostrils. 

Cal. The spirit torments me : O ! 

Ste. This is some monster of the isle, with four 
legs ; who hath got, as I take it, an ague : Where 
the devil should he learn our language ? I will give 
him some relief, if it be but for that : If I can re- 
cover him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples 
with him, he's a present for any emperor that ever 
trod on neat's leather. 

Cal. Do not torment me, pr'ythee ; 
I '11 bring my wood home faster. 

Ste. He 's in his fit now ; and does not talk after 
the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle : if he have 
never drank wine afore, it will go near to remove his 
fit : if I can recover him and keep him tame, I will 
not take too much for him : he shall pay for him 
that hath him, and that soundly. 

Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt ; thou wilt 
Anon, I know it by thy trembling; 
Now Prosper works upon thee. 

Ste. Come on your ways ; open your mouth : here 
is that which will give language to you, cat ; open 
your mouth : this will shake your shaking, I can tell 
you, and that soundly : you cannot tell who's your 
friend : open your chaps again. 

Trin. 1 should know that voice : It should be — ■ 
But he is drowned ; and these are devils : O ! de- 
fend me ! — 

■Ste. Four legs, and two voices ; a most delicate 
monster ! His forward voice now is to speak well of his 
friend ; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches, 
and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will re- 
cover him, I will help his ague : Come — Amen ! I 
will pour some in thy other moutii. 
Ci{ 



36 



TEMPEST. 



Trin. Stepliano, — 

Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me ? Mercy ! mercy ! 
This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him ; 
1 have no long spoon. 

Ti-in. Stephano ! — if thou beest Stephano, touch 
me, and speak, to me ; for 1 am I'rinculo ; — be not 
ateard, — thy good friend Trinculo. 

Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth ; I'll pull 
thee by the lesser legs : if any be Trinculo's legs, 
these are they. Thou art very Trinculo, indeed :" 
Hovf cam'st thou to be the siege of this mooncalf ? 
Can he vent Trinculos ] 

Tiin. 1 took him to be killed with a thunder- 
stroke : — But art thou not drowned, Stephano 1 1 
hope now, thou art not drowned. Is the storm over- 
blown 1 1 hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaber- 
dine, for fear of the storm : And art thou living, 
Stephano ! O Stephano, two Neapolitans 'scap'd ! 

Ste. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about ; my stomach 
is not constant. 

Cal. These be fine things, and if they be not sprites. 
That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor : 
1 will kaeel to him. 

Ste. How did'st thou 'scape? how cam'st thovi 
hither 1 swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st hither. 
I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors 
heaved over-board, by this bottle ! which I made of 
the bark of a tree, witlx mine own hands, since 1 was 
cast a-shore. 

Cal. I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy 
True subject ; for tlie liquor is not earthly. 
Ste. Here ; swear then how thou escap'dst. 
Trin. Swam a-shore, man, like a duck ; 1 can 
swim like a duck, I'll be sworn. 

Ste. Here, kiss the book : Though thou canst swim 
like a duck, thou art made like a goose. 
Trin. O Stephano, hast any more of this! 
Ste. The whole butt, man •/ my cellar is in a rock 
by the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now, 
moon-calf! how does thine ague? 

Cat. Hast thou not dropped from heaven 1 
Ste. Out o' the moon, 1 do assure thee : I was the 
man in the moon, when time was. 

Cul. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee ; 
IMy mistress shewed me thee, thy dog, and bush. 

Ste. Come, swear to that ; kiss tlie book : 1 will 
furnish it anon with new contents : swear. 

Trill. By this good light, this is a very shallow 
monster ;— 1 afeard of him 1 a very weak monster ; 
— The man i' the moon?— a most poor credulous 
monster : Well drawn, monster, in good sooih. 

Cal. I '11 shew thee every fertile inch o' the island ; 
And kiss thy foot : 1 pr'ythee, be my god. 

Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken 
monster ; when his god 's asleep, he '11 rob his bottle. 
Cal. I '11 kiss thy foot : 1 '11 swear myself thy subject. 
Ste. Come on then ; down and swear. 
Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy- 
headed monster : a most scurvy monster 1 I could 
find in my heart to beat him, — 
Ste. Come, kiss. 

Trin. — but that the poor monster's in drink ; 
An abominable monster ! [berries. 

Cut. 1 '11 shew thee the best springs ; 1 '11 pluck thee 
I '11 fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. 
A plague upon the tyrant that I serve 1 
I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, 
Thou wond'rous man. 

Ti in. A ihost ridiculous monster ! to make a won- 
der of a poor drunkard. 

Cal. I pr'yihep, let me bring thee where crabs grow ; 
And I with my long nails will dig thee pig- nuts ; 



Shew thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee Iiow 
To snare the nimble marmozet : 1 '11 bring thee 
To clust'ring filberds, and sometimes 1 'il get th«e 
Young sea mells from the rock : Wilt thou go with me? 
Ste. I pr'ythee now, lead the, way, without any 
more talking. — 'i'rinculo, the king and all our com- 
pany else being drown'd, we will inherit here. — 
Here ; bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill 
him by and by again. 

Cal. Fareueil, maiter : faveicell, farewell. 

[^Siiigs druiihenly, 
Trin. A howling monster ; a drunken monster, 
Cal. Ko wore dams I'll make for fish ; 
Nor fetch in f ring 

At requiring, • 

Kor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish; 
'Ban Ban, Ca — Caliban, 
Has a new master — Get a new man. 
Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom I freedom, 
hey-day, freedom ! 
Ste. brave monster ! lead the way. [Exieiuit. 



ACT III. 

SCENE 1.— Before Prospero's Cell. 

Enter Ferdinand, bearing a log, 

Fer. There be some sports are painful ; but their 
labour 
Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness 
Are nobly undergone ; and most poor matters 
Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be 
As heavy to me, as 'tis odious ; but 
The mistress, which I serve, quickens what's dead. 
And makes my labours pleasures : O, she is 
Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed ; 
And he's compos'd of har;>hness. I must remove 
Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, 
Upon a sore injunction : My sweet mistress 
Weeps when she sees me work ; and says, such base- 
Had ne'er like executor. I forget : [ness 
But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours j 
Most busy-less, when I do it. 

Enter Mirand^^, and PHOSPEno at a distance. 

Mira. Alas, now ! pray you. 

Work not so haid ; I would the lightning had 
Burnt up those logs, that you are enjoin'd to pile ! 
Pray, set it down, and rest you : when this burns, 
'Twill weep for having wearied you : My father 
Is hard at study ; pray now, rest yourself; 
He's safe for these three hours. 

Fer. O most dear mistress, 

The sun will set, before I shall discharge 
What 1 must strive to do. 

Mira. If you'll sit down, 

I'll bear your logs the while : Pray, give me that ; 
I'll carry it to the pile. 

Fer. No, precious creature : 

I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, 
Than you should such dishonour undergo, 
While I sit lazy by. 

Mira. It would become me 

As well as it does you : and I should do it 
With much more ease ; for my good will is to it. 
And yours it is against. 

Pro. Poor worm ! thou art infected j 

This visitation shews it. 

Mira. You look wearily. 

Fer. No, noble mistress ; 'tis fresh morning with me. 
When you are by at night. I do beseech you. 



ACT III.— SCENE II. 



37 



(Chiefly, that I might set it in my prayers,) 
What is your name ? 

Mini. INIiranda : — O my father, 

I have broke your hest to say so ! 

Fer. Admir'd Miranda ! 

Indeed, the top of admiration ; worth 
What's dearest to the world ! Full znany a lady 
I have ey'd with best regard ; and many a time 
The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage 
Brought my too diligent ear : for several virtues 
Have I lik'd several women ; never any 
With so full soul, but some defect in her 
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd, 
And put it to the foil : But you, O you, 
So perfect, and so peerless, are created 
Of every creature's best. 

Mira. I do not know 

One of my sex ; no woman's face remember. 
Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I seen 
More that I may call men, than you, good friend, 
And my dear father : how features are abroad, 
I am skill-less of ; but, by my modesty, 
(The jewel in my dower, ) I would not wish 
Any companion in the world but you ; 
Nor can imagination form a shape. 
Beside yourself, to like of ; But I prattle 
Something too wildly, and my father's precepts 
I therein do forget. 

Fer. I am, in my condition, 

A prince, Miranda ; I do think, a king ; 
(I would, not so !) and would no more endure 
This wooden slavery, than I would suffer 
The flesh-fly blow my mouth. — Hear my soul speak; — 
The very instant that I saw you, did 
My heart fly to your service ; there resides, 
To make me slave to it ; and for your sake. 
Am I this patient log-man. 

2iUra. Do you love me 1 

Fer. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound. 
And crown what I profess with kind event, 
U I speak true ; if iioUowly, invert 
What best is boded me, to mischief! I, 
Beyond all limit of what else i' the world. 
Do love, prize, honour you. 

Mira. I am a fool. 

To weep at what I am glad of. 

Pro. Fair encounter 

Of two most rare aftectlons ! Heavens raio grace 
On that which breeds between them ! 

Fer. Wherefore weep you 1 

Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer 
What I desire to give ; and much less take, 
What I shall die to want : But this is trifling ; 
And all the more it seeks to hide itself, 
The bigger bulk it shews. Hence, bashful cunning! 
And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! 
I am your wife, if you will marry me ; 
If not, I'll die your maid : to be your fellow 
You may deny me ; but I'll be your servant. 
Whether you will or no. 

Fer. My mistress, dearest, 

And I thus humble ever. 

Mira. My husband then ? 

Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing 
As bondage e'er of freedom : here's my hand. 

Mira. And mine, with my heart in't: And now 
Till half an hour hence. [farewell, 

Fer. A thousand ! thousand ! 

[Exeunt Feu. and Mm. 
P'l). So glad of this as they, I cannot be. 
Who are surpriz'd with all : but my rejoicing 
At nothing can be more. I'll to my bonk ; 



For yet ere supper time, must I perform 

Much business appertaining. [Eitt 

SCENE \l.— Another part of the Island. 

Enter Stepiiamo and Tiuncui.o ; CAJ.lBxfi follow- 
insr with a bottle. 
Ste. Tell not me ; — when the butt is out, we will 
drink water ; not a drop before : therefore bear up, 
and board 'em : Servant-moaster, drink to me. 

Trin. Servant-monster f the folly of this island! 
They say, there's but five upon this isle : we are three 
of them ; if the other two be brained like us, the 
state totters. 

Ste. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee ; thy 
eyes are almost set in thy head. 

Trin. Where should they be set else ? he were a 
brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail. 

Ste. My man monster hath drowned his tongue in 
sack : for my part, the sea cannot drown me : I 
swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty 
leagues, off and on, by tliis light. — Thou shalt be 
my lieutenant, monster, or my standard. 

Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list ; he's no stan- 
dard. 

Ste. We'll not run, monsieur monster. 
Trin. Nor go neither: but you'll lie, like dogs , 
and yet say nothing neither. 

Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou 
beest a good moon-calf. 

Cal. How does thy honour? T.et me lick thy shoe : 
I'll not serve him, lie is not valiant. 

Trill. Thou liest, most ignorant monster ; I am 
in case to justle a constable : why, thou deboshed 
fish thou, was there ever a man a coward, that hatli 
drunk so much sack as I to-day 1 Wilt thou tell a 
monstrous lie, being but half a fish, and half a monster! 
Ciil. Lo, how he mocks me ! wilt thou let him, 
my lord ? 

Trin. Lord, quoth he ! — that a monster should be 
such a natural ! 

Cal. Lo, lo, again ! bite him to death, I pr'ythee. 
Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head ; 
if you prove a mutineer, the next tree— The poor 
monster's my subject, and he shall not suffer indig- 
nity, 

Cal. I thank my noble lord. Wdt thoii be pleased 
To hearken once again the suit I made thee i 

Ste. Marry will I : kneel and repeat it ; T will 
stand, and so shall Trinculo. 

Enter Ariel, invisible. 

Cnl. As I told thee 
Before I am subject to a tyrant ; 
A sorcerer, that by his cunning hath 
Cheated me of this island. 

Ari. Thou Hest. 

Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou ; 
I would, my valiant master would destroy thee : 
I do not lie. 

Ste. Trinculo, if j^ou trouble him any more in his 
tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of your teetli. 

Trin. Why, I said nothing. 

.S(c. Mum then, and no more. — [To Ca-liban.] 
Proceed. 

Cal. I say, by sorcery he got this isle ; 
From me he got it. If thy greatness will ^ 
Revenge it on him — for, 1 know, thou dar'st ; 
But this thing dare not. 

Ste. That's most certain. 

Cal. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee. 

Ste. How now shall this be compassed 1 Canst 
thou bring me to the party 1 



30 



TEiMPEST. 



Cal. Yea, yea, my lord ; I'll yield him thee asleep, 
Where thou may'st knock a nail into his head. 

Ari. Thou liest, thou canst not. [patch ! — 

Cai. What a pied ninny's this? Thou scurvy 
I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows. 
And take his bottle from him : when that's gone. 
Me shall drink nought but brine ; for I'll not shew 
Where the quick freshes are. [Iiim 

Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger : inter- 
rupt the monster one word further, and, by this hand, 
I'll turn my mercy out of doors, and make a stock- 
fish of thee. 

Trill. Why, what did I ? I did nothing ; I'll go 
further oft'. 

Ste. Didst thou not say, he lied ? 

Ari, Thou liest. 

Ste. Do I so? take thou that. [Strikes him.^ As 
YOU like this, give me the lie another time. 

Trill. I did not give the lie : — Out o' your wits, 

and hearing too ? A pox o' your bottle ! this can 

sack, and drinking do. — A murrain on your monster, 
and the devil take your fingers ! 

Cal.. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Pr'ylhee stand 
further oflf. 

Cal. Beat him enough : after a little time, 
I'll beat him too. 

Ste. Stand further. — Come, proceed. 

Cal. Why, as 1 told thee, 'tis a custom with him 
r the afternoon to sleep : there thou may'st brain him. 
Having first seiz'd his books ; or with a log 
Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake. 
Or cut his wezand with thy knife : Remember, 
First to possess his books ; for without them 
He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not 
One spirit to command : Tliey all do hate him. 
As rootedly as I : Burn but his books ; 
He has brave utensils, (for so he calls them,) 
Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal. 
And that most deeply to consider, is 
The beauty of his daughter ; he himself 
Calls her a nonpareil : 1 never saw a woman. 
But only Sycorax my dam, and she ; 
But she as far surpasseth Sycorax, 
As greatest does least. 

Ste Is it so brave a lass 1 

Cal. Ay, lord ; she will become thy bed, I warrant. 
And bring thee forth brave brood. 

Ste. Monster, I will kill this man : his daughter 
and I will be king and queen ; (save our graces !) 
and Trinculo and lliyself shall be viceroys : — Dost 
thou like the plot, Trinculo ? 

Trin. Excellent. 

Ste. Give me thy hand ; I am sorry I beat thee : 
but, while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head. 

Cal. Within this half hour will he be asleep ; 
Wilt thou destroy him then ? 

Ste. Ay, on mine honour. 

Ari. This will I tell my master. 

Cal. Thou mak'st me merry : 1 am full of pleasure ; 
Let us be jocund : Will you troll the catch 
You taught me but vvhile-ere ! 

Sle. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, 
any reason : Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. \_Sings. 

Flaat'em, and skout^em ; and skout'em, a7id 
Tliniiirht is free. [Jiout'em ; 

Cal. That's not the tune. 

[AiuKi. plaiis the tune on a tabor and pipe. 
Ste. What is this same? 

Trill. Tliis is the tune of our catch, played by the 
picture of No body. 



Ste. If thou beest a man, shew thyself in thy like- 
ness : if thou beost a devil, take't as thou list. 

Trin. O, forgive me my sins ! 

Ste. He that dies, pays all debts: 1 dety thee. — 
Mercy upon us ! 

Cal. Art thou afeard ? 

Ste, No, monster, not I. 

Cal. Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises, 
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. 
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments 
Will hum about mine ears ; and sometimes voices, 
That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep, 
Will make me sleep again : and then, in dreaming. 
The clouds, methought, would open and shew riches 
Ready to drop upon me ; that, when I wak'd, 
I cry'd to dream again. 

Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where 
I shall have my music for nothing. 

Cal. When Prospero is destroyed. 

Ste. That shall be by and by : I remember the story. 

Trill. The sound is going away : let's follow it, 
and after, do our work. 

Sle. Lead, monster ; we'll follow. — I would, I 
could see this taborer : he lays it on. 

Trin. Wilt come? I'll follow, Stephano. [ExewHt. 

SCENE III. — Another part of the Island. 

Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
Adrian, Francisco, and others. 

Gnu. By'r lakin, I can go no further, sir ; 
My old bones ache : here's a maze trod, indeed, 
Through forth-rights and meanders! by your patience, 
I needs must rest me. 

Alon. Old lord, I cannot blcime thee. 

Who am myself attach'd with weariness. 
To the dulling of my spirits : sit down, and rest. 
Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it 
No longer for my flatterer : he is drown'd, 
Whom thus we stray to find ; and the sea mocks 
Our frustrate search on land : Well, let him go. 

Ant. I am right glad that he's so out of hope. 

[Aside to Sebastian. 
Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose 
That you resolv'd to effect. 

Seb. The next advantage 

Will we take thoroughly. 

Ant. Let it be to-night ; 

For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they 
Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance, 
As when they are fresh. 

Seb. I say, to-night : no more. 

Solemn and strange music ; and Prospero above, in- 
visible. Enter several strange Shapes, hringing in 
a banquet ; tliey dance about it witli gentle actions 
of salutation ; and inviting the King, &jc. to eat, 
tliey depart. 

Altm. What harmony is this? my good friends, 
Gon. IMarvellous sweet music ! [hark I 

Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens ! What were 

these ? 
Seh. A living drollery : Now I will believe, 

That there are unicorns ; that, in Arabia 

There is one tree, the phoenix' throne; one phcenix 

At this hour reigning there. 

Ant. I'll believe both ; 

And what does else want credit, come to mo, 

And I'll be sworn 'tis true: Travellers ue'er did lie. 

Though fools at home condemn them. 

Gon. If in Napl«s 

I should report this now, would they believe me * 

If I should say, I saw such islanders. 



S 



ACT IV.— SCENE I- 



39 



(For, certes, these are people of the island,) 
Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note, 
Their manners are more gentle-kind, than of 
Our human generation you shall find 
Many, nay, almost any. 

Pro. Honest lord. 

Thou hast said well ; for some of you there present, 
Are worse than devils. [Aside. 

Alon. I cannot too much muse, 

Such shapes, such gesture, and such sound, expressing 
(Although they want the use of tongue) a kind 
Of excellent dumb discourse. 

Pro. Praise in departing. [Aside. 

Fr-an. They vanish'd strangely. 

Seb. No matter, since 

They have left their viands behind ; for we have 
AVill't please you taste of what is herel [stomachs — 

Alon. Not I. [hoys, 

Gou Faith, sir, you need not fear : When we were 
Who would believe that there were mountaineers, 
Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging 

at them 
Wallets of flesh "! or that there were such men, 
Whose heads stood in their breasts "! which now we 
Each putter- out on five for one, will bring us [find. 
Good warrant of. 

Alon. I will stand to, and feed, 

Although my last : no matter, since I feel. 
The best is past : — Brother, my lord the duke, 
Stand to, and do as we. 

Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel like a harpy ; 
claps ttis wings upon the table, and with a qiiairit 
device, the banquet vanishes. 

Ari. You are three men of sin, whom destiny 
(That hath to instrument this lower world, 
And wliat is in't,) the never-surfeited sea 
Hath caused to belch up ; and on this island 
Where man doth not inhabit ; you 'niongst men 
Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad ; 

[>Seei?ig' Alon. Seb. &"c. draw their swo.ds. 
And even with such like valour, men iiang and drown 
Their proper selves. You fools ! I and my fellows 
Are ministers of fate ; the elements, 
Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well 
Wound the loud winds, or with beraock'd-at stabs 
Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish 
One dowle that's in my plume ; my fellow ministers 
Are like invulnerable : if you could hurt, 
Your swords are now too massy for your strengths. 
And will not be uplifted : But, remember, 
(For that's my business to you, j that you three 
From Milan did supplant good Prospero ; 
Expos'd unto the sea, which hath requit it, 
Him, and his innocent child : for which foul deed 
The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have 
Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures. 
Against your peace : Thee, of thy son, Alonzo, 
They have bereft ; and do pronounce by me, 
Ling'ring perdition (worse than any death 
Can be at once ) shall step by step attend 
You, and your ways ; whose wraths to guard you from 
(Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls 
Upon your heads,) is nothing, but heart's sorrow. 
And a cleat life ensuing. 

He vanishei in thunder : then, to ioft music, enter the 
Shapes again, and dance with mops and mowes, and 
carry out the table. 

Pro. [as! J('.] Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou 
Perform'd, my Ariel ; a grace it had, devouring ; 
Of my instruction bast thou nothing 'bated, 



In what thou hadst to say : so, with good life. 
And observation strange, my meaner ministers 
Their several kinds have done: my high charms woik, 
And these, mine enemies, are all knit up 
In tlieir distractions : they now are in my power ; 
And in these fits 1 leave them, whilst I visit 
Young Ferdinand, (whom they suppose isdrown'd,) 
And his and my loved darling. 

[Exit PnosPERO from above. 

Gon. V the name of something holy, sir, why stand 
In this strange stare 1 [you 

Alon. O, it is monstrous ! monstrous ! 

Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it ; 
The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder. 
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd 
The name of Prosper ; it did bass my trespass. 
Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded ; and 
I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded. 
And with him tliere lie mudded. [ Eiit. 

Seb. But one fiend at a time, 

I'll fight their legions o'er. 

Ant. I'll be thy second. [Eieunt. Seb. and Ant. 

Gon. All three of them are desperate ; their great 
Like poison given to work a great time after, [guilt, 
Now 'gins to bite the spirits : — -1 do beseech you 
That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly, 
And hinder them from what this ecstacy 
May now provoke them to. 

Adr. Follow, 1 pray you. [Eieunt. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— Be/ore Prospero's Cell. 
Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Miranda. 

Pro. If I have too austerely punish'd you, 
Your compensation makes amends ; for I 
Have given you here a thread of mine own life. 
Or that for which I live ; whom once again 
I tender to thy hand : all thy vexations 
Were but my trials of thy love, and thou 
Hast strangely stood the test : iiere, afore Heaven, 
I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, 
Do not smile at me, tliat I boast her off. 
For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, 
And make it halt behind her. 

Fer- I do believe it, 

Against an oracle. 

Pro. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition 
Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter : But 
If thou dost break her virgin knot before 
All sanctimonious ceremonies may 
With full and holy rite be minister'd, 
No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall 
To make this contract grow : but barren hate, 
Sour-ey'd disdain, and discord, shalli>estrew 
The union of your bed with weeds so loathly. 
That you shall hate it both : therefore take heed. 
As Hymen's lamps shall light you. 

Fer. ^ As I hope 

For quiet days, fair issue, and long life. 
With such love as 'tis now ; the murkiest den. 
The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion 
Our worser Genius can, shall never melt 
Mine honour into lust ; to take away 
The edge of that day's celebration, 
\\ hen I shall think, or Plioebus' steeds are founder'd, 
Or night kept chain'd below. 

Pro, Fairly spoke : 

Sit then, and talk with her, she is thine own. — 
What, Ariel ; my industrious servant Ariel ! 



40 



TEMPEST. 



Enter Ariel. 

Ari. What would my potent master ? here I am. 

Pro. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service 
Did worthily perform ; and I must use you 
In such another trick : go, bring the rabble, 
O'er whom I give thee power, here, to this place : 
Incite them to quick motion ; for I must 
Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple 
Some vanity of mine art ; it is my promise, 
And they expect it from me. 

Ari. Presently ? 

Prn. Aye, with a twink. 

Ari. Before you can say, Come, and go. 
And breathe twice ; and cry, so, so ; 
Each one, tripping on his toe. 
Will be here with mop and mowe : 
Do you love me, master ? no. 

Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel : Do not approach. 
Till thou dost hear me call. 

Ari. Well I conceive. [Exit. 

Pro, Look, thou be true : do not give dalliance 
Too much the rein : the strongest oaths are straw 
To the fire i' the blood : be more abstemious. 
Or else, good night, your vow ! 

Per. I warrant you, sir. 

The white cold virgin snow upon my heart 
Abates the ardour of my liver. 

Pro. Well.— 

Now come, my Ariel : bring a corollary, 
Rather than want a spirit : appear, and pertly — 
No tongue ; all eyes ; be silent. L^rf^ music. 

A Masque. Enter Inis. 

Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich lease 
Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease ; 
Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep. 
And fiat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep ; 
Thy banks with peonied and lilied brims. 
With spongy April at thy best betrims, [groves. 
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and thy broom 
Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, 
Being lass-lorn ; thy pole-clipt vineyard ; 
And thy sea-marge, steril, and rocky-hard. 
Where thou thyself dost air : The queen o' the sky, 
Whose watery arch, and messenger, am I, 
Bids thee leave these ; and with her sovereign grace. 
Here on this grass-plot, in this very place. 
To come and sport : her peacocks fly amain ; 
Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. 

Enter Ceres. 

Cei\ Hail many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er 
Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter ; 
Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers 
Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers ; 
And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown 
My bosky acres, and my unshrubb'd down. 
Rich scarf to my proud earth ; Why hath thy queen 
Summon'd me hither, to this short grass'd-green 7 

Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate ; 
And some donation freely to estate 
On the bless'd lovers. 

Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow, 

If Venus, or her son, as thou dost know. 
Do now attend the queen 1 since they did plot 
The means, that dusky Dis my daughter got, 
Her and her blind boy'sscandal'd company \ 
I have forsworn. f 

Iris. Of her society j' 

Be not afraid ; I met her deity ) 

Cutting the clouds towards Paphos ; and her son 
Dove-drawn with her : here thought they to have done 



Some wanton chai-m upon this man and maid, 
Whose vows are that no bed-rite shall be paid 
Till Hymen's torch be lighted : but in vain ; 
Mars's hot minion is return'd again ; 
Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, 
Swears he will shoot no more, but play with span-ows, 
And be a boy right out. 

Cer. Highest queen of state, . 

Great Juno comes : I know her by iier gait. 

Enter Juno. 
Jiin. How does my bounteous sister? Go with me, 
To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be 
And honour'd in tiieir issue. 

SONG. 
Jun. Honour, riches, marriage- hlessirig. 

Long continuance, and increasing, 

Hourly joiis be still upon you. ! 

.funo sings her hlessi7>gs on you. 
Cer. Earth's increase, andf'oison plenty. 

Barns and garners never empty ; 

Vines, with clust'ring hunches growing f 

Plants, with goodly burden bowing ; 

Spring come to you, at the furthest. 

In the very end of han'est ! 

Scarcity and want shall shun you ; 

Ceres' blessing so is on you. 

Per. This is a most majestic vision, and 
Harmonious charmingly : May 1 be bold 
To think these spirits 1 

Pro. Spirits, which by mine art 

I have from their confines called to enact 
My present fancies. 

Eer. Let me live here ever; 

So rare a wonder'd father, and a wife. 
Make this place Paradise. 

[Juno and Cf.iies whisper, and send Ihjs o?i 
employment. 

Pro. Sweet now, silence ; 

Juno and Ceres whiFper seriously ; 
There's something else to do : hush, and be mute. 
Or else our spell is marr'd. [brooks. 

Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wand'ring 
With your sedg'd crowns, and ever harmless looks. 
Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land 
Answer your summons : Juno does command : 
Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate 
A contract of true love ; be not too late. 

Enter certaiii Nymphs. 
You sun-burn'd sicklemen, of August weary. 
Come hither from the furrow, and be merry ; 
Make holy-day : your rye straw hats put on. 
And these fresh nyriphs encounter every one 
In country footing. 

Enter certain. Reapers, properly habited ; they jom 
with the Nymphs in a graceful dance; towards the 
end tuhereof Prospzjio starts suddenly, and speaks; 
after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise, 
they heavily vanish. 

Pro. [aside.] I had forgot that foul conspiracy 
Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates. 
Against my life ; the minute of their plot 
Is almost come —[To the Spirits.] Well done ;— 
avoid ; — no more. 

Fer. This is most strange : your father's in some 
That works him strongly. [passioD 

Mira Never till this day. 

Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. 

Pro. You do look, my son, m a mov'd sort 
As if you were dismay'd : be cheerful, sir: 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



41 



Our revels now are ended : these our actors, 

As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 

Are melted into air, into thin air : 

And, like tlie baseless fabric of this vision, 

The cloud-capij'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 

The solemn teuiples, the great globe itself, 

Vea, all wliicli it inherit, shall dissolve ; 

And, like tliis insubstantial pageant faded. 

Leave not a rack behind : We are such stuff 

A.S dreams are made of, and our little life 

Is rounded with a sleep. — Sir, 1 am vex'd ; 

Bear witb my weakness ; my old brain is troubled. 

Be not disturb'd witii my infirmity : 

If you be pleas'd, retire into my cell. 

And there repose ; a turn or two I Ml walk. 

To still my beating mind. 

Fer. Mint. We wish your peace. [Exeunt. 

Fro. Come with a thought : — 1 thank you : — 
Ariel, come. 

Enter Ariel. 

Ari. Thy thoughts I cleave to : What's thy pleasure ? 

Pro. Spirit, 

We must prepare to meet with Caliban. 

Ari. Ay, my conmiander ; when I presented Ceres, 
I thought to have told thee of it ; but I fear'd. 
Lest 1 might anger thee. 

Pro. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets ? 

Ari. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drink- 
So full of valour, that they smote the air [ing : 
For breathing in their faces ; beat the ground 
For kissing of their feet ; yet always bending 
Towards their project : Then I beat my tabor, 
At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears, 
Advanc'd their eye-lids, lifted up their noses, 
As they smelt music ; so I charm'd their ears, 
That, calf-like, they my lowing followed, through 
Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns, 
Which enter'd their frail shins : at last I left them 
I' the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell. 
There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake 
O'erstunk their feet. 

Pro. This was well done, my bird ; 

Thy shape invisible retain thou still : 
The trumpery in my house, go, bring it hither, 
For stale to catch these thieves. 

Ari. I go, I go. [Exit. 

Pro. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature 
Nurture can never stick ; on whom my pains, 
Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost: 
And as, with age, his body uglier grows. 
So his mind cankers : I will plague them all, 

Re-enter Ariel louden with glistering apparel, (Sfc. 

Even to roaring : — Come, hang them on this line. 

PROSPEno and Ariel remain invisible. Enter Ca- 
liban, Stephano, and Trinculo, all wet, 

Cal. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may 
Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell. [not 

Ste. Monster, your fairy, which, you say, is a 
harmless fairy, has done little better than played the 
Jack with us. 

Trin. Monster, I do smell all horsepiss ; at which 
my nose is in great indignation. 

Sle. So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should 
take a displeasure against you ; look you, — 

Trin. Tiiou wert but a lost monster. 

Cal. Good my lord, give me tliy favour still : 
the patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to 
Shall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak 
All 's hush'd as midnight yet. [softly, 

Trin. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool, — 



Sle. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in 
that, monster, but an infinite loss. 

Trin. That 's more to me than my wetting : yet 
this is your harmless fairy, monster. 

Ste. I will fetch oflf my bottle, though I be o'er 
ears for my labour. 

Cal. Prythee, my king, be quiet: Seest thou here. 
This is the mouth o' the cell : no noise, and enter. 
Do that good mischief, which may make this island 
Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, 
For aye thy footlicker. 

Ste. Give me thy hand: I do begin to have bloody 
thoughts. 

Trin. O king Stephano ! O peer ! O worthy 
Stephano ! look, what a wardrobe here is for thee ! 
Cal. Let it alone, thou fool ; it is but trash. 
Tri>t. (), ho, monster; we know what belongs to 
a frippery : — O king Stephano ! 

Ste. Put off that gown, Trinculo ; by this hand, 
I '11 have that gown. 

Trin. Thy grace shall have it. [mean, 

Cal. The dropsy drown this fool ! what do you 
To doat thus on such luggage 1 Let's along. 
And do the murder first : if he awake. 
From toe to crown he '11 fill our skins with pinches ; 
Make us strange stuff. 

Ste. Be you quiet, monster. — Mistress line, is not 
this my jerkin 1 Now this is the jerkin under the line: 
now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and prove 
a bald jerkin. 

Trin. Do, do : We steal by line and level, an't 
like your grace. 

Ste. I thank thee for that jest: here's a garment 
for't: wit shall not go unrewarded, while I am king 
of this country : Steal bii line and level, is an excel- 
lent pass of pate ; there's another garment for't. 

Trin. Monster, come, put some lime upon your 
fingers, and away with the rest. 

Cal. I will have none on 't : we shall lose our time, 
."^nd all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes 
With foreheads villainous low. 

Ste. Monster, lay-to your fingers ; help to bear 
this away, where my hogshead of wine is, or I'll 
turn you out of my kingdom : go to, carry this. 
Trin. And this. 
Ste. Ay, and this. 

A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in shape 
of hounds, and hunt them about. Puospero and 
Ariel setting them on. 

Pro. Hey, Mountain, hey ! 

Ari. Silver! there it goes, SiVwr .' [hark! 

Pro. Fury, Fury! there. Tyrant, there! hark, 
[Cal. Ste. and Trim, are driven out. 
Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joints 
With dry convulsions -, shorten up their sinews 
With aged cramps; and more piuch-spotted make 
Than pard, or cat o' mountain. 

Ari. Hark, they roar. 

Pro. I.et them be hunted soundly : At this hour 
Lie at my mercy all mine enemies : 
Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou 
Shalt have the air of freedom : for a little. 
Follow, and dome service. [Exeunt. 



ACT V 



SCENE I.— Before the Cell <>/' Prospero. 
Enter PROsruno in his magic robes ; and Arili,. 
Pro. Now does my project gather to a head : 
My charms crack not ; my spirits obey ; and time 



42 



TEMPEST. 



Goes upright with his carriage. How 's the day 1 

Ari. On the sixth hour ; at which time, my lord, 
You said our work should cease. 

Pro. I did say so, 

When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit. 
How fares the king and his 1 

Ari. Confin'd together 

In the same fashion as you gave in charge ; 
Just as you left them, sir ; all prisoners 
In the lime-grove which weather-fends your cell ; 
They cannot budge, till your release. The king, 
His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted ; 
And the remainder mourning over them, 
Brim-full of sorrow and dismay ; but chiefly 
Him you term'd, sir, The good old lord, Gonzalo ; 
His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops 
From eaves of reeds : your charm so strongly works 
That if you now beheld them, your affections [them, 
Would become tender. 

Pro. Dost thou think so, spirit] 

Ari. Mine would, sir, were 1 human. 

Pro. And mine shall. 

Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling 
Of their afflictions 1 and shall not myself. 
One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, 
Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art"* 
Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the 
Yet, with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury [quick, 
Do I take part : the rarer action is 
In virtue than in vengeance : they being penitent, 
The >ole drift of my purpose doth extend 
Not a frown further : Go, release them, Ariel ; 
]\ly charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore. 
And they shall be themselves. 

Ari, I '11 fetch them, sir. [Exit. 

Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and 
And ye, that on the sands with printle^s foot [groves ; 
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him, 
When he comes back ; you demi-puppets, that 
By moon-shine do the green-sour ringlets make. 
Whereof the ewe not bites ; and you, w hose pastime 
Is to make midnight-mushrooms ; that rejoice 
To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid 
(Weak masters though ye be), I have bedimm'd 
The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds. 
And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault 
Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder 
Have 1 given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak 
With his own bolt : the strongbas'd promontory 
Have I made shake ; and by the spurs pluck'd up 
The pine and cedar : graves, at my command. 
Have waked their sleepers ; oped, and let them forth 
By my so potent art ; But this rough magic 
I here abjure: and, when I have requir'd 
Some heavenly music, (which even now I do,) 
To work mine end upon their senses, that 
This airy charm is for, I'll break my staflP, 
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth. 
And, deeper than did ever plummet sound, 
I '11 drown my book. ^ ^Solemn music. 

Re-enter Ariel: after him, Alonso, with a frantic 
gesture, attended by Go>fZALO ; Sebastian and 
Antonio in like manner, attended by Adrian and 
Francisco : they all enter the circle which PRosrERO 
had made, and there stand charmed ; which Pros- 
PERO observing, speaks. 

A solemn air, and the best comforter 

To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, 

Now useless, boil'd within thy skull ! There stand. 

For you are spell stopp'd. 

Holy Gonzalo, honourable man 



Mine eyes, even sociable to the shew of thine. 
Fall fellowly drops. — The cliarm dissolves apace; 
And as the morning steals upon the night, 
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses 
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 
Their clearer reason. — O my good Gonzalo, 
My true preserver, and a loyal sir 
To him thou follow'st ; 1 will pay thy graces 
Home, both in word and deed. — Most cruelly 
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter : 
Thy brother was a furtherer in the act ; — [blood, 
Thou'rt pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. — Flesh and 
You brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, 
Expell'd remorse and nature ; who, with Sebastian, 
(Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,) 
VVould have kill'd your king ; I do forgive thee. 
Unnatural though thou art ! — Their understanding 
Begins to swell ; and the approaching tide 
Will shortly fill the reasonable shores. 
That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them. 
That yet looks on me, or would know me : — Ariel, 
Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell ; [Exit Ariel, 
I will dis-case me, and myself present. 
As 1 was sometime iNlilan : — qu ckly, spirit; 
Thou shalt ere long be free. 

Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire Prospero. 

Ari. Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; 
In a cowslip's bell 1 lie ; 
There 1 couch when owls do cry. 
On the bat's back I dojiy. 
After summer, merrily : 
Merrily, merrily, shall 1 live now. 
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 

Pro, Why, that's my dainty Ariel: 1 shall miss thee; 
But yet thou shalt have freedom : so, so, so. — 
To the king's ship, invisible as thou art : 
There shalt thou find the mariners asleep 
Under the hatches ; the master, and the boatswaioj 
Being awake, enforce them to this place ; 
And presently, I pr'ythee. 

Ari. I drink the air before me, and return 
Or e'er your pulse twice beat. [Exit Ariel. 

Gon, All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement 
Inhabits here : Some heavenly power guide us 
Out of this fearful country ! 

Pro. Behold, sir king, 

The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero : 
For more assurance that a living prince 
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body; 
And to thee, and thy company, 1 bid 
A hearty welcome. 

Alon. Whe'r thou beest he, or no. 

Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me. 
As late I have been, I not know : thy pulse 
Beats, as of flesh and blood ; and, since 1 saw thee. 
The affliction of my mind amends, with which, 
I fear, a madness held me : this must crave 
(And if this be at all) a most strange story. 
Thy dukedom 1 resign ; and do entreat [Prospero 
Thou pardon me my wrongs : — But how should 
Be living, and be here 1 

Pro. First, noble friend. 

Let me embrace thine age ; whose honour cannot 
Be measur'd, or confin'd. 

Gon. Whether this be. 

Or be not, I '11 not swear. 

Pro. You do yet taste 

Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you 
Believe things certain : — Welcome, my friends all : — 
But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, 

[^Aside to Seb. and Ant. 



ACT V- -SCENE I. 



43 



I here could pluck his highness" frown upon you, 
And justify you traitors ; at this time 
I'll tell no tales. 

Seb. The devil speaks in him. [Aside. 

Pro. _ No: 

For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother 
Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive 
Thy rankest fault ; all of them ; and require 
My dukedom of thee, which, perforce, I know, 
Thou must restore. 

Alon. If thou beest Prospeio, 

Give us particulars of thy preservation : 
How thou hast met us here, who three hours since 
Were wreck'd upon this shore ; where I have lost, 
How sharp the point of this remembrance is ! 
My dear son Ferdinand. 

Pro. I am woe for't, sir. 

Alon. Irreparable is the loss ; and patience 
Says it is past her cure. 

Pro. I rather think, 

You have not sought her help ; of whose soft grace 
For the like loss, 1 have her sovereign aid. 
And rest myself content. 

Alon. You the like loss ? 

Pro. As great to me, as late ; and, supportable 
To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker 
Than you may call to comfort you ; for I 
Have lost my daughter. 

Alon. A daughter? 

heavens ! that they were living both in Naples, 
The king and queen there ! that they were, I wish 
Myself were mudded in that oozy bed [ter? 
Where my son lies. When did you lose yourdaugh- 

Pro. In this last tempest. 1 perceive, these lords 
At this encounter do so much admire, 
That they devour their reason ; and scarce think 
Their eyes do offices of truth, their words 
Are natural breath : but, howsoe'er you have 
Been justled from your senses, know for certain, 
That I am Prospero, and that very duke 
Which was tiirust forth of Milan ; who most strangely 
Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was landed. 
To be the lord on 't. No more yet of this ; 
For 'tis a chronicle of day by day, 
Not a relation for a breakfast, nor 
Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir ; 
This cell 's my court : here have I few attendants, 
And subjects none abroad : pray you, look in. 
My dukedom since you have given me again, 

1 will requite you with as good a thing ; 

At least, bring forth a wonder, to content ye. 
As much as me my dukedom. 

The entrance of the Cell opens, and discovers Ferdi- 
nand and Miranda plai/ing at chess, 

Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false, 

Fer. No, my dearest love, 

I would not for the world. [wrangle, 

Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should 
And I would call it fair play. 

Alon. If this prove 

A vision of the island, one dear son 
Shall I twice lose. 

Seb. A most high miracle ! 

Fer. Though the seas threaten they are merciful : 
I have curs'd them without cause. 

[Feud, kneels to Alon. 

Alon. Now all the blessings 

Of a glad father compass thee about ! 
Arise, and say how thou cam'st here. 

Mira. O ! wonder ! 

How many goodly creatures are there here ' 



How beauteous mankind is ! O brave new world. 
That has such people in't ! 

Pro. 'Tis new to thee. [p'av 1 

Alon. What is this maid, with whom thou wast at 
Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours : 
Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us. 
And brought us thus together 1 

Fer. Sir, she 's mortal j 

But, by immortal providence, she's mine ; 
I chose her, when I could not ask my father 
For his advice ; nor thought I had one : she 
Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan, 
Of whom so often I have heard renown. 
But never saw before ; of whom I have 
Received a second life, and second father 
This lady makes him to me. 

Alon. I am hers : 

But O, how oddly will it sound, that I 
Must ask my child forgiveness ! 

Pro. There, sir, stop ; 

Let us not burden our remembrances 
With a heaviness that's gone. 

Gon I have inly wept, 

Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods, 
And on this couple drop a blessed crown ; 
For it is you, that have chalk'd forth the way 
Which brought us hither ! 

Alon. I say. Amen, Gonzalo! 

Gon, Was Milan thrust from INIilan, that his issue 
Should become kings of Naples ] O, rejoice 
Beyond a common joy ; and set it down 
With gold on lasting pillars : In one voyage 
Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis ; 
And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife, 
\Vhere he himself was lost ; Prospero his dukedom. 
In a poor isle ; and all of us, ourselves. 
When no man was his own. 

Alon. Give me your hands : [To Fer. and Mir. 
Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart. 
That doth not wish you joy ! 

Gon. Be'tso! Amen! 

Re-enter Ariel, u'ith the blaster and Boatswain 
amazedlt/ follouhig. 

look, sir, look, sir ; here are more of us 1 

1 prophesied, if a gallows were on land, 

This fellow could not drown : Now, blasphemy. 
That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore. 
Hast thou no mouth by land 1 What is the news ] 

Boats. The best news is, that we have safely found 
Our king, and company ; the next our ship, — 
Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split. — 
Is tight, and yare, and bravely rigg'd, as when 
We first put out to sea. 

Ari. Sir, all this service 1 

Have I done since I went. J Aside. 

Pro. My tricksy spirit ! ) 

^/oH. These are not natural events ; they strengthen, 
From strange to stranger : — Say ,how came you hither'' 

Boats If I did think, sir, 1 were well awake, 
I 'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep. 
And (how, we know not) all clapp'd under hatches. 
Where, but even now, with strange and several noises 
Of roaring, shrieking, howling, gingling chains, 
And more diversity of sounds, all horrible. 
We were awak'd ; straitway, at liberty : 
Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld 
Our royal, good, and gallant ship ; our master 
Capering to eye her : On a trice, so please you, 
Even in a dream, were we divided from them. 
And were brouglit moping hither. 

Ari. Was 't well done ! f '^'^^''' ^ ■!«■ I/? 

Pro. Biavely, my diligence. Thou shah be ^ * ' 



4i 



TEMPEST. 



A ton. 'I'liis is as strange a maze as e'er men trod : 
Anil there is in this business more than nature 
'iVas ever conduct of : some oracle 
Must rectify our knowledge. 

I'lo. Sir, my liege, 

Do not infest your mind with beating on 
The strangeness of this business : at pick'd leisure, 
Which siiiill he shortly, single 1 '11 resolve you 
(Which til you shall seem probable), of every 
These hapijcn'd accidents ; till when, be cheerful, 
And think of each thing well. — Come hither, spirit ; 

[Aside. 
Set Caliban and his companions free : [cioussir? 
Untie the spell. [Exit Aiiiel.J How fares my gra- 
Tliere are yet missing of your company 
Some few odd lads that you remember not. 



Re-enter Arucl, driving in Cai-iiian, Stepiiano, and 
TitiNcui.o, in their stdten Appuret. 

Ste, Every man shift for all the rest, and let no 
man take care for himself ; for all is but fortune : — 
Coragio, bully-monster, Coragio ! 

Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in my 
head, here's a goodly sight. 

Ciil. () Setelios, these be brave spirits, indeed I 
How fine my master is I 1 am afraid 
He will chastise me. 

Sell. Ha, ha ; 

What things are these, my lord Antonio ! 
Will money buy them 1 

Ant. Very like ; one of them 
Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. 

Pro. Maik but the badges of these men, my lords, 
Then say, if they be true: — This mis-shapen knave, — 
His mother was a witch ; and one so strong 
That conM control the moon, make Hows and ebbs. 
And deal in her command, without her power : 
These three have robb'd me : and this denii-devil 
(For he's a bastard one) had plotted with them 
To lake niy life : two of these fellows you 
Must know, and own ; this thing of darkness I 
Acknowledge mine. 

Cat. I shall be pinch'd to death. 

Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler? 

Seb. He is drunk now : where had he the wine 1 

EPILOGUE. 
Now my charms are all o'erthrown, 
And what strength 1 have's mine own ; 
Which is most faint: now 'tis true, 
I must be here conlin'd by you. 
Or sent to Naples : Let me not, 
Since 1 have my dukedom got. 
And panlon'd the deceiver, dwell 
In this bare island, by your spell ; 
lint release me from my bands. 
With the help of your good hands. 



Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe : Where should 
Find this grand liquor that hath gilded them ? — [they 
How cam'st thou in this i)ickle ] 

Trin. I have been in such a pickle since I saw you 
last, that, I fear me, will never out of my bones : I 
shall not fear fly blowing. 

Seb. Why, how now, Ste])hano ? [cramp. 

Sle. (), touch me not ; 1 am not Stephano, but a 

Pro. V'ou 'd be king of the isle, sirrah 1 

Ste. I should havo been a sore one then. 

Aton, ThiiS is as strange a thing as e'er 1 look'd on. 

[I'oinling to Caliban. 

Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners, 
As in his shape : — Go, sirrah, to my cell ; 
'I'ake with you your companions ; as you look 
To have my i)ar(lon, trim it handsomely. 

Cat. Ay, that I will ; and 1 'II be wise hereafter, 
And seek for grace : What a thrice-double ass 
Was 1, to take this drunkard for a god, 
And worship this dull fool 1 

Pro. Goto; away! [found it. 

Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you 

Seh. Or stole it, rather. [ Exeunt Cm.. Sir,, and 'I'lUN. 

/*/•(). Sir, I invite your highness, and your train, 
To my poor cell : where you shall take your rest 
For this one night ; which (part of it) 1 '11 waste 
With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make it 
Go (|uick away : the story of my life. 
And the jjarticular accidents, gone by. 
Since 1 came to this isle : And in the morn, 
1 'II bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, 
Where 1 have hope to see the nuptial 
Of these our dear-beloved s()lcuini/.'d ; 
And thence retire me to my Milan, where 
Every third thought shall be my grave- 

Alon. I long 

To hear the story of your life, which must 
Take the ear strangely. 

Pro. I'll deliver all ; 

And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, 
And sail so expeditious, that shall catch 
Your royal fleet far oflP. — My Ariel ; — chick, — 
That is thy charge ; then to the elements 
lie free, and fare thou well ! — [asttie.J Please you 
draw near. ^Exeunt. 

Spoken hit Pnospuno. 

Gentle breath of yours my sails 
Must fill, or else my project fails. 
Which was to please : Now I want 
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant ; 
And my ending is despair, 
Unless 1 be reliev'd by prayer , 
Which pierces so, that it assaults 
IMercy itself, and frees all faults. 
As you from crimes would panlon'd be 
Let your indulgence set me free. 



It is olisci'veil of T/te Tempest, tliat its plan is regular ; this 
till' :iiuh(ir ol' ill': Iteviiul lliiiiks, whit I lluiik tuo, an aixidcii- 
talc'rtectol the story, not ijili'iiili'il or reKiirdid l>y cmrnuihor. 
iJut, wlialOM;!' lai^ht be Sliaksiienre's inli'iilion in lorniink' or 
adojitinb' the plot, he has made it instrnnicntal lo the production 
of many churaciers, diversified wiili lionndless invention, and 
preserved willi profound skill in nature, extejisive knowledge of 
oipiiiion.s, and accurate ohservatioii of life. In a siiiKle drama 
Rie here e.xhihiied princes, coiirti<;rs, and sailors, all speakinj? 
ill their real iharaciers. There is the aKeiicy of airy spirits, 
and of an earthly nohlin. i'lie operations of mah'ic, the tumults 
of a sliuiii, the ,uh eiUiires of a desert island, the native efliision 
of untaught niVeclion, the pi.nishiiieiit of Riiill, and the linal hap- 
jTiness of the iiair for whom our pa^isiuiig and reason are enually 
interested. — Ion nson. 

1 he unity of tunc is strictly ohserved in this play. The fable 
scarcely takes up a greater luimlicr of hours than are employeil 
ill the reiiresentatiun ; and from the very )iurticular care which 
our author takes lo point out this circuiiisiance in so many pas- 
saf'S, it shaukl seem ili.-it it was not accidental, but destined to 
sb<;w the cavillers of the time, that he too could write a lilay 
wiUiiuull the strictest laws of regulariiy. when he chose to load 



himself with the critic's fetters. — Alonso says, 
" If thou beest I'lospero, 

Give us particulars of ihy preservation: 

How thou hast met us here, who ihiea /tours sinee 

Were wreck'd upon this shore."— 
The boatswain in.Lrks the progress of the day again ; 

H'hicli hut thiet. ti/».\ses since.'' — iVc. 
y\t the beginning of the fifth act the duration of the tunc em- 
ployed on the stage is particularly ascertained ; 

' I'm. IJow '.>■ l>ie tlaij f 

A ri . On the. sirih hour." 
.'\nd they aKiiiii refer to a passage in the first act: 
" I'ro. li'hul i.\ ihi: time of the day ! 

Ari. /'«.!/ the mill .\e:i!^oii,al teusi l:tio e/"''se.f."—S'vr,\iV UNn 
It may be farther added to the above observation of Steei ens, 
that the unities of action aiul of place are as exactly observed 
as the unity of lime. " In this )ilay," says Dr. Warton, .li/ien- 
tiirer, Number y?, " the action is one, great, and entire the re 
storation of I'rbspero to his dukedom ; this business is trans- 
at'ted in ibe cciuipass of a aiiiall island, and in or near the cave 
of I'rospero." 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



There was no edition of this play, till thot of the year 16C3: 

but il must h.i\ e ln-en written niiirh ciilicr, as it is iiii-iitionoii 
by Meres, in liis ll'it't 'Deaiury, which was pul'lisliecl in ICAW. 
— iMr. Maliine coii.siilei-s this pi ly as Sliakspeare's iirst jiro- 
duclion.— I lie internal evidenie is ntjainst such a siii)pt>sili()n. 
It has neither the beauties or the faults— the exuiieianoe or 
the iiiequalitifs—lliat generally dislinKUibh the inexperienced 
cfl'orts of a rich and original Heiiius.— I he general tone of the 
comedy, thouKli oucasionally relieved by passages of nuich 
grace and sweetness, is that of sniootli, clet;ant, dull medio- 
crity. It is rejected as entirely spurious by llaiinier and 
Upton : and thouijli tlie quibliles of Upeed, the lolly of l.aiiiice, 
and some delinhtlul lines scattered here and therein the seri- 
ous scenes of tbe iday, are so perfectly ■" tbe manner of Shak- 
speare, as to convince the reader that it had underKone liis 
revision and improvement, I cannot help believingit impossible 
that our b'reat I)/amalist could have been the autlinr of a 
work, in which the characters are so entirely devoid nl indivi- 
duality, the dialogue so elaborately heavy, so smoothly lame, 
and so little varied with the changes of situation. Ur. John- 



son thinks differently, and says, " When I read this play I 
cannot liut think that I tind, both in the serious and ludicrous 
scenes, tile laiiKUase and sentiments of SluiUspeare. 1 1 is not, 
indeed, one ot his most powerful effusions ; it lias neither many 
diversitiesofcliaracter, norstrikiiiK delineationsof lile ; butit 
abounds in yi/uj^ui beyond most of his phns, and few havo 
more lines or passages, which, singly consiilercd, are emi- 
nently beautiful. I am yet inclined to believe that it wasnot 
very successful, and susjiect that it has escajied corruption, 
only because, heiiiK sel(li>ni jdayed, il was lessexiKised to the 
hazards o( transcription, " 
1 he story of Proteus and Julia, has been resembled to a story in 
the V-'iartrtoftieorh'eofA/i'wrtOTnj/c/-, which, accoriliuu' to Mrt. 
Lenox, \vas translated in shaks|iearc's time.— I lie incident of 
\'alentine's.)oininv;ihe robbers is also suiiposed lobe taken from 
the Arcadia of^ir I'liilip Sidni.y, book 1. chap, ti where Py- 
rocles consents to head ihe Helots,— Hotli these adventures 
are common in tale and history, am!, irnot already prepared 
to the author's hand, niiwht have been invented without any 
great stretch of iutagination. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Duke op Milan, yiif/in- to Silvia. 
Vai.entinf, Photeds, Gentlemen o/' Verona. 
Antonio, /at/ier to Proteus. 
Thurio, a foolish riml to Valentine. 
EoLAMOUR, agent J'or Silvia, in her escape. 
Speed, a clownish servant to Valentine. 
Launce, servant to Proteus. 
Panthino, servant to Antonio. 
Host, where Julia lodges in Milan. 
Out- /a IDS. 

Julia, a ladi/ <)/' Verona, beloved bit Proteus. 
Silvia, the duke's daugliter, beloved by Valentine. 
Lucetta, ivaiting-woman to .Julia. 

Servants, Mueicians, 

SCENE, sometimes in Vekona ; sometimes in Mi- 
lan; and on the Frontiers o/' Mantua. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — An open place in Verona, 
Enter Valentine and Proteus. 

Val. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus ; 
Home-keepinir youth have ever homely wits ; 
Werel not, afl'ection chains thy tender days 
To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, 
I rather would entreat thy company. 
To see the wonders of the world abroad, 
Than living dully sluggardiz'd at home, 
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. 
But, since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein, 
Even as I would, when I to love begin. 

Pro. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu! 
Tliink on thy Proteus, when thou, haply, seest 
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel : 
Wish me partaker in thy happiness. 
When tiiou dost meet good hap: and, in thy danger, 
If ever danger do environ thee. 
Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, 
For 1 will be thy bead's-man, Valentine. 

Val. And on a love book pray for my success. 

Pro. Upon some book 1 love, I '11 pray for thee. 

Vol. That 's on some shallow story of deep love, 
How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. 

Pro. 'J'hat 's a deep story of a deeper love ; 
For he was more than over shoes in love. 



Vol. 'Tis true ; for you are over boots in love. 
And yet you never swam the Hellespont. 

Pro. Over the boots ! nay, give me not the boots. 
Val, No, I '11 not, for it boots thee not. 
Pro. What ? 

Val, 'I'o 1)6 

In love, where ^corn isboughtwith groans ; coy looks, 
With heart-sore sighs ; one fading moment's mirth, 
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights • 
If haply won, perhaps, a iiapless gain ; 
If lost, why then a grievous labour won ; 
However, but a folly boiigiit with wit, 
Or else a wit by folly vantpiisiied. 

Pro. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool, 

Val. So, by your circumstance, 1 fear, you'll prove. 

Pro. 'Tis love you cavil at ; I am not love. 

Val. Love is your master, for he masters you • 
And he that is so yoked by a foe', 
IMetliiuks should not be chionicled for wise. 

I'ro. Vet writers say. As in the sweetest bud 
The eating canker dwells, so eating love 
Inhabits in the finest wits of all. 

Val. And writers say. As the most forward bud 
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, 
Even so by love the young and tender wit 
Is turn'd to folly ; blasting in the bud, 
Losing his verdure even in the prime, 
And ail the fair eft'ects of future liojjes. 
15ut wherefore waste 1 time to counsel thee, 
That art a votary to fond desire ? 
Once more adieu : my father at the road 
Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. 

Pro. And thither will 1 bring thee, \'alentine. 

Val. Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take our leave. 
At Milan, let me hear from thee by kllers. 
Of thy success in love, and what news else 
Betideth here in absence of tiiy friend ; 
And 1 likewise will visit thee with mine. 

Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in IMllan ! 

Val, As much to you at home ! and so, farewell. 

[E.Ut \'Al,liN(INE. 

Pro, He after honour hunts, I after love : 
He leaves his friends fo dignify t!u;ni more ; 
I leave myself, my friends, and ail for love. 
Thou, .lulia, thou hast iiietamorphos'd me ; 
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time. 
War with good counsel, set the world at nought ; 
Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought. 

Enter Si'eeb. 
Speed. Sir Proteus, save you : Saw you my master? 



4(} 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



Fio. But now he parted hence, to embark for Milan. 

Speed. Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already ; 
And I have play'd the sheep, in losing him. 

Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray, 
An if the shepherd be awhile away. 

Speed. You conclude that my master is a shepherd 

I'ro. I do. [then, and I a sheep ? 

Speed. Why then my horns are his horns, whether 
I wake or sleep. 

Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. 

Sneed. This proves me still a sheep 

Pro. True ; and thy master a shepherd. 

Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance 

Pro. It shall go hard, but 1 '11 prove it by another. 

Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the 
sheep the shepherd ; but I seek my master, and my 
master seeks not me : therefore, I am no sheep. 

Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, 
the shepherd for food follows not the sheep ; thou 
for wages foUowest thy master, thy master for wages 
follows not thee : therefore, thou art a sheep. 

Speed. Such another proof will make me cry baa. 

Pro. But dost thou hear"! gav'st tliou my letter to 
Juliai 

Speed. Ay, sir ; I, a lost mutton, gave your letter 
to her, a laced mutton; and she, a laced mutton, 
gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour ! 

Pro. Here 's too small a pasture for^such a store of 
muttons. 

Speed. If the ground be overcharged, you were best 
slick her. 

Pro. Nay, in that you are astray ; 'twere best 
pound you. 

Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me 
for carrying your letter. 

Pro You mistake ; I mean the pound, a pinfold. 

Speed. From a pound to a pin 1 fold it over and over, 
'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your 

Pro. But what said she 1 did she nod t [lover. 

[Speed nodi. 

Speed. I. 

Pro. Nod, I ; why, that's noddy. 

Speed. You mistook, sir ; I say, she did nod: and 
you ask me, if she did nod ; and 1 say, I. 

Pro. And that set together, is — noddy. 

Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it 
together, take it for your pains. 

Pro. No, no, you shall have it for bearing the letter. 

Speed. Well, I perceive, I must be fain to bear with 

Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me 1 [you. 

Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly ; having 
nothing but the word, noddy, for my pains. 

Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. 

Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. 

Pro. Come, come, open the matter in brief: 
What said she 1 

Speed. Open your purse, that the money, and the 
matter, may be both at once delivered. 

Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains : What said 
she? 

Speed. Truly, sir, I think you '11 hardly win her. 

Pro. VVhyl Could'st thou perceive so much from 
her"! 

Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from 
her ; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your 
letter : And being so hard to me that brought your 
mind, I fear, she '11 prove as hard to you in telling 
her mind. Give her no token but stones ; for she 's 
as hard as steel. 

Pro. What, said she nothing 1 

Speed. No, not so much as — take this for thy pains. 
To testify your bounty, I thank you, you have tes- 



tern'd me ; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your 
letters yourself: and so, sir, I'll commend you to 
my master. 

Pro. Go, go, be- gone, to save your ship from wreck ; 
Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, 
Being destined to a drier death on shore : — 
I must go send some better messenger ; 
I fear, my Julia would not deign my lines. 
Receiving them from such a worthless pos'.- 

lEieunt. 

SCENE II. — The same. Garden o/" Julin 3 Home. 

Enter Julia and Lucetta. 

Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, 
Would'st thou then counsel me to fall in love ? 

Luc. Ay, madam ; so you stumble not unheedfulJy . 

.lid. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen, 
That every day with park encounter me, 
In thy opinion, which is worthiest love? 

Luc. Please you, repeat their names, I'll shew my 
According to my shallow simple skill. [mind 

Jul. Whatthink'st thou of the fair Sir Eglaniour? 

Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and line ; 
But, were I you, he never should be mine. 

Jul, What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio? 

Luc. Well, of his wealth ; but of himself, so, so. 

Jul. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus 1 

Luc. Lord, lord ! to see what folly reigns in us ! 

Jul. How now ! what means this passion at his name? 

Luc. Pardon, dear madam; 'tis a passing shame. 
That I, unworthy body as I am, 
Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. 

Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest ? 

Luc. Then thus, of many good 1 think him best. 

Jul. Your reason 1 

Luc' I have no other but a woman's reason ; 
I think him so, because I think him so. 

Jut. And would'st thou have me cast my love on him? 

Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away. 

Jul. Why, he of all the rest hath never mov'dme. 

Luc. Yet he of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. 

Jul. His little speaking shews his love but small. 

Luc. Fire, that is closest kept, burns most of all. 

Jul. They do not love, that do not shew their love 

Luc.O, they love least, that let men know their love. 

Jul. I would, I knew his mind. 

Iaic. Peruse this paper, madcim. 

Jul. To Julia, — Say, from whom ? 

Luc. That the contents will shew. 

Jul. Say, say ; who gave it thee ? [Proteus : 

Luc. Sir Valentine's page ; and sent, I think, from 
He would have given it you, but I, being in the way, 
Did in your name receive it ; pardon the fault, I pray. 

Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker ! 
Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines ? 
To whisper and conspire against my youth ? 
Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth. 
And you an officer fit for the place. 
There, take the paper, see it be return'd ; 
Or else return no more into my sight. 

Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate 

Jul. Will you be gone ? 

Luc. [aside.J That you may ruminate. [E.n't. 

Jul. And yet, I would, 1 had o'erlook'd the letter. 
It were a shame to call her back again. 
And pray her to a fault for wiiich I chid her. 
What fool is she, that knows I am a maid. 
And would not force the letter to my view 1 
Since maids, in modesty, say No, to that 
Which they would have the profferer construe, Ay, 
Fie, fie ! how wayward is the foolish love, 



ACT I.— SCENE III. 



47 



That, like a testy babe will scratch the nurse, 
And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod ! 
How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, 
When willingly I would have had her here ! 
How angrilv I taught my brow to frown. 
When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile ! 
Rly penance is, to call Lucetta back, 
And ask remission for my folly past: — 
What ho ' Lucetta 1 



Re-enter LrcF.TTA. 
Luc. What would your ladyship ! 

Jul. Is it near dinner time 1 
Luc. I would it were ; 

That you might kill your stomach on your meat, 
And not upon your maid. 

Jul. What is 'I you took up 

So gingerly t 

Luc. Nothing 

Jul. Why didst thou stoop then ? 

I.uc. To take a paper up lliat I let fall. 
Jul. And is that paper nothing ? 
Luc. Nolliing concerning me. 

Jul. Then let it lie for those tliat it concerns. 
Ialc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, 
Unless it have a false interpreter. 
Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. 
Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune: 
Give me a note : your ladyship can set. 

Jul. As little by sucii toys as may be possible : 
Best sing it to the tune of Light n'Love. 
Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. 
Jul. Heavy? belike, it hath some burden titen. 
l.tic. Ay ; and melodious were it, would you sing it. 
Jul. And why not you "! 

Luc. I cannot reach so high, 

Jul. Let's see your song ; — How now, minion'! 
Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out: 
And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune. 
Jul, You do not] 
Luc. No, madam ; it is too sharp. 
Jul. You, minion, are loo saucy. 
Luc. Nay, now you are too flat. 
And mar the concord with too harsh a descant : 
There wanteth but a mean to fill your song. 

Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly base. 
Luc. Indeed, 1 bid the base for Proteus. 
Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. 
Here is a coil with protestation ! — [Tears the letter. 
Go, get you gone ; and let the papers lie : 
You would be fingering them, to anger me. 

Luc. She makes it strange ; but she would be best 

pleas 'd [usuie. 

To be so anger'd with another letter. [Eiit. 

Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same I 

hateful hands, to tear such loving words ! 
Injurious wasps ! to feed on such sweet honey, 
And kill the bees, that yield it, with your stings ! 

1 '11 kiss each several paper for amends. 

And, here is writ — kind Julia ;— unkind .Tulia! 

As in revenge of thy ingratitude, 

I throw thy name against the bruising stones. 

Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. 

Look, here is writ — love-ivotinded Proteus: — 

Poor wounded name ! my bosom, as a bed. 

Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be th'roughlyheal'd; 

And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. 

But twice, or thice, was Proteus written down : 

Be calm, good wind, bfow not a word away. 

Till I have found each letter in the letter. 

Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear 

Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock 



And throw it thence into the raging sea ! 
Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ,— 
Poor forlorn I'roteus, passionate Proteus, 
To the street Julia ; that I '11 tear away ; 
And yet 1 will not, sith so prettily 
He couples it to his complaining names ; 
Thus will I fold them one upon another ; 
Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. 

Re-enter Lucetta. 

Luc. Madam, dinner's ready, and your father stays. 

Jul. Well, let us go. 

Lite. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here? 

Jul. If you respect them, best to take them up. 

Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down • 
Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold. 

Jul. I see you have a month's mind to them. 

Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see ; 
I see things too, although you judge 1 wink. 

Jul. Come, come, wilt please you go ] \_Exeunt. 



SCENE III. — The same. A room in Antonio's 
House. 
Enter Antonio and Pantiiino. 
Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that, 
Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister 1 
Pan. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son. 
Ant. Why, what of him? 

Pan. He wonder'd, that your lordship 

Would suffer him to spend his youth at home ; 
While other men, of slender reputation, 
Put forth their sons to seek prefeiTnent out . 
Some, to the wars, to try their fortune there ; 
Some, to discover islands far away ; 
Some, to the studious universities. 
For any, or for all these exercises, 
He said, that Proteus, your son, was meet : 
And did request me, to importune you, 
To let him spend his time no more at home, 
Which would be great impeachment to his age. 
In having known no travel in his youth. 

Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that 
Whereon this month I have been hammering. 
I have consider'd well his loss of time ; 
And how he Ci.nnot be a perfect man, 
Not being try'd, and tutor'd in the world : 
Experience is by industry achiev'd, 
And perfected by the swift course of time : 
Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him ? 

Pan. 1 think, your lordship is not ignorant. 
How his companion, youthful Valentine, 
Attends the emperor in his royal court. 

Ant. I know it well. [thither : 

Pan. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him 
There shall he practise tilts and tournaments. 
Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen ; 
And be in eye of every exercise. 
Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. 

Ant. I like thy counsel ; well hast thou advis'd : 
And, that thou may'st perceive how well 1 like it, 
The execution of it shall make known ; 
Even with the speediest execution 
I will dispatch him to the emperor's court. 

Pan. Vo morrow, may it pleaseyou.DonAlphonsc, 
With other gentlemen of good esteem. 
Are journeying to salute the emperor, 
And to commend their service to his will. 

Ant. (iood company ; with them shall Proteus go: 
And, in good time, — now will we break with him. 

Enter Proteus. 
Pro. Sweet love ! sweet lines ! sweet life ! 
Here is her hand, the agent of her heart ; 



48 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn : 
O, that our fathers would apphiud our loves, 
To seal our happiness with their consents ! 

heavenly Julia ! 

Arit. How now 1 what letter are you reading there 1 

Pro. JMay't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two 
Of commendation sent from \'alentine, 
Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. 

A)it. Lend me the letter ; let me see what news. 

Pro. There is no news, my lord ; but that he writes 
How happily he lives, how well-belov'd, 
And daily graced by the emperor ; 
Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. 

Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish 1 

Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will, 
And not depending on his friendly wish. 

Ant. My will is something sorted with his wish : 
Muse not that 1 thus suddenly proceed ; 
For what I will, I will, and tliere an end. 

1 am resolv'd, that tiiou shalt spend some time 
With Valentinus in the emperor's court ; 
^Vhat maintenance he from his friends receives. 
Like e.xhibition shalt thou have from me. 
To-morrow be in readiness to go : 

Excuse it not, for 1 am peremptory. 

Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided ; 
Please you, deliberate a day or two. 
^Ant. Look, what thou want'st, shall be sent after 
No more of stay ; to-morrow tiiou must go. — [thee: 
Come on, Panthino ; you shall be employ'd 
To hasten on his expedition. 

[Eieunt Ant. aiid Pan. 

Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire, for fear of 
burning ; 
And drench 'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd : 
I fear'd to shew my father Julia's letter, 
Lest he should take exceptions to my love ; 
And with the vantage of mine own excuse 
Hath he excepted most against my love. 
O, how this spring of love resembleth 

The uncertain glory of an April day ; 
Which now shews all the beauty of the sun. 

And by and by a cloud takes all away ! 

Re-enter Panthino. 

Pa7i. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you ; 
He is in haste, therefore, I pray you, go. 

Pro. Why, this it is ! my heart accords thereto ; 
And yet a thousand times it answers, no. [Eiennt. 



ACT II. 

SCENE L— Milan. An Apartment in the 
Duke's Palace. 

Enter Valentine and Speed. 

Speed. Sir, your glove. 

Val. Not mine ; my gloves are on. [one. 

Speed. Why then tins may be yours, for this is but 

Val. Ua. ! let me see : ay, give it me, it's mine : — 
Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine ' 
Ah Silvia! Silvia! 

Speed. Madam Silvia ! madam Silvia I 

Val. How now, sirrah 1 

Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. 

Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her 1 

Speed. Yoin worship, sir ; or else I mistook. 

Val. U'ell, you '11 still be too forward. 

Speed. And yetl was last chidden for being too slow. 

Val. Go to, sir ; tell me, do you know madam Silvia ? 



Speed. She that your worship loves ! 

Val. Why, how know you that I am in love ? 

Speed. Marry, by these special marks : First, you 
have learned, like sir Proteus, to wreath your arms 
like a male-content ; to relish a love-song, like a 
Robin-red-breast; to walk alone, like one "that had 
the pestilence ; to sigh, like a school boy that had 
lost his A B C ; to weep, like a young wencii that 
had buried her grandam ; to fast, like one that takes 
diet ; to watch, like one that fears robbing ; to speak 
puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. \ou were wont, 
when you laughed, to crow like a cock ; when you 
walked, to walk like one of the lions; when you 
Jasted, it was presently after dinner ; when you 
looked sadly, it was for want of money : and now you 
are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look 
on you, I can hardly think you my master. 

Val. Are all these things perceived in me ? 

Speed. They are all perceived without you. 

Val. Without me ? they cannot. 

Speed. Without you? nay, that's certain, for, with- 
out you were so simple, none else would : but you 
are so without these follies, that these follies are 
within you, and shine through you like the water in 
an urinal ; that not an eye, that sees you, but is a 
physician to comment on your malady. 

yal. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia'? 

Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at 
supper 1 

Val. Hast thou observed that 1 even she I mean. 

Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. 

Val. Dost thou know her bv my gazing on her, 
and yet knowest her not ? ' 

Speed. Is she not hard favoured, sir ! 

Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favoured. 

Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. 

Val. What dost thou know ? 

Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well 
favoured. 

Val. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her 
favour infinite. 

Speed. That's because the one is painted, and the 
other out of all count. 

Val. How painted ? and how out of count 1 

Speed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, 
that no man counts of her beauty. 

Val. How esteemest thou me 1 I account of her 
beauty. 

Speed. You never saw her since she was deformed. 

Val. How long hath she been deformed ? 

Speed. Ever since you loved her. 

Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her ; and 
still I see her beautiful. 

Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. 

Val. Why? 

Speed. Because love is blind. O, that you had 
mine eyes ; or your own eyes had the lights they 
were wont to have, when you chid at sir Proteus for 
going ungartered ! 

Val. What should I see then T 

Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing 
deformity : for he, being in love, could not see to 
garter his hose ; and you, being in love, cannot see 
to put on your hose. 

Vol. Belike, boy, then you are in love ; for last 
morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. 

Speed. True, sir ; I was in love with my bed : I 
thank you, you swinged me for my love, which 
makes me the bolder to chide you for yours. 

V'd. In conclusion, I stand'^affected' to her. 

Speed. I would you were set ; so, your affection 
would cease. 




^.->^; 















Slfiiiiill 




/!,yDt^ 



TWO G-ENTLEMEN OF VEHONA. 



Latjnoe. I think. Crab my dog te the sourest^natured dog that lives. 

Act II., Scene 3 



ACT II.— SCENE III. 



49 



Val. Last night she enjoined me to write some 
lines to one she loves. 

Speed. And have you ? 

Val. I have. 

Speed. Are they not lamely writ I 

Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them ; — 
Peace, here she comes. 

Enter Silvia. 

Speed. O excellent motion ! O exceeding puppet ! 
now will he interpret to her. 

Fell. Madam and mistress, a thousand good-mor- 
rows. 

Speed. O, 'give you good even ! here's a million of 
manners. [Aside. 

Sit. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thou- 
sand. 

Speed. He should give her interest, and she gives 
it him. 

Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter, 
Unto the secret nameless friend of yours ; 
Which I was much unwilling to proceed in, 
But for my duty to your ladyship. [done. 

Sil. I thank you, gentle servant : 'tis very clerkly 

Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; 
For, being ignorant to whom it goes, 
I writ at random, very doubtfully. [pains 1 

Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much 

Val. No, madam ; so it stead you, I will write. 
Please you command, a thousand times as much : 
And yet, — 

Sil. A pretty period ! Well, I guess the sequel ; 
And yet 1 will not name it: — and yet I care not; — 
And yet take this again ;— and yet I thank you ; 
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. 

Speed. And yet you will ; and yet another yet. 

[Aside. 

Val. What means your ladyship ? do you not like 

Sil. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ: [it? 
But since unwillingly, take them again ; 
Nay, take them. 

Val. Madam, they are for you. 

Sil. Ay, ay, you writ them, sir, at my request ; 
But I will none of them ; they are for you : 
I would have had them writ more movingly. 

Val. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another. 

Sil. And when it's writ, for my sake read it over : 
And if it please you, so : if not, why, so. 

Val. If it please me, madam ! what then 1 

Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour. 
And so good morrow, servant. [Exit Silvia. 

Speed. jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible. 
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a 
steeple ! [suitor. 

My master sues to her ; and she hath taught her 
He being her pupil, to become her tutor. 
O excellent device ! was there ever heard a better 1 
That my master, being scribe, to himself should write 

the letter ? 
■ Val. How now, sir 1 what are you reasoning with 
yourself! 

Speed. Nay, I was rhyming ; 'tis you that have 
the reason. 

Val. To do what? 

Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia. 

Val. To whom ? 

Speed. To yourself: why, she wooes you by a 
figure. 

Val. What figure 1 

Speed. l?y a letter, I should say. 

Val. Why, she hath not writ to me 1 

Speed. What needs she, when she hath made you 



write to yourself! Why, do you not perceive the jest ? 

Val. No, believe me. 

Speed. No believing you indeed, sir : But did you 
perceive her earnest 1 

Val. She gave me none, except an angry word 

Speed, Why, she hath given you a letter. 

Val. That's the letter 1 writ to her friend. 

Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and 
there an end. 

Val. I would, it were no worse. 

Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well : 

For often you have writ to her ; and she, in modesty, 
Or else for want of idle time, could not again replxf ; 
Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind dis- 
cover, [lover. — 
Herself halh taught her love himself to write unto her 

All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. — 
Why muse you, sir ! 'tis dinner time. 

Val. I have dined. 

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir ; though the cameleon 
Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish- 
ed by my victuals, and would fain have meat ; 0, be 
not like your mistress ; be moved, be moved. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Verona. A Boom in Julia's House. 
Enter Proteus and Julia. 
Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. 
Jul. I must, where is no remedy. 
Pro. When possibly I can, I will return. 
Jul If you turn not, you will return the sooner • 
Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. 

[Gives a ring. 
Pro. Why then we'll make exchange ; here, take 

you this. 
Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. 
Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy ; 
And when that hour o'er-slips me in the day, 
Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake. 
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance 
Torment me for my love's forgetfulness I 
My father stays my coming ; answer not ; 
The tide is now : nay, not thy tide of tears ; 
That tide will stay me longer than I should : 

[Eiit Julia. 
Julia, farewell. — What ! gone without a word 1 
Ay, so true love should do : it cannot speak ; 
For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it. 

, Enter Panthino. 

Pan. Sir Proteus, you are staid for. 
Pro, Go ; I come, I come : — 
Alas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. [ Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The same. A Street. 
Enter Launce, leading a Do<r, 
Laun. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done 
weeping ; all the kind of the Launces have this very 
fault : I have received my proportion, like the pro- 
digious son, and am going with sir Proteus to the 
Imperial's court. I think. Crab my dog be the 
sourest-natured dog that lives : my mother weeping, 
my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howl- 
ing, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house 
in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted 
cur shed one tear ; he is a stone, a very pebble-stone, 
and has no more pity in him than a dog : a Jew 
would have wept to have seen our parting ; why, my 
grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind, 
at my parting. Nay, I'll shew you the manner of it : 
This shoe is my father ;— no, this left shoe is my 
D 



50 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



father ;— no, no, this left shoe is my mother ; — nay, 
that cannot be so neither : — yes, it is so, it is so ; it 
hath the worser sole : Tliis shoe, with the hole in it, 
is my mother, and this my father : A vengeance on't! 
there 'lis : now, sir, this staff is my sister ; for, look 
you, she is as white as a lily, and as small as a wand : 
this hat is Nan, our maid ; 1 am the dog :• — no the 
dog is himself, and 1 am the dog, — O, the dog is me, 
and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come 1 to my 
father ; Father, your blessing ; now should not the 
shoe speak a word for weeping ; now should I kiss my 
father ; well, he weeps on :— now come I to my mo- 
ther, (O, that she could speak now!) like a wood 
woman ; — well, I kiss her ;^why, there 'tis ; here's 
my mother's b'-eath up and down ; now come I to my 
sister ; mark the moan she makes : now the dog all 
this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word ; but 
see how I lay the dust with my tears. 

Enter Panthino. 

Pan, Launce, away, away, aboard •, thy master is 
shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What's 
the matter ! why weep'st thou, man ? Away, ass ; 
you will lose the tide, if you tarry any longer. 

Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were lost ; for it 
is the unkindest ty'd that ever man ty'd. 

Pan. What's the unkindest tide ? 

I.auii. Why, he that's ty'd iiere ; Crab, my dog. 

Pan, Tut man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood : and, 
in losing the flood, lose thy voyage ; and, in losing 
thy voyage, lose thy master, and, in losing thy master, 
lose thy service ; and, in losing thy service, — Why 
dost thou stop my mouth ? 

Laun. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue. 

Pan. Where should I lose my tongue 1 

Laun. In thy tale. 

Pan. In thy tail ? 

Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the 
master, and the service? The tide ! Why, man, if the 
river were dry, I am able to till it with my tears ; if 
the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my 
sighs. 

Pan. Come, come away, man ; I was sent to call 
thee. 

Laun, Sir, call me what thou darest. 

Pan. Wilt thou go 1 

Laun. Well, I will go. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. 
Milan. An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thuhio, and Speed. 
Sil, Servant — 
Val. Mistress l 

Speed. Master, sir Thurio frowns on you. 
Val. Ay, boy, it's for love. 
Speed. Not of you. 
Val. Of my mistress then. 
Speed. 'Twere good, you knock'd him. 
Sil. Servant, you are sad. 
Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. 
Thu. Seem you that you are not 1 
Val. Haply I do. 
Thu. So do counterfeits. 
Val. So do you. 

Thu. What seem I, that I am not f 
Val. Wise. 

Thu. What instance of the contrary "! 
Val. Your folly. 

Thu. And how quote you my folly 1 
Val. I quote it in your jerkin. 
Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. 



Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly. 

Thu. How 1 

Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change 
colour? 

Val. Give him leave, madam ; he is a kind of 
cameleon. 

Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, 
than live in your air. 

Val. You have said, sir. 

Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. 

Val. I know it well, sir ; you always end ere you 
begin. 

Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly 
shot off. 

Val. 'Tis indeed, madam ; we thank the giver. 

Sil. Who is that, servant ? 

Val. Yourself, sweet lady ; for you gave the fire : 
sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's 
looks, and spends what he borrows kindly in your 
company. 

Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I 
shall make your wit bankrupt. 

Val. I know it well, sii* : you have an exchequer 
of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your 
followers ; for it appears by their bare liveries, that 
they live by your bare words. 

Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more ; here comes 
my father. 

Enter Duke. 

Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. 
Sir A'alentine, your father's in good health : 
What say you to a letter from your friends 
Of mucli good news ? 

Val. ]My lord, I will be thankful 

To any happy messenger from thence. 

Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your countryman] 

Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman 
To be of worth and worthy estimation. 
And not v\-ithout desert so well reputed. 

Duke. Hath lie not a son 1 

Vat. Ay, my good lord ; a son, that well deserves 
The honour and regard of such a father. 

Duke. Vou know him well ? 

Val. I knew him, as myself ; for from our infancy 
We have convers'd, and spent our hours together: 
And though myself have been an idle truant, 
Omitting the sweet benefit of time. 
To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection ; 
Yet hath sir Proteus, for that's his name, 
Made use and fair advantage of his days ; 
His years but young, but his experience old ; 
His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe j 
And, in a word, (for far behind his worth 
Come all the praises that I now bestow,) 
He is complete in feature, and in mind. 
With all good grace to grace a gentleman. 

Duke, lieshrew me, sir, but, if he makes this good, 
He is as worthy for an empress' love. 
As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. 
^^'ell, sir ; this gentleman is come to me, 
With commendation from great potentates ; 
And here he means to spend his time a-while : 
I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you. 

Val, Should I have wished a thing, it had been he. 

Duke. Welcome him then according to his worth; 
Silvia, I speak to you ; and you, sir Thurio : — 
For Valentine, I need not 'cite him to it : 
I'll setid him hither to you presently. [Exit Duke, 

Val. Tills is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, 
Had come along with me, but that his mistress 
Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. 



ACT II.— SCENE IV. 



51 



SU. BcMke, that now she hath enfranchis'd them 
Upon some other pawn for fealty. 

Vai. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners 
still. 

Sil. Nay, then he should be blind ; and being 
flow could he see his way to seek out you 1 [blind, 

Vai. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. 

Thu. Tliey say, that love hath not an eye at all. 

Vai. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself j 
Upon a homely object love can wink. 

Enter Proteus. 

Sil. Have done, have done ; here comes the gen- 
tleman. 

Vai. Welcome, dear Proteus ! — Mistress, I be- 
seech you. 
Confirm his welcome with some special favour. 

SU. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, 
If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. 

Vai. Mistress, it is : sweet lady, entertain him 
To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. 

Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. 

Pro. Not so, sweet lady ; but too mean a servant 
To have a look of such a worthy mistress. 

VaU Leave off discourse of disability : — 
Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. 

Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. 

Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed ; 
Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. 

Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself. 

SU. That you are welcome 1 

Fro. No ; that you are worthless. 

Enter Servant. 

Ser. Mad^m, my lord your father would speak with 
you. 

Sil. I'll wait upon his pleasure. [Eitt Servant. 
Come, sir Thurio, 
Go with me : — Once more, new servant, welcome : 
I'll leave you to confer of home affairs ; 
When you have done, we look to hear from you. 

Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. 

[Exeunt Sjlvia, Thurio, and Speed. 

Vai. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you 
came^ 

Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much 
commended. 

Vai. And 1h)w do yours 1 

Pro. I left them all in health. 

Vai. How does your lady ? and how thrives your 
love? 

Pro, My tales of love were wont to weary you ; 
I know, you Joy not in a love-discourse. 

Vai. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now : 
I have done penance for contemning love ; 
Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me 
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, 
With nightly tears, and daily heait-sore sighs ; 
For, in revenge of my contempt of love, 
Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes. 
And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow. 
O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord ; 
And hath so humbled me, as, I confess. 
There is no woe to his correction. 
Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth ! 
Now, no discourse, except it be of love ; 
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, 
Upon the very naked name of love. 

Pro. Enough ; I read your fortune in your eye : 
Was this the idol tliat you worship so 1 

Vai. Even she ; and is she not a heavenly saint ' 

Pro. No ; but she is an earthly paragon. 



Vai. Call her divine. 

Pj-o. I w\\\ not flatter her. 

Vai. O, flatter me ; for love delights in praises. 

Pi-o. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills ; 
And I must minister the like to you. 

Vai. Then speak the tnith by her ; if not divine, 
Yet let her be a principality. 
Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. 

Pro. Except my mistress. 

Vai. Svv'eet, except not any ; 

Except thou wilt except against my love. 

Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own "? 

Vai. And I will help thee to prefer her too : 
She shall be dignified with this high honour, — 
To bear my lady's train ; lest the base earth 
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss. 
And, of so great a favour growing proud, 
Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower, 
And make rough winter everlastingly. 

Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this 1 

Vat. Pardon me, Proteus : all I can, is nothing 
To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing ; 
She is alone. 

Pro. Then let her alone. 

VaL Not for the world ; why, man, she is mine ovra , 
And I as rich in having such a jewel, 
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, 
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. 
Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee. 
Because thou seest me dote upon my love. 
My foolish rival, that her father likes. 
Only for his possessions are so huge. 
Is gone with her along ; and I must after. 
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. 

Pro. But she loves you 1 

Vai. Ay, we are betroth'd 

Nay, more, our marriage hour, 
With all the cunning manner of our flight, 
Determin'd of : how I must climb her window ; 
The ladder made of cords ; and all the means 
Plotted ; and 'greed on, for my happiness. 
Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber. 
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. 

Pro. Go on before ; I shall inquire you forth : 
I must unto the road, to disembark 
Some necessaries that I needs must use ; 
And then I'll presently attend you. 

VaL Will you make haste 1 

Pro. I will.— [Exit Val. 

Even as one heat another heat expels, 
Or as one nail by strength drives out another, 
So the remembrance of my former love 
Is by a newer object quite forgotten. 
Is it mine eye, or Valentinus' praise, 
Her true perfection, or my false transgression, 
That makes me reasonless, to reason thus 1 
She's fair ; and so is Julia, that I love ; — 
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd ; 
Which, like a waxen image 'gainst afire. 
Bears no impression of the thing it was. 
jMethinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold ; 
And that I love him not, as I was wont : 
O ! but I love his lady too, too much ; 
And that's the reason I love him so little. 
How shall I dote on her. with more advice. 
That thus without advice begin to love her ? 
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld. 
And that hath dazzled my reason's light , 
But when I look on her perfections. 
There is no reason but I shall be blind. 
If I can check my erring love, 1 will ; 
If not, to compass her I'll use my skill. [Ext'f. 

U2 



o2 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



SCENE \.—The same. A Street. 
Enter Speed and Launce. 

Speed. Launce ! by mine honesty, welcome to 
Milan. 

Laun. Forswear not thyself, sv/eet youth ; for I 
nm not welcome. I reckon this always — that a man 
is never undone, till he be iianged ; nor never wel- 
come to a place, till some certain shot be paid, and 
the hostess say, welcome. 

Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the ale-house 
with you presently ; where, for one shot of five-pence, 
thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, 
how did thy master part with madam Julia 1 

Latin. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they 
parted very fairly in jest. 

Speed. But shall she marry him 1 

Laun. No. 

Speed. How then ? shall he marry her 1 

Laun. No, neither. 

Speed. What, are they broken 1 

Laun. No, they are botli as whole as a fish. 

Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with 
them ] 

Laun. Marry, thus ; when it stands well with 
him ; it stands well with htr. 

Speed. What an ass art thou t I understand thee 
not. 

Laun, What a block art thou, that thou can'st not? 
My staflT understands me. 

Speed- What thou say'st? 

Latin. Ay, and what I do, too : look thee, I'll but 
lean, and my staff understands me. 

Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. 

Laun. Why, stand under and understand is all one. 

Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match ? 

Laun. Ask my dog : if he say, ay, it will ; if he 
say, no, it will ; if he shake his tail, and say nothing, 
it will. 

Speed. The conclusion is then, that it will. 

Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me, 
but by a parable 

Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, 
how say'st thou, that my master is become a notable 
lover 1 

Latin. I never knew him otherwise. 

Speed. Than how 1 

Laun. A notable lubber, as thou reportesthim to be. 

Speed. Why thou whoreson ass, thou mistakestme. 

Laun. Why fool, I meant not thee, 1 meant thy 
master. 

Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. 

Laun. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn 
himself in love. If thou wilt go with me to the ale- 
house, so ; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and 
not worth the name of a Christian. 
Speed. Why ? 

Laun. Because thou hast not so much charity in 
thee, as to go to the ale with a Christian : Wilt thou 
go? 

Speed. At thy service. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. 
The same. — An Apartment in the Palace. 
Enter Proteus. 
Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn ; 
To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn ; 
To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn ; 
And even that power, which gave me first my oath. 
Provokes me to this threefold perjury. 
l^ove bade me swear, and love bids me forswear : 



sweet-suggesting love, if thou hast sinn'd. 
Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it. 
At first I did adore a twinkling star. 

But now I worship a celestial sun. 
Lhiheedful vows may heedfuUy be broken 
And he wants wit, that wants resolved will 
To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better,— 
Fye, fye, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad, 
VVhose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd 
With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths. 

1 cannot leave to love, and yet I do ; 

But there I leave to love, where I should love. 

Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose : 

If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; 

If I I'-.se them, thus find 1 by their loss. 

For Valentine, myself : for Julia, Silvia. 

I to myself am dearer than a friend : 

For love is still more precious in itself: 

And Silvia, witness heaven, that made her fair ! 

Shews Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. 

I will forget that Julia is alive, 

Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead ; 

And Valentine I'll hold an enemy. 

Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. 

I cannot now prove constant to myself. 

Without some treachery used to Valentine ; — 

This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder, 

To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window ; 

Myself in counsel, his competitor: 

Now presently I'll give her father notice 

Of their disguising, and pretended flight ; 

Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine , 

For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter ; 

But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross. 

By some sly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. 

Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift. 

As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift ! [Eait. 

SCENE VII. — Verona. A Room in Julia's House. 
Enter Julia and Lucetta. 

Jul. Counsel, Lucetta ! gentle girl, assist me ! 
And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee, — 
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts 
Are visibly character'd and engrav'd, — 
To lesson me ; and tell me some good mean. 
How, with my honour, I may undertake 
A journey to my loving Proteus. 

Luc. Alas ! the way is wearisome and long. 

Jul. A true- devoted pilgrim is not weary 
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps ; 
Much less shall she, that hath love's wings, to fly ; 
And when the flight is made to one so dear, 
Of such divine perfection, as sir Proteus. 

Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return. 

Jut. O, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's 
Pity the dearth that 1 have pined in, [food 1 

By longing for that food so long a time. 
Didst thou but know the inly touch of love. 
Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow. 
As seek to quench the fire of love with words. 

Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire , 
But qualify the fire's extreme rage. 
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. 

Jul. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns ; 
The current, that with gentle murmur glides. 
Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage ; 
But, when his fair course is not hindered. 
He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones, 
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; 
And so by many winding nooks he strays. 
With willing sport, to the wild ocean 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 



53 



Then let me go, and hinder not iny course : 

I'll be as patient as a gentle stream, 

And make a pastime of each weary step, 

Till the last step have brought me to my love; 

And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil, 

A blessed soul doth in Elysium. 

Li'.c. But in what habit will you go along 1 

Jul. Not like a woman ; for I would prevent 
The loose encounters of lascivious men : 
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds 
As may beseem some well-reputed page. 

Lite. Why then your ladyship must cut your hair. 

Jul. No, girl ; I'll knit it up in silken strings, 
With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots: 
To be fantastic, may become a youth 
Of greater time than I shall shew to be. [breeches'! 

Ltic. What fashion, madam, shall I make your 

Jul. That fits as well, as — " tell me, good my lord, 
" What compass will you wear your farthingale V 
Why, even that fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta. 

Luc. You must needs have them with a cod-piece, 
madam. 

Jul. Out, out, Lucetta t that will be ill-favour'd 

Luc. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin. 
Unless you have a cod-piece to stick pins on. 

Jul. Lucetta, as thou iov'st me, let me have 
W^hat thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly : 
But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me. 
For undertaking so unstaid a journey ? 
I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd. 

Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not. 

Jul, Nay, that I will not. 

Luc, Then never dream of infamy, but go. 
If Proteus like your journey, when you come, 
No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone : 
I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal. 

Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear: 
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, 
And instances as infinite of love. 
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. 

Luc. All these are servants lo deceitful men. 

Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect ! 
But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth : 
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles ; 
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate ; 
His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart ; 
His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth. 

Luc. Pray heaven, he proves so, when you come 
to him ! [wrong, 

Jul. Now, as thou Iov'st me, do him not that 
To bear a hard opinion of his truth : 
Only deserve my love, by loving him ; 
And presently go with me to my chamber, 
To take a note of what I stand in need of, 
To furnish me upon my longing journey. 
All that is mine I leave at thy dispose. 
My goods, my lands, my reputation ; 
Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence : 
Come, answer not, but to it presently ; 
1 am impatient of my tarriance. lEieuiic. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. Milan — An Ante-room iti the 
Duke's Palace. 

Enter Duke, Thurio, and Puoti;us. 

Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile ; 

We have some secrets to confer about, 

[Exit Thurio. 
Now, tell nie, Proteus, what's your will with rae 1 



Fro. My gracious lord, that which I would discover, 

The law of friendship bids me to conceal : 

But, when I call to mind your gracious favours 

Done to me, undeserving as I am. 

My duty pricks me on to utter that 

Which else no worldly good should draw from me. 

Know, worthy prince, sir Valentine, my friend, 

This night intends to steal away your daughter; 

jNIyself am one made privy to the plot. 

I know, you have determin'd to bestow her 

On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates ; 

And should she thus be stolen away from you. 

It would be much vexation to your age. 

Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose 

To cross my friend in his intended drift, 

Than, by concealing it, heap on your head 

A pack of sorrows, which would press you down, 

Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. 

Duke. Proteus, I thauk thee for thine honest care; 
Which to requite, command me while I live. 
This love of theirs myself have often seen, 
Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep ; 
And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid 
Sir Valentine her company, and my court : 
But, fearing least my jealous aim might err, 
And so, unworthily, disgrace the man, 
(A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,) 
I gave him gentle looks ; thereby to find 
That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. 
And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this. 
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, 
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower. 
The key whereof myself have ever kept ; 
And thence she cannot be convey'd away. 

Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean 
How he her chamber-window will ascend. 
And with a corded ladder fetch her down ; 
For which the youthful lover now is gone. 
And this way comes he with it presently ; 
Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. 
But, good my lord, do it so cunningly. 
That my discovery be not aimed at ; 
For love of you, not hate unto my friend. 
Hath made me publisher of this pretence. 

Duke. Upon mine honour, she shall never know 
That I had any light from thee of this. 

Pro, Adieu, my lord ; sir V^alentine is coming. 

\_Exit. 
E7iter Valentine. 

Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fasf? 

Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger 
That stays to bear my letters to my friends. 
And I am going to deliver them. 

Duke. Be they of much import 1 

Val. The tenor of them doth but signify 
My health, and happy being at your court. 

Duke. Nay, then no matter ; stay with me a while , 
I am to break with thee of some afiairs. 
That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 
'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought 
To match my friend, sir 'J'hurio, to my daughter. 

Vol. I know it well, my lord ; and, sure, the match 
Were rich and honourable ; besides, the gentleman 
Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities 
Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter : 
Cannot your grace win her to fancy him ? 

Duke. No, trust me ; she is peevish, sullen, forward. 
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty ; 
Neither regarding that she is my child, 
Nor fearing me as if I were her father : 
And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers, 
Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her , 



54 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



And, where I thought the remnant of mine age 
Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty, 
I now am full resolved to take a wife. 
And turn her out to who will take her in : 
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower ; 
For me and my possessions she esteems not. 

Val. What would your grace have me to do in this 1 

Duke. There is a lady, sir, in Milan, here. 
Whom I affect ; but she is nice, and coy. 
And nought esteems my aged eloquence : 
Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor, 
(For long agone I have forgot to court : 
Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd) ; 
How, and which way, I may bestow myself. 
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. 

Val. Win her wiih gifts, if she respect not words ; 
Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind. 
More than quick words, do move a woman's mind. 

Diihe. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. 

Fn/. A woman sometimes scorns what best contents 
Send her another ; never give her o'er : [her : 

For scorn at first makes after-love the more. 
If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, 
But rather to beget more love in you : 
If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone ; 
For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. 
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say : 
For, get you gone, she doth not mean, awai/: 
Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces ; 
Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces. 
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, 
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. 

Duhe. But she, I mean, is promis'd by her friends 
Unto a youthful gentleman of worth ; 
And kept severely from resort of men. 
That no man hath access by day to her. 

Val. Why then I would resort to her by night. 

Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept 
Though no man hath recourse to her by night, [safe. 

Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window ? 

Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground ; 
And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it 
Without apparent hazard of his life. 

Val. why then, a ladder, quaintly made of cords. 
To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks. 
Would serve to scale another Hero's lower, 
So bold Leander would adventure it. 

Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, 
Advise me where I may have such a ladder, [that. 

Val. When would you use it 1 pray, sir, tell me 

Duke. This very night ; for love is like a child. 
That longs for every thing that he can come by. 

Val. By seven o'clock I '11 get you such a ladder 

Duke. But, hark thee ; I will go to her alone ; 
How shall 1 best convey the ladder thither? 

Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it 
Under a cloak, that is of any length. 

Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn. 

Val. Ay, my good lord. 

Duke. Then let me see thy cloak : 
1 '11 get me one of such another length. 

Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. 

Duke. How shall 1 fashion me to wear a cloak ? — 
I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. — 
AVhat letter is this same"! What's here? — To Silvia? 
And here an engine fit for my proceeding ! 
I '11 be so bold to break the seal for onc& [Reads. 
My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly ; 

And slaves they are to me, that send mejtying ; 
0, could their muster come and go as lightly. 

Himself rvould lodge, where senseless they are lying. 
My herald thoughts in thy jiure bosom rest them ; 



While I, their king, that thither them importune. 
Do curse the grace that with such grace hath bless'd them. 

Because myself do want my sei-vants' fortune : 
I curse myself , for they are sent by me. 
That they should harbmir where their lord should be. 
What'^here? 

Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee: 
'Tis so ; and here's the ladder for the purpose. — 
Why, Phaeton, (for thou art Merops' son,) 
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, 
And with thy daring folly bum the world 1 
Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee? 
Go, base intruder ! over- weening slave ! 
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates ; 
And think my patience, more than thy deserts. 
Is privilege for thy departure hence : 
Thank me for this, more than for all the favours. 
Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee. 
But if thou linger in my territories. 
Longer than swiftest expedition 
Will give thee time to leave our royal court, 
By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love 
I ever bore my daughter, or thyself. 
Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse. 
But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. 

[Exit Duke. 

Val. And why not death , rather than living torment 1 
To die, is to be banish'd from myself ; 
And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her 
Is self from self : a deadly banishment ! 
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? 
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ? 
Unless it be to think tliat she is by, 
And feed upon the shadow of perfection. 
Except I be by Silvia in the night, 
There is no music in the nightingale ; 
Unless I look on Silvia in the day. 
There is no day for me to look upon : 
She is my essence ; and I leave to be. 
If I be not by her fair influence 
Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. 
I fly not death, to fly this deadly doom: 
Tarry I here, I but attend on death ; 
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life. 

Enter Proteus and Launce. 

Pro. Eun, boy, run, and seek him out 

Latin. So-ho ! so-ho ! 

Pro. What seest thou 1 

Lawn. Him we go to find : there's not a hair en's 
head, but 'tis a Valentine. 

Pro Valentine ? 

Val. No. 

Pro. Who then"! his spirit? 

Val. Neither. 

Pro. What then? 

Val. Nothing. 

Laun. Can nothing speak ? master, shall I strike ? 

Pro. Whom would'st thou strike 1 

Latin. Nothing. 

Pro. Villain, forbear. 

Laun. Why, sir, I' 11 strike nothing : I pray you, — 
Pro. Sirrah,! say, forbear: Friend Valentine, a word. 
Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good news , 
So much of bad already hath possess'd them. 

Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine. 
For they are iiarsh, untuneable, and bad, 

Val. Is Silvia dead 1 

Pro. No, Valentme. 

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia !— 
Hath she forsworn me ? 

Pro. No, Valentine. 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 



55 



Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me ! — 

What is your news ■• [vanish'd. 

Laiin. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are 

Pro. That thou art banish'd, O, that's the news ; 

From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. 

Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already, 
And IlO-w excess of it will make me surfeit. 
Doth Silvia know that I am banish'd ? 

Pro. Ay, ay ; and she hath offer'd to the doom, 
(Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force,) 
A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears : 
Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd ; 
With them, upon her knees, her humble self; 
Wrincfing her hands, whose whiteness so became 
As if but now they waxed pale for woe : [them. 

But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, 
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, 
Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire ; 
But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. 
Besides, her intercession chaf d him so. 
When she for thy repeal was suppliant, 
That to close prison he commanded her. 
With many bitter threats of 'biding there, [speak'st, 
Val. No more ; unless the next word that thou 
Have some malignant power upon my life : 
If s»., I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, 
As ending anthem of my endless dolour. 

Pro. Cease to lament for that thou can'st not help. 
And study help for that which thou lament'st. 
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. 
Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love : 
Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. 
Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, 
And manage it against despairing thoughts. 
Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence : 
Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd 
Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. 
The time now serves not to expostulate : 
Come, I '11 convey thee through the city gate ; 
And, ere I part with thee, confer at large 
Of all that may concern thy love-aftairs : 
As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself, 
Regard thy danger, and along with me. 

Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy. 
Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north gate. 
Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. 
Val. O my dear Silvia, hapless Valentine ! 

[EieHBt Valentine flHfi Proteus. 
Laun. I am but a fool, look you ; and yet I have 
the wit to think, my master is a kind of knave : but 
that's all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not 
now, that knows me to be in love : yet I am in love ; 
but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me ; 
nor who 'tis 1 love, and j'et 'tis a woman : but what 
woman, I will not tell myself ; and yet 'tis a milk- 
maid ; yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips : 
yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves 
for wages. She hath more qualities than a water- 
spaniel, — which is much in a bare christian. Here 
is the cat-log [PaUiHgouta paper.] of her conditions. 
Imprimis, She can fetch and eiirrii. Why, a horse 
can do no more ; nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only 
carry; tiierefore is she better than a jade. Item, 
She can milk ; look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with 
clean hands. 

Enter Speed. 
Speed. How now, signior Launce 1 what news with 
your mastership 1 

Laun. With my master's ship ? why it is at sea. 
Speed. Well, your old vice still ; mistake the word : 
What news then in your paper 1 

Laun. The blackest news that ever thou heard'st. 



Speed. Why, man, how black? 
Laun. Why as black as ink. 
Speed. Let me read them. 

Laun. Fye on thee ; jolt-head ; thou canst not read. 
Speed. Thou liest, I can. 

LaiiK.I will try thee: Tell me this: Who begot thee ? 
Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. 
Laun. O, illiterate loiterer ! it was the son of thy 
grandmother : this proves that thou canst not read. 
Speed. Come, fool, come : try me in thy papers. 
Laun. There ; and St. Nicholas be thy speed ! 
Speed. Imprimis, She can ynilk. 
Laun. Ay, that she can. 
Speed. Item, She hrews good ale. 
Laun. And thereof comes the proverb, — Blessing 
of your heart, you brew good ale. 
Speed. Item, She can sew. 
Laun. That's as much as to say, can she so? 
Speed. Item, She can knit. 

Laun. What need a man care for a stock with a 
wench, when she can knit him a stock. 
Speed. She can u'ash and scour. 
Laun, A special virtue ; for then she need not be 
washed and scoured. 

Speed, Item, She can spin. 

Laun. Then may I set the world on wheels, when 
she can spin for her living. 

Speed. Item, She hath many nameless virtues. 
Laun. That's as much as to say bastard virtues ; 
that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore 
have no names. 

Speed. Here follow her vices. 
Laun. Close at the heels of her virtues. 
Speed. Item, She w not to be kissed fasting, in re- 
spect of her breath. 

Laun. Well, that fault may be mended with a 
breakfast. Read ou. 

Speed. Item, She hath a sweet mouth. 
Laun. That makes amends for her sour breath. 
Speed. Item, She doth talk in her sleep, [her talk. 
Laun. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in 
Speed. Item, She is slow in tiwrds. 
Laun. O villain, that set this down among her 
vices ! To be slow in words, is a woman's only vir- 
tue : I pray thee, out with 't ; and place it for her 
chief virtue. 

Speed. Item, She is proud. 

Laun. Out with that too ; it was Eve's legacy, 
and cannot be ta'en from her. 

Speed. Item, She hath no teeth. [crusts. 

Laun. I care not for that neither, because I love 
Speed. Item, She is curst, 

Laun. Well ; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. 
Speed. She will often praise her liquor. 
Laun. If her liquor be good, she shall : If she will 
not, I will ; for good things should be praised. 
Speed. Item, Site is too liberal. 
Laun. Of her tongue she cannot ; for that 's writ 
down she is slow of : of her purse she shall not ; 
for that I '11 keep shut : now of another thing she 
may ; and that I cannot help. Well, proceed. 

Speed. Item, She hath more hair than wit, and more 
faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults. 

Laun. Stop there ; I '11 have her : she was mine, 
and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article * 
Rehearse that once more. 

Speed, Item, She hath more luiir thari wit, — 
Laun. More hair than wit, — it may be; I'll 
prove it : The cover of the salt hides the salt, and 
therefore it is more than the salt ; the hair that covers 
the wit, is more than the wit ; for the greater hides 
the less. What's next. 



56 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



Speed. — And morefanlls than hairs, — 

Laun. That's monstrous : O, that that were out ! 

Speed. — And more weaith than faults. 

Laun. Why, that word makes the faults gracious : 
Well, I '11 have her : And if it be a match, as nothing 
IS impossible, — 

Speed. What then ? 

Laun. Why, then will I tell thee,— that thy mas- 
ter stays for thee at the north gate. 

Speed. For me 1 

Laun. For thee ? ay : who art thou 1 he hath 
staid for a better man than thee. 

Speed. And must I go to him 1 

Laun. Thou must run to him, for thou hast staid 
so long, that going will scarce serve the turn. 

Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner? 'pox of your 
love letters ! [Exit. 

Laun. Now will he be swinged for reading my 
letter : An unmannerly slave, that will thrust him- 
self into secrets ! — I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's 
correction. [Exit. 

SCENE II.— T/ie same. A Boom in the 
Duke's Palace. 

Enter Duke and Tnunio ; Proteus behind. 

Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not, but that she will love you. 
Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. 

Thu. Since his exile she hath despis'd me most. 
Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me, 
That I am desperate of obtaining her. 

Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure 
Trenched in ice ; which with an hour's heat 
Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form. 
A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, 
And worthless ValenUne shall be forgot. — 
How now, sir Proteus t Is your countryman. 
According to our proclamation, gone 1 
Pro. Gone, my good lord. 
Duke. My daughter takes his goin^ grievously. 
Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. 
Duke. So I believe ; but Thurio thinks not so. — 
Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee, 
(For thou hast shewn some sign of good desert, ) 
Makes me the better to confer with thee. 

Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace. 
Let me not live to look upon your grace. 

Duke. Thou know'st, how willingly I would effect 
The match between sir Thurio and my daughter. 
Pro. I do, my lord. 

Duke. And also, 1 think, thou art not ignorant 
How she opposes her against my will. 

Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. 
Duke. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. 
What might we do, to make the girl forget 
The love of Valentine, and love sir Thurio 1 

Pro. The best way is, to slander Valentine 
With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent ; 
Three things that women highly hold in hate. 

Duke. Ay, but she'll think, that it is spoke in hate. 
Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it : 
Therefore it must, with circumstance, be spoken 
By one, whom she esteemeth as his friend. 

Duke. Then you must undertake to slander him. 
Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do : 
'Tis an ill otfice for a gentleman ; 
Especially, against his very friend. 

Duke. Where your good word cannot advantage 
Your slander never can endaiTiage him ; [him, 

Therefore the office is indifferent, 
Being entreated to it by your friend. 

Pro. You have prevail'd, my lord : if I can do it. 



By aught that I can speak in his dispraise. 
She shall not long continue love to him. 
But say, this weed her love from Valentine, 
It follows not that she will love sir Thurio. 

Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him, 
L€st it should ravel, and be good to none. 
You must provide to bottom it on me : 
Which must be done, by praising me as much 
As you in worth dispraise sir Valentine. 

Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind ; 
Because we know, on Valentine's report. 
You are already love's firm votary, 
And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. 
Upon this warrant shall you have access. 
Where you with Silvia may confer at large ; 
For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy. 
And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you ; 
Where you may temper her, by your persuasion, 
To hate young Valentine, and love my friend. 

Pro. As much as I can do, I will effect : — • 
But you, sir Thurio, are not sharp enough ; 
You must lay lime, to tangle her desires. 
By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes 
Should be full fraught with serviceable vows. 

Duke. Ay, much is the force of heaven-bred poesji 

P?-o. Say, that upon the altar of her beauty 
You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart: 
Write till your ink be dry ; and with your tears 
Moist it again ; and frame some feeling line. 
That may discover such integrity : 
For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews ; 
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones. 
Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans 
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. 
After your dire lamenting elegies. 
Visit by night your lady's chamber-window, 
With some sweet concert : to their instruments 
Tune a deploring dump ; the night's dead silence 
Will well become such sweet complaining grievance. 
This, or else nothing, will inherit her. 

Duke. This discipline shews thou hast been in love. 

Thu. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice: 
Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver. 
Let us into the city presently 
To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music : 
I have a sonnet that will serve the turn. 
To give the onset to thy good advice. 

Duke. About it, gentlemen. 

Pro. We '11 wait upon your grace, till after supper; 
And afterward determine our proceedings. 

Duke. Even now about it ; I will pardon you. 

[Exeunt, 



ACT IV. 

SCENE l.—A Fffrest, near Mantua. 

Enter certain Out-laws, 

1 Out. Fellows, stand fast ; I see a passenger. 
'2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em. 

Enter Valentine and Speed. 

3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about 
If not, we 'II make you sit, and rifle you. [you ; 

Speed. Sir, we are undone ! these are the villains 
That all the travellers do fear so much. 

Val. My friends, — 

1 Out. That's not so, sir ; we are your enemies. 

2 Out. Peace; we'll hear him. 

3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we ; 
For he's a proper man. 



ACT IV.— SCENE II. 



57 



Val. Then know, that T have little wealth to lose ; 
A man 1 am, crossed with adversity : 
My riches are these poor habiliments. 
Of which if you should here disfurnish me. 
You take the sum and substance that I have. 

2 Out. Whither travel you] 
Val. To Verona. 
1 Out. Whence came you 1 
Val. From Milan. 

3 Out. Have you long sojouvn'd there"! 
Val. Some sixteen months ; and longer might have 

If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. [staid, 

1 Out. What, were you banish'd thence 1 
Val. I was. 

2 Out. For what offence 1 
Val. For that whi?:h now torments me to rehearse : 

I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent ; 
But yet I slew him manfully in fight. 
Without false vantage, or base treachery. 

1 Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so; 
But were you banish'd for so small a fault 1 

Val. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. 

1 Out. Have you the tongues 1 

Val. My youthful travel therein made me happy ; 
Or else I often had been miserable. 

3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar. 
This fellow were a kin^ for our wild faction. 

1 Out. W^e '11 have him ; sirs, a word. 
S-peed. Master, be one of them ; 

It is an honourable kind of thievery. 
Val. Peace, villain ! 

2 Out. Tell us this : Have you any thing to take to 1 
Val. Nothing, but my fortune. 

3 Out. Know then, that some of us are gentlemen, 
Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth 
Thrust from the company of awful men : 
Myself was from Verona banish'd. 
For practising to steal away a lady, 
An heir, and near allied unto the duke. 

2 Out. And I from INIantua, for a gentleman, 
Whom, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart. 

1 Out. And I, for such like petty crimes as these. 
But to the purpose, — (for we cite our faults, 
That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives,) 
And, partly, seeing you are beautified 
With goodly shape ; and by your own report 
A linguist ; and a man of such perfection, 
As we do in our quality much want ; — 

2 Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man, 
Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you : 
Are you content to be our general 1 
To make a virtue of necessity. 
And live, as we do, in this wilderness? 

3 Out. What say'stthou? wilt thou be of our 
Say, ay, and be the captain of us all : [consort 1 
We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee. 
Love thee as our commander, and our king. 

1 Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest 
20i(f. Thou shalt not live tobrag what we have offer'd. 
Val. I take your offer, and will live with you ; 

Provided that you do no outrages 

On silly women, or poor passengers. 

3 Oat. No, we detest such vile base practices. 

Come, go with us, we'll bring thee to our crews, 

And shew thee all the treasure we have got ; 

Which, witii ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. 

[ Exeunt, 

SCENE II.— Milan. Court of the Palace. 
Enter Proteus. 
Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine, 
And now 1 must be as unjust to Thurio. 



Under the colour of commending him, 
I have access my own love to prefer ; 
But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, 
To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. 
When I protest true loyalty to her. 
She twits me with my falsehood to my friend : 
When to her beauty I commend my vows. 
She bids me think, how 1 have been forsworn 
In breaking faith with .Tulia whom I lov'd : 
And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips. 
The least whereof would quell a lover's hope, 
Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love, 
The more it grows, and fawneth on her still. 
But here comes Thurio : now must we to her window, 
And give some evening music to her ear. 
Enter Tnunio and Musicians. 
Thu. How now, sir Proteus ■? are you crept before 

us"? 
Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio ; for, you know, that love 
Will creep in service where it cannot go. 

Thu. Ay, but, I hope, sir, that you love not here. 
Pro. Sir, but I do ; or else I would be hence. 
Thu. Whom? Silvia? 
Pro. Ay, Silvia, — for your sake. 
Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, 
Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile. 
Enter Host, at a distance; and Julia in boy's clothes. 
Host. Now, my young guest ! methinks you 're 
allychoUy ; I pray you, why is it? 

Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. 
Host. Come, we '11 have you merry : I '11 bring you 
where you shall hear music, and see the gentleman 
that you ask'd for. 

Jul. But shall I hear him speak? 

Host. Ay, that you shall. 

Jul. That will be music. [Music plays. 

Host. Hark ! Hark ! 

Jul. Is he among these ? 

Host. Ay: but peace, let's hear 'era. 

SONG. 

Who is Silvia ? what is she, 

That all our swains commend her? 

Holy, fair, and wise is she. 

The heavens such grace did lend her. 

That she might admired be. 

Is she hind, as she is fair ? 

For beauty lives with kindness: 
Love doth to her eyes repair, 

To help him of his blindness; 
And, being help'd, inhabits there. 

Then to Silvia let us sing, 
That Silvia is eicelling ; 
She excels each mortal thing, 

Upon the dull earth dwelling: 
To her let us garlands bring. 
Host. How now? are you sadder than you were 
before ? 
How do you, man? the music likes you not. 
Jul. You mistake ; the musician likes me not, 
Host. Why, my pretty youth ? 
Jul. He plays false, father. 
Host How ? out of tune on the strings ? 
Jul. Not so ; but yet so false that he grieves my 
very heart-strings. 

Host. You have a quick ear. 
Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf! it makes me have 
a slow heart. 

Host. I perceive, you delight not in music 
Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so. 



58 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



Host. Hark, what fine change is in the music ! 

Jul. Ay ; that change is tlie spite. 

Host. You would have them always play but one 
thing ? 

Jul. I would always have one play but one thing. 
But, host, doth this sir Proteus, that we talk on, often 
resort unto this gentlewoman 1 

Host. I tell you what Lauace, his man, told me, 
he loved her out of all nick. 

Jul. Where is Launce ? 

Host. Gone to seek his dog ; which, to-morrow, 
by his master's command, he must carry for a present 
to his lady. 

Jul. Peace ! stand aside ! the company parts. 

Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you ! I will so plead, 
That )'0u shall say, my cunning drift excels. 

Tim. Where meet we 1 

Pro. At saint Gregory's well. 

Thu. Farewell. l^Exeunt THunio and Musiciins. 

Silvia appears above, at her window. 

Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship. 

Sil. I thank you for your music, gentlemen : 
Who is that, that spake 1 

Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, 
You'd quickly learn to know him by his voice. 

5(7, Sir Proteus, as I take it. 

Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. 

Sil. What is your will ! 

Pro. That I may compass yours. 

iSj7. You have your wish ; my will is even this, — 
That presently you hie you home to bed. 
Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man! 
Think'st thou, I am so shallow, so conceitless, 
To be seduced by thy flattery, 
That hast dereiv'd so many with thy vows'? 
Return, return, and make thy love amends. 
For me, — by tliis pale ijueen of night I swear, 
I am so far from granting thy request, 
That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit; 
And bj' and by intend to chide myself. 
Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. 

Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady ; 
But she is dead. 

Jul. 'Tweie false, if I should speak it ; 
For, I am sure, slie is not buried. l^Aside. 

Sil. Say, that she be ; yet Valentine, thy friend, 
Sumves ; to whom, thyself art witness, 
I am betroth'd ; And art thou not asham'd 
To wrong him with thy importunacy 1 

Pro. 1 likewise hear, that Valentine is dead. 

Sil. And so, suppose, am I ; for in his grave 
Assure thyself, my love is buried. 

Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. 

■Si7. Go to tliy lady's grave, and call her's thence; 
Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine. 

Jul. He heard not that. [Aside. 

Pro. iMadam, if your heart be so obdurate. 
Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love. 
The picture that is hanging in your chamber ; 
To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep: 
For, since the substance of your perfect self 
Is else devoted, 1 am but a shadow ; 
And to your shadow I will make true love. [it, 

Jul. If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive 
And make it but a shadow as I am. [Aside. 

Sil. I am very loth to be your idol, sir ; 
But, since your falsehood shall become you well 
To worship shadows, and adore false shapes. 
Bend to me in the morning, and 1 '11 semi it : 
And so, good rest. 

Pro. As wretches have o'er-night, 



That wait for execution in the morn. 

[Ereuul PnoTEi's ; and Silvia, from above, 
Jul. Host, will you go 1 
Host. By my hallidom, I was fast asleep. 
Jul. Pray you, where lies sir Proteus? 
Host. Marry, at my house : Trust me, I think, 'tis 
almost day. 

Jul. Not so ; but it hath been the longest night 
That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE III.— T/(e same. 

Enter Eglamour. 

Egl. This is the hour that madam Silvia 
Entreated me to call, and know her mind; 
There's some great matter she '^employ me in. — 
Madam, madam ! 

Silvia appears above, at her window, 

Sil. Who calls ? 

Egl. Your servant, and your friend ; 

One that attends your ladyship's command. 

6(7. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good-morrow. 

Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself. 
According to your ladyship's impose, 
I am thus early come to know what service 
It is your pleasure to command me in. 

Sil. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman, 
(Think not, I flatter, for, I swear, 1 do not,) 
Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accoinplish'd. 
Thou art not ignorant, what dear good will 
I bear unto the banish'd Valentine ; 
Nor how my father would enforce me marry 
Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorr'd. 
Thyself hast loved ; and I have heard thee say. 
No grief did ever come so near thy heart. 
As when thy lady and thy true love died. 
Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. 
Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, 
To ftlantua, where, I hear, he makes al)ode ; 
And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, 
I do desire thy worthy company, 
Upon whose faith and honour I repose. 
Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, 
But think upon my grief, a lady's grief ; 
And on the justice of my flying hence. 
To keep me from a most unholy match, 
Which heaven and fortune still reward with plagues. 
I do desire thee, even from a heart 
As full of sorrows as the sea of sands. 
To bear me company, and go with me : 
If not, to hide what I have said to thee. 
That I may venture to depart alone. 

Egl. Madam, I pity much your grievances ; 
AVhich since I know they virtuously are plac'd, 
I give consent to go along with you ; 
Recking as little what betideth me 
As much I wish all good befortune you. 
When will you go ! 

Sil. This evening coming. 

Egl. Where shall I meet you ! 

Sil. At Friar Patrick's cell. 

Where I intend holy confession. 

Egl. I will not fail your ladyship : 
Good-morrow, gentle lady. 

Sil. Good- morrow, kind sir Eglamour. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The same. 

Enter Launce with his dog. 

W^hen a man's servant shall play the cur with him, 

look you, it goes hard: one that 1 brought up of a 

puppy ; one that I saved from drowning, when three 



ACT IV.— SCENE IV. 



r)9 



or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it ! I 
have taught him— even as one would say precisely, 
Thus I would teach a dog. I was sent to deliver him, 
as a present to mistress Silvia, from my master ; and 
I came no sooner into the dining chamber, but he steps 
me to her trencher, and steals her capon's leg. O, 'tis 
a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself in all 
companies ! I would liave, as one should say, one that 
takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a 
dog at all things. If I had not had more wit than he, 
to take a fault°upon me that he did, I think verily he 
had been hanged for't ; sure as I live he had sufiered 
for't: you shall judge. He thrusts me himself into 
the company of three or four gentleman-like dogs, 
under the duke's table : he had not been there (bless 
the mark) a pissing while ; but all the chamber smelt 
him. Out with the dog, says one ; What cur is that ? 
says another ; Wliip him out, says a third ; Hang him 
up, says the duke. I, having been acquainted with the 
smell before, knew it was Crab ; and goes me to the 
fellow that whips the dogs ; Friend, quoth I, you mean 
to whip the dog ? Ay, marry, do I, quoth he. You do 
him the more wrong, quoth I ; 'twas I did the thing you 
Kot of. He makes me no more ado, but whips me out 
of the chamber. How many masters would do this for 
their servant 1 Nay, I'll be sworn, I have sat in the 
stocks for puddings he hath stolen, otherwise he had 
been executed : I have stood on the pillory for geese 
he hath killed, otherwise he had suffered for't: thou 
think'st not of this now! — Nay, I remember the trick 
you served me, when I took my leave of madam Silvia ; 
did not I bid thee still mark me, and do as I do? When 
did'st thou see me heave up my leg, and make water 
against a gentlewoman's farthingale ? didst thou ever 
see me do such a trick 1 

Enter Proteus arid Julia. 

Pro. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well, 
And will employ thee in some service presently. 
Jul. In what you please ; — I will do what 1 can. 
Pro. I hope, thou wilt. — How now, you whoreson 
peasant? [To Launce. 

Where have you been these two days loitering ? 

Laun. Marry, sir, I carried mistress Silvia the dog 
you bade me. 

Pro. And what says she to my little jewel? 
Laun. Marry, she says, your dog was a cur; and 
tells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a 
Pro. But she received my dog ? [present. 

Laun. No, indeed, she did not: here have 1 brought 
him back again. 

Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from me ? 
Laun. Ay, sir ; the other squirrel was stolen from 
me by the hangman's boys in the market-place : and 
then I offered her mine own ; who is a dog as big as 
ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. 

Pro. Go, got thee hence, and find my dog again, 
Or ne'er return again into my sight. 
Away, I say: Stay'st thou to vex me here? 
A slave, that, still an end, turns me to shame. 

[Eiit Launce. 
Sebastian, I have entertained thee. 
Partly, that I have need of such a youth. 
That can with some discretion do my business. 
For 'tis no trusting to yon foolish lowt ; 
But. chiefly, for thy face, and thy behaviour ; 
'\^'hic!l (^if my augury deceive me not) 
Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth : 
Therefore know thou, for this I entertain thee. 
Go presently, and take this ring with thee. 
Deliver it to madam Silvia : 
She loved me well, deliver'd it to me. 



Jul. It seems, you loved her not, to leave her token : 
She's dead, belike. 

Pro. Not so ; I think, she lives. 

Jul. Alas ! 

Pro. Why dost thou cry, alas ! 

Jul. I cannot choose but pity her ? 

Pro. Wherefore should'st thou pity her? 

Jul. Because, methinks, that she lov'd you as well 
As you do love your lady Silvia : 
She dreams on him, that has forgot her love ; 
You dote on her, that cares not for your love. 
'Tis pity, love should be so contrary ; 
And thinking on it makes me cry, alas ! 

Pro. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal 
This letter; — that's her chamber. — Tell my lady, 
I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. 
Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, 
Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. [ Exit Pro 

Jul. How many women would do such a message ? 
Alas, poor Proteus ! thou hast entertain'd 
A fox, to be the shepherd of thy lambs : 
Alas, poor fool ! why do I pity him 
That with his very heart despiseth me ? 
Because he loves her, he despiseth me ; 
Because I love him, I must pity him. 
This ring I gave him, when he parted from me, 
To bind him to remember my good will : 
And now am I (unhappy messenger) 
To plead for that, which I would not obtain , 
To carry that which I would have refus'd ; 
To praise his faith, which 1 would have disprais'd 
I am my master's true confirmed love ; 
But cannot be true servant to my master. 
Unless I prove false traitor to myself. 
Yet I will woo for him ; but yet so coldly, 
As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed. 

Enter Silvia, attended. 

Gentlewoman, good day ! I pray you, be my mean 
To bring me where to speak with madam Silvia. 
Sil. What would you with her, if that 1 be she ? 
Jul. If you be she, I do entreat your patience 
To hear me speak the message I am sent on. 
Sil. From whom ? 

Jul. From my master, sir Proteus, madam. 
Sil. O ! — he sends you for a picture ? 
Jul. Ay, madam. 

Sil. Ursula, bring my picture there. [ Picture brought. 
Go, give your master this : tell him from me, 
One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, 
Would better fit his chamber than this shadow. 

Jul. Madam, please you peruse this letter. 

Pardon me, madam ; 1 have unadvis'd 
Deliver'd you a paper that I should not. 
This is the letter to your ladyship. 

Sil. I pray thee, let me look on that again. 
Jul. It may not be ; good madam, pardon me. 
Sil. There, hold. 
I will not look upon your master's lines : 
I know, they are stuffd with protestations. 
And full of new-found oaths ; which he will break. 
As easily as I do tear his paper. 

Jul. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. 
Sil. The more shame for him that he sends it me ; 
For I have heard him say a thousand times, 
His Julia gave it him at his departure : 
Though his false finger hath profan'd the ring, 
Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. 
Jul. She thanks you. 
Sil. What say'st thou? 

Jul, I thank you, madam, that you tender hev 
Poor gentlewoman ! my master wrongs her much. 



60 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



Sil. Dost thou know her 1 

Jul. Almost as well as I do know myself: 
To think upon her woes, I do protest, 
J hat I have wept an hundred several times. 

Sil. Belike, slie thinks that Proteus hath forsook her. 

Jul. I think she doth, and that's her cause of 

Sil. Is she not passing fair 1 [sorrow. 

Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is: 
When she did think my master lov'd her well, 
She, in my judgment, was as fair as you ; 
But since she did neglect her looking-glass, 
And threw her sun-expelling mask away. 
The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks, 
And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face. 
That now she is become as black as I. 

Sil. How tall was she 1 

Jul. About rny stature : for, at Pentecost, 
When all our pageants of delight were play'd. 
Our youth got me to play the woman's part. 
And I was trimm'd in madam Julia's gown ; 
Which served me as fit, by all men's judgment, 
As if the garment had been made for me : 
Therefore, 1 know she is about my height. 
And, at that time, I made her weep a-good. 
For I did play a lamentable part ; 
Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning 
For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight; 
Which I so lively acted with my tears. 
That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, 
Wept bitterly ; and, would I might be dead, 
If I in thought felt not her very sorrow ! 

Sil. She is beholden to thee, gentle youth ! — 
Alas, poor lady ! desolate and left ! — 
I weep myself, to think upon thy words. 
Here, youth, there is my purse ; I give thee this 
For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her. 
Farewell. [Exit Silvia. 

Jul. And she shall thank you for 't, if e'er you know 
A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful, [her. 
I hope my master's suit will be but cold, 
Since she respects my mistress' love so much. 
Alas, how love can trifle with itself! 
Here is her picture : Let me see ; I think. 
If I had such a tire, this face of mine 
Were full as lovely as is this of hers : 
And yet the painter flatter'd her a little. 
Unless I flatter with myself too much. 
Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow : 
If that be all the difference in his love, 
I '11 get me such a colour'd periwig. 
Her eyes are grey as glass ; and so are mine : 
Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high. 
What should it be, that he respects in her. 
But I can make respective in myself. 
If this fond love were not a blinded god"! 
Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up. 
For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form, 
Thou shall be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd, and ador'd ; 
And, were there sense in his idolatry. 
My substance should be statue in thy stead, 
I '11 use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake, 
That us'd me so ; or else, by .Tove, 1 vow, 
I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes. 
To make my master out of love with thee. [Exit. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— The same. An Abbey. 
Ejiter Eglamour. 
Egl. The sun begins to gild the western sky ; 
And now, it is about the very hour 



That Silvia, at Patrick's cell, should meet me. 
She will not fail ; for lovers break not hours, 
Unless it be to come before their time • 
So much they spur their expedition 

Enter Silvia. 

See whtre she comes: Lady, a happy evening ! 

Sil. Amen, amen ! go on, good Eglamour I 
Out at the postern, by the abbey-wall ; 
I fear, I am attended by some spies. 

Egl. Fear not : the forest is not three leagues off* 
If we recover that, we are sure enough. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The same. An Apartment in the 
Duke's Palace. 

Enter Thurio, Proteus, and Julia. 

Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suiti 

Pi-o. O, sir, I find her milder than she was; 
And yet she takes exceptions at your person. 

Thu, What, that my leg is too long^ 

Pro. No ; that it is too little. 

Thu. I 'U wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder. 

Pro, But love will not be spurr'd to what it loaths. 

Thu, What says she to my face 1 

Pro. She says it is a fair one 

Thu. Nay, then the wanton lies ; my face is black. 

Pro. But pearls are fair ; and the old saying is. 
Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes ; 

Jut. 'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies' eyes ; 
For I had rather wink than look on them. [Aside. 

Thu. How likes she my discourse 1 

Pro. Ill, when you talk of war. 

Thu. But well, when I discourse of love and peace? 

Jul. But better, indeed, when you hold your peace 1 

[Aside. 

Thu. What says she to my valour? 

Pro. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. 

Jul. She needs not, when she knows it cowardice. 

[Aside> 

Thu, What says she to ray birth ? 

Pro. That you are well deriv'd. 

Jul, True ; from a gentleman to a fool. [Aside. 

Thu. Considers she my possessions ? 

Pro. 0,ay ; and pities them. 

Thu, Wherefore? 

Jul, That such an ass should owe them. [Aside. 

Pro. That they are out by lease. 

Jul. Here comes the duke. 

Enter Duke. 

Duke. How now, sir Proteus ? how now, Thurio 1 
Which of you saw sir Eglamour of late ? 

Thu. Not I. 

Pro. Nor I. 

Duke. Saw you my daughter ? 

Pro. Neither. 

Duke. Why, then she's fled unlo that peasant Va- 
And Eglamour is in her company. [lentine ; 

'Tis true ; for friar Laurence met them both, 
As he in penance wander'd through the forest : 
Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she ; 
But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it : 
Besides, she did intend confession 
At Patrick's cell this even ; and there she was nol ; 
These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence. 
Therefore, 1 pray you, stand not to discourse. 
But mount you presently ; and meet with me , 
Upon the rising of the mountain- foot 
That leads towards Mantua, whither they are fled. 
Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. [Exit. 

Thu, Why this it is to be a peevish girl. 



ACT v.— SCENE IV. 



61 



That flies her fortune when it follows her ; 
I '11 aftei ; more to be reveiig'd on l^glamour, 
Than for the love of reckless Silvia. [Eiit. 

I'ro. And 1 will follow, more for Silvia's love, 
Than hate of Eglamour that goes with iier. [Exit. 

Jut. And I will follow, more to cross that love. 
Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. [Exit. 

SCENE III.— Frort tiers of Mantua. The Foiest. 
Enter- Silvia, and Out-laws. 

Out. Come, come; 
Be patient, we must bring' you to our captain. 

i)il. A thousand more mischances than this one 
Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently. 

2 Out. Come, bring her away. 

1 Out. Where is the gentleman that was with her 1 

3 Out. Being nimble-footed, he hath out-run us. 
But Moyses, and Valerius, follow him. 

Go thou with her to the west end of the wood, 
There is our captain : we '11 follow him that's Hed. 
The thicket is beset, he cannot 'scape. [cave; 

1 Out. Come, I must bring you to our captain's 
Fear not ; he bears an honourable mind, 
And will not use a woman lawlessly. 

an. O ^'alentine, this 1 endure for thee. [Erewnt. 

SCENE IV. — Another part of the Forest. 

Enter Valentine. 

Val. How use doth breed a habit in a man ! 
This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, 
I better brook than flourishing peopled towns : 
Here can 1 sit alone, unseen of any. 
And to the nightingale's complaining notes, 
Tune my distresses, and record my woes. 
O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, 
Leave not the mansion so long tenantless ; 
Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall. 
And leave no memory of what it was ! 
Repair me with thy presence, Silvia ; 
Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain ! 
What halloing, and what stir, is this to-day ? 
These are my mates, that make their wills their law, 
Have some unhappy passenger in chase : 
They love me well ; yet I have much to do, 
To keep them from uncivil outrages. 
Withdraw thee, Valentine ; who's this comes here 1 

[^Steps aside. 

Enter Proteus, Silvia, and Julia. 

Pro. ]\Iadam, this service I have done for you, 
(Though you respect not aught your servant doth,) 
To hazard life, and rescue you from him 
That wou'd have forc'd your honour and your love. 
Vouciisafe me, for my meed, but one fair look ; 
A smaller boon than tiiis I cannot beg. 
And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. 

Val. How like a dream is this I see and hear ! 
Love, lend me patience to forbear a while. \_Aiide. 

Sil. O miserable, unhappy that I am ! 

Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came ; 
But, by my coming, 1 have made you happy. 

SU. By thy approach thou mak'stme most unhappy. 

Jul. And me, when he approacheth to your pre- 
sence. [^Aside. 

Sil. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, 
I would have been a breakfast to the beast, 
Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. 
O, heaven be judge, how I love Valentine, 
Whose life's as tender to me as my soul ; 
And full as much, (for more there cannot be,) 
I do detest false perjur'd Proteus : 



Therefore be gone, solicit me no more. 

Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to death, 
Would 1 not undergo for one calm look! 
O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd. 
When women cannot love, where they're belov'd. 

Sil. When Proteus cannot love where he 's belov'd. 
Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love, 
For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith 
Into a thousand oaths ; and all those oaths 
Descended into perjury, to love me. 
Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou had'st two, 
And that 's far worse than none ; better have none 
Than plural faith, which is too much by one: 
Thou counterfeit to thy true friend ! 

Pro. In love, 

Who respects friend 1 

.S(/. All men but Proteus. 

Pro, Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
Can no way change you to a milder form, 
I '11 woo you like a soldier, at arms' end ; 
And love you 'gainst ihe nature of love, force you. 

Sil. O heaven ! 

Pro. I '11 force thee yield to my desire. 

Val. Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch ; 
Thou friend of an ill fashion ! 

Pro. Valentine ! [love ; 

Val. Thou common friend, that's without faith or 
(For such is a friend now,) treacherous man ! 
Thou hast beguil'd my hopes ; nought bat mine eye 
Could have persuaded me : Now I dare not say, 
I have one friend alive ; tnou would'st disprove me. 
Who should be trusted now, when one's right hand 
Is perjur'd to the bosom? Proteus, 
I am sorry I must never trust thee more, 
But count the world a strangei' for thy sake. 
The private wound is deepest. O lime, most curst! 
'Mongst all foes, that a friend should be the worst 

Pro. My shame and guilt confound me — 
Forgive me, Valentine : if hearty sorrow 
Be a sufficient ransom for offence, 
I tender it here ; 1 do as truly suffer, 
As e'er I did commit. 

Val. Then I am paid ; 

And once again I do receive thee honest: — 
Who by repentance is not satisfied. 
Is nor of heaven, nor earth ; for these are pleased ; 
By penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeas'd :— 
And, that my love may appear plain and free, 
All that was mine in Silvia, I give thee. 

Jul. O me, unhappy ! [Faints. 

Pro. Look to the boy. [matter 1 

Val. Why, boy ! why, wag ! how now 1 what is the 
Look up ; speak. 

Jul. O good sir, my master charj^'d me 

To deliver a ring to madam Silvia ; 
Which out of my neglect was never done. 

Pro. Where is that ring, boy 1 

Jul. Here 'tis: this is it. [Gives a ring. 

Pro. How ! let me see : 
Why this is the ring I gave to Julia. 

Jul. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook , 
This is the ring you sent to Silvia. [Shetrsanotherrivg 

Pra But, how cam'st thou by this ring 1 at my de- 
I gave this unto Julia. [part, 

Jul. And Julia herself did give it me ; 
And Julia herself hath brought it hither. 

Pro. How ! Julia ! 

Jul. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths. 
And entertain'd them deeply in her heart: 
How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root? 
O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush ! 
Be thou asham'd. tliat I ha\e took upon me 



02 



TWO GEiNTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



Suet) an immodest raiment ; if shaine live 

In a disguise of love : 

It is the lesser blot, modesty finds, 

Women to change their shapes, than men their minds. 

Pro. Than men their minds! 'tis true; O hea- 
ven ! were man 
But constant, he were perfect : that one error 
Fills him with faults ; makes him run through all sins: 
Inconstancy falls off, ere it begins : 
AVhat is in Silvia's face, but I may spy 
More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye? 

Val. Come, come, a hand from either : 
Let me be blest to make this happy close ; 
'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes. 

Pro. Boar witness, heaven, I have my wish forever. 

Jul. And I have mine. 

Enter Out-laws, with Duke and Thurio. 

^"f- A prize, a prize, a prize! 

Val. Forbear, I say ; it is my lord the duke. 
Your grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd, 
Banished Valentine. 

Duke. Sir Valentine ! 

Thu. Yonder is Silvia ; and Silvia's mine. 

Val. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death ; 
Come not within the measure of my wrath: 
Do not name Silvia thine; if once again, 
Milan shall not behold thee. Here she stands, 
Take but possession of her with a touch ; — 
I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. — 

Thu. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I; 
I hold him but a fool, that will endanger 
His body for a girl that loves him not : 
I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. 

Duke. The more degenerate and base art thou, 
To make such means for her as thou hast done. 



And leave her on such slight conditions. 

Now, by the honour of my ancestry, 

I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, 

And think thee wortiiy of an empress' love. 

Know then, I here forget all former griefs. 

Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again. — 

Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit. 

To which I thus subscribe, — Sir Valentine, 

Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd ; 

Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her. 

Val. I thank your grace; the gift hath made me 
I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, [happy. 
To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. 

Duke. I grant it, for thine own, whate'er it be. 

Val. These banish'd men, that I have kept withal, 
Are men endued with worthy qualities ; 
Forgive them what they have committed here. 
And let them be recall'd from their exile : 
They are reform'd, civil, full of good. 
And fit for great employment, worthy lord, [thee ; 

Duke. Thou hast prevail'd ; I pardon them, and 
Dispose of them, as thou know'st their deserts. 
Come, let us go ; we will include all jars 
With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity. 

Val. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold 
With our discourse to make your grace to smile : 
What think you of this page, my lord ? [blushes. 

Duke. I think the boy hath grace in him ; he 

Val. I warrant you, my lord ; more grace than boy. 

Duke. What mean you by that saying ? 

Val. Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along, 

That you will wonder, what hath fortuned 

Come, Proteus ; 'tis your penance, but to hear 
The story of your loves discovered : 
That done, our day of marriage shall be yours ; 
One feast, one house, one mutual happiness. ^Exeunt. 



. In tins play there is a strange mixture of knowledge and 
ignorancp, ot care and negligence. I he versification is often 
excellent, and the allusions are learned and just ; but the au- 
thor conveys his heroes by sea from one inland town to another 
in the same country ; he places the emperor at Milan, and 
sends his young men to attend him, but never mentions him 
more; he makes Proteus, after an interview with Silvia, say 
he has only seen her picture ; and if we may credit the old 
copies, he has, by mistaking places, left his scenery inextri- 
cable, the reason of all this confusion seems to be, that he 
took his story from a novel, which he sometimes followed, and 
sometimes forsook, sometimes remembered, and sometimes 
forgot. 

That this play is rightly attributed to Shakspeare, I have 
little doubt. If it be taken from him, to whom shall it be 
given ? This question may be asked of all the disputed plays. 



^u*^*?! T'"" ^^rpntcus; and it will be found more credible 
that bhakspeare might sometimes sink below his highest flights 
than that any other should rise up to his lowest.-JOHNSON 

Johnson s general remarks on this play are just, except that 
part 1.1 which he arraigns the conduct of the poet, for making 
Proteus say that he had only seen the picture of S Ivi™ when 
It appears thathehad had apersonal interview with her This 
however, is not a blunder of Shakspeare's, but a mistake of 
Johnson s, who considers the passage alluded to in a more 
literal sense than the author intended it. Sir Proteus it is 
true, had seen Silvia for a few moments ; but though he could 
form from thence some idea of her person, he was still unac- 
quainted with her temper, manner, and the qualities of her 
mind. He therefore considers himself as having seen her pic- 
ture only.-rhe thought is just, and elegantly expressed. 

M. Mason. 



MEERY WI VES OF W INDSOR. 

V V K,i w written in the vear I60O, was 1 faulty and imperfect play in 1619, as he would have a legiti 

S play, which was probably wU""'"^^^ mate claim to the finished MS. , , . , ,v, 

tered at Stationers' Hall, by John tluspX. ^^n. 10, iwi „,.„„,, „f ,hp nlav are snouosed to take place between th( 



entered at Stationers iia.it, t,j ^«^« """"lV 'i;"j';,;Vv,„ f„im 
The first perfect and entire copy was published 111 t le tolio 
of I603 L'i here had been previously two u.utilated quarto 
editix.ns" given to "he public-one in tiie year .1602; the other, 
fo y -I agree with Mr. Boaden. in considerum these to have 
beenprinwd from an imperfect copy, surreptitiously obtained 
from some person in the employ ol the theatre, or -"m tran- 
scription during the reiiresentation ; and not, as has beensup- 




Jhe dialogue.Treluch'as'wouid render the story of the play 
almost unintelligible : of this Mr. 'io^denquotes one instance 
in Act 1. Sc. 4. where Dr. Cams says. Sir Hugh seiia a 
you," and immediately sends him a challenge ; in the folio, 
Mrs Quickly had before told him that Simple had come with 
a message from Parson Hugh; but this piece ot mtormation 
being omitted in the first quarto edition, the Doctor s anger 
is rendered unintelligible i-again, the ^''^"^'^^"'^Vhl'Sv.Hn^ 
profane and gross expressions, which are omitted i" 'ne '« '°' 
and which might be expected to exist in a copy made during 
?epresentatiou^rom the mouths of the players, who we know 
from Shakspeare's own complaint of them, were in the haoit 
of utering more of this kind of offensive matter than was set 
down for them by the author -.-agt'"' ^t ""^ im"/ ,Wp 
fairly obtained, with the consent of the author, in 1602, there 
wouW have been no reason for the editor's reprinting the 



mate claim to tne nnisneu i>io. , 1 u . .v.- 

The events of the play are supposed to take place between thfi 
first and second parts of Henry the Fourth.— I' alstafi is stiU 
in favour at court,andthe compliment of tordon his TearUke 
preparations, must allude to the good service he had aoiie at 
Shrewsbury — I he adventures ol Falstaff, in this play, bear 
some resemblance to <A« Lovers of i'lsa, a story in Tarleton 9 
News out of Purgatory. . . ,.,...■. ki. rnmeriv 

The tradition respecting the origin of this inimitable coraeay 
is, that Uncen lilizabeth was so well pleased with the admi- 
rable character of lalstaif in 'lite Iwe Paris of Henry 11^. 
that as -Mr. Howe informs us, she commanded .Shakspeare to 
continue it for one play more, and shew him m love. j-Othis 
command we owe The Meiry Hives of ntndsor ; which, Mr. 
Gildon savs, [Hemari',- on Shakspeare's I'lays, 8yo. 1(10,J he 
was very well assured our author finished in a tortnight. lie 
quotes no authority. Ihe circumstance w;as first mentioned 
by Mr Dennis. "Ihis comedy," says he, in his Lpistlc 
Dedicatory to The Comical Uallanl (an alteration of the pre- 
•ient play ', 1702, " was written at her [Queen Elizabeth s] 
command, and by her direction, and she was so eager to see 
it acted that she commanded it to be finished in jourteen 
days; and was afterward, as tradition tells us, very well 
pleased at the representation." Ihe information, it is pro 
bable, came originally from Dryden, who, from his intimacy 
with Sir William Davenant, had an opportunity ot learning 
many particulars concerning ot;r author. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Sir John Falstaff. 

Fenton. 

Shallow, a country justice. 

Slender, cousin to Shallow. 

Mr. Ford, Mr. Page, two gentlemen dwelling at 

Windsor. 
William Page, a boy, son to Mr. Page. 
Sir Hugh Evans, a Welch parson. 
Dr. Caius, a French physician. 
Host of the Garter Inn. 

Bardolph, Pistol, ^ym, followers of Falstaft. 
Robin, page to Falstaff. 
Simple, servant to Slender. 
Rugby, sermnt to Dr. Caius. 

IMrs. Ford. 



Mrs 
Mrs 
Mrs 



Anne Page, her daughter, in love with Fenton. 
Quickly, servant to Dr. Caius. 

Servants to Page, Ford, <Sfc. 

SCENE. — Windsor ; and the parts adjacent. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.— Windsor. Before Page's House. 

Enter Justice Shallow, Slender, 
and Sir Hugh Evans. 



Shal. Sir Hugh, persuade me not ; I vrill make a 
Star-chamber matter of it : if he were twenty sir John 
Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire. 

Slen. In the county of Gloster, justice of peace, 
and coram. 

Shal. Ay, cousin Slender, and Cust-alorum. 

Slen. Ay, and ratnlorum too ; and a gentleman born, 
master parson ; who writes himself armigero ; in any 
bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, armigero. 

Shal. Ay, that we do ; and have done any time 
these three hundred years. 

Slen. All his successors, gone before him, have 
done't 5 and all his ancestors, that come after him. 



may : they may give the dozen ■white luces in their 
coat. 

,S/io/. It is an old coat. 

Eva. The dozen white louses do become an old coat 
well ; it agrees well, passant : it is a familiar beast 
to man, and signifies — love. 

Shal. The luce is the fresh fish ; the salt fish is an 
old coat. 

Slen. I may quarter, coz 1 
Shal. You may, by marrying. 
Eva. It is marring, indeed, if he quarter it. 
Shal. Not a whit. 

Eva. Yes, py'r-lady ; if he has a quarter of your 
coat, there is but three skirts for yourself, in my 
simple conjectures : but this is all one : If sir John 
Falstaff have committed disparagements unto you, I 
am of the church, and will be glad to do my benevo- 
lence, to make atonements and compromises between 
you. 

Shal. The council shall hear it ; it is a not. 
Eva. It is not meet the council hear a riot ; there 
is no fear of Got in a riot: the council, look you, 
shall desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear 
a riot ; take your vizaments in that. 

Shal. Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again, the 
sword should end it. 

Eva. It is petter that friends is the sword, and end 
it : and there is also another device in my prain, 
which, peradventure, prings goot discretions with it: 
There is Anne Page, which is daughter to master 
George Page, which is pretty virginity. 

Slen. Mistress Anne Page 1 She has brown hair, 

j and speaks small like a woman. 

! Eva. It is that fery person for all the 'orld, as just 

as you will desire ; and seven hundred pounds of 

monies, and gold, and silver, is her grandsire, upon 

his death's bed, (Got deliver to a joyful resurrec- 

tions '.) give, when she is able to overtake seventeen 

I years old : it were a goot motion, if we leave our 

pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage between 

I master Abraham, and mistress Anne Page. 

Shal. Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred 
pound 1 

Eva. Ay, and her father is make her a pette 
penny. 



64 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Shal. I know the young gentlewoman; she has 
good gifts. 

Eva. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, is 
good gifts. 

Shal. Well, let us see honest master Page : Is 
Falstaff there ? 

Eva. Shall I tell you a lie ? I do despise a liar, as 
I do despise one that is false ; or, as 1 despise one 
that is not true. The knight, sir John, is there ; and, 
I beseech you, be ruled by your well-willers. I will 
peat tlie door [knocks.] for master Page. What, hoa ' 
Got pjess your house here I 



Enter Page. 

Page. Who 's there ? 

Eva. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and 
justice Shallow : and here young master Slender ; 
that, peradventures, shall tell you another tale, if 
matters grow to your likings. 

Page. I am glad to see your worships well : I thank 
you for my venison, master Shallow. 

Shal. Master Page, I am glad to see you; IMuch 
good do it your good heart ! I wished your venison 
better; it was ill killed : — How doth good mistress 
Page 1 —and I love you always with my heart, la ; 
with my heart. 

Page. Sir, I thank you. 

Shal. Sir, I thank you ; by yea and no, I do. 

Page. I am glad to see you, good master Slender. 

Slen. How does your fallow greyhound, sir 1 I heard 
say, he was out-run on Cotsale. 

Page. It could not be judg'd, sir. 

Slen. You '11 not confess, you '11 not confess. 

Shal. That he will not ; — 'tis your fault, 'tis your 
fault : — 'Tis a good dog. 

Page. A our, sir. 

Shal. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog ; Can 
there be more said 7 he is good, and fair. Is sir John 
Falstaff here ? 

Page. Sir, he is within; and I would I could do a 
good office between you. 

Eva. It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak. 

Shnl. He hath wrong'd me, master Page. 

Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. 

Shal. If it be confess'd, it is not redress'd ; is not 
that so, master Page "! He hath wrong'd me; indeed, 
he hath ; — at a word he hath; — l>elieve me ; Robert 
Shallow, es(iuire, saith, he is wrong'd. 
Page. Here comes sir John. 

Enter Sir John Falstaff, Bardolpii, Nym, 
and Pistol. 

Fal. Now, master Shallow ; you '11 complain of me 
to the king t 

Shal. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my 
deer, and broke open my lodge. 

Fal. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter ? 

Shal. Tut, a pin I this shall be answer'd. 

Fal. I will answer it straight ;— I have done all 
this : — That is now answer'd. 

Shal. The council shall know this. 

Fal. 'Twere better for you, if it were known in 
counsel : you '11 be laugh'd at. 

Eva. Pauca verba, sir John, goot worts. 

Fal. Good worts ! good cabbage.— Slender, I broke 
your head ; What matter have you against me ? 

Slen. jNIarry, sir, I have matter in my head against 
you ; and against your coney-catching rascals, Bar- 
dolph, Nym, and Pistol. They carried me to the 
tavern, and made me drunk, and afterwards picked 
my pocket. 

Bard. You Banbury cheese ! 



Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 
Pist. How now, Mephostophilus ? 
Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 

'Nym. SHce, I say ! imuca, pauca ; slice ! that's 
my hum.our. 

Slen. Where 's Simple, my man ?— can you tell, 
cousin ? 

-Era. Peace ; I pray you ! Now let us understand : 
There is three umpires in this matter, as I under- 
stand : that is,— master Page, fidelicet, master Page; 
and there is myself, /rfe/icet, myself; and the three 
party is, lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter. 
Page. We three, to hear it, and end it between them. 
Eva. Ferry goot : I will make a prief of it in my 
note-book; and we will afterwards 'ork upon the 
cause, with as great discreetly as we can. 
Fal. Pistol, — 
Pist. He hears with ears. 

Eva. The tevil with his tarn ! what phrase is this, 
He hears with ear 1 Why, it is affectations. 

Fal. Pistol, did you pick master Slender's purse? 
Slen, Ay, by these gloves, did he, ( or I would I 
might never come in mine own great chamber again 
else,) of seven groats in mill-sixpences, and "two 
Edward shovel -boards, that cost me two shilling and 
two pence a-piece of Yead Miller, by these gloves. 
Fal. Is this true, Pistol ? 
Eva. No ; it is false, if it is a pick-purse. 
Pist. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner !— Sir John and 
master mine, 
I combat challenge of this latten bilbo : 
Word of denial in thy labras here ; 
Word of denial : froth and scum, thou liest. 
Slen. By these gloves, then 'twas he. 
Nym. Be advis'd, sir, and pass good humours: I 
will say, marry, trap, with you, if you run the nut- 
hook's humour on me : that is the very note of it. 

Slen. By this hat, tlien, he in the red face had it: 
for though I cannot remember what I did when you 
made me drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass. 
Fal. What say you. Scarlet and John ? 
Bard. Why, sir, for my part, I say, the gentleman 
had drunk himself out of his five sentences. 

Eva. It is his five senses : fie, what the ignorance is ! 
Bard., And being fap, sir, was, as they say, ca- 
shier'd ; and so conclusions pass'd the careires. 

Slen. Ay, you spake in Latin then too ; but 'tis no 
matter : I '11 ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, bul 
in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick: if J 
be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have the fear 
of God, and not with drunken knaves. 

Eva. So Got 'udge me, that is a virtuous mind. 
Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gentlemen ; 
you hear it. 

Enter Mistress Anne Page with mine ; Mistress 
Ford and Mistress Page following. 

Page. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in ; we 'II 
drink within. [Exit Anne Page. 

Slen. O heaven ! this is mistress Anne Page. 

Page. How now, mistress Ford ? 

Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well 
met : by your leave, good mistress. [kissing her. 

Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome : 

Come, we have a hot venison pasty to dinner ; come, 
gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkind- 
ness. [Ereuitt all but Shal. Slender, a7id Evans. 

Slen. I had rather than forty shillings, I had my 
book of Songs and Sonnets here : — 

Enter Simple. 
How now. Simple ! Where have you been ? I must 



l-J> 



ACT I.—SCENE III. 



65 



wail on myself, must I? You have not The Book of 
Riddles about you, have you? 

Sim. Book of Riddles! why, did not you lend it. 
to Alice Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fort- 
night afore Michaelmas > 

Sbal. Come, coz ; come, coz ; we stay for you. 
A word with you, coz : marry, this, coz ; There is, 
as 't\vere, a tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by 
sir Hugh here ; — Do you understand me ? 

Sleii. Ay, sir, you sliall find me reasonable ; if it 
be so, I shall do that that is reason. 

ShaL Nay, but understand me. 

Slen. So I do, sir. 

Eva. Give ear to his motions, master Slender : I 
will description the matter to you, if you be capa- 
city of it. 

Slen, Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says ; 
I pray you, pardon me ; he's a justice of peace in 
his country, simple though I stand here. 

Eva. But this is not the question ; the question 
is concerning your marriage. 

ShaL Ay, there's the point, sir. 

Eva, Marry, is it ; the very point of it ; to mis- 
tress Anne Page. 

Slen, Why, if it be so, I will mafry her, upon 
any reasonable demands. 

Evan. But can you affection the 'oman 1 Let us 
command to know that of your mouth, or of your 
lips ; for divers philosophers hold, that the lips is 
parcel of the mouth; — Therefore, precisely, can you 
carry your good will to the maid l 

ShaL Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her ? 

Slen. I hope, sir, — I will do, as it shall become 
one that would do reason. 

Eva. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies, you must 
speak possitable, if you can carry her your desires 
towards her ] ■ 

ShaL That you must : Will you, upon good dowry, 
marry her 1 

Slen. I will do a greater thing than that, upon your 
request, cousin, in any reason. 

Shal, Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz ; 
what I do, is to pleasure you, coz: Can you love 
the maid ] 

Slen, I will marry her, sir, at your request ; but 
if there be no great love in the beginning, yet hea- 
ven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when 
we are married, and have more occasion to know one 
another : I hope, upon familiarity will grow more 
contempt : but if you say, marrii her, I will marry 
her, that I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely. 

Eva. It is a fery discretion answer ; save, the 
faul'isin the 'ort dissolutely: the'ortis, according 
to our meaning, resolutely ; — his meaning is good. 

Shal. Ay, I think my cousin meant well. 

Slen. Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, la. 

Re-enter Anne Page. 

Shal. Here comes fair mistress Anne : — Would I 
were young, for your sake, mistress Anne ! 

Anne. The dinner is on the table ; my father de- 
sires your worships' company. 

ShaL I will wait on him, fair mistress Anne. 

Eva. Od's plessed will ! 1 will not be absence at 
the grace. [Exeunt Shallow and Sir H. Evans. 

Anne. Will't please your worship to come in, sir? 

Slen. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily ; I am 
very well. 

Anne. The dinner attends you, sir. 

Slen. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, foisooth. 
Go, sirrah, for all you are my man, go, wait upon 
my cousin Shallow: [Exit Simple.] A justice of 



peace sometime may be beholden to his friend for a 
man: — 1 keep but three men and a boy yet, till my 
mother be dead: But what though? yet 1 live like 
a poor gentleman born. 

Anne. I may not go in without your v/orship : 
they will not sit, till you come. 

Slen. I'faith, I'll eat nothing; I thank you as 
much as though 1 did. 

Anne. I pray you, sir, walk in. 

Slen. I had rather walk here, I thank you ; I 
bruised my shin the other day with playing at sword 
and dagger with a master of fence, three veneys for 
a dish of stewed prunes ; and, by my troth, I cannot 
abide the smell of hot meat since. VVhy do your dou;s 
bark so 1 be there bears i' the town. 

Anne. I think there are, sir ; 1 heard them talked of. 

Slen, I love the sport well ; but I shal' as soon 
quarrel at it, as any man in England : — You are 
afraid, if you see the bear loose, are you not? 

Anne. Ay, indeed, sir.' 

Slen, That 's meat and drink to me now : I have 
seen Sackerson loose twenty times ; and have taken 
him by the chain: but, I warrant you, the women 
have so cried and shriek'd at it, that it pass'd : — but 
women, indeed, cannot abide 'em ; they are very ill 
favoured rough things. 

Re-enter Page. 

Page. Come, gentle master Slender, come ; we 
stay for you. 

Slen. 1 '11 eat nothing, 1 thank you, sir. 

Rage. By cock and pye, you shall not choose, sir; 
come, come. 

Slen. Nay, pray ygu, lead the way. 

Page. Come on, sir. 

Slen. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. 

Anne. Not I, sir ; pray you, keep on. 

Slen, Truly, I will not go first; truly, la: I will 
not do you that wrong. 

Anne. I pray you, sir. 

Slen. rii rather be unmannerly than troublesome , 
you do yourself wrong, indeed, la. \_Exeunt. 

SCENE Il.—The same. 
Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. 

Eva. Go your ways, and ask of Dr. Caius' house, 
which is the way : and there dwells one mistress 
Quickly, which is in the manner of his nurse, or his 
dry nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, his washer, 
and his wringer. 

Simp. Well, sir. 

Eva. Nay, it is petter yet : give her this letter ; 

for it is a 'oman that altogethev's acquaintance with 
mistress Anne Page : and the letter is, to desire and 
require her to solicit your master's desires to mistress 
Anne Page : I pray you, begone ; I will make an 
end of my dinner; there 's pippins and cheese to come. 

[^Exeunt, 

SCENE III. — A Room in the Garter Inn. 

Enter Falstaff, Host, Bardolph, Nym, Pistol, 
and Robin. 

Fal. Mine host of the Garter, — ■ 

Host. W hat says my bully-rook 1 Speak scholarly, 
and wisely. 

Fal. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of 
my followers. 

Host. Discard, bully Hercules ; cashier : let them 
wag ; trot, trot. 

Fal. I sit at ten pounds a week. 
£ 



66 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Host. Thou'rt an emperor, Caasar, Keisar, and 
Pheezar. I will entertain Bardolph ; he shall draw, 
he shall tap: said I well, bully Hector? 
FaL. Do so, good mine host. 
Host. 1 have spoke ; let him follow : Let me see 
thee froth, and lime : I am at a word ; follow. 

[E:,it Host. 

FaL Bardolph follow him : a tapster is a good 
trade : and an oldcloakmalcesanewjerkin; awithered 
serving-man, afresh tapster : Go; adieu. 

Biird. It is a life that I have desired : I will 
thrive. [Eiit Baud. 

Pist. O base Gongarian wight ! wilt thou the 
spigot wield 1 

Num. He was gotten in drink : Is not the humour 
conceited'! His mind is not heroic, and there's the 
humour of it. 

FaL I am glad, I am so acquit of this tinder-box ; 
his thefts were too open ; his filching was like an 
unskilful singer, he kept not time. 

Nym. The good humour is, to steal at a minute's 
rest. 

Fist. Convey, the wise it call : Steal ! foh ; a fico 
for the phrase ! 

FaL Well, sirs, I almost out at heels. 

Pist. Why then, let kibes ensue. 

FaL There is no remedy; I must coney- catch ; 
I must shift. 

Pist. Young; ravens must have food. 

FaL Which of you know Ford of this town? 

Pist. I ken the wight; he is of substance good. 

FaL My honest lads, I will tell you what 1 am 
about. 

Pist. Two yards and more. 

FaL No quips now, Pistol ; Indeed I am in the 
waist two yards aboiit : but I am now about no waste ; 
I am about thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love 
to Ford's wife ; I spy entertainment in her ; she dis- 
courses, she carves, she gives the leer of invitation : 
I can construe the action of her familiar style ; and 
the hardest voice of her behaviour, to be English 'd 
rightly, is, 1 am sir John Falstajfs. 

Pist. He hath studied her well, and translated her 
well ; out of honesty into English. 

Nyin. The anchor is deep : will that humour pass? 

FaL Now, the report goes, she has all the rule of 
her husband's purse ; she hath legions of angels. 

Pist. As many devils entertain ; and, To her, hoy, 
say I. 

Nym. The humour rises ; it is good : humour me 
the angels. 

FaL 1 have writ me here a letter to her : and here 
another to Page's wife ; who even now gave me good 
eyes too, examined my parts with most judicious 
eyliads : sometimes the beam of her view gilded my 
foot, sometimes my portly belly. 

Pist. Then did the sun on dunghill shine. 

Nym. I thank thee for that humour. 

FaL O, she did so course o'er my exteriors with 
such a greedy intention, that the appetite of her ej«e 
did seem to scorch me up like a burning glass ! Here's 
another letter to her : she bears the purse too ; she is 
a region in Guiana, all gold and bounty. I will be 
cheater to them both, and they shall be exchequers 
to me ; they shall be my East and West Indies, and 
I will trade to them both. Go, bear thou this letter 
to mistress Page; and thou this to mistress Ford-, 
we will thrive, lads, we will thrive. 

Pist. Shall I sir Pandarus of Troy become. 
And by my side wear steel ? then, t.ucifer take all ! 

Ni^m. 1 will run no base humour : here, take the 
humour letter ; I will keep the 'haviour of reputation. 



FaL Hold, sirrah, {to Rob.] bear you these letters 
tightly ; 
Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. — 
Rogues, hence, avaunt! vanish like hail stones, go; 
Trudge, plod, away, o' the hoof ; seek shelter, pack .' 
Falstaff will learn the humour of this age, 
French thrift, you rogues ; myself, and skirted page. 
{Eieunt Falstaff and Robin. 
Pist. Let vultures gripe thy guts ! for gourcl, and 
fullam holds, 
And high and low beguile the rich and poor ; 
Tester I'll have in pouch, when thou shalt lack. 
Base Phrygian Turk ! 

Nym. I have operations in my head, which be hu- 
mours of revenge. 

Pist. Wilt thou revenge? 
Nym. By welkin, and her star ! 
Pist. With wit, or steel ? 
Nym. With both the humours, I : 
I will discuss the humour of this love to Page. 
Pist. And I to Ford shall eke unfold. 
How Falstaff, varlet vile, 
His dove will prove, his gold will hold, 
And his soft couch defile. 
Nym. My. humour shall not cool : I will incense 
Page to deal with poison ; I will possess him with 
yellowness, for the revolt of mien is dangerous : that 
is my true humour. 

Pist. Thou art the Mars of malcontents ; I second 
thee ; troop on. [EieuHt 

SCENE IV.— ^ Room in Dr. Caius's House. 
Enter Mrs. Quickly, Si.mple, and Rugky. 

Quick. What: .lohn Rugby! — I pray tliee, go to 
the casement, an-d see if you can see my master, mas- 
ter Doctor Caius, coming : if he do, i'faith, and find 
any body in tlie house, here will be an old abusing 
of God's patience, and the king's English. 

Ru^. I'll go watch. [F.iit Rugby. 

Quick. Go ; and we'll have a posset for't soon at 
night, in faith, at the latter end of a sea coal fire. 
An honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant 
shall come in house withal , and, I warrant you, no 
telltale, nor no breed-bate : his worst fault is, that 
he is given to prayer ; he is something peevish that 
way; but nobody but has his fault;— but let that 
pass. Peter Simple, you say your name is? 

Sim. Ay, for fault of a better. 

Quick. And master Slender 's your master? 

Sim. Ay, forsooth. 

Quick. Does he not wear a great round beard, like 
a glover's paring knife ? 

.Sim. No, forsooth : he hath but a little wee face, 
with a little yellow beard ; a Cain-coloured beard. 

Quick. A softly-sprighted man, is he not? 

Sim. Ay, forsooth : but he is as tall a man of his 
hands, as any is between this and his head ; he hath 
fought with a warrener. 

Quick. How say you? — O, I should remember 
him ; Does he not hold up his head, as it were ? and 
strut in his gait ? 

Sim. Yes, indeed, does he. 

Quick. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse 
fortune! Tell master parson Evans, I will do what 
I can for your master: Anne is a good girl, and I 
wish — 

Pe-enter Ruguy. 

Pug. Out, alas ! here comes my master. 

Quick. We shall all be shent : Run inhere, good 
young man ; go into this closet. [Shuts Simplk in. 
tlie closet.] He will not stay long. — What, John 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



67 



Rugby! John, what John, 1 say! — Go, John, go 
inquire for my master ; I doubt, he be not well, that 
he comes not home : — and down, down, adown-a, kcc. 



{.Sings. 



Enter Doctor Caius. 



Quick. 
Caius. 
Quick. 
Caius. 



Caius. Vat is you sing ? I do not like dese toys ; 
Pray you, go and vetch me in my closet «?t boitier 
verd; a box, a green-a box ; Do intend vat I speak 1 
a green-a box. 

Quick. Ay, forsooth, I'll fetch it you. I am glad 
he went not in himself: if he had found the young 
man, he would have been horn mad. {Aside. 

Caius. Fe, J'e, fe, J'e ! ma J'oi, il J'nit fort chaud. 
Je m'en vais a la cour, — la grande affaire. 

Quick. Is it this, sir? 

Cuius. Ouy ; mette le au mnn pocket; Depeche, 
quickly: — Vere is dat knave Rugby ! 

Quick. What, John Rugby! John! 

Bug. Here, sir. 

Caius. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack 
Rugby : Come, take-a your rapier, and come after 
my heel to de court. 

Rug. 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch. 

Caius. By my trot, I tarry too long ; Od's me ! 
Qn'ay fnuhlie? here is some simples in my closet, 
dat I vill not for the varld I shall leave behind. 

Quick. Ah me ! he'll find the young man there, 
and be mad ! 

Caius. diable, diable ! vat is in my closet 1 — 
Villany! larron! {pulling &iyipi,i. out.} Rugby, my 
rapier. 

Good master, be content, 
Verefore shall I be content-a ? 
The young man is an honest man. 
Vat shall de honest man do in my closet? 
dere is no honest man dat shall come in my closet. 

Quick, I beseech you, be not so flegmatick ; hear 
the truth of it : He came of an errand to me from 
parson Hugh. 

Caius. Veil. 

Sim. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to — 

Quick. Peace, I pray you. 

Cains. Peace-a your tongue : — Speak-a your tale. 

Sim. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your 
maid, to speak a good word to Mrs. Anne Page for 
my master, in the way of marriage. 

Quick. This is all, indeed, la ; but I'll ne'er put 
my finger in the fire, and need not. 

Caius. Sir Hugh send-a you 1 — Rugby, baillez me 
some paper: Tarry you a little-a while. {Writes. 

Quick. I am glad he is so quiet : if he had been 
thoroughly moved, you should have heard him so 
loud, and so melancholy; — But notwithstanding, 
man, I'll do your master what good 1 can : and the 
very yea and tlie no is, the French doctor, my mas- 
ter, — I may call him my master, look you, fori keep 
his house ; and I wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, 
dress meat and drink, make the beds, and do all my- 
self:— 

Sim. 'Tis a great charge, to come under one body's 
hand. 

Quick. Are you avis'd o'that ! you shall find it a 
great charge: and to be up early and down late ; — 
but notwithstanding, (to tell you in your ear ; 1 
would have no words of it;) my master himself is in 
love with mistress Anne Page : but notwithstanding 
that, — I know Anne's mind, — that's neither here nor 
there. 

Cuius. You Jack'nape ; give a dis letter to sir 
Hugh ; by gar, it is a shallenge ; I vill cut liis troat 
in de park ; and I vill teach a scurvy jack-a-nape 



priest to meddle or make : — you may be gone ; it is 
not good you tarry here : — by gar, 1 vill cut all his 
two stones ; by gar, he shall not have a stone to trow 
at his dog. {E.iit Sibu'le. 

Quick. Alas, he speaks but for his friend. 

Caius. It is no matter-a for dat: — do not you tell-a 
me dat I shall have Anne Page for myself? — by gar, 
I vill kill de Jack Priest ; and I have appointed 
mine host of de Jarterre to measure our weapon ■ — 
by gar, I vill myself have Anne Page. 

Quick. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be 
well : we must give folks leave to prate : What, the 
good-jer ! 

Cuius. Rugby, come to de court vit me : — By gar, 
if I have not Anne Page, I shall turn your head out 
of my door : — Follow my heels, Rugby. 

{Excnut C.MUS and Rugby. 

Quick. You shall have An fools-head of your own. 
No, I know Anne's mind for that : never a woman 
in Windsor knows more of Anne's mind, than I do: 
nor can do more than I do with her, I thank heaven. 

Fent. {Within.} Who's within there ? ho! 

Quick. Who's there, I trow? Come near the house, 
I pray you. 

Enter Fenton. 

Fent, How no\v, good woman ; how dost thou 1 

Quick. The better, that it pleases your good wor- 
ship to ask. 

Fent. What news ? how does pretty mistress .^nne ? 

Quick. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, 
and gentle ; and one that is your friend, I can tell 
you that by the way ; I praise heaven for it. 

Fent. Shall I do any good, thinkest thou ? Shall I 
not lose my suit ? 

Quick, Troth, sir, all is in his hands above: but 
notwithstanding, master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a 
book, she loves you : — Have not your worship a wart 
above your eye ? 

Fent. Yes, marry, have I ; what of that? 

Quick, Well, thereby hangs a tale ; — good faith, 
it is such another Nan ; — but, I detest, an honest 
maid as ever broke bread : We had an hour's talk of 
that wart : — I shall never laugh but in that maid's 
company! But, indeed, she is given too much to 
allichoUy, and musing : But for you — Well, go to. 

Fent. Well, I shall see her to-day ; Hold, there's 
money for thee ; let me have thy voice in my behalf: 
if thou seest her before me, commend me — 

Quick. Will I ? i'faith, that we will ; and I will 
tell your worship more of the wart, the next time we 
have confidence ; and of other wooers. 

Fent. Well, farewell ; I am in great haste now. 

{Exit. 

Quick. Farewell to your worship. — Truly, an ho- 
nest gentleman ; but Anne loves him not ; for 1 know 
Anne's mind as well as another does : — Out upon't! 
what have I forgot ? [Exit. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I.— Before Page's House. 

Enter Mistress Page, with a Letter 

Mrs. Page, What! have I 'scap'd love-letters in 
the holy-day time of my beauty, and am I now a sub- 
ject for them ? Let me see : {lieuds. 

Ask me no reason why I love you ; for thnugh love 
use reason for his precisian, he admits him not for his 
counsellor : You are not you7ig, no more am 1 ; go to 



68 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR'. 



then, there s sympnthy: you are merry , so am I ; Ha! 
ha! then there's more sympathy : you love sack, a7id so 
do I ; Would vou desire better sympathy? Let it suf- 
fice thee, mistress Page, (at least, if tlie love of a sol- 
dier can suffice, ) that I love thee. I will not say, pity 
me, 'tis not a soldier-like phrase; but 1 say, love me. 
By me. 

Thine own true knight, 

Bif day or night. 

Or any kind of light, 

With all his might. 

For thee tofght, John FalstafF. 

What a Herod of Jewry is this 1 — O wicked, wicked 
world ! — one that is well nigh worn to pieces with 
age, to shew himself a young gallant ! What an un- 
weighed behaviour hath this Flemish drunkard picked 
(with the devil's name) out of my conversation, that 
he dares in this manner assay me ? Why, he halh not 
been thrice in my company ! — What should 1 say to 
him "! — 1 was then frugal of my mirth : — heaven for- 
give me ! — Why I'll exhibit a bill in the parliament 
for the putting down of fat men. How shall I be re- 
venged on him "! for revenged I will be, as sure as 
his guts are made of puddings. 

Enter Mistress Ford. 

Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page ! trust me, I was going 
to your house ! 

Mrs. Page And trust me, I was coming to you. 
You look very ill. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that ; I have to 
shew to the contrary. 

Mrs. Page. 'Faith, but you do, in my mind. 

Mrs. Fo7-d. Well, 1 do, then ; yet, 1 say, I could 
shew you to the contrary : O, mistress Page, give me 
some counsel ! 

Mrs. Page. What's the matter, woman ? 

Mrs. Ford. O woman, if it were not for one trifling 
respect, 1 could come to such honour ! 

Mrs. Page. Hang the trifle, woman ; take the ho- 
nour : What is it! dispense with trifles ; — what 

is it? 

Mrs. Ford. If I would but go to hell for an eternal 
moment, or so, I could be knighted. 

Mrs. Page. What? thou liest ! — Sir Alice Ford ! 

These knights will hack ; and so thou shouldst 

not alter the article of thy gentry. 

Mrs. Ford. We burn day-light: — here, read, read ; 
— perceive how I might be knighted. — I shall think 
the worse of fat men, as long as 1 have an eye to 
make difference of men's liking : And yet he would 
not swear ; praised women's modesty : And gave 
such orderly and well-behaved reproof to all uncome- 
liness, that I would have sworn his disposition would 
have gone to the truth of his words : but they do no 
more adhere and keep place together than the hun- 
dredth psalm to the tune of Green sleeves. What tem- 
pest, I trow, threw this whale with so many tuns of 
oil in his belly, ashore at Windsor? How shall I be 
revenged on him ? 1 think the best way were to en- 
tertain him with hope, till the wicked fire of lust have 
melted him in his own grease. — Did you ever hear 
the like ? 

Mrs. Page. Letter for letter ; but that the name 
of Page and Ford differs ! — 'i'o thy great comfort in 
this mystery of ill opinions, here's the twin-brother 
of thy letter : but let thine inherit first ; for, I pro- 
test, mine never shall. I warrant he hath a thousand 
of these letters, writ with blank space for different 
names, (sure more,) and liiese are of the second edi- 
tion : He will print them out of doubt ; for he cares 
not what he puts into the press when he would put 



us two. I had ratlier be a giantess, and lie under 
mount Pelion. Well, I will find you twenty lasci- 
vious turtles, ere one chaste man. 

Mrs. Ford. Why this is the very same ; the very 
hand, the very words : \Miat doth he think of us ? 

Mrs. Page. Nay, 1 know not : It makes me almost 
ready to wrangle with mine own honesty. I'll enter- 
tain myself like one that 1 am not acquainted withal ; 
for, sure, unless he know some strain in me, that I 
know not myself, he would never have boarded me 
in this fury. 

Mrs. Ford. Boarding, call you it? I '11 be sure to 
keep him above deck. 

Mrs. Page. So will I ; if he come under my hatches, 
I '11 never to sea again. Let's be revenged on him : 
let's appoint him a meeting; give him a show of 
comfort in his suit ; and lead him on with a fine baited 
delay, till he hath pawn'd his horses to mine Host of 
the Garter. 

iMr.s. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any villany 
against him, that may not sully the chariness of our 
honesty. O, that my husband saw this letter ! it 
would give eternal food to his jealousy. 

Mrs. Page. Why, look, where he comes ; and my 
good man too ; he's as far from jealousy, as I am 
from giving him cause ; and that, I hope, is an un- 
measurable distance. 

Mrs. Ford. You are the happier woman. 

Mrs. Paoe. Let's consult together against this 



greasy knight : Come hither. 



\_They retire. 



Enter Fohd, Pistol, Page, and Nym. 

Ford, Well, 1 hope, it be not so. 

Pist. Hope is a curtail dog in some affairs • 
Sir John aflects thy wife. 

Ford. Why, sir, my wife is not young, 

Pist. He wooes both high and low, both rich and 
Both young and old, one with another, Ford ; [poor. 
He loves the gally-mawfiy ; Ford, perpend. 

Ford, Love my wife ? 

Pist. With liver burning hot : Prevent, or go thou, 
Like sir Actaion he, with Ring-wood at thy heels: — 
O, odious is the name ! 

Ford, What najTie, sir ? 

Pist. Tlie hoi-n, 1 say : Farewell. 
Take heed ; have open eye ; for thieves do foot by 
night ; [sing. — 

Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do 

Away, sir corporal Nym. 

Believe it, Page ; he speaks sense. \_Exit Pistol. 

Ford. 1 will be patient ; I will find out this. 

Nym. And this is true ; ■{to Page.] I like not the 
humour of lying. He hath wronged me in some 
humours : I should have borne the humoured letter 
to her ; but I have a sword, and it shall bite upon my 
necessity. He loves your wife ; there's the short and 
the long. My name is corporal Nym ; I speak, and I 
avouch. 'Tis true ; — my name is Nym, and Falstaff 
loves your wife. — Adieu ! I love not the humour of 
bread and cheese ; and there 's the humour of it. 
Adieu. [Exit Nym. 

Page. The humour of it, quoth 'a! here's a fellow 
frights humour out of his wits. 

Ford. I will seek out FalstafF. 

Page. 1 never heard such adrawling, affecting rogue. 

Ford. If I do find it, well. 

Page. I will not believe,such a Catalan, though the 
priests o' the town commended him for a true man. 

Ford. 'Twas a good sensible fellow : Well. 

Page. How now, Meg ? 

Mrs. Page. Whither go you, George ? — liaik you. 



ACT II — SCENb: II. 



(59 



Mrs. Ford. How now, sweet Frank 1 why art thou 
melancholy 1 

Ford. I melancholy ! I am not melancholy. — Get 
you home, go. 

Mrs. Ford. 'Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy 
head now. — Will you go. Mistress Page ? 

Mrs. Page- Have with you. — You'll come to din- 
ner, George ■? Look, who comes yonder : she shall be 
our messenger to this paltry knight. 

\ Aside to Mrs. Ford. 

Enter Mrs. Quickly. 

Mrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her : she'll fit it. 

Mrs. Page. You are come to see my daughter Anne ? 

Quick. Ay, forsooth ; And, I pray, how does good 
mistress Anne ! 

Mrs. Page. Go in with us, and see ; we have an 
liour's talk with you. 
[_Eieuiit Mrs. Page, Jllcs. Ford, and Mrs. Quickly. 

Page. How now, master Ford ? 

Ford. You heard what this knave told me ; did you 
not? 

Page. Yes ; And you heard what the other told me 1 

Ford. Do you think there is truth in them 1 

Page. Hang 'em, slaves : I do not think the knight 
would offer it : but these that accuse him in his intent 
towards our wives, are a yoke of his discarded men : 
very rogues, now they be out of service. 

Fo^d. Were they his men ? 

Page. Marry, were they. 

Ford, I like it never the better for that. — Does he 
lie at the Garter? 

Page. Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend 
this voyage towards my wife, I would turn her loose 
to him ; and what he gets of her more than sharp 
words, let it lie on my head. 

Ford. I do not disdoubt my wife ; but I would be 
loth to turn them together : A man may be too con- 
fident ; I would have nothing lie on my head : I can- 
not be thus satisfied. 

Page. Look, where my ranting host of the Garter 
comes : there is either liquor in his pate, or money 
in his purse, when he looks so merrily. — How now, 
mine host 1 

Enter Host and Shallow. 

Host. How now, bully-rook 1 thou 'rt a gentleman : 
cavalero-justice, I say. 

Sfial. 1 follow, mine host, I follow. — Good even, 
and twenty, good master Page ! Master Page, will 
you go with us 1 we have sport in hand. 

Host. Tell him, cavalero-justice; tell him, bully- 
rook. 

Shal. Sir, there is a fray to be fought, between sir 
Hugh the Welch priest, and Caius the French doctor. 

Ford. Good mine host o' the Garter, a word with 
you. 

Host. What say'st thou, bally-rook 1 

\^They go aside. 

Shal. Will you [to Page.] go with us to behold it ? 
My merry host hath had the measuring of their wea- 
pons; and, I think, he hath appointed them contrary 
places : for, believe me, 1 hear, the parson is no jester. 
Hark, I will tell you what our sport shall be. 

Host. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my 
guest-cavalier 1 

Ford. None, I protest : but I'll give you a pottle of 
burnt sack to give me recourse to him, and tell him, 
my name is Brook ; only for a jest. 

Host. My hand, bully: thou shalt have egress and 
regress; said I well? and thy name shall be Brook: 
It IS a merry knight. — Will you go, cavalieres? 



Shal. Have with you, mine host. 

Page. I have heard, the Frenchman hath good skill 
in his rapier. 

Shal. Tut, sir, I could have told you more : In these 
times, you stand on distance, your passes, stoccadoes, 
and I know not what: 'tis the heart, master Page ; 
'tis here, 'tis here. I have seen the time, with my 
long sword, I would have made you four tall fellows 
skip like rats. 

Host. Here, boys, here, here ! shall we wag"? 

Page. Have with you : — 1 had rather hear them 
scold than fight. 

[Eieunt Host, Shallow, and Page. 

Ford. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands so 
firmly on his wife's frailty, yet I cannot put oft" my 
opinion so easily : She was in his company at Page's 
house ; and, what they made there, I know not. 
Well, I will look further into 't : and I have a disguise 
to sound Falstaft': If I find her honest, I lose not my 
labour ; if she be otherwise, 'tis labour well bestowed. 

[Exit. 

SCENE II A Room in the Garter Inn. 

Enter Falstaff and Pistol. 

Fal. I will not lend thee a penny. 

PLit. Why, then the world's mine oyster, 
Which I with sword will open. — 
I will retort the sum in equipage. 

Fal. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you 
should lay my countenance to pawn : I have grated 
upon my good friends for three reprieves for you and 
your coach-fellow, Nym ; or else you had looked 
through the grate, like a geminy of baboons. I am 
damned in hell, for swearing to gentlemen my friends, 
you were good soldiers, and tall fellows • and when 
mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan, I took't 
upon mine honour, thou hadst it not. [pence ! 

Pist. Didst thou not share ] hadst tliou not fifteen 

Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason • Think'st thou 
I '11 endanger my soul gratis ? At a word, hang no 
more about me, I am no gibbet for you : — go. — A 
short knife and a throng ; — to your manor of Pickt- 
hatch, go. — You'll not bear a letter for me, you 
rogue ! — You stand upon your honour ! — Why, thou 
unconfinable baseness, it is as much as I can do, to 
keep the terms of my honour precise. I, I, I myself 
sometimes, leaving the fear of heaven on the left 
hand, and hiding mine honour in my necessity, am 
fain to shuffle, to hedge, and to lurch ; and yet you, 
rogue, will ensconce your rags, your cat-a-mountain 
looks, your red-lattice phrases, and your bold-beating 
oaths, under the shelter of your honour ! You will not 
do it, you 1 

Pise. I do relent ; What would'st thou more of man 1 

Enter Robin. 

Fob. Sir, here's a woman would speak with you. 
Fal. Let her approach. 

Enter Mistress Quickly. 

Quick. Give your worship good-morrow. 

Fal. Good morrow, good wife. 

Quick. Not so, an't please your worship. 

Fal. Good maid, then. 

Quick. I'll be sworn ; as my mother was, the first 
hour I was born. 

Fal. I do believe the swearer : What with me ? 

Quick. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or 
two 1 

Fal. Two thousand, fair woman : and I '11 vouch- 
safe thee the hearing. 

Quick. There is one mistress Ford, sir ; — •' pra)', 



70 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



come a little nearer this ways : — I myself dwell with 
master doctor Caius. 

t'al. Well, on: Mistress Ford, you say, 

Quick. Your worship says very true : I pray your 
worship, come a little nearer this ways. 

Fal. I warrant thee, nobody hears ; — mine own 
people, mine own people. 

Quick. Are they so t Heaven bless them, and make 
them his servants ! 

Fal. Well : Mistress Ford ; — what of her 1 

Quick. Why, sir, she's a good creature. Lord, 
lord ! your worship's a wanton : Well, heaven for- 
give you, and all of us, I pray ! 

Fal. Mistress Ford ; — come, mistress Ford, — 

Quick. Marry, this is the short and the long of it ; 
you have brought her into such a canaries, as 'tis 
wonderful. Tlie best courtier of them all, when the 
court lay at Windsor, could never have brought her 
to such a canary. Yet there has been knights, and 
lords, and gentlemen with their coaches ; I warrant 
you, coach after coach, letter after letter, gift after 
gift ; smelling so sweetly, (all musk,) and so rush- 
ling, I warrant you, in silk and gold ; and in such 
alligant terms ; and in such wine and sugar of the 
best, and the fairest, that would have won any wo- 
man's heart ; and, I warrant you, they could never 
get an eye-wink of her. — I had myself twenty angels 
given me this morning ; but I defy all angels, (in 
any such sort, as they say,) but in the way of ho- 
nesty : — and, I warrant you, they could never get her 
so much as sip on a cup with the proudest of them 
all : and yet there has been earls, nay, which is more, 
pensioners ; but, I warrant you, all is one with her. 

Fal. But what says she to me? be brief, my good 
she Mercury. 

Quick. Marry, she hath received your letter ; for 
the which she thanks you a thousand times : and she 
gives you to notify, that her husband will be absence 
from his house between ten and eleven. 

Fal. Ten and eleven ? 

Quick. Ay, forsooth ; and then you may come and 
see the picture, she says, that you wot of; — master 
Ford, her husband, will be from home. Alas! tiie 
sweet woman leads an ill life with him ; he 's a very 
jealousy man: she leads a very frampold life with 
him, good heart. 

Fal. Ten and eleven . Woman, commend me to 
her ; I will not fail her. 

Quick. Why you say well : But I have another 
messenger to your worship : Mistress Page hath her 
hearty commendations to you too ; — and let me tell 
you in your ear, she's as fartuous a civil modest wife, 
and one (I tell you) that will not miss you morning 
nor evening prayer, as any is in Windsor, whoe'er be 
the other : and she bade me tell your worship, that 
her husband is seldom from home ; but, she hopes, 
there will come a time. I never knew a woman so 
dote upon a man ; surely, I think you have charms, 
la ; yes, in truth. 

Fal. Not 1, I assure thee ; setting the attraction 
of my good parts aside, I have no other charms. 
Quick. Blessing on your heart for't ! 
Fal. But, I pray thee, tell me this : has Ford's 
wife, and Page's wife, acquainted each other how 
they love me ? 

Quick. That were a jest, indeed ! — they have not 
so little grace, I hope : — that were a trick, indeed ! 
But mistress Page would desire you to send her your 
little page, of all loves ; her husband has a marvel- 
lous infection to the little page : and, truly, master 
Page is an honest man. Never a wife in Windsor 
leads a better life than she does ; do what she will, 



say what she will, take all, pay all, go to bed wlieu 
she list, rise when she list, all is as she will ; and. 
truly, she deserves it : for if there be a kind woman 
in Windsor, she is one. You must send her your 
page ; no remedy. 

Fal. Why, 1 will. 

Quick. Nay, but do so then : and, look you, he 
may come and go between you both ; and, in any 
case, have a nay-word, that you may know one an- 
other's mind, and the boy never need to understand 
any thing ; for 'tis not good that children should 
know any wickedness : old folks, you know, have 
discretion, as they say, and know the world. 

F((/. Fare thee well : commend me to them both: 
there's my purse ; I am yet thy debtor. — Boy, go 

alons: with this woman. This news distracts me ! 

[Eicunt Quickly aud Robin. 

Pist. This punk is one of Cupid's carriers : — 
Clap on more sails ; pursue, up with your fights ; 
Give fire ; she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all. 

[E-vit PisTOU 

Fal. Say'st thou so, old Jack.' go thy ways ; I'll 
make more of thy old body than I have done. Will 
they yet look after tiiee .' Wilt thou, after the ex- 
pense of so much money, be now a gainer.' Good 
body, I thank thee : Let them say, 'tis grossly done; 
so it be fairly done, no matter. 

Euter Bj>nDOi.PH, 

Bard. Sir John, there's one master Brook below 
would fain speak with you, and be acquainted with 
you ; and hath sent your worship a morning's 
draught of sack. 

Fal. Brook, is his name ? 

Bard. Ay, sir. 

Fal. Call him in ; [E.rU Bardoi.ph.] Such 
Brooks are welcome to me, that o'erflow such liquor. 
Ah ! ha ! mistress Ford and mistress Page, have I 
encompassed you ? go to ; via ! 

Re-enter Bardolph, with Ford disguised. 

Ford. Bless you, sir. 

Fal. And you, sir: Would you speak with me.' 

Ford. I make bold, to press with so little prepara- 
tion upon you. 

Fal. You're welcome; What's your will ? Give 
us leave, drawer. [Eiit Bardolph. 

Ford. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent 
much ; my name is Brook. 

Fal. Good master Brook, I desire more acquaint- 
ance of you. 

Ford. Good sir John, I sue for yours: not to 
charge you ; for I must let you understand, I think 
myself in better plight for a lender than you are : 
the which hath something emboldened me to this 
unseasoned intrusion : for they say, if money go be- 
fore, all ways do lie open. 

Fal. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on. 

Ford. Troth, and 1 have a bag of money here 
troubles me : if you will help me to bear it, sir 
John, take all, or half, for easing me of the carriage. 

Fal. Sir, I know not how 1 may deserve to be 
your porter. 

Ford. I will tell you, sir, if you v/ill give me the 
hearing. 

Fal Speak, good master Brook ; I shall be glad 
to be your servant. 

Ford. Sir, I hear you are a scholar, — I will be 

brief with you, and you have been a man long 

known to me, though 1 had never so good means, 
as desire, to make myself acquainted with you. I 
shall discover a thing to you, wherein 1 must very 



ACT II.— SCENE III. 



71 



much lay open mine own imperfection : but, good 
sir John, as you have one eye upon my follies, as 
you hear them unfolded, turn another into the re- 
gister of your own ; that I may pass with a reproof 
the easier, sith you yourself know, how easy it is to 
be such an offender. 

Fat. Very well, sir ; proceed. 

Fcrd. There is a gentlewoman in this town, her 
husband's name is Ford. 

Pal. Well, sir. 

Ford. I have long loved her, and I protest to you, 
bestowed much on her ; followed her with a doting 
observance ; engrossed opportunities to meet her ; 
fee'd every slight occasion, that could but niggardly 
give me sight of her ; not only bought many pre- 
sents to give her, but have given largely to many, to 
know what she would have given ; briefly, I have 
pursued her, as love hath pursued me ; which hath 
been on the wing of all occasions. But whatsoever 
I have merited, either in my mind, or in my means, 
meed, I am sure, 1 have received none ; unless ex- 
perience be a jewel ; that I have purchased at an 
infinite rate ; and that hath taught me to say this : 

Love like a shadow Jiies, when substance love pursues; 
Pursuing that that Jiies, andjlying what pursues. 

Pal. Have you received no promise of satisfac- 
tion at her hands 1 

Ford. Never. 

Pal. Have you importuned her to such a purpose ? 

Ford. Never. 

Pal. Of what quality was your love then 1 

Ford. Like a fair house, built upon another man's 
ground ; so that I have lost my edifice, by mistaking 
the place where I erected it. 

Pal. To what purpose have you unfolded this to 
me ? 

Ford. When I have told you that, I have told you 
all. Some say, that, though she appear honest to 
me, yet, in other places, she enlargeth her mirth so 
far, that there is shrewd construction made of her 
Now, Sir John, here is the heart of my purpose : 
You are a gentleman of excellent breeding, admira- 
ble discourse, of great admittance, authentic in your 
place and person, generally allowed for your many 
warlike, court-like, and learned preparations. 

Pal. O, sir ! 

Ford. Believe it, for you know it : — There is 
money ; spend it, spend it ; spend more ; spend all 
I have ; only give me so much of your time in ex- 
change of it, as to lay an amiable siege to the ho- 
nesty of this Ford's wife ; use your art of wooing, 
win her to consent to you ; if any man may, you 
may as soon as any. 

Fal. W^ould it apply well to the vehemency of 
your affection, that I should win what you would 
enjoy ? Methinks, you prescribe to yourself very 
preposterously. 

Ford..O, understand my drift! she dwells so se- 
curely on the excellency of her honour, that the 
folly of my soul dares not present itself ; she is too 
brigiit to be looked against. Nqw, could I come to 
her with any detection in my hand, my desires had 
instance and argument to commend themselves ; I 
could drive her then from the ward of her purity, 
her reputation, her marriage vow, and a thousand 
other her defences, which are now too strongly em- 
battled against me : What say j'ol to't, sir John ? 

Fal. Master Brook, I will first make bold with 
your money ; next, give me your hand : and last, as 
I am a gentleman, you shall, if you will, enjoy 
Ford's wife. 



Ford. good sir ! 

Fal. ]\Iaster Brook, 1 say you shall. 

Ford. Want no money, sir John, you sliall want 
none. 

Fal. Want no mistress Ford, Master Brook, you 
shall want none. I shall be with her, (1 may tell 
you,) by her own appointment ; even as you came 
in to me, her assistant, or go-between, parted from 
me : I say, 1 shall be with her between ten and ele- 
ven ; for at that time the jealous rascally knave, her 
husband, will be forth. Come you to me at night ; 
you shall know how I speed. 

Ford. I am blest iu your acquaintance. Do you 
know Ford, sir 1 

Fal. Hang him, poor cuckoldy knave ! I know 
him not : — yet 1 wrong him to call him poor ; they 
say, the jealous witlclly knave hath masses of mo- 
ney ; for the which his wife seems to me well-fa- 
voured. I will use her as the key of the cuckoldy 
rogue's cofter ; and there's my harvest-home. 

Ford. I would you knew Ford, sir ; that you 
might avoid him, if you saw him. 

Fal. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue ! I 
will stare him out of his wits ; 1 will awe him with 
my cudgel : it shall hang like a meteor o'er the 
cuckold's horns : master Brook, thou shalt know, I 
will predominate o'er the peasant, and thou shalt lie 
with his wife — Come to me soon at night : — Ford's 
a knave, and I will aggravate his stile ; thou master 
Brook, shalt know him for a knave and cuckold : — 
come to me soon at night. [£.i/f. 

Ford. What a damned Epicurean rascal is this ! 
— My heart is ready to crack with impatience. — 
Who says, this is improvident jealousy ? JNIy wife 
hath sent to him, the hour is fixed, the match is 
made. Would any man have thought this.' — See 
the hell of having a false woman ! my bed shall be 
abused, my coffers ransacked, my reputation gnawn 
at ; and I shall not only receive this villanous 
wrong, but stand under the adoption of abominable 
terms, and by him that does me this wrong. Terms ! 

names ! Amaimon sounds well ; Lucifer, well ; 

Barbason, well ; yet they are devils' additions, the 
names of fiends : but cuckold 1 wittol-cuckold, the 
devil himself hath not such a name. Page is an ass, 
a secure ass ! he will trust his wife, he will not be 
jealous ; I will rather trust a Fleming with my 
butter, parson Hugh the Welchman with my cheese, 
an Irishman with my aqua-vitae bottle, or a thief to 
walk my ambling gelding, than my wife with her- 
self : then she plots, then she ruminates, then she 
devises : and what they think in their hearts they 
may effect, they will break their hearts but they will 
effect. Heaven be praised for my jealousy! — Ele- 
ven o'clock the hour ; — I will prevent this, detect 
my wife, be revenged on Falstaff, and laugh at Page. 
I will about it ; better three hours too soon, than a 
minute too late. Fie, fie, fie ! cuckold ! cuckold ! 
cuckold ! [Eiit. 

SCENE III.— Windsor Park. 

Enter Caius and Rugby. 

Cuius. Jack Rugby ! 

Rug. Sir. 

Cuius. Vat is de clock. Jack ? 

Rug. 'Tis past the hour, sir, that sir Hugh pro- 
mised to meet. 

Caius. By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no 
come ; he has pray his Pible veil, dat he is no come : 
by gar. Jack Rugby, he is dead already, if he be 
come. 



72 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



7?!tjj. He is wise, sir ; he knew, your worship 
wouUl kill him, if he came. 

Ctiiiis. By gar, de herring is no dead, so as I vill 
kill him. Take your rapier. Jack; I vill tell you 
Low I vill kill him. 

Bug. Alas, sir, I cannot fence. 

Cuius. Villany, take your rapier. 

Rug. Forbear ; here's company. 

Enter Host, Shallow, Slender, and Page. 

Host. 'Bless thee, bully Doctor. 

Shal. Save you, master doctor Caius. 

Page. Now, good master doctor ! 

Slen. Give you good-morrow, sir. 

Caius. A^atbe all you, one, two, tree, four, come for ? 

Host. To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to see 
thee traverse, to see thee here, to see thee there ; to 
see thee pass thy punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy 
distance, thy montant. Is he dead, my Ethiopian ? 
is he dead, my Francisco 1 ha, bully ! What says 
my /Esculapius ] my Galen? my heart of elder? 
ha ! is he dead, bully Stale 1 is he dead ? 

Cdiiis. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of the 
vorld ; he is not show his face. 

Host. Thou art a Castilian king, Urinal ! Hector 
of Greece, my boy 7 

Cains. Iprayyou, bearvitness that me have stay six 
or seven, two, tree hours for him, and he is no come. 

Shal. He is the wiser man, master doctor: he is 
a curer of souls, and you a curer of bodies; if you 
should fight, you go against the hair of your pro- 
fessions ; is it not ti-ue, master Page ? 

Page. ]\Iaster Shallow, you have yourself been a 
great fighter, though now a man of jieace. 

Shal. liodykins, master Page, though I now be 
old, and of the peace, if I see a sword out, my finger 
itches to make one : though we are justices, and 
doctors, and churchmen, master Page, we have some 
salt of our youth in us ; we are the sons of women, 
master Pag-e. 

Page. 'Tis true, 'master Shallow. 

Shal. It will be found so, master Page. Master 
doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home. I am 
sworn of the peace ; you have shewed yourself a 
wise physician, and sir Hugh hath shewn himself a 
wise and patient churchman : you must go with me, 
master doctor. 

Host. Pardon, guest justice: — A word, monsieur 
Muck-water. 

Caius. Muckvater! vatisdat? 

Host. Muck-water, in our English tongue, is va- 
lour, bully. 

Caius. By gar, then I have as much muck-vater 

as de Englishman: Scurvy jack-dog priest! by 

gar, me vill cut his ears. 

Host. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully. 

Caius. Clapper-de-claw! vat is dat ? 

Hnst. That is, he will make thee amends. 

Cains. By gar, me do look, he shall clapper-de- 
claw me ; for, by gar, me vill have it. 

Host. And I will provoke him to 't, or let him wag. 

Caius. Me tank you for dat. 

Host. And moreover, bully, — But first, master 
guest, and master Page, and eke cavalero Slender, go 
you through the town to Frogmore. [Aside to them. 

Pao-e. Sir Hucfh is there, is he? 

Host. He is there: see what humour he is in; 
and I will bring the doctor about by the fields : will 
it do well ? 

Shal. We will do it. 

Page. Shal. and Slen. Adieu, good master doctor. 
[Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender. 



Cains. By gar, me vill kill de priest ; for he speak 
for a jack-an-ape to Anne Page. 

Host. Let him die : but, first, sheath thy impa- 
tience ; throw cold water on thy choler ; go about 
tlie fields with me through Frogmore ; I will bring 
tliee where mistress Anne Page is, at a farm house, 
a feasting : and thou shalt woo her : Cry'd game, 
said I well ? 

Caitis. By gar, me tank you for dat : by gar, I love 
you ; and I shall procure-a you de good guest, de 
earl, de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, my patients. 

Host. For the which, I will be thy adversary to- 
wards Anne Page ; said I well ? 

Cains. By gar, 'tis good ; veil said. 

Host. Let us wag then. 

Caius. Come at my heels. Jack Rugby. [Exeunt, 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — A Field near Frogmore. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. 

Eva. I pray you now, godd master Slender's serv- 
ing-man, and friend Simple by your name, which way 
have you looked for master Caius, who calls himself 
Doctor of Physic 1 

Sim. Marry, sir, the city-ward, the park-ward, 
every way ; old Windsor way, and every way but 
the town way. 

Eva. I most fehemently desire you, you will also 
look that way. 
Sim. I will, sir. 

Eva. 'Pless my soul ! how full of cholers I am, 
and trempling of mind ! — I shall be glad, if he have 
deceived me : — how melancholies I am ! — I will 
knog his urinals about his knave's costard, when I 
have good opportunities for the 'ork — 'pless my soul. 

[Sings. 
To shallow rivers, to whose falls 
lilelodious birds sing madrigals ; 
There will we make our peds of roses. 
And a thousand fragrant posies. 

To shallow. 

'Mercy on me ! I have a great disposition to cry. 
Melodious birds sing madrigals : 

When as I sat in Pabylon, 

And a thousand vagram posies. 

To shallow 

Sim. Yonder he is coming, this way, sir Hugh. 
Eva. He's welcome : 



To shallov) rivers, to whose falls- 



Ileaven prosper the right! — What weapons is he? 

Sim. No weapons, sir : There comes my master, 
master Shallow, and another gentleman from Frog- 
more, over the stile, this way. 

Eva. Pray you, give me my gown ; or else keep 
it in your arms. 

Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. 

Shal. How now, master parson? Good-morrow, 
good sir Hugh. K'eep a gamester from the dice, and 
a good student fi'om his book, and it is wonderful. 

Slen. Ah, sweet Anne Page ! 

Page. Save you, good sir Hugh ! 

Eva. 'Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you ! 

Shal. What ! #he sword and the word ! do you 
study them both, master parson ? 

Page. And youthful still, in your doublet and 
hose, this raw rheumatic day ? 

Eva, There is reasons and causes for it. 



ACT in— SCENE II. 



7.'j 



Page. We are come to you, to do a good office, 
master parson. 

Eva. Fery well : What is it 1 

Page. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who 
belike, havincr received wrong by some person, is at 
most odds with his own gravity and patience, that 
ever you saw. 

Shul. I have lived fourscore years, and upward ; 
I never heard a man of his place, gravity, and learn- 
ing, so wide of his own respect. 

Eud What is he? 

Vuge. I think you know him ; master doctor Caius, 
the renowned French physician. 

Evu. Got's will, and his passion of my heart ! I 
had as lief you would tell me of a mess of porridge. 

Page. Why 1 

Evu. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates 
and Galen, — and he is a knave besides ; a cowardly 
knave, as you would desires to be acquainted withal. 

Page. 1 warrant you, he's the man should fight 
with him. 

Slen. O, sweet Anne Page ! 

Shal. It appears so, by his weapons : — Keep them 
asunder ; — here comes doctor Caius. 

Enter Host, Caius, and Rugby. 

Page. Nay, good master parson, keep in your 
weapon. 

Shal. So do you, good master doctor. 

Host. Disarm them, and let them question ; let 
them keep their limbs whole, and hack our linglish. 

Cams. I pray you, let-a me speak a word vityour 
ear ; Verefore vill you not meet a-me "! 

Eva. Pray you, use your patience : In good time. 

Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, 
John ape. 

Eva. Pray you, let us not be laughing-stogs to 
other men's humours ; I desire you in friendship, 
and I will one way or other make you amends : — I 
will knog your urinals about your knave's cogscomb, 
for missing your meetings and appointments. 

Caius. Viable ! — Jack Rugby, — mine Host de 
Jarterre, have I not stay for him, to kill him ? have 
I not, at de place 1 did appoints 

Eva. As I am a christians soul, now, look you, 
this is the place appointed ; I'll be judgment by 
mine host of the Garter. 

Host. Peace, I say, Guallia and Gaul, French 
and Welch ; soul-curer and body-curer. 

Caius. Ay, dat is very good ! excellent ! 

Host. Peace, I say ; hear mine host of the Gar- 
ter. Am 1 politic 1 am I subtle ? am I a Machi- 
avel 1 Shall 1 lose my doctor? no ; he gives me the 
potions, and the motions. Shall I lose my parson ? 
my priest f my sir Hugh 1 no : he gives me the 
proverbs and the no- verbs. — Give me thy hand, 
t(:rrestrial ; so : give me thy hand, celestial ; so. 

Boys of art, 1 have deceived you both ; I have 

directed you to wrong places ; your hearts are 
mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt sack be 
the issue. — Come, lay their swords to pawn : — 
Follow me, lad of peace ; follow, follow, follow. 

Shal. Trust me, a mad host: — Follow, gentlemen, 
follow. 

Slen. O, sweet Anne Page ! 

[Exeunt Shallow, Slender, Pace, and Host. 

Caius. Ha! do T perceive dat? have you make-a 
de sot of us ? ha, ha ! 

Era. This is well ; he has made us his vlouting- 
stog. — I desire you, that we may be friends ; and 
let us knog our prains together, to be revenge on this 



same scall, scurvy, cogging companion, the host of 
the Garter. 

Caius. By gar, vit all my heart ; he promise to 
bring me vere is Anne Page ; by gar, he deceive 
me too. 

Eva. Well, I will smite his noddles : — Pray you, 
follow. [JExeunJ 

SCENE 11.— The Street in Windsor. 
Enter Mistress Page and Robin. 

Mrs. Page. Nay, keep your way, little gallant ; 
you were wont to be a follower, but now you are a 
leader : Whether had you rather, lead mine eyes, or 
eye your master's heels 1 

Rob. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a 
man, than follow him like a dwarf. 

Mrs. Page. O, you are a flattering boy ; now, 1 
see, you'll be a courtier. 

'Enter Ford. 

Ford. Well met, mistress Page : Whither go you ? 

Mrs. Page. Truly, sir, to see your wife ; Is she at 
home 1 

Ford. Ay ; and as idle as she may hang together, 
for want of company ; I think, if your husbands 
were dead, you two would marry. 

Mrs. Page. Be sure of that, — two other husbands. 

Ford. Where had you this pretty weather-cock? 

Mrs. Page. I cannot tell what the dickens his 
name is my husband had him of: What do you call 
your knight's name, sirrah? 

Rob. Sir John Falstaff. 

Ford. Sir John FalstafF! 

Mr.";. Page. He, he ; I can never hit on's name. 
— There is such a league between my good man 
and he ! — Is your wife at home, indeed ? 

Ford. Indeed, she is. 

Mrs. Page. By your leave, sir ; — I am sick, till I 
see her. [Eieunt Mrs. Page and Robin. 

Ford. Has Page any brains ? hath he any eyes ? 
hath he any thinking ? Sure, they sleep ; he hath 
no use of them. Why, this boy will carry a letter 
twenty miles, as easy as a cannon will shoot point- 
blank twelve score. He pieces-out his wife's in- 
clination ; he give her folly motion and advantage : 
and now she's going to my wife, and Falstaff' s boy 
with her. A man may hear this shower sing in the 
wind ! — and Falstaff 's boy with her ! — Good plots ! 
— they are laid ; and our revolted wives share dam- 
nation together. Well ; I will take him, then tor- 
ture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of modesty 
from the so seeming mistress Page, divulge Page 
himself for a secure and wilful Actajon ; and to 
these violent proceedings all my neighbours shall 
cry aim. [Ciock strikes.] The clock gives me my 
cue, and my assurance bids me search ; there I shall 
find Falstaff: I shall be rather praised for this, than 
mocked ; for it is as positive as the earth is firm, 
that i'alstaff is there : I will go. 

Enter Page, Shallow, Slender, Host, Sir Hugh 
Evans, Caius, and Rugby. 

Shal. Page, &c. Well met, master Ford. 

Ford. Trust me, a good knot : I have good cheer 
at home ; and, I pray you, all go with me. 

Shal. I must excuse myself, master Ford. 

Slen. And so must I, sir ; we have appointed to 
(line with mistress Anne, and I would not break with 
her for more money than I '11 -speak of. 

Sliul. We have lingered about a match between 
Anne Page and my cousin Slender, and this day we 
[ shall have our answer. 



74 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Slen I hope I have your good will, father Page. 
Page. You have, master Slender; I stand wholly 
for you:— but my wife, master doctor, is for you 
altogether. 

Caius. Ay, by gar ; and the maid is love a-me ; 
mv nursh-a Quickly tell me so mush. 

"Host. What say you to young master Fenton? he 
capers, he dances, he has' eyes of youth, he writes 
veises, he speaks holyday, he smells April and May : 
he will carry 't, he will carry 't ; 'tis in his buttons; 
he will carry 't. 

Page. Not by my consent, I promise you. The 
gentleman is of no having : he kept company with 
the wild Prince and Poins ; he is of too high a re- 
gion, he knows too much. No, he shall not knit a 
knot in his fortunes witli the finger of my substance : 
if he take her, let him take her simply ; the wealth 
I have waits on my consent, and my consent goes : 
not that way. ' | 

Ford. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go 
home with me to dinner : besides your cheer, you 
shall have sport ; 1 will shew you a monster. — Mas- 
ter doctor, you shall go ; — so shall you, master 
Page ; and you, sir Hugh. 

Shal. Well, fare you well: — we shall have the 
freer wooing at master Page's. 

[E.ieant Shallow and Slender. 

Caius. Go home, John Rugby ; 1 come anon. 

l^Eiit Rugby. 

Host. Farewell, my hearts : I will to my honest 
knight Falstaft; and drink canary with him. 

[E.iit Host. 

Ford. [Aside.] I think I shall drink in pipe- 
wine first with him; I'll make him dance. — Will 
you go, gentles 1 

All. Have with you, to see this monster. lExeunt. 

SCENE III. — A Room in Ford's House. 

Enter Mrs. Foud and Mrs. Page. 

Mrs. Ford. What, John ! what, Robert ! 

Mrs. Page. Quickly, quickly : is the buck-basket — 

Mrs. Ford. 1 warrant :— What, Robin, I say. 

Enter Servants, with a basket* 

Mrs. Page. Come, come, come. 

Mrs. Ford. Here, set it down. 

Mrs. P((ge. Give your men the charge ; we must 
be brief. 

Mrs. Ford. Marry, as I told you before, John, and 
Robert, be ready here hard by in the brew- house; and 
when I suddenly call you, come forth, and (without 
any pause, or staggering,) take this basket on your 
shoulders : that done, trudge with it in all haste, 
and carry it among the whitsters in Datchet mead, 
and there empty it in the muddy ditch, close by the 
Thames side. 

Mrs. Page. You will do if? 

Mrs. Ford. I have told them over and over ; they 
lack no direction : Be gone, and come when you 
are called. [ Kie^Ht Servants. 

Mrs. Page, Here comes little Robin. 

Enter Robin. 

Mrs. Ford. How now, my eyas musket? what news 
with youl 

Rob. My master, sir John, is come in at your back- 
door, mistress Ford ; and requests your company. 

Mrs. Page. You little Jack-a-lent, have you been 
true to us 1 

Rob. Ay, I'll be sworn : My master knows not 
of your being here ; and hath threatened to put me 



into everlasting liberty, if I tell you of it; for, he 
swears, he '11 turn me away. 

Mrs Page. Thou 'rt a good boy ; this secrecy of 
thine shall be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee 
a new doublet and hose. — 1 '11 go hide me. 

Mrs. Ford. Do so : — Go tell thy master, I am 
alone. Mistress Page, remember you your cue. 

[Exit Robin. 

Mrs. Page. I warrant thee ; if I do not act it, hiss 
me. [Ej if Mrs. Page. 

Mrs. Ford. Go to then ; we'll use this unwhole- 
some humidity, this gross watery pumplon ; — we'll 
teach him to know turtles from jays. 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? Why, 
now let me die, for I have lived long enough ; this 
is the period of my ambition ; O this blessed hour 1 

Mrs. Ford. O sweet sir John ! 

Fa/. Mrs. Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate, mis- 
tress Ford. Now shall 1 sin in my wish : I would 
thy husband were dead ; I '11 speak it before the best 
lord, 1 would make thee my lady. 

Mrs. Ford. I your lady, sir John ! alas ! I should 
be a pitiful lady. 

Fal. Let the court of France shew me such an- 
other; I see how thine eye would emulate the dia- 
mond: Thou hast the right arched bent of the brow, 
that becomes the ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any 
, tire of Venetian admittance. 

Mrs. Ford. A plain kerchief, sir John : my brows 
become nothing else , nor that well neither. 
I Fal. Thou art a traitor to say so : thou would'st 
make an absolute courtier; and the firm fixture of 
1 thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait, 
in a semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, 
if fortune thy foe were not ; nature is thy friend : 
Come, thou can'st not hide it. 

Mrs. Ford. Relieve me, there's no such thing in me. 

Fal. What made me love thee '! let that peisuade 
thee, there's something extraordinary in thee. Come, 
I cannot cog, and say, thou art this and that, like a 
many of these lisping haw-thorn buds, that come like 
women in men's apparel, and smell like Buckler's- 
bury in simple-time ; I cannot : but 1 love thee ; none 
but thee ; and thou deservest it. 

Mrs Ford. Do not betray me, sir ; I fear, you love 
mistress Page. 

Fal. I'hou might'st as well say, I love to walk by 
the Counter-gate ; whicii is as hateful to me as the 
reek of a lime-kiln. 

Mrs. Ford. Well, heaven knows, how 1 love you ; 
and you shall one day find it. 

Fal. Keep in that mind ; I'll deserve it. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I must tell you, so you do ; or 
else I could not be in that mind. 

Rob. [within.] Rlistress Ford, mistress Ford! 
here 's mistress Page at the door, sweating, and blow- 
ing, and looking wildly, and would needs speak with 
you presently. 

Fal. She shall not see me ; I will ensconce me 
behind the arras. 

Mrs. Ford. Pray you, do so : she's a very tattling 
woman. — [Falstaff liides himself. 

Enter Mistress Page and Robin. 

What's the matter"! how now? 

JlLs. Page. {), mistress Ford, what have you done 7 

You 're sham'd, you are overthrown, you are undone 

for ever. 

Mrs. Ford. What 's the matter, good mistress Page 1 
Mrs. Page. O well-a-day, mistress Fordl having 



ACT III.— SCENE HI- 



TS 



an honest man to your husband, to give him such 
cause of suspicion ! 

Mrs. Ford. What cause of suspicion? 

Mrs. Page. AVhat cause of suspicion 1 — Out upon 
you ! how am I mistook in you 1 

Mrs. Ford. Why, alas ! what's the matter 1 

Mrs. Page. Your husband's coming hither, woman, 
with all the officers in Windsor, to search for a gen- 
tleman, that, he says, is here now in the house, by 
your consent, to take an ill advantage of his absence : 
You are undone. 

Mrs. Ford. Speak louder. — [Aside.l — 'Tis not so, 
I hope. 

Mrs. Page. Pray heaven it be not so, that you 
have such a man here ; but 'tis most certain your 
husband's coming with half Windsor at his heels, to 
search for such a one. I come before to tell you : 
If you know yourself clear, why 1 am glad of it : 
but if you have a friend here, convey, convey him 
out. Be not amazed ; call all your senses to you ; 
defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good 
life for ever. 

Mrs. Ford, What shall I do? — There is a gentle- 
man, my dear friend ; and I fear not mine own shame, 
so much as his peril : I had rather than a thousand 
pound, he were out of the house. 

Mrs. Page. For shame, never^tand you had rather, 
and i/oti had rather ; your husband 's here at hand, 
bethink you of some conveyance : in the house you 
cannot hide him. — O, how have you deceived me ! — 
Look, here is a basket ; if he be of any reasonable 
4 stature, he may creep in here ; and throw foul linen 
upon him, as if it were going to bucking: Or, it is 
whiting time, send him by your two men to Datchet 
mead. 

Mrs. Ford. He 's too big to go in there : What 
shall I do 1 

Re-enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Let me see't, let me see 't ! O let me see't ! 
1 '11 in, I '11 in ; follow youi friend's counsel ; — I'll in. 

Mrs. Page. What! Sir John FalstafF! Are these 
your letters, knight? 

Fal. I love thee, and none but thee ; help me 
away : let me creep in here ; I '11 never — 
^He goes into the basket ; thev cover him with foul linen. 

Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy : Call 
your men, mistress Ford : — You dissembling knight ! 

Mrs. Ford. What John, Robert, John! [Exit 
Robin. Re-enter Servants.] Go take up these 
clothes here, quickly ; where 's the cowl- staff? look, 
how you drumble ; carry them to the laundress in 
Datchet mead ; quickly, come. 

Enter Ford, Page, Cails, and Sir Hugh Evans. 

Ford. Pray you, come near : if I suspect without 
cause, why then make sport at me, then let me be 
your jest ; I deserve it. — How now ? whither bear 
you this ? 

Serv, To the laundress, forsooth. 

Mrs. Ford. Why, what have you to do whither they 
bear it? You were best meddle with buck-washing. 

Ford. Buck! 1 would 1 could wash myself of the 
buck ! Buck, buck, buck ! Ay, buck ; 1 warrant you, 
buck ; and of the season too ; it shall appear. [Exeunt 
Servants with the basket.^ Gentlemen, i have dreamed 
to-night ; I '11 tell you my dream. Here, here, here 
be my keys : ascend my chambers, search, seek, find 
out : I '11 warrant we'll unkennel the fox : — Let me 
stop this way first • — so, now uncai)e. 

Page. Good master Ford be contented : you wrong 
yourself too much. 



Ford. True, master Page. — Up, gentlemen ; you 
shall see sport anon : follow me, gentlemen. [Exit. 

Era. This is fery fantastical humours and jea- 
lousies. 

Cuius. By gar, 'tis no de fashion of France : it is 
not jealous in France. 

Page. Nay, follow him, gentlemen ; see the issue 
of his search. [Exeunt Evans, Page, and Caius. 

Mrs. Page. Is there not a double excellency in this ? 

Mrs. Furd. I know not which pleases me better, 
that my husband is deceived, or Sir John. 

Mrs. Page. What a taking was he in, when your 
husband asked what was in the basket ! 

Mrs. Ford. I am half afraid he will have need of 
washing ; so throwing him into the water will do him 
a beneht. 

Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal' I would 
all of the same strain were in the same distress. 

Mrs. Ford. 1 think my husband hath some special 
suspicion of Falstaff 's being here ; for I never saw 
him so gross in his jealousy till now. 

Mrs Page. I will lay a plot to try that : And we 
will yet have more tricks with Falstaff: his dissolute 
disease will scarce obey this medicine. 

Mrs. Ford. Shall we send that foolish carrion, mis- 
tress Quickly, to him, and e.xcuse his throwing into 
the water ; and give him another hope, to betray him 
to another punishment ] 

Mrs. Page. We'll do it ; let him be sent for to- 
morrow eight o'clock, to have amends. 

Re-enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. 

Ford. I cannot find him : may be the knave bragg- 
ed of that he could not compass. 

Mrs. Page. Heard you that ? 

Mrs. Ford. [Aside.] Ay, ay, 
me well, master Ford, do you ? 

Ford. -'V.y, I do so. 

Mrs. Ford. Heaven make you better than your 
thoughts ! 

Ford. Amen. 

Mrs. Page. You do yourself mighty wrong, mas- 
ter Ford. 

Ford. Ay, ay, I must bear it. 

Eva. If there be any pody in the house, and in the 
chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses, 
heaven forgive my sins at the day of judgment ! 

Caius. By gar, nor I too ; dere is no bodies. 

Page. Fie, fie, master Ford ! are you not ashamed? 
What spirit, what devil suggests this imagination ? 
I would not have your distemper in this kind, for the 
wealth of Windsor Castle. 

Ford. 'Tis my fault, master Page : I suffer for it. 

Eva. You suffer for a pad conscience : your wife 
is as honest a 'omans, as 1 will desires among five 
thousand, and five hundred too. * 

Caius. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman. 

Ford. Well ; — I promised you a dinner : — Come, 
come, walk in the park: I pray you, pardon me; I 
will hereafter make known to you, why I have done 
tliis. — Come, wife ; — come, mistress Page ; I pray 
you, pardon me ; pray heartily, pardon me. 

Page. Let's go in, gentlemen ; but, trust me, we'll 
mock him. I do invite you to-morrow morning to 
my house to breakfast ; after, we'll a birding toge- 
ther ; 1 have a fine hawk for the bush : Shall it be so ? 

Ford. Any thing. 

Era. If there' is one, I shall make two in the 
company. 

Caius. If there be one or tw'o, I shall make-a de 
turd. 

Era. In your teeth : for shame. 



[Aside to Mrs. F. 
peace : — You use 



76 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Fiird. Prav jou go, master Page. 

Eva. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow on 
the lousy knave, mine host. 

Cains. Dat is good ; by gar, vit al! my heart. 

Eva. A lousy knave ; to have his gibes and his 
mockeries. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A Boom ni Page's House. 
Enter Ffntox and Mistress Anne Page. 

Fent. I see, I cannot get thy father's love ; 
Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. 

Anne. Alas! how then 1 

Fent. Why, thou must be thyself. 

He doth object, I am too great of birth ; 
And that, my state being gall'd with my expence, 
I seek to heal it only by his wealth : 

Besides these, other bars he lays before me, 

My riots past, my wild societies ; 
And tells me, 'tis a thing iq^possible 
I should love thee, but as a property. 

Anne. May be, he tells you true. 

Fent. No, heaven so speed me in my time to come ! 
Albeit, I will confess, thy father's wealth 
Was the first motive that 1 woo'd thee, Anne : 
Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value 
Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags ; 
And 'tis the very riches of thyself 
That now I aim at. 

Anne. Gentle master Fenton, 

Yet seek my father's love ; still seek it, sir : 
If opportunity and humblest suit 
Cannot attain it, why then. — Hfirk you hither. 

[They converse apart. 

Enter Shallow, Slender, and Mrs. Quickly. 

Shal. Break their talk, mistress Quickly ; my kins- 
man shall speak for himself. 

Slen. I'll make a shaft or a bolt on't: slid, 'tis but 
venturing. 

Shal. Be not dismay'd. 

Slen. No, she shall not dismay me : I care not for 
that, — but that I am afeard. 

Quick. Hark ye; master Slender would speak a 
word with you. 

Anne. 1 come to him. — This is my father's choice. 
O, what a world of vile ill-favoured faults 
Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year ! 

[Aside. 

Quick. And how does good master Fenton 1 Pray 
you, a word with you. 

Shal. She's coming ; to her, coz. boy, thou 
hadst a father ! 

Slen. I had a father, mistress Anne ; — my uncle 
can tell you good jests of him: — Pray you, uncle, 
tell mistress Anne the jest, how my father stole two 
geese out of a pen, good uncle. 

Shal. jRstress Anne, my cousin loves you. 

Slen. Ay, that I do ; as well as 1 love any woman 
in Gloucestershire. 

Shal. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman. 

Slen. Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, under 
the degree of a 'squire. 

Shut. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds 

jointure. 

Anne. Good master Shallow, let him woo for him- 
self. 

Shal. Marry, T thank you for it ; I thank you for 
that good comfort. Slia calls you coz : I'll leave you. 

Anne. Now, master Slender. 

Sien. Now, good mistress Anne. 

Anne. What is your will ? 

Slen. My will ? "od's heartlings, that's a pretty jest, 



indeed ! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven ; 
I am not such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise. 

Anne. 1 mean, master Slender, what would you 
with me 1 

Slen. Truly, for mine own part, I would little or 
nothing with you : Your father, and my uncle, have 
made motions: if it be my luck, so : if not, happy 
man be his dole ! They can tell you how things go, 
better than I can : You may ask your father ; here 
he comes. 

Enter-FAGE and Mistress Page. 

Page. Now, master Slender : — Love him, daugh- 
ter Anne. — 
Why, how now ! what does master Fenton here 1 
You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house : 
I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of. 

Fent. Nay, master Page, be not impatient. 

Mrs. Page. Good master Fenton, come not to my 
child. 

Page. She is no match for you. 

Fent- Sir, will you hear me 1 

Page, No, good master Fenton. 

Come, master Shallow ; come, son Slender ; in : — 
Knowing my mind, you wrong me, master Fenton. 
[Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender. 

Quick. Speak to mistress Page. [daughter, 

Fent. Good mistitss Page, for that I love your 
In such a righteous fashion as I do. 
Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners, 
I must advance tiie colours of my love, 
And not retire : Let me have your good will. 

Anne. Good mother, do not marry me to yond' fool. * 

Mrs. Page. I mean it not ; I seek you a better 
husband. 

Quick. That's my master, master doctor. 

Anne. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' the earth, 
And bowl'd to death with turnips. 

Mrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself : Good 
master Fenton, 
I will not be your friend, nor enemy : 
My daughter will I question how she loves you, 
And as I find her, so am I affected ; 
'Till then, farewell, sir : — She must needs go in ; 
Her father will be angry. 

[Exeunt Mrs. Pace and Anne. 

Fent. Farewell, gentle mistress ; farewell, Nan. 

Quick. This is my doing now ; — Nay, said I, will 
you cast away your child on a fool, and a physician] 
Look on master Fenton : — this is my doing. 

Fent. I thank thee ; and 1 pray thee, once to-night 
Give my sweet Nan this ring : There's for thy pains. 

[Exit. 

Quick. Now heaven send thee good fortune ! A 
kind heart he hath : a woman would run through fire 
and water for such a kind heart. But yet, 1 would 
my master had mistress Anne ; or I would master 
Slender had her ; or, in sooth, I would master Fen- 
ton had her : I will do what I can for them all three ; 
for so I have promised, and I'll be as good as my 
word ; but speciously for master Fenton. Well, I 
must of another errand to sir John Falstaff from my 
two mistresses ; What a beast am I to slack it ? 

[Exit 

SCENE V. — A Room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Falstaff and Baruolph. 
Fal. Bardolph, I say, — 
Bard. Here, sir. 

Fal. Go fetch me a quart of sack ; put a toast in't. 
[ Exit IVuii).] Have I lived to be carried in a basket, 
like a barrow of butcher's otfal ; and to be thrown 




'-^, /'.'iJ.sS^ 



'<- Cu^cl 



J- '/inDER^ 



v:i ^'^■■ 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Falstaff, The rogues slighted me into the river with as little 
remorse as they would have drowned a bitch's hlind puppies. 

Act 111 , Scene 6. 



ACT III. -SCENE V. 



77 



into the Thames'! Well, if I be served such another 
trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out, and butter'd, and 
give them to a dog for a new year's gift. The rogues 
slighted me into the river with as little remorse as 
they would have drown'd a bitch's blind puppies, 
fifteen i' the litter : and you may know by my size, 
that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking ; if the bot- 
tom were as deep as hell, I should down. I had 
been drowned, but that the shore was shelvy and 
shallow ; a death that I abhor,; for the water swells 
a man ; and what a thing should I have been, when 
I had been swelled ! 1 should have been a mountain 
of mummy. 

Re-enter Bardolph, with the wine. 

Bard. Here's mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with 
you. 

Fid. Come, let me pour in some sack to the 
Thames water ; for my belly 's as cold as if I had 
swallowed snow-balls for pills to cool the reins. Call 
her in. 

Bard. Come in, woman. 

Enter Mrs, Quickly. 

Quick. By your leave; I cry you mercy: Give 
your worship good-morrow. 

Fal. Take away these chalices : Go, brew me a 
bottle of sack finely. 

Bard. With egofs, sir? 

Fal. Simple of itself; I'll no pullet-sperm in my 
brewage. — [Exit Bardolph.] — How n«w "! 

Quick. JNIarry, sir, I come to your worship from 
mistress Ford. 

Fal. JMistress Ford ! I have had ford enough : I 
was thrown into the ford : I have my belly full of ford. 

Quick, Alas the dav! good heart, that was not her 
fault ; she does so take on with her mea ; they mis- 
took their erection. 

Fal. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish wo- 
man's promise. 

Quick. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would 
yearn your heart to see it. Her husband goes this 
morning a birding ; she desires you once more to 
come to her between eight and nine ; I must carry 
her word quickly : she'll make you amends, 1 war- 
rant you. 

Fal. Well, I will visit her : Tell her so ; and bid 
her think what a man is : let her consider his frailty, 
and tlien judge of my merit. 

Quick. 1 will tell her. 

Fat. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st thoul 

Quick. Eight and nine, sir. 

Fal. Well, be gone : I will not miss her. 

Quick. Peace be with you, sir. [Erit. 

Fal. I marvel, 1 hear not of master Brook ; he sent 
me word to stay within ; I like his money well. O 
here he comes. 

Enter Ford. 

Ford. Bless you, sir! 

Fal. Now, master Brook 1 you come to know what 
hath passed between me and Ford's wife. 

Ford. That, indeed, sir John, is my business. 

Fat. Master Brook, I will not lie to you ; I was 
at her house the hour she appointed me. 

Ford. And how sped you, sir 1 

Fal. Very ill- favouredly, master Brook. 

Ford. How so, sir 1 Did she change her deter- 
mination ? 

Fal. No, master Brook ; but the peaking cornuto 
her husband, master Brook, dwelling in a continual 
'larum of jealousy, comes me in the instant of our 
encounter, after we had embraced, kissed, protested. 



and, as it were, spoke the prologue of our comedy ; 
and at his heels a rabble of his companions, thitlier 
prdvoked and instigated by his distemper, and for- 
sooth, to search his house for his wife's love. 
Ford. What, while you were there ? 
Fal. While 1 was there. 

Ford. And did he search for you and could not 
find you 1 

Fal. You shall hear. As good luck would have 
it, comes in one mistress Page ; gives intelligence of 
Ford's approach ; and, by her invention and Ford's 
wife's distraction, they conveyed me into a buck- 
basket. 

Ford, A buck -basket ! 

Fal. By the Lord, a buck-basket : rammed me in 
with foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, 
and greasy napkins ; that, master Brook, there was 
the rankest compound of villanous smell, that ever 
offended nostril. 

Ford. And how long lay you there 1 
Fal. Nay, you shall heai, master Brook, what I 
have suffered to bring this woman to evil for your 
good. Being thus crammed in the basket, a couple 
of Ford's knaves, his hinds, were called forth by their 
mistress, to carry me in the name of foul clothes to 
Datchet-lane : they took me on their shoulders ; met 
the jealous knave their master in the door ; who asked 
them once or twice what they had in tlieir basket: I 
quaked for fear, lest the lunatic knave would have 
searched it; but fate, ordaining he should be a cuck- 
old, held his hand. Well : on went he for a search, 
and away went I for foul clothes. But mark the 
sequel, master Brook: I suffered tlie pangs of three 
several deaths : first an intolerable fright, to be de- 
tected with a jealous rotten bell-wether: next, to be 
compassed, like a good bilbo, in the circumference 
of a peck, hilt to point, heel to head : and tlien, to 
be stopped in, like a strong distillation, with stinking 
clothes that fretted in their own grease : tliink of that, 
— a man of my kidney, — think of that : that -am as 
subject to heat, as butter ; a man of continual dis- 
solution and thaw ; it was a miracle, to 'scape suffo- 
cation. And in the height of this bath, when 1 was 
more than half stewed in grease, like a Dutch dish, 
to be thrown into the Thames, and cooled, glowing 
hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe ; think of that, 
— hissing hot, — think of that, master Brook. 

Ford. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my 
sake you have suft'ered all this. Rly suit then is 
desperate; you'll undertake her no more. 

Fal. Master Brook, I will be thiiown into Etna, 
as I have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. 
Her husband is this morning gone a birding: I have 
received from her another embassy of meeting ; 'twi.-it 
eight and nine is the hour, master Brook. 
Ford. 'Tis past eight already, sir. 
Fal. Is it ? I will then address me to my appoint- 
ment. Come to me at your convenient leisure, and 
you shall know how I speed ; and the conclusion 
shall be crowned with your enjoying her: Adieu. 
You shall have her, masterBrook ; master Brook, you 
shall cuckold Ford. [Exit. 

Ford. Hum! ha! is this a vision 1 is this a dream ? 
do I sleep 1 Master Ford, awake ; awake, master 
Ford ; there's a hole made in your best coat, master 
Ford. This 'tis to be married ! this 'tis to have linen, 
and buck-baskets ! — Well, I will proclaim myself 
what I am : I will now take the lecher; he is at my 
house : he cannot 'scape me ; 'tis impossible he 
should ; he cannot creep into a half-])ennv purse, nor 
into a pepper-box ; but, lest the devil that guides 
him should aid him, I will search impossible places. 



78 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Thougli what I aiu I cannot avoid, yet to be what I 
would not, shall not make me tame: if I have horns 
to make one mad, let the proverb go with me,^ '11 
be horn mad. [£xjt. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— The Street. 
Enter Mrs. Pace, Mrs. Quickly, and Wii.i.iam. 

Mrs. Page. Is he at master Ford's already, think'st 
thou ? 

Quick. Sure he is by this ; or will be presently : 
but truly he is very courageous mad, about his 
throwing into the water. JMistress Ford desires you 
to come suddenly. 

Mrs. Page. I'll be with her by and by ; I'll but 
bring my young man here to school ; Look, where 
his master comes ; 'tis a playing day, I see. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 
How now, sir High ? no school to-day ■? 

Eva. No ; master Slender is let the boys leave to 
play. 

Quick. Blessing of his heart ! 

Mrs. Page. Sir Hugh, my husband says, my son 
profits nothing in the world at his book ; I pray you, 
ask him some questions in his accidence. 

Eva. Come hither, William ; hold up your head ; 
come. 

Mrs. Page. Come on, sirrah ; hold up your head ; 
answer your master, be not afraid. 

Eva. William, how many numbers is in nouns'' 

Will. Two. 

Quirk. Truly, I thought there had been one num- 
ber more ; because they say, od's nouns. 

Eva. Peace your tattlings. What h fair, Wil- 
liam 1 

Will. Pulcher. 

Quick. Poulcats I there are fairer things than 
poulcats, sure. 

Eva. You are a very simplicity 'oman ; I pray 
you, peace. A\'hat is lapis, William '? 

Will. A stone. 

Eva. And what is a stone, William? 

WiU. A pebble. 

Eva. No, It is lapis; I pray you remember in 
your prain. 

Will. Lapis. 

Eva. That ig good, William. What is he, Wil- 
liam, that does lend articles? 

]Vill. Articles are borrowed of tiie pronoun ; and 
be thus declined, Singuluriter, 7wminativo, hie, htcc, 
hoc. 

Eva. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog; — pray you, 
mark : genitivo, hnjtis : Well, what is your accusa- 
tive case ? 

WiU. Accusativo, hinc. 

Eva. I pray you, have your remembrance, child ; 
Accusiitivo, hiiig, hatig, hog. 

Quick. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I warrant 
you. 

Eva. Leave your prabbles, 'oman. What is the 
focative case, \Villiam ! 

Will. O — vocativo, O. 

Eva. Remember, William, focative is caret. 

Quick. And that's a good root. 

Eva. 'Oman, forbear. 

Mrs, Page. Peace. 

Eva. What is your genitive case, plural, William ; 

Will. Genitive easel 



Eva. Ay. 

Will. Genitive, — horum, harum, hortim. 

Quick. 'Vengeance of Jeiint/'s case ! fie on her ! 
— never name her child, if she be a whore. 

Eva. For shame, 'oman. 

Quick. You do ill to teach the child such words: 
he teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll do 
fast enough of themselves, and to call horum . — fie 
upon you ! 

Eva. 'Oman, art thou lunatics ? hast thou no un- 
derstandings for thy cases, and the numbers of the 
genders ? Thou art as foolish christian creatures as 
1 would desires. 

Mrs. Page. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace. 

Eva. Shew me now, William, some declensions 
of your pronouns. 

Will. Forsooth, I have forgot. 

Eva. It is ki, kie, cod ; if you forget your kies, 
your kcEs, and your cods, you must be preeches. Go 
your ways, and play, go. 

Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar than I thought 



a good sprag memory. Farewell, 



he was 

Eva. He is 
mistress Pag-e. 

Mrs. Page. Adieu, good sir Hugh. [Eiit Sir 
Hugh.] Get you home, boy. — Come, we stay too 
'o"g- iEieunt. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Ford's House. 
Enter Falstaff and BIrs. Ford. 
Fat. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up 
my sufferance : I see, you are obsequious in your 
love, and I profess reciuital to a hair's breadth ; not 
only, mistress Ford, in the simple office of love, but 
in all the accoutrement, complement, and ceremony 
of it. But are you sure of your husband no\ " 



He's a birding, sweet Sir John. 
[Within.] What hoa, gossip Ford ! 



Mrs. Ford. 
Mrs. Page. 
what hoa ! 

Mrs. Ford. Step into the chamber, sir John. 

[Exit Falstaff. 
Enter Mrs. Page. 

Mrs. Page. How now, sweetheart ? who 's at home 
beside yourself? 

Mrs. Ford. Why, none but mine own people. 

Mrs. Page. Indeed ? 

Mrs. Ford. No, certainly ; — speak louder. [Aside. 

Mrs. Page. Truly, 1 am so glad you have nobody 
here. 

Mrs. Ford. Why ? 

Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in his 
old lunes again : he so takes on yonder with my 
hus-band ; so rails against all married mankind • so 
curses all Eve's daughters, of what complexion so- 
ever ; and so buffets himself on the forehead, cry- 
ing Peer-out, peer-out ! that any madness, I ever yet 
beheld, seemed but tameness, civility, and patience, 
to this his distemper he is in now : I am glad the 
fat knight is not here, 

Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him ? 

Mrs. Page. Of none but him ; and swears, he 
was carried out, the last time he searched for him, 
in a basket : protests to my husband, he is now here ; 
and hath drawn him and the rest of their company 
from their sport, to make another experiment of his 
suspicion ; but I am glad the knight is not here ; 
now he shall see his own foolery. 

Mrs. Ford. How near is he, mistress Page ? 

Mrs. Page. Hard by ; at street end ; he will be 
here anon. 

Mrs. Ford. I am undone ! — the knight is here. 



'ACT IV.— SCENE II. 



79 



Mrs. Page. Why then you are utterly ashamed, 
and he's but a dead man. What a woman are you ? 
— Away with him, away with him ; better shame 
than murder. 

Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go 1 how should 
I bestow him 1 Shall I put him into the basket 
again ] 

Re-enter Fai.staff. 

Fal. No, I'll come no more i'the basket: May I 
not go out ere he come 1 

Mrs. Fa<^e. Alas, three of master Ford's brothers 
watch the door with pistols, that none shall issue 
out ; otherwise you might slip away ere he came. 
But what make you here ! 

Fal. What shall I do"! — I'll creep up into the 
chimney. 

Mrs. Ford. There they always used to discharge 
their birding pieces : Creep into the kiln-liole. 

Fal. Where is iti 

Mrs. Ford. He will seek there, on my word. Nei- 
ther press, cofter, chest, trunk, well, vault, but lie 
hath an abstract for the remembrance of such places, 
and goes to them by his note : There is no hiding 
you in the house. 

Fal. I '11 go out then. 

Mrs. P(is,e. If you go out in your owrt semblance, 
you die, sir John. Unless you go out disguised, — 

Mrs. Ford, How might we disguise him : 

Mrs. Page. Alas the day, I know not. There is 
no woman's gown big enough for him ; otherwise, he 
might put on a hat, a m\iffler, and a kerchief, and so 
escape. 

Fal. Good hearts, devise something: any extre- 
mity, rather than a mischief. 

Mrs. Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman of 
Brentford, has a gown above. 

Mrs. Page. On my word, it will serve him ; she's 
as big as he is : and there 's her thrum'd hat, and 
her muffler too : Run up, sir John. 

Mrs. Ford. Go, go, sweet sir John : mistress Page, 
and I, will look some linen for your head. 

Mrs. Page. Quick, quick ; we '11 come dress you 
straight : put on the gown the while. 

[Exit Falstaff. 

Mrs. Ford. I would, my husband would meet him 
in this shape : he cannot abide the old woman of 
Brentford ; he swears, she 's a witch ; forbade her 
my house, and hath threatened to beat her. 

Mrs. Page. Heaven guide him to thy husband's 
cudgel ; and tlie devil guide his cudgel afterwards ! 

Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming ? 

Mrs. Page. Ay, in good sadness, is he ; and he 
talks of the basket too, howsoever he hath had in- 
telligence. 

Mrs. Ford. We '11 try that ; for I '11 appoint my 
men to carry the basket again, to meet him at the 
door wiih it, as they did last time. 

Mrs. Page. Nay, but he'll be here presently : let's 
go dress him like the witch of Brentford. 

Mrs. Ford. I '11 first direct my men, what they 
shall do with the basket. Go up, I'll bring linen for 
him straight. [Eiit. 

Mrs.'Pagfi Hang him, dishonest varlet ' we can- 
not misuse him enough. 
We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do, 
Wives may be merry, and yet honest too : 
We do not act, that often jest and laugh ; 
'Tis old but true, 6till swine eat all thedrajf', [Exit. 

Re-enter Mrs. Ford, with two Servants. 
Mrs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on your 



shoulders ; your master is hard at door ; if he 
bid you set it down, obey him : cjuickly, dispatch. 

[Exit. 

1 Serv. Come, come, take it up. 

2 Serv. Pray heaven, it be not full of the knight 
again. 

1 Serv. I hope not ; I had as lief bear so much 
lead. 

Enter Ford, Paoe, Shallow, Caius, and 
Sir Hugh Evans. 

Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, master Page, have 
you any way then to unfool me again 1 — Set down 

the basket, villain : — Somebody call my wife : 

You, youth in a basket, come out here! — O, you 
panderly rascals ! there's a knot, a ging, a pack, a 
conspiracy against me : Now shall the devil be 
shamed. What ! wife, I say I come, come forth ; be- 
hold what honest clothes you send forth to bleaching. 

Pao-e. Why, this passes ! Master Ford, you are not 
to go loose any longer ; you must be pinioned. 

Em. Why, this is lunatics ! this is mad as a mad 
dog ! 

Shal. Indeed, master Ford, this is not well ; in- 
deed. 

Enter Mrs. Ford. 

Ford. So say I too, sir. — Come hither, mistress 
Ford ; mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest 
wife, the virtuous creature, that hath the jealous fool 
to her husband I — I suspect without cause, mistress, 

do n 

Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness, you do, if you 
suspect me in any dishonesty. 

Ford. Well said, brazen-face; hold it out. 

Come forth, sirrah. 

[Palls the clothes out of the basket. 

Page, This passes ! 

Mrs. Ford. Are you not ashamed 1 let the clothes 
alone. 

Ford. I shall find you anon. 

Eva, 'Tis unreasonable ! Will you take up your 
wife's clothes 1 Come away. 

Ford. Empty the basket, I say. 

Mrs. Ford. Why, man, why, — 

Ford. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one 
conveyed out of my house yesterday in this basket : 
Why may not he be there ac:ain t In my house I am 
sure he is : my intelligence is true ; my jealousy is 
reasonable : Pluck me out all the linen. 

Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there, he shall die a 
flea's death. 

Page. Here's no man. 

Shal. By my fidelity, this is not well, mastei 
Ford ; this wrongs you. 

Em. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow 
the imaginations of your own heart : this is jea- 
lousies. 

Ford- Well, he's not here, I seek for. 

Page. No, nor no where else, but in your brain. 

Ford. Help to search my house this one time ; if 
I find not what I seek, shew no colour for my extre- 
mity, let me for ever be your table-sport ; let them 
say of me. As jealous as Ford, that searched a hollow 
walnut for his wife's leman. Satisfy me once more ; 
once more search with me. 

Mrs. Fo7-d. What hoa, mistress Page ! come you, 
and the old woman, down ; my husband will come 
into the chamber. 

Ford. Old woman ! What old woman's that ? 

Mrs. Ford. Why, it is my maid's aunt of Brentford. 

Ford, A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean ! 



80 



MERRY WIVES OF WINt)SOR. 



Have I not forbid her my house 1 She comes of 
errands, does she ? We are simple men ; we do not 
know what's brought to pass under the profession of 
fortune-telling. She works by channs, by spells, by 
the figure, and such daubery as this is ; beyond our 

element : we know nothing. Come down, you 

witch, you hag you ; come down, I say. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband ; — good 
gentlemen, let him not strike the old woman. 

Enter Fai.staff in women s clothes, led by Mrs. Page. 

Mrs. Page. Come, mother Prat, come, give me your 
baud. 

Ford. I'll prat her: Out of my door, you 

witch, [heats /iim.] you rag, you baggage, you pole- 
cat, you ronyon ! out! out! I'll conjure you, I'll 
fortune-tell you. [_K.iit Falstaff. 

Mrs. Page. Are you not ashamed ! I think, you 
have killed the poor woman. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, he will do it : — 'Tis a goodly 
credit for you. 

Ford. Hang her, witch I 

Eva. By yea and no, I think, the 'oman is a witch 
indeed : 1 like not when a 'oman has a great peard ; 
I spy a great peard under her muffler. 

Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen] I beseech you, 
follow ; see but the issue of my jealousy ; if 1 cry out 
thus upon no trail, never trust me when I open again. 

Page. Let's obey his humour a little further: 
Come, gentlemen. 

[Exeunt Page, Ford, Shallow, and Evans 

Mrs. Page, Trust me, he beat him most pitifully. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did not; he 
beat him most unpitifully, methought. 

Mrs. Page. I'll have the cudgel hallowed, and 
hung o'er the altar ; it hath done meritorious service. 

Mrs. Ford. What think you"! May we, with the 
warrant of womanhood, and the witness of a good 
conscience, pursue him with any further revenge 1 

Mrs. Page. The spirit of wantonness is, sure, scared 
out of him ; if the devil have him not in fee-simple, 
with fine and recovery, he will never, 1 think, in the 
way of waste^ attempt us as^ain. 

Mrs. Ford, Shall we tell our husbands how we have 
served him"? 

Mrs. Page. Yes, by all means ; if it be but to scrape 
the figures out of your husband's brains. If they 
can find in their hearts, the poor unvirtuous fat knight 
shall be any further afflicted, we two will still be the 
ministers. 

Mrs. Ford. I'll warrant, they'll have him publicly 
shamed ; and, methinks, there would be no period to 
the jest, should he not be publicly shamed. 

Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge with it then, shape 
it : I would not have things cool. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— ^ Room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Host and Bardolph. 

Bard. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of 
your horses : the duke himself will be to-morrow at 
court, and they are going to meet him. 

Host. What duke should that be, comes so secretly? 
I hear not of him in the court : Let me speak with the 
gentlemen ; they speak English 1 

Bard. Ay, sir; I'll call them to you. 

Host. They shall have my horses ; but I '11 make 
them pay, I '11 sauce them : they have had my houses 
a week at command ; I have turned away my other 
guests : they must comeofF; I'll sauce them : Come. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE IV.— ^ Room in Ford's House. 

Enter Page, Ford, Mrs. Page, Mrs. Foni>, and 
Sir Hugh Evans. 

Eva. 'Tis one of the pest discretions of a 'oman as 
ever I did look upon. 

Page. And did he send you both these letters at an 
instant 1 

Mrs. Page. Within a quarter of an hour. 

Ford. Pardon me, wife : Henceforth do what thou 
I rather will suspect the sun with cold, [wilt ; 

Than thee with wantonness : now doth thy honour 
In him that was of late an heretic, [stand, 

As firm as faith. 

Page. 'Tis well, 'tis well ; no more 

Be not as Extreme in submission. 
As in oflfence ; 

But let our plot go forward : let our wives 
Yet once again, to make us public sport. 
Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow. 
Where we may take him, and disgrace him for it. 

Ford. There is no better way than that they spoke 
of. 

Page. How ! to send him word they'll meet him in 
the park at midnight ; fie, fie ; he'll never come. 

Eva. You say, he has been thrown into the rivers ; 
and has been grievously peaten, as an old 'oman ; 
methinks, there should be terrors in him, that he 
should not come ; methinks, his flesh is punished, 
he shall have no desires. 

Page. So think I too. 

Mrs. Ford. Devise but how you'll use him when he 
And let us two devise to bring him thither, [comes, 

Mrs. Page. There is an old tale goes, that Heme 
the hunter, 
Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest, 
Doth all the winter time, at still midnight. 
Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns ; 
And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle ; 
And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain 
In a most hideous and dreadful manner : 
You have heard of such a spirit; and well you know, 
The superstitious idle-headed eld 
Received, and did deliver to our age. 
This tale of Heme the hunter for a truth. 

Page. Why, yet there want not many, that do fear 
In deep of night to walk by this Heme's oak : 
But what of this 1 

Mrs. Ford. Marry, this is our device ; 
That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us. 
Disguised like Heme, with huge horns on his head. 

Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come. 
And in this shape: When you have brought him 

thither. 
What shall be done with him ? what is your plot 1 

Mrs. Page. That likewise have we thought upon 
and thus : 
Nan Page my daughter, and my little son. 
And three or four more of their grcvvth, we'll dress 
Like urchins, ouphes, and fairies, green and white, 
With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads. 
And rattles in their hands ; upon a sudden, 
As Falstaff, she, and I, are newly met. 
Let them from forth a saw-pit rush at onctf 
With some difl'used song ; upon their sight, 
^Ve two in great amazedness will fly : 
Then let them all encircle him about, 
And fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight ; 
And ask him, why, that hour of fairy revel, 
In their so sacred paths he dares to tread. 
In shape profane. 

Mrs. Fo^-d And till he tell the truth. 



ACT IV.— SCENE V. 



01 



r>et the supposed fairies pincli him sound, 
And burn him with their tapers. 

Mrs. Puge. 'Ihe tnilh being known, 

We 'il all present ourselves ; dis-horn the spirit, 
And mock him home to Windsor. 

Fard. 1 he children must 

Be practised well to this, or they'll ne'er do't. 

Eva. I will teach the children their behaviours ; 
and I will be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the 
knight with my taber. 

Ford. That will be excellent. I'll go buy them 
vizards. 

Mrs. Page. My Nan shall be the queen of all the 
Finely attired in a robe of white. [fairies, 

I'age. That silk will I go buy ; — and in that time 
Shall master Slender steal my Nan away, \^Aside. 

And marry her at Eton. Go, send to Falstaff 

straight. 

Ford. Nay, Til to him again, in name of Brook ; 
He'll tell me all his purpose : Sure, he'll come. 

Mrs, Page. Fear not you that : Go, get us properties, 
And tricking for our fairies. 

Eva. Let us about it : It is admirable pleasures, 
and fery honest knaveries. 

[^Eieunt Pace, Ford, and Evans. 

Mrs. Page. Go, mistress Ford, 
Send quickly to sir John, to know his mind. 

[Exit Mrs. Ford. 
I'll to the doctor ;.he hath my good will, 
And none but he, to marry with Nan Page. 
That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot ; 
And he my husband best of all affects : 
The doctor is well money'd, and his friends 
Potent at court ; he, none but he, shall have her. 
Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her. 

[Exit. 

SCENE V. — A Room in the Garter Inn. 

Enter Host and Simple. 

Host. What would'st thou have, boor? what, thick- 
skin ? speak, breathe, discuss ; brief, short, quick,."' 
snap. 

Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with sir John 
Falstaff from master Slender. 

Host. There's his chamber, his house, his castle, 
his standing-bed, and truckle-bed ; 'tis painted about 
with the story of the prodigal, fresh and new: Go, 
knock and call ; he'll speak like an Antlu-opophagi- 
nian unto thee : Knock, I say. 

Sim. There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone up 
into his chamber ; I'll be so bold as stay, sir, till she 
come down ; I come to speak with her, indeed. 

Host. Ha ! a fat woman ! the knight may be 
robbed : I'll call. — Bully knight ! Bully sir John ! 
speak from thy lungs military : Art thou there"! it is 
thine host, thine Ephesian, calls. 

Fal. [aftoce.] How now, mine host? 

Host. Here's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the com- 
ing down of thy fat woman ; Let her descend, bully, 
let her descend ; my chambers are honourable! Fye : 
privacy 1 fye ! 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. There was, mine host, an old fat woman, even 
now with me ; but she's gone. 

Sim. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman of 
Brentford I 

Fal. Ay, marry, was it, muscle-shell ; What would 
you with her 1 

Sim. My master, sir, ny master Slender, sent to 
her, seeing her go through the streets, to know, sir, 
whether one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a chain, 
Lad the ciiain, or no. 



Fat. I spake with the old woman about it. 

Sim. And what says she, I pray, sir ? 

Fal. Marry, she says, that the very same man, that 
beguiled master Slender of his chain, cozened him 
of it. 

Sim. I would, I could have spoken with the woman 
herself ; I had other things to have spoken with her 
too, from him. 

Fal. What are they ? let us know. 

Host. Ay, come ; quick. 

Sim. I may not conceal them, iir. 

Fal. Conceal them, or thou diest. 

Sim. Why, sir, they are nothing but about mis- 
tress Anne Page ; to know if it were my master's 
fortune to have her, or no. 

Fal. 'Tis, 'tis his foitune. 

67m. What, sir 1 

Fal. To have her, — or no : Go ; say, the woman 
told me so. 

Sim, May I be so bold to say so, sir"! 

Fal. Ay, sir Tike ; who more bold 1 

Sim. I thaiik your worship: I shall make my mas- 
ter glad with these tidings. [F.tit Simple, 

Host. Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, sir John : 
Was there a wise woman with thee ? 

Fal. Ay, that tliere was, mine host ; one that hath 
taught me more wit than ever I learned before in my 
life: and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid 
for my learning. 

Enter Bardolph. 

Bard. Out, alas, sir ! cozenage! meer cozenage ! 

Host. Where be my horses? speak well of them, 
varletto 

Bard. Run away with the cozeners: for so soon as 
I came beyond Eton, they threw me off, from beliind 
one of them, in a slough of mire ; and set spurs, and 
away, like three German devils, three Doctor Faus- 
tuses. 

Host. They are gone but to meet the duke, villain : 
do not say, they be fled ; Germans are honest men. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 

Eva. Where is mine hosf! 

Host. What is the matter, sir? 

Eva. Have a care of your entertainments : there 
is a friend of mine come to town, tells me, there 
is three couzin germans, that has cozened all the 
hosts of Readings, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, 
of horses and money. I tell you for good-will, look 
you : you are wise, and full of gibes and vlouting- 
stogs ; and 'tis not convenient you should be cozened : 
Fare you well. [Exit. 

Enter Dr. Caius. 

Cains. Vere is mine Host de Jarterre? 
Host. Here, master doctor, in perplexity, and 
doubtful dilemma. 

Cains. 1 cannot tell vat 'is dat : But it is tell-a 
me, dat you make grand preparation for a duke de 
Jarmatiy : by my trot, dere is no duke, dat de court 
is know to come : I tell you for good vill : adieu. 

[Exit. 
Host. Hue and cry, villain, go: — assist me, knight ; 
I am undone : fly, run, hue and cry, villain ! 1 arc 
undone ! [Exeunt Host and Bardolph. 

Fal. I would, all the world might be cozened ; for 
I I have been cozened, and beaten too. If it should 
come to the ear of the court, how I have been trans- 
formed, and how my transformation hath been washed 
and cudgelled, they would melt me out of my fat, 
drop by drop, and liquor fishermen's boots with me; 
j 1 warrant, they would whip me with their fine wits, 

F 



82 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



till I were as crest-fallen as a dried pear. I never 
prospered since I foreswore myself at primero. Well, 
if my wind were but long enough to say my prayera, 
I would repent. — 

Enter Mistress Quickly. 

Now ! whence come you 1 

Quick. From the two parties, forsooth. 

Fill. The devil take one party, and his dam the 
otiier, and so they shall be both bestowed ! I have 
suffered more for their sakes, more, than the villain- 
ous inconstancy of man's disposition is able to bear. 

Quick. And have they not suffered t Yes, I war- 
rant ; speciously one of them ; mistress Ford, good 
heart, is beaten black and blue, that you cannot see 
a white spot about her. 

Fal. What tell'st thou me of black and blue'! 
I was beaten myself into all the colours of the rain- 
bow ; and 1 was like to be apprehended for the witch 
of Brentford ; but that my admirable dexterity of 
wit, my counterfeiting the action of an old woman, 
deliver'd me, the knave constable had set me i' the 
stocks, i' the common stocks, for a witch. 

Q)iick. Sir, let me speak with you in your cham- 
ber : you shall hear how things go : and, I warrant, 
to your content. Here is a letter will say somewhat. 
Good hearts, what ado here is to bring you together 1 
Sure, one of you doe;i not serve heaven well, that 
you are so crossed. 

Fill. Come up into my chamber. [Eieunt. 

SCENE VI. — Another room in the Garter Inn. 

Enter Fenton and Host. 

Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me ; my mind is 
heavy, I will give over all. [j)Ose, 

Fent. Yet hear me speak : Assist me in my pur- 
And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give thee 
A hundred pound in gold, more than your loss. 

Host. I will hear you, master Fenton ; and I will, 
at the least, keep your counsel. 

l''ent. From time to time I have acquainted you 
With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page ; 
Who, mutually, hath answer'dmy affection 
(So far forth as herself might be her chooser,) 
Even to my wish : I have a letter from her 
Of such contents as you will wonder at ; 
The mirth whereof so larded with my matter, 
That neither, singly, can be manifested, 
Without the show of both ; — wherein fat Falstaff 
Hath a great scene : the image of the jest 

[Shewing the letter. 
I'll shew you here at large. Hark, good mine host: 
To-night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one. 
Must my sweet Nan present the fairy queen : 
The purpose why, is here ; in which disguise. 
While other jests are something rank on foot, 
Her father hath commanded her to slip 
Away with Slender, and 'with hin^ at Eton 
Immediately to marry : she hath consented: 
Now, sir. 

Her mother, even strong against that match, 
And firm for Dr. Cains, hath appointed 
That he shall likewise shuffle her away. 
While other sports are tasking of their minds. 
And at the deanery, where a priest attends, 
Straight marry her : to this her mother's plot 
She, seemingly obedient, likewise hath 
Wade promise to the doctor; — Now thus it rests: 
Her father means she shall be all in white ; 
And in that habit, when Slender sees his time 
To take hex by the hand, and bid her go, 



She shall go with him : her mother hath intended, 
The better to denote her to the doctor, 
(For they must all be masked and vizarded,) 
That, quaint in green, she shall be loose enrob'd. 
With ribands pendant, flaring 'bout her liead ; 
And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe. 
To pinch her by the hand, and, on tliat token, 
The maid hath given consent to go with him. 

Host. Which means she to deceive ! father or 
mother? 

Fent. Both, my good host, to go along with me . 
And here it rests, — that you'll procure the vicar 
To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one. 
And, in the lawful name of marrying. 
To give our hearts united ceremony. 

Hoijt. Well, husband your device ; I '11 to the vicar: 
Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. 

Fent. So shall I ever more be bound to tliee ; 
Besides, I '11 make a present recompense. [Eaei/nt. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I.— A Room in the Garter fnn. 
Enter Fai.staff and Mrs. Quickly. 

Fal. Pr'ythee, no more prattling: — go. -I'll 

hold : This is the tliird time ; 1 hope, good luck lies 
in odd numbers. Away, go ; they say tliere is di- 
vinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or 
death. — Away. 

Quick. I'll provide you a chain : and I'll do what 
I can to get you a pair of horns. 

Fill. Away, 1 say ; time wears : hold up your 
head, and mince. [E.iif M/s. Quickly. 

Enter FonD. 
How now, master Brook ] ]\Iaster Brook, the matter 
will be known to-niglit, or never. Be you in tlie 
Park about midnight, at Heme's oak, and you shall 
see wonders. 

Ford. \Vent you not to her yesterday, sir, as you 
told me you had appointed 1 

Fal, 1 went to her, master Brook, as you see, like 
a poor old man : but 1 came from her, master Brook, 
like a poor old woman. That same knave, Ford her 
husband, hath the finest mad devil of jealousy in him, 
master Brook, that ever governed frenzy. I will tell 
you. — He beat me grievously, in the shape of a 
woman ; for in the shape of man, master Brook, I 
fear not Goliath witli a weaver's beam ; because I 
know also, life is a shuttle. I am in haste ; go along 
with me ; I '11 tell you all, master Brook. Since I 
pluck'd geese, play'd truant, and wliipp'd top, I 
knew not what it was to be beaten, till lately. Fol- 
low me : I '11 tell you strange things of this knave 
Ford: on whom to-night I will be revenged, and I 
will deliver his wife into your hand. — Follow: 
Strange things in hand, master Brook ! follow. 

[ Exeunt. 
SCENE II.— Windsor Park. 

Enter Page, Shallow, arid Slender. 

Page. Come, come ; we'll couch i' the castle- 
ditch, till we see the light of our fairies. — Remem- 
ber, son Slender, my daughter. 

Slen. Ay, forsooth ; I have spoke with her, and 
we have a nay-word, how to know one anotlier. I 
come to her in white, and cry, mum ; she cries bud- 
get ; and by that we know one another. 

Shal. That's good too: but what needs either your 
mum, or her budget ? the white will decipher her wel'. 
enough. — It hath struck ten o'clock. 



ACT V.-SCENE V. 



83 



Page. The night is dark ; light and spirits will 
become it well. Heaven, prosper our sport! No 
man means evil but the devil, and we shall know him 
by his horns. Let's away ; follow me. ^Exeunt. 

SCENE 111.— The Street in Windsor. 
Enter Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and Dr. Caius. 

Mrs. Page. INIaster Doctor, my daughter is in green . 
wlien you see your time, take iier by the hand, away 
with her to the deanery, and despatch it quickly : 
Go before into the park ; we two must go together. 

Caius. I know vat I have to do ; Adieu. 

Mrs. Page. Fare you well, sir. [Exit Caius. 

ISIy husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse 
of Falstatf, as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying 
my daughter: but 'tis no matter ; better a little chid- 
ing, than a great deal of heart-break. 

Mrs. Ford. Where is Nan now, and her troop of 
fairies 1 and the Welch devil, Hugh 1 

Mrs. Page. They are all couched in a pit hard by 
Kerne's oak, with obscured lights ; which, at the 
very instant of Falstaff's and our meeting, they will 
at once display to the night. 

Mrs. Ford. Tiiat cannot choose but amaze him. 

Mrs, Page. If lie be not amazed, he will be mocked ; 
if he be amazed, he will every way be mocked. 

Mrs. Ford. We'll betray him finely. [lechery, 

Mrs. Page. Against such lewdsters, and their 
Those that betray them do no treachery. 

Mrs. Ford. The hour draws on ; to the oak, to 
the oak ! [_Exeu7U. 

SCENE IV.— Windsor Park. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans, and Fairies. 

Eva. Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember your 
parts : be pold, 1 pray you ; follow me into the pit ; 
and when I give the watch-'ords, do as I pid 3'ou ; 
Come, come ; trib, trib. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Another part of the Park. 
Enter Falstaff, disguised with a buck's head on. 

Fal. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve ; the 
minute draws on : Now, the hot blooded gods assist 
me : — Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy 
Europa ; love set on thy horns. — O, powerful love ! 
that, in some respects, makes a beast a man ; in 
some other, a man a beast.— You were also, .lupiter, 
a swan, for the love of Leda : — O, omnipotent love ! 
how near the god drew to the complexion of a goose? 
—A fault done first in the form of a beast ; — O Jove, 
a beastly fault ! and then another fault in the sem- 
blance of a fowl ; think on't, Jove ; a foul fault. — 
When gods have hot backs, what shall poor men do? 
For me, I am here a Windsor stag ; and the fattest, 
I think, i' the forest : send me a cool rut-time, Jove, 
or who can blame me to piss my tallow? Who comes 
here ? my doe ? 

Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page. 

Mrs. Ford. Sir John ? art thou there, my deer ? 
my male deer? 

Ful. jMy doe with the black scut? — Let the sky 
rain potatoes ; let it thunder to the tune of Green 
Sieeves ; hail kissing-comfits, and snow eringoes ; 
let there come a tempest of provocation, I will shel- 
ter ma here. [Embracing her. 

Mrs. Ford. INIistress Page is come with me, sweet- 
heart. 

Fal. Divide me like a bribe-buck, each a haunch : 



I will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the 
fellow of this walk, and my horns I bequeath youi 
htisbands. Am I a woodman ? ha! Speak I like 
Heme the hunter? — Why, now is Cupid a child of 
conscience ; he makes restitution. As I am a true 
spirit, welcome ! [A'oi*^ witliin. 

Mrs. Page. Alas ! what noise ? 
Mrs. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins ! 
Fal. What should this be? 
Mrs. Ford. ) . ^m, 

Mrs. Page: \ ^"^^5"' ^^"'^y* ^^''^V *""" "/• 

Fal. I think, the devil will not have me damned, 
lest the oil that is in me should set hell on fire ; he 
would never else cross me thus. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans, like a satyr ; Mrs. Quickly, 

and Pistol ; Anne Page, as the Fairy Queen, 

attended by her brother and others, dressed like 
fairies, uith waxen tapers on their heads. 

Quick. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, 
You moonshine revellers, and shades of night, 
You orphan-heirs of fixed destiny. 
Attend your office, and your quality. 
Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy o-yes. 

I'ist. Elves, list yournames ; silence, you airy toys. 
Cricket, to Windsor chimnies shalt thou leap : 
Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearths unswept, 
There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry : 
Our radiant queen hates sluts and sluttery. 

Fal. They are fairies ; he, that speaks to them, shall 
die : 
I'll wink and couch : no man their works must eye. 

[Lies down upon his fare. 

Eva. Where's Pede ?— Go you, and where you find 
a maid, 
That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, 
Raise up the organs of her fantasy, 
Sleep she as sound as careless infancy ; 
But those as sleep, and think not on their sins, 
Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and 
shins. 

Quick. About, about ; 
Search Windsor-castle, elves, within and out : 
Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room ; 
That it may stand till the perpetual doom, 
In state as wholesome, as in state 'tis fit ; 
Worthy the owner, and the owner it. 
The several chairs of order look vou scour 
With juice of balm, and every precious flower . 
Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest. 
With loyal blazon, evermore be blest ! 
And nightly, meadow-fairies, look, you sing. 
Like to the Garter's compass, in a rino- : 
The expressure that it bears, green let it be, 
More fertile-fresh than all the field to see ; 
And, Hony soit qui mal y pense, write. 
In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, .and white : 
Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, ^ 

Buckled below fair knight-hood's bending knee ; > 
Fairies use flowers for their charactery. J 

Away ; disperse : But, till 'tis one o'clock, 
Our dance of custom, round about the oak 
Of Heine the hunter, let us not forget. 

Eva. Pray you, lock hand in hand ; yourselves in 
order set : 
And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be, 
To guide our measure round about the tree. 
But, stay : I smell a man of middle earth. 

Fai. Heaven defend me from that Welch fairy ! 
lest he transform me to a piece of cheese ! 

Pist. Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thv 
birth. ' 

Fa 



84 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Quick. With trial-fire touch me his finger-end 
If he be chaste, the flame will back descend, 
And turn him to no pain ; but if he start, 
It is the flesh of a corrupted heart. 

Pist. A trial, come. 

Eva. Come, will this wood take fire 1 

{^They burn him with their tapers. 

Fal. Oh, oh, oh ! 

Quick, Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire ! 
About liim, fairies ; sing a scornful rhyme ; 
And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. 

Eva. It is right ; indeed he is full of lecheries and 
iniquity. 

SONG. — Fye on sinful fantasy ! 

Fye on lust and luxury ! 

Lust is but a bloody Are, 

Kindled with u)ichaste desire. 

Fed in heart ; whose fames aspire. 

As thoughts do blou! them, higher and higher. 

Pinch him, fairies, mutually ; 

Pinch him for his villainy ; 
Pinch him, and burn liim, and turn him about. 
Till candles, and star-light, and moon-shine be out. 

During this song, the fairies pinch Falstaff. Doctor 
Caius comes one xvay, and steals away a fairy in 
green ; Slender another way, and takes off a fairy 
in white; and Fenton comes, and steals away Mrs. 
Anne Page. A noise of hunting is made within. 
All the fairies run away. Falstaff pulls off his 
buck's head, and rises. 

Enter Page, Ford, Mrs. Page, and Mrs. Fohd. 
They lay hold on him. 

Page. Nay, do not fly : I think, we have watch'd 
you now : 
Will none but Heme the hunter serve your turn 1 

Mrs. Page. I pray you, come ; hold up the jest no 
higher : — 
Now, good sir John, how like you Windsor wives 1 
See you these, husband ] do not these fair yokes 
IJecome the forest better than the town"! 

Ford. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now? — Master 
Erook, Falstafl's a knave, a ciickoldy knave ; here 
are his horns, master Brook : And, master Brook, he 
hath enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck-basket, 
his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money; which 
must be paid to master Jirook ; his horses are arrested 
for it, master Brook. 

Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we 
could never meet. 1 will never take you for my love 
again, but I will always count you my deer. 

Fal. I do begin to perceive that 1 am made an ass. 

Ford Ay, and an ox too ; both the proofs are extant. 

Fal. And these are not fairies ■! 1 was three or four 
times in the thought, they were not fairies : and yet 
the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my 
powers, drove the grossness of the foppery into a re- 
ceived belief, in despite of the teetli of all rliyme and 
reason, that they were fairies See now, how wit may 
be made a Jack-a-lent, when 'tis upon ill employment. 

Eva. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your 
desires, and fairies will not pinse you. 

Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. 

Eva And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you. 

Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, till 
thou art able to woo her in good English. 

Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it, 
that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'er-reaching 
as this? Am I ridden with a Welch goat too? Shall 
1 have a coxcomb of frize ? "lis lime 1 were choaked 
with a piece of toasted cheese. 



Eva. Seese is not good to give putter ; your pelly 
is all putter. 

Fal. Seese and putter ! have I lived to stand at the 
taunt of one that makes fritters of English ? This is 
enough to be the decay of lust and late-walking, 
through the realm. 

Mrs. Page. Why, sir John, do you think, though 
we would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the 
head and shoulders, and have given ourselves with- 
out scruple to hell, that ever the devil could have 
made you our delight ? 

Ford. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax? 

Mis. Page. A puffed man ? 

Page. Old, cold, withered, and of intolerable 
entrails 1 

Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan? 

Page. And as poor as Job ? 

Ford. And as wicked as his wife? 

Eva. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and 
sack, and wine, and metheglins, and to drinkings, and 
swearings, and starings, pribbles and prabbles ? 

Fal. Well, 1 am your theme : you have the start 
of me ; I am dejected ; I am not able to answer the 
Welch flannel : ignorance itself is a plummet o'er 
me ; use me as you will. 

Ford. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to 
one master Brook, that you have cozened of money, 
to whom you should have been a pander : over and 
above that you have suffered, I tliink, to repay that 
money will be a biting affliction. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, husband, let that go to make 
amends : 
Forgive that sum, and so we'll all be friends. 

Ford. Well, here's my hand ; all's forgiven at last 

Page. Yet be cheerful, knight : thou shalt eat a 
posset to night at my house ; where 1 will desire thee 
to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee : Tell 
her, master Slender hath married her daughter. 

Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that : if Anne Page be 
my daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caius' wife 

[Aside. 
Enter Slender. 

Slen. Whoo, ho ! ho ! father Page ! 

Page. Son ! how now ? how now, son ? have you 
despatched ? 

Slen. Despatched ! — I'll make the best in Gloces- 
tershire know on't ; would 1 were hanged, la, else. 

Page. Of what, son ? 

Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress Anne 
Page, and slie's a great lubberly boy; If it had not 
been i' the church, 1 would have swinged him, or he 
should have swinged me. If I did not think it had 
been Anne Page, would I might never stir, and 'tis 
a post-master's boy. 

Page. Upon my life then you took the wrong. 

Slen. What need you tell me that ? 1 think so, when 
I took a boy for a girl : If I had been married to 
him, for all he was in vifoman's apparel, I would not 
have had him. 

Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I 
tell you, how you should know my daughter by her 
garments ? 

Slen. 1 went to her in white, and cry'd mum, and 
she cry'd budget, as Anne and I had appointed ; and 
yet it was not Anne, but a post-master's boy. 

Eva. Jeshu ! master Slender, cannot you see but 
marry boys ? 

Page. O, I am vexed at heart : What shall I do? 

Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry: I knew of 
your purpose; turned my daughter into grc^en ; and, 
indeed, she is now with the doctor at the deanery, 
and there married. 



ACT v.- SCENE V. 



85 



Enter Caius. 

Cams. Vere is mistress Page 1 By gar, I am 
cozened ; I ha' married un garfon, a boy ; tin pa'i- 
san, by gar, a boy; it is not Anne Page : by gar, I 
am cozened. 

Mrs. Page. Why, did you not take her in green 1 

Caius. Ay, be gar, and 'tis a boy : be gar, I'll raise 
all Windsor. [Eiit Caius. 

Ford. This is strange: Who hath got the right 
Annel 

Page. ]My heart misgives me : Here comes master 
^entott. 

Enter Fenton and Anne Page. 

How now, master Fenton 1 

Aiiiie. Pardon, good father ! good my mother, 
pardon ! 

Page. Now, mistress 1 how chance you went not 
with master Slender ! 

Mrs. Page. Why went you»not with master doctor, 
maid ? 

Feiif. You do amaze her : Hear the truth of it- 
You would have married her most shamefully. 
Where there was no proportion held in love. 
The truth is, she and I, long since contracted. 
Are cow so sure, that nothing can dissolve us. 



The offence is holy, that she hath committed: 

And this deceit loses the name of craft. 

Of disobedience, or unduteous title ; 

Since therein she doth evitate and shun 

A tliousand irreligious cursed hours. 

Which forced marriage would have brought upon her. 

Ford. Stand not amaz'd : here is no remedy : — 
In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state , 
jMoney buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. 

Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special 
stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced 
Page. Well, what remedy'? Fenton, heaven give 
thee joy ! 
What cannot be eschew'd, must be embrac'd. 

Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are 
chas'd. 
I will dance and eat plums at your wedding. 
Page. Well, 1 will muse no further : — Master 
Fenton, 

Heaven give you many, many merry days 1 
Good husband, let us every one go home. 
And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire : 
Sir John and all. 

Ford. Let it be so — Sir John, 
To master Brook you yet shall hold your word : 
For he, to-night, shall lie with mistress Ford. 

[_EieuHt. 



Eva. 
Mrs. 



Of this p!ay there is a tradition preserved by Mr. Rowe. that 
it was writtcu at tliecoaimaud of iiueeii lilizabelii, who was so 
lit^Ughied Willi the character of Falstaff, that she wished it to 
be ditfosed through more plays; but susijeciing that it might 
paJ! by coatinued uniformity, directed the poet to diversify his 
luaiiacr, by shcwiub' him iu love. \o task is harder than that 
of wntius to the ide.ts of another. Shalispeare knew whal tiie 
qiie>^ii, if the story be true, eeems not to have known — that by 
ujuy real passion of teiiileniess, the selfish craft, the careless 
jollity, aiid the lazy Itixury of I'alstaff must have suffered so 
much abatement, thai little of his former cast would have re- 
mained. Faistaff could not love, but by ceasing to be Falstaff. 
li/.- could only counterfeit love, and his jirofessiOGS could be 
prompted, not by the hoiie of pleasure, butof moEey. Thus the 
poet approache<i as near as he could to the work enjoined him ; 
yit having, iierhaps, in the former plays, conipieted his own 
idea, seems not to liave heaoahla ta give t'slsiaffail tin fsraic^ 
powtr of fiulf JtaitMifcf^ 



TSiiK coatedy is remarkable fop the variety atuJ cumber of the 
personages, who exhibit more characters appropriated and dis- 
criminated, than perhaps can be found in any other play. 

Whether Shaksjieare was the first that produced upon the 
English stage the effect of language distorted and depraved by 
provincial or foreign pronunciation, I cannot certainly decide. 
I'his Diodo of forming ridiculous characters can confer praise 
only on him who originally discovered it, for it requires not 
much of either wit or judgment: its .success must be derived 
almost wholly from the player, but its power in a skilful mouth, 
even he that despises it, is unable to resist. 

Ihe conduct of this drama is deficient ; the aiCtion begins and 
eods often, before the conclusion, and the different parts might 
change piacjes without inconvenience; but its general power, 
that i>ower by which all works of genius shall finally be tried, 
is such, that perhaps it never yet had reader or spectalor wto 
did. aoi thi/jji ix wa &rKon ,U she. end.—JoHSavf!. 



i 



n 



I; 






TWELFTH NIGBT 



OK, 



WHAT YOU WILL. 



There is no edition of this play earlier than the first folio in 
362.3. — Mr. Malone supposes, that it was produced in the 
year I607 ; but there is no evidence either to support, or re- 
fute such a supposition. Mr. Chalmers conceives that it was 
written in 161.3. — If any probable conjecture respecting its 
date may be derived from the merits of the work, 1 should 
have little hesitation in ranking this among onr author's 
latest productions. It is marked by the ease and certainty ot an 
experienced h.and. I'here is nothing superliuous. Kvery 
passage tends to the effect designed. No part could be ab- 
stracted Avithout material injury to the beauty of the whole. 
The serious portion of the comedy may have been taken Irom 
the seventh history of the fourth volume of I'lelleforest's 
Jlistoires J'ragiques. The comic scenes and characters ap 



pear to have been entirely Shakspeare's own. The corn- 

mentators have discovered that ISen J on.son designed to ridi- 
cule J'u'elfth Niglit, in Every Man out of his Humour .—'Slina 
says in Act 3. of that play, " The argument of this comedy 
might have been of some other nature, as of a Duke to be in 
love with a Counte.ss, and this Countess to be in love with 
the Duke's son, and the son in love with the lady's waiting- 
maid : some such cross wooing, with a clown to their serving- 
man, &c." — Wliere Mr. Steevens found the point of this pas- 
sage, I am unable to say — in Tweljlh Night tiiere is no Coun- 
tess in love with a Duke's son, nor any Duke's son in love 
with a waitmg-maid. — " What is more to the p\irpose," says 
Mr. Gifford," Ben Jonson's play was written at least a dozen 
years befoi-e Twelfth Nig/10 appeared." 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Orsino, Duke o/'IUyria. 

Sebastian, a young gentleman, brother to Viola. 

Antonio, a sea captain, friend to Sebastian. 

A sea captain, friend to Viola. 

Vai.entink, Cvjiio, gentlemen attending on the Duhe. 

Sir Toby Bei.cii, uncle 0/" Olivia. 

Sir Andrew Ague -cheek. 

Mai-volio, steward to Olivia. 

Fabian, Clown, sei-vants to Olivia. 

Olivia, a rich Countess. 
Viola, in love with the Duke. 
Maria, Olivia's woman. 

Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, 
and other Attendants, 

SCENE, — A City in Illyria ; and the Sea-coast 
near it. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Duke, Curio, Lords ; Musicians attending. 

Duke. If music be the food of love, play on. 
Give me excess of it ; that, surfeiting. 

The appetite may sicken, and so die. 

That strain again ; — it had a dying fall : 

O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south. 

That breathes upon a bank of violets. 

Stealing, and giving odour.— Enough ; no more ; 

'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before. 

O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou ! 

That, notwithstanding thy capacity 

Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, 

Of what validity and pitch soever, 

But falls into abatement and low price, 

Even in a minute ! so full of shapes is fancy. 

That it alone is high-fantastical. 

Cur, Will you go hunt, my lotdl 

Duke. What, Curio 1 

Ciir. The hart. 

Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that 1 have : 
O when mine eyes did see Olivia first, 
Methought, she purg'd the air of pestilence ; 



That instant was I turn'd into a hart ; 

And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, [her? 

E'er since pursue me. — How now 1 what news from 

Enter Valentine. 

Val. So please my lord, 1 might not be admitted, 
But from her handmaid do return this answer : 
The element itself, till seven years' heat. 
Shall not behold her face at ample view; 
1 But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk, 
And water once a day her chamber round 
With eye-offending brine ; all this, to season 
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh, 
And lasting, in her sad remembrance. 

Duke. O, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame. 
To pay this debt of love but to a brother, 
How will she love, when the rich, golden shaft, 
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else 
That live in her ! when liver, brain, and heart, 
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fiU'd, 
(Her sweet perfections,) with one self king ! — 
7V way before me to sweet beds of flowers ; 
Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers. 

\_Exeiint. 

SCENE II.— ne Sea-coast. 
' I Enter Viola, Captain, and Sailors. 

Vio. What country, friends, is this 1 

Cap. Illyria, lady. 

Vio. And what should I do in Illyria 1 
My brother he is in Elysium. ^ [sailors 1 

Perchance, he is not drown'd . — What think you, 

Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself were saved. 

Vio. O my poor brother ! and so, perchance, may 
he be. [chance. 

Cap. True, madam : and, to comfort you with 
Assure yourself, after our ship did split, 
When you, and that poor number saved with you. 
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, 
Most provident in peril, bind himself 
(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) 
To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea ; 
Where, like Arion on the dolpliin's back, 
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves, 
So long as I could see. 

Vio. For saying so, there's gold : 



ACT I.— SCENE III. 



87 



Inline own escape unfoldeth to my hope, 
Whereto thy speech serves for authority, 
The like of him. Know'st thou this country? 

Cap. Ay, madam, well ; for I was bred and born. 
Not three hours' travel from this very place. 

Vio. Who governs here 1 

Cap. A noble duke, in nature. 

As in his naitie. 

Vio. What is his name "? 

Cap. Orsino. 

Vio. Orsino ! I have heard my father name him : 
He was a bachelor then. 

Cap, And so is now, 

Or was so very late : for but a month 
Ago I went from hence ; and then 'twas fresh 
In murmur, (as, you know, what great ones do, 
The less will prattle of,) that he did seek 
The love of fair Olivia. 

Vio. What's she? 

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count 
That died some twelvemonth since ; then leaving her 
In the protection of his son, her brother. 
Who shortly also died; for whose dear love, 
They say, she hath abjured the company 
And sight of men. 

Vio. O, that I served that lady : 

And might not be delivered to the world. 
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow, 
What my estate is. 

Cap. That were hard to compass ; 

Because she will admit no kind of suit, 
No, not the duke's. 

Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain ; 
And though that nature with a beauteous wall 
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee 
I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits 
With this thy fair and outward character. 
I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously. 
Conceal me what I am ; and be my aid 
For such disguise as, haply, shall become 
The form of my intent. I '11 serve this duke ; 
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him, 
It may be worth thy pains ; for I can sing, 
And speak to him in many sorts of music. 
That will allow me very worth his service. 
What else may hap, to time I will commit ; 
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. 

Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I '11 be ; 
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see ! 

Vio, I thank thee : Lead me on. [EieuHt. 

SCENE III. — A Room in Olivia's House. 
Enter Sir Toby Belch, and Maria. 

Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take 
the death of her brother thus? I am sure, care's an 
enemy to life. 

Mar. By my troth, sir Toby, you must come in 
earlier o' nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great 
exceptions to your ill hours. 

Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. 

Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within 
the modest limits of order. 

Sir To. Confine ? I'll confine myself no finer than 
I am : these clothes are good enough to drink in, 
and so be these boots too ; an they be not, let them 
hang themselves in their own straps. 

Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you : 
I heard my lady talk of it yesterday ; and of a fool- 
ish knight, that you brought in one night here, to be 
her wooer. 

Sir To, Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek 1 



Mar. Ay, he. 

Sir To. He 's as tall a man as any 's in Illyria. 

Mar. What's that to the purpose ? 

Sir To. Why he has three thousand ducats a year. 

Mar, Ay, but he '11 have but a year in all these 
ducats ; he's a very fool, and a prodigal. 

Sir To. Fye, that you '11 say so ! he plays o' the 
viol-de-gambo, and speaks three or four languages 
word for word without book, and hath all the good 
gifts of nature. 

JVJo)-. He hath, indeed, — almost natural : for, be- 
sides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller ; and, 
but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the 
gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the 
prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave. 

Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and 
substractors, that say so of him. Who are they 1 

Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly 
in your company. 

Sir To, With drinking healths to my niece ; I '11 
drink to her, as long as there is a passage in my 
throat, and drink in Illyria: He 's a coward, and a 
coystril, that will not drink to my niece, till his 
brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. What, 
wench? Castiliano-volto ; for here comes Sir An- 
drew Ague -face. 

Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 

Sir And. Sir Toby Belch ! how now, sir Toby 

Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew ? [Belch ? 

Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. 

Mar. And you too, sir. 

Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost. 

Sir And. What's that? 

.Sir To, My niece's chamber-maid. 

Sir And, Good mistress Accost, I desire better 
acquaintance. 

Mar. My name is Mary, sir. 

Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost, 

Sir To. You mistake, kniglit : accost, is, front 
her, board her, woo her, assail her. 

Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her 
in this company. Is that the meaning of accost ? 

Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. 

Sir To. An thou let part so. Sir Andrew, 'would 
thou might'st never draw sword again. 

Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I 
might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you 
think you have fools in hand ? 

iliac. Sir, I have not you by the hand. 

Sir And. Marry, but you shall have ; and here's 
my hand. 

Mar. Now, sir, thought is free : I pray you, bring 
your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. 

Sir And. Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your 
metaphor ? 

Mar. It's dry, sir. 

Sir And. Why, 1 think so ; I am not such an ass, 
but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest ? 

Mar. A dry jest, sir. 

Sir And. Are you full of them ? 

Mar. Ay, sir ; I have them at my fingers' ends : 
marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. 

[Eiif Maria. 

Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: 
When did I see thee so put down ? 

Sir And. Never in your life, 1 think , unless you 
see canary put me down : IMethinks sometimes 1 have 
no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man 
has: but I am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, 
that does harm to my wit. 

Sir To. No question. 



88 



TWELFTH-NIGHT 



Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. 
ride home to-morrow, sir Toby. 

Sir Tn. Fflurquoii, my dear knight? 

Sir And. \\[\a.t'\A pouiquoyl do or not do? I would 
I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I have 
in fencing, dancing, and bear-bniting : O, had 1 but 
followed the arts ! 

Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of 
hair. 

Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? 

Sir To. Past question ; for thou seest it will not 
curl by nature. 

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't 
not? 

Sir To. Excellent ; it hangs like flax on a distaff ; 
and 1 hope to see a housewife take thee between her 
legs, and spin it off. 

Sir And. 'Faith, I'll home tomorrow, sir Toby : 
your niece will not be seen ; or, if she be, it's four 
to one she'll none of me; the count himself, here 
hard by, wooes her. 

Sir To. She'll none o' the count ; she'll not match 
above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit ; I 
have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in't, man. 

Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. 1 am a fellow 
o' the strangest mind i' the world ; 1 delight in 
masques and revels sometimes altogether. 

Sir To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight? 

Sir And. As any man in Ulyiia, ^vhatsoever he be, 
under the degree of my betters ; and yet 1 ■^ill not 
compare with an old man. 

Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? 

Sir And. 'Faith, 1 can cut a caper. 

Sir To. And 1 can cut the mutton to't. 

Sir And. And, 1 think, 1 have the back-trick, sim 
ply as strong as any man in lUyria. 

Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? where- 
fore have these gifts a curtain before them ? are they 
like to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture ? why 
dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come 
home in a coranto ? ]My very walk should be a jig ; 
I would not so much as make water, but in a sink- 
apace. What dost thou mean? is it a world to hide 
virtues in ? I did think, by the excellent constitution 
of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard. 
Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent 
well in a flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about 
some revels ? 

Sir To. What shall we do else ? were we not born 
under Taurus ? 

Sir And. Taurus ? that's sides and heart. 
Sir To. No, sir ; it is legs and thighs. Let me 
see thee caper : ha ! higher : ha, ha ! — excellent ! 

[L'aeiuit. 

SCENE IV.— ^ Boom in the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire, 

Val. If the Duke continue these favours towards 
you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced ; he 
hath known you but three days, and already you are 
no stranger. 

Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negligence, 
that you call in question the continuance of his love : 
Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours? 

Val. No, believe lue. 

Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants. 

Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. 
Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho ? 
Vio. On your attendance, my lord ; here. 
Duke. Stand you awhile aloof. — Cesario, 



OR, WHAT YOU WILL 

I'll 



Thou know'st no less but all ; I have unclasp'd 
To thee the book even of my secret soul : 
Iherefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her; 
Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors, 
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow. 
Till thou have audience. 

Vio. Sure, my noble lord. 

If she be so abandoned to her sorrow 
As it is spoke, she never will admit me. 

Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds. 
Rather than make unprofited return. 

Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord : What then ? 

Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love 
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith • 
It shall become thee well to act my woes ; 
She will attend it better in thy youth. 
Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect. 

Vio. I think not so, my lord. 

Duke. Dear lad, believe it; 

For they'shall yet belie thy happy years, 
That say, thou art a man : Diana's lip 
Is not more smooth, and rubious ; thy small pipe 
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound, 
And all is semblative a woman's part. 
I know, thy constellation is right apt 
For this affair : — Some four, or five, attend him ; 
All, if you will ; for 1 myself am best, 
When least in company: — Prosper well in this. 
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord. 
To call his fortunes thine. 

Vio. I'll do my best. 

To woo your lady: yet, [Aside.'\ a barful strife . 
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. \^Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — A Room in Olivia's House. 
Enter Maria and Clown. 

Mnr. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or 
I will not open my lips, so wide as a bristle may enter, 
in way of thy excuse : my lady will hang thee for 
thy absence. 

Clo. Let her hang me : he, that is well hanged in 
this world, needs to fear no colours. 

Mar. Make that good. 

Clo. He shall see none to fear. 

Mar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where 
that saying was born, of, I fear no colours. 

Clo. Where, good mistress Mary? 

Mar. In the wars ; and that may you be bold to 
say in your foolery. 

Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it; 
and those that are fools, let them use their talents. 

Mar. Yet you will be hanged, for being so long 
absent : or, to be turned away ; is not that as good 
as a hanging to you ? 

Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad mar- 
riage ; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out. 

Mar. You are resolute then? 

Clo. Not so neither ; but I am resolved on two 
points. 

Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold, or, 
if both break, your gaskins fall. 

Cto. Apt, in good faith ; very apt! Well, go thy 
way ; if sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as 
witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in lUyria. 

Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that ; here 
comes my lady : make your excuse wisely, you were 
best. [Exit. 

Enter Olivia and Malvolio. 

Clo. Wit ; and 't be thy will, put me into good 
fooling ! Those wits, that think they have thee, do 
very oft prove fools ; and I, that am sure I lack thee, 



ACT I.— SCENE V. 



89 



may pass for a wise man : For what says Quinapa- 

lus 1 Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit. God 

bless thee, lady ! 

OIL Take the fool away, 

Clo. Do you not hear, fellows 1 Take away the lady. 

OIL Go to, you're a dry fool ; I'll no more of you : 
besides, you grow dishonest. 

Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good 
counsel will amend : for give the dry fool drink, then 
is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend him- 
self ; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest ; if he 
cannot, let the botcher mend him : Any thing that's 
mended, is but patched : virtue, that transgresses, 
is but patched with sin ; and sin, that amends, is but 
patched witli virtue : If that this simple syllogism 
will serve, so ; if it will not, \Vhat remedy ^. As there 
is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower : 
— the lady bade take away the fool ; therefore, 1 say 
again, take her away. 

OIL Sir, I bade them take away you. 

Clo. Misprision in the highest degree! — Lady, 
ChcuIIus non facit monachum ; that's as much as to 
say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, 
give me leave to prove you a fool. 

OIL Can you do it 1 

Clo. Dexteriously, good madonna. 

OIL Make your proof. 

Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna ; Good 
my mouse of virtue, answer me. 

OH. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I '11 
'bide your proof. 

Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou 1 

OIL Good fool, for my brother's death. 

Clo. I think, his soul is in hell, madonna. 

OIL I know his soul is in heaven, fool. 

Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for 
your brother's soul being in heaven. — Take away the 
fool, gentlemen. 

OIL What think you of this fool, Malvolio 1 doth 
he not mend ] 

Mal. Yes ; and shall do, till the pangs of death 
shake him : Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever 
make the better fool. 

Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the 
better increasing your folly ! Sir Toby will be sworn, 
that I am no fox ; but he will not pass his word for 
two-pence that you are no fool. 

OIL How say you to that, Rlalvolio 1 

Mal. 1 marvel your ladyship takes delight in such 
a barren rascal ; I saw him put down the other day 
with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than 
a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard al- 
ready ; unless you laugh and minister occasion to 
him, he is gagged. I protest, 1 take these wise men, 
that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than 
the fools' zanies. 

OH. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and 
taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, 
guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those 
things for bird bolts, that you deem cannon-bullets: 
There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do 
nothing but rail ; nor no railing in a known discreet 
man, though he do nothing but reprove. 

Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for 
thou speakest well of fools ! 

Re-enter Maria. 

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentle- 
man, much desires to speak with you. 

OH. From the count t)rsino, is it ] 

Mar. I know not, madam ; 'tis a fair young man, 
and well attended. 



OH. Who of my people hold him in delay 1 

Mar. Sir I'oby, madam, your kinsman. 

OH. Fetch him off, I pray you ; he speaks nothing 
but madman : Fye on him ! [Eaii Maria. J Go you, 
Malvolio : if it be a suit from the count, I am sick 
or not at home ; what you will, to dismiss it. [Eiit 
Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how your fooling 
grows old, and people dislike it. 

Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy 
eldest son should be a fool : whose skull Jove cram 
with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin, has a 
most weak pin muter. 

Eater Sir Toby Belch. 

OIL By mine honour, half drunk. — What is he at 
the gate, cousin 1 

Sir To. A gentleman. 

OH. A gentleman? What gentleman ? 

Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here — A plague o' these 
pickle-herrings ! — How now, sot? 

Clo. Good Sir Toby, 

OH. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early 
by this lethargy 1 

■S/r To.iLechery ! I defy lechery : There's one at 
the gate. 

OH. Ay, marry ; what is he? 

Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care 
not: give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. [_Exit. 

OH. What's a drunken man like, fool ? 

Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: 
one draught above heat makes him a fool ; the se- 
cond mads him ; and a third drowns him. 

OH. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit 
o' my coz ; for he 's in the third degree of drink, he 's 
drown'd: go, look after him. 

Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna ; and the fool 
shall look to the madman. [Eaif Clown. 

Re-enter Malvolio. 

Mal, Madam, yond young fellow swears he will 
speak with you. I told him you were sick ; he takes 
on him to understand so much, and therefore comes 
to speak with you ; I told him you were asleep ; he 
seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and 
therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be 
said to him, lady? he's fortified against any denial. 

OIL Tell him, he shall not speak with me. 

Mat. He has been told so ; and he says, he '11 
stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the 
supporter of a bench, but he '11 speak with you. 

OH. Wiiat kind of man is he ? 

Mal. Why, of mankind. 

OH. What manner of man? 

Mill. Of very ill manner ; he '11 speak with you, 
will you, or no. 

OH. Of what personage, and years, is he ? 

Mill. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young 
enough for a boy ; as a squash is before 'tis a peas- 
cod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple : 'tis 
with him e'en standing water, between boy and man. 
He is very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrew- 
ishly ; one would think his mother's milk were 
scarce out of him. 

OH. Let him approach: Call in my gentlewoman. 

Mal. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [i-aii. 

Fe-eiiter Maria. 

OIL Give me my veil : come throw it o'er my face • 
We '11 once more hear Orsino's embassy. 

Enter Viola. 

Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is 
she? 



90 



TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



on. Speak to me, 1 shall answer for her : Your 
will ? 

Vin. IMost radiant, exquisite, and unniatchable 
beauty, — I pray you, tell me, it" this he the lady of 
the house, for 1 never saw her : I would be loath to 
cast away my speech ; for, besides that it is excel- 
lently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con 
it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn ; I am 
very comptible, even to the least sinister usage. 

on. Whence came you, sir 1 

Vio. I tan say little more than I have studied, 
and that question's out of my part. Good gentle 
one, give me modest assurance, if you be tlie lady 
of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. 

on. Are you a comedian 1 

Vio. No, my profound heart : and yet, by the 
very fangs of malice, 1 swear lam not that I play 
Are you the lady of tiie house I 

OIL If I do not usurp myself, I am. 

Vio. ]\Iost certain, if you are she, you do usurp 
3'ourself ; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours 
to reserve. But this is from my commission : I will 
on with my speech in your praise, and then shew 
you the heart of my message. 

Oli. Come to what is important in 't : I forgive 
you the praise. 

Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis 
poetical. 

Oli. It is the more like to be feigned ; I pray you, 
keep it in. 1 heard you were saucy at my gates ; 
and allowed your approacli, rather to wonder at you 
tlian to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone ; if 
you have reason be brief : 'tis not that lime of moon 
with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue. 

Mar, Will you hoist sail, sirl here lies your way. 

Vio. No, good swabber ; I am to hull here a little 
longer. — Some mollification for your giant, sweet 
lady. 

Oli. Tell me your mind. 

Vio. I am a messenger. 

Oli, Sure, you have some liideous matter to de- 
liver, wlien the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak 
your office. 

Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no 
overture of war, no taxation of homage ; I liold the 
olive in my hand : my words are as full of peace as 
matter. 

OH. Yet you began rudely. What are you 1 what 
would you ■? 

Vio. The rudeness that hath appeared in me, have 
I learn'd from my entertainment. What 1 am, and 
what I would, are as secret as maidenliead : to your 
ears, divinity ; to any other's, profanation. 

Oli. Give us the place alone : we will hear this 
divinity. [Eait Mauia.] Now, sir, what is your 
text? 

Vio. Most sweet lady, 

Oli, A comfortable doctrine, and much may be 
said of it. Where lies your text ? 

Vio. In Orsino's bosom. 

Oli, In his bosom "! In what chapter of iiis bosom ? 

Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his 
heart. 

Oli, O, I have read it ; it is heresy. Have you no 
more to sayl 

Vio, Good madam, let me see your face. 

Oli, Have you any commission from your lord to 
negotiate with my face 1 you are now out of your 
text: but we will draw the curtain, and shew you 
the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was 
this present : Is't not well done 1 [^Unveiling. 

Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. 



Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir ; 'twill endure wind and 
weather. 

I'/ii. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white 
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on • 
Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive. 
If you will lead these graces to the grave, 
And leave the world no copy. 

Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted ; I will 
give out divers schedules of my beauty: It shall be 
inventoried ; and everyparticle, and utensil, labelled 
to my will : as, item, two lips indifferent red ; item, 
two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, 
one chin, and so fortli. Were you sent hither to 
'praise me 1 

Vio. I see you what you are : you are too proud; 
But, if you were the devil, you are fair. 
My lord and master loves you ; O, such love 
Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd 
The nonpareil of beauty ! 

Oli. How does he love me 1 

Vio. W'itli adorations, with fertile tears. 
With groan;-, that thunder love, with sighs of fire. 

Oli. Your lord does know my mind, 1 cannot love 
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, [him : 
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth ; 
In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant, 
And, in dimension, and tlie shape of nature, 
A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him j 
He might have took his answer long ago. 

Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, 
With such a sufi'ering, such a deadly life. 
In your denial I would find no sense, 
I would not understand it. 

Oli. ^Vhy, what would you '! 

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, 
And call upon my soul within the house ; 
Write loyal cantons of contemned love, 
And sing them loud even in the dead of night ; 
Holla your name to the reverberate hills. 
And make tlie babbling gossip of tlie air 
Cry out, Olivia ! O, you should not rest 
Between the elements of air and earth. 
But you should pity me. [age ? 

Oli, You might do much : W'hat is your parent- 

Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : 
I am a gentleman. 

Oli. Get you to your lord ; 

I cannot love him : let him send no more ; 
Unless, perchance, you come to me again. 
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well : 
1 thank you for your pains : spend this for me. 

Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady ; keep your purse ; 
My master, not myself, lacks recompense. 
Love makes his iieart of Hint, that you shall love ; 
And let your fervour, like my master's, be 
I'lac'd in contempt ! Farewell, fair cruelty. [Exit. 

Oli. What is your jiarentage ? 
Above mij forttutes, yet my stale is well ; 

I am a gentleman. 1 '11 be sworn thou art ; 

Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, 
Do give thee fivefold blazon: — Not too fast: — 

soft ! soft ! 
Unless the master were the man. — How now? 
Even so quickly may one catch the phigue J 
Methinks, I fee! this youtli's perfections. 
With an invisible and subtle stealth. 
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. — 
What, ho, Malvolio ! — 

He-enter Malvolio. 

Mai. Here, madam, at your service. 

Oli. Run after that same peevisii messenger. 



ACT II.-SCENE III. 



91 



The county's man : he left this ring behind him, 
Would I, or not ; tell him, 1 '11 none of it. 
Desire him not to flatter with his lord. 
Nor hold him up with hopes ; 1 am not for him : 
If that the yoitli will come this way to-morrow, 
I '11 give him reasons for 't. Hie thee, i\lalvolio. 

Mai. Madam, 1 will. [Exit. 

OIL I do 1 know not what : and fear to find 
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. 
Fate, shew thy force : Ourselves we do not owe ; 
What is decreed, must be ; andbe this so ! [Exit. 



ACT II. 

SCENI-i I. — Tlie sea-coast. 
Enter Antonio and SiiBASxiAN. 

Ant. Will you stay no longer! nor will you not, 
that 1 go with you ? 

Set), liy your patience, no : my stars shine darkly 
over me ; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, 
distemper yours ; therefore 1 shall crave of you your 
leave, that I may bear my evils alone : It were a bad 
recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you. 

Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are 
bound. 

Seb. No, 'sooth sir ; my determinate voyage is 
mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excel- 
lent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from 
me what I am willing to keep in ; therefore it charges 
me in manners the rather to express myself. You 
must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebas- 
tian, which I called Rodorigo ; my father was that 
Sebastian of Messaline, wiiom 1 know, you have 
heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a sister, 
both born in an hour. If the heavens had been 
pleased, 'would we had so ended ! but you, sir, al- 
tered that ; for, some hour before you took me from 
the breach of tlie sea, was my sister drowned. 

An'. Alas, the day! 

Sell. A lady, sir, though it was said she much re- 
sembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful : 
but, though I could not, with such estimable won- 
der, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly 
publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not 
but call fair ; she is drown'd already, sir, with salt 
water, though I seem to drown her remembrance 
again with more. 

Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment, 

Seb. O good Antonio, forgive uie your trouble. 

Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let 
me be your servant. 

Seh. If you will not undo what you have done, 
that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it 
not. Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of 
kindness ; and I am yet so near the manners of my 
mother, that upon the least occasion more, mine 
eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the count 
Orsino's court : farewell. [Kiit. 

Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee ! 
I have many enemies in Orsino's court, 
Ehe would I very shortly see thee there: 
But, come what may, I do adore thee so. 
That danger shall seem sport, and 1 will go. \_Ei it. 

SCENE 11.—^ Street. 
Enter Viol.^ ; ^Iai.voiao folloieing. 

Mill. Were not you even now with the countess 
Olivia ■>. 



Vio. Even now, sir ; on a moderate pace I have 
since arrived but hither. 

Mai. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might 
have saved me my pains, to have taken it av.ay your- 
self. She adds moreover, that you should put your 
lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him ; 
And one thing more ; that you be never so hardy to 
come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your 
lord's taking of this. Receive it so. 

Via. She took the ring of me : I'll none of it. 

Mat. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and 
her will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth 
stooping for, there it lies in your eye ; if not, be it 
his that finds it. [Ejiit. 

Vio. 1 left no ring with her : What means this lady 1 
Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her ! 
She made good view of me ; indeed, so much. 
That, sure, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue, 
For she did speak in starts distractedly. 
She loves me, sure ; the cunning of her passion 
Invites me in this churlish messenger. 
None of my lord's ring ! why, he sent her none. 
I am the man; — If it be so, (as 'tis,) 
Poor lady, she were better love a dream. 
Disguise, 1 see, thou art a wickedness, 
\\'herein the pregnant enemy does much. 
How easy is it, for the proper-false 
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms ! 
Alas, our frailty "s the cause, not we ; 
For, such as we are made of, such we be. 
How will this fadge ? My master loves her dearly • 
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him ; 
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me: 
What will become of this! As I am man, 
My state is desperate for my master's love ; 
As I am woman, now alas the day I 
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe! 
O time, thou must entangle this, not I ; 
It is too hard a knot for me to untie. [Exit. 

SCENE III. A Boom in Olivia's House. 

E7iter Sir Toby Belch and Sir 
Andrew Ague-cheek. 

Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew ; not to be a-bed 
after midnight, is to be up betimes ; and diluculo 
surgere, thou know'st, 

Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I 
know, to be up late, is to be up late. 

Sir To. A false conclusion ; 1 hate it as an unfilled 
can : 'i'o be up after midnight, and to go to bed then 
is early : so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to 
go to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of the 
four elements 1 

Sir And. 'Faith so they say ; but, I think, it rather 
consists of eating and drinking. 

Sir To. Thou art a scholar ; let us therefore eat and 
drink. — Marian, I say ! — A stoop of wine ! ' 

Enter Clown. 

Sir And. Here comes the fool, i'faith. 

CLo. How now, my hearts'! Did you never see the 
picture of we three ? 

Sir To. Welcome ass. Now let's have a catch. 

Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent 
breast. 1 had rather than forty shillings 1 had such 
a leg ; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. 
In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, 
when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians 
passing the equinoctial of Queubus ; 'twas very good, 
i'faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman : Hadst it? 

Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity ; for Malvolio's 



92 



TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



nose is no whipstock : My lady has a white hand, and 
the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. 

Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, 
when all is done. Now, a song. 

Sir To. Come on ; there is sixpence for you : let's 
have a song. 

Sir And. There's a testril of me too : if one knight 
give a 

Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of 
good life 1 

Sir To. A love-sonor, a love- song. 

Sir And. Ay, ay ; I care not for good life. 

SONG. 

Clo. mistress mine, where are you roaming? 
0, still) and hear ; your true love's coming, 

That can s/wp- both /ii'u/i and low: 
Trip no further pretty sweeting ; 
Journeys end in lovers' meeting, 

Every wise man's son doth know. 

Sir And. Excellent good, i'faith. 
Sir To. Good, good. 

Clo. What is love ? 'tis 7iot hereafter ; 

Present mirth hath present laughter ; 

What's to come, is still umure : 
hi delay there lies no plenty ; 
Then come kiss: me, sweet-and-twenty 
Youth's a stujf will not endure. 

Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. 

Sir To. A contagious breath. 

Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i'faith. 

Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in conta- 
gion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed ? 
Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will 
draw three souls out of one weaver 1 shall we do that ? 

Sir And. An you love me, let's do't : I am dog at 
a catch. 

Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. 

Sir And. Most certain: let our catch be, 2'hou 
knave. 

Cln. Hold thii peace, thou knave, knight 1 I shall 
be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight. 

Sir And. 'Tis not the first time 1 have constrain'd 
one to call me knave. Begin, fool ; it begins. Hold 
thy peace. 

Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace. 

Sir And, Good, i'faith ! Come, begin. 

[^They sing a catch. 

Enter Maria. 

Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here ! If 
my lady have not called up her steward Malvolio, 
and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. 

■Sir To. My lady's a Catalan, we are politicians ; 
Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsay, and Three merry men he 
we. Am not 1 consanguineous "! am not I of her blood ? 
Tilly-valley, lady ! There dwelt a man in Babylon, 
lad\), lady ! [Singing. 

Clo. Beshrew me, the knisrht's in admirable foolinsr. 

Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be dis- 
posed, and so do I too ; he does it with a better grace, 
but I do it more natural. 

Sir To. 0, the twefth day of December, — 

[Singing. 

Mar. For the love o' God, peace. 

Enter Malvolio. 

Mai. My masters, are you mad 1 or what are you 1 
Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble 
like tinkers at this time of niglit 1 Do ye make an 
alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak out youi 



coziers' catches without any mitigation or remorse of 
voice 1 Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, 
in you 1 

Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. 
Sneck up ! 

Mai. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My 
lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you 
as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. 
If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, 
you are welcome to the house ; if not, an it would 
please you to take leave of her, she is very willing 
to bid you farewell. 

Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be 
gone. 

Mar. Nay, good sir Toby. 
Clo. His eyes do shew his days are almost done. 
Mai. Is't even so ? 
Sir To. But 1 will never die. 
Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. 
BLd. This is much credit to you. 
Sir To. Shall I bid him go? [Ringing. 

Clo. What an if you do? 
Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not ? 
Clo. no, no, no, no, you dare not. 
Sir To. Out o' time ? sir, ye lie. — Art any more 
than a steward ? Dost thou think, because thou art 
virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale 1 

Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne ; and ginger shall be not 
i' the mouth too. 

Sir To. Thou'rt i'the right. — Go, sir, rub your 
chain with crums : — A stoop of wine, Maria ! 

Mai. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my lady's favour 

at any thing more than contempt, you would not give 

means for this uncivil rule ; she shall know of it, by 

this hand. [Eait. 

Mar. Go shake your ears. 

Sir And. 'Tvvere as good a deed as to drink when a 
man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field ; and then 
to break promise with him, and make a fool of liim. 

Sir To. Do't knight ; I'll write thee a challenge ; or 
I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth. 
Mar. Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to-night ; since 
the youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, she 
is much out of quiet. For monsieur Malvolio, let 
me alone with him : if I do not gull him into a nay- 
word, and make him a common recreation, do not 
think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed : I 
know, I can do it. 

Sir To. Possess us, possess us ; tell us something 
of him. 

Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. 
Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat iiim like a 
dog. 

Sir To. What, for being a Puritan 1 thy exquisite 
reason, dear knight? 

Sir And 1 have no exquisite reason for't, but I 
have reason good enough. 

Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing 
constantly but a time pleaser ; an affection'd ass, that 
cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths • 
the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he 
thinks, with excellencies, that it is his ground of faith, 
that all, that look on him, love him ; and on that vice 
in him will my revenge find notable cause to work. 
Sir To. What will thou do 1 

Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles 
of love ; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the 
shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expres- 
sure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall 
find himself most feelingly personated : I can write 
very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter 
we can hardly make distinction of our hands. 



ACT II.— SCENE IV. 



93 



Sir Tn. Excellent ! I sinell a device. 

Sir And. 1 liave 't in my nose too. 

Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt 
drop, that they come from my niece, and that she is 
in love with him. 

Mar. Rly purpose is, indeed, ahorse of that colour. 

Sir To. And your horse now would make him an 
ass. 

Mar. Ass, I doubt not. 

Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable. 

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you : I know, my 
physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and 
let the fool make a third, where he shall find the let- 
ter ; observe his construction of it. For this night, to 
bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. \^Exit. 

Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. 

Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. 

Sir To. She's a beagle, true bred, and one that 
adores me ; What o'that ? 

Sir And. I was adored once too. 

Sir To. Let's to bed, knight. — Thou hadst need 
send for more money. 

Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a 
foul way out. 

Sir To. Send for money, knight ; if thou hast her 
not i'the end, call me Cut. 

Sir And. If 1 do not, never trust me, take it how 
you will. 

Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, 'tis 
too late to go to bed now; come, knight; come, 
knight. l^Eieunt. 

SCENE IV.— ^ Room in the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others. 

Duke. Give me some music : — Now, good morrow, 

friends : 

Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song. 
That old and antique song we heard last night ; 
Methought, it did relieve my passion much ; 
More than light airs and recollected terms. 

Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times : 

Come, but one verse. 

Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that 
should sing it. 

Duke. \Vho was it? 

Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool, that the 
lady Olivia's father took much delight in : he is about 
the house. 

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. 

[£j(t Curio. — Music. 
Come hither, boy ; If ever thou shalt love. 
In the sweet pangs of it, remember me : 
For, such as I am, all true lovers are ; 
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else. 
Save, in the constant image of the creature 
That is belov'd. — How dost thou like this tune 1 

Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat 
Where Love is thron'd. 

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly : 
My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye 
Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves ; 
Hath it not, boy 1 

Vio. A little, by your favour. 

Duke. What kind of woman is't? 

Vio. Of your complexion. 

Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years, 

Vio. About your years, my lord. [i'faith ? 

Duke. Too old, by heaven ; Let still the woman 
An elder than herself; so wears she to him, [take 
So sways she level in her husband's heart. 
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, 



Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, 

JMore longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn. 

Than women's are. 

Vio. I think it well, my lord. 

Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself, 
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: 
For women are as roses ; whose fair flower, 
Being once display 'd, doth fall that very hour. 

Vio. And so tliey are ; alas, that they are so ; 
To die, even when they to perfection grow ! 

Be-enter Curio and Clown. 

Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last 
Mark it, Cesario ; it is old and plain : night : — 

The spinsters and the knitters in tlie sun, 
And the free maids, that weave their thread with 
Do use to chaunt it ; it is silly sooth , [bones, 

And dallies v/ith the innocence of love. 
Like the old age. 

Clo. Are you ready, sir? 

Duke, Ay ; pr'ythee sing. [Musia 

SONG. 

Clo. Come aunt), come await, death, 
And in sad cypress let me be laid ; 

Fly away,jiy away, breath ; 
I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
My shroud of' white, stuck all vith yew, 

0, prepare it ; 
My part of death no one so true 
Did share it. 

Not ajlower, not a flower sweet, 
On my black coffin let there he strewn ; 

Not ajriend, not a friend greet 
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown. 
A thousand thousand sighs to save, 

Lay me, 0, iihere 
Sad true lover never find my grave. 
To weep there. 

Duke. There's for thy pains. 

Clo. No pains, sir ; 1 take pleasure in singing, sir. 

Duke. I '11 pay thy pleasure then. 

Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one 
time or another. 

Duke. I give thee now leave to leave me. 

Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and 
the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taH'ata, for 
thy mind is a very opal ! — 1 would have Uien of such 
constancy put to sea, that their business might be 
every tiling, and their intent every where ; for that's 
it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing. — 
Farewell. \_Exit Clown. 

Duke. Let all the rest give place. 

\_Eieunt Curio and attendants. 
Once more, Cesario, 
Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty : 
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world, 
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands ; 
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her. 
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune ; 
But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems. 
That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul. 

Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir 1 

Duke. I cannot be so answer'd. 

Vio. 'Sooth, but you must. 

Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is. 
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart 
As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her; 
You tell her so ; Must she not then be answer'd 1 

Duke. There is no woman's sides. 
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion 



04 



TWELFTH NIGHT. OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



As love doth give my heart : no woman's heart 
So big, to hold so much ; they lack retention. 
Alas, their love may be called appetite, — 
No motion of the liver, but the palate, — 
That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt; 
But mine is all as hungry as the sea, 
And can digest as much : make no compare 
Between that love a woman can bear me. 
And that I owe Olivia. 

Vio. Ay, but I know, — 

Duke. What dost thou know "! 

Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe : 
In faith, they are as true of heart as we. 
My father had a daughter lov'd a man, 
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, 
J should your lordship. 

Duke. And what'? her history 1 

Via. A blank, my lord : She never told her love, 
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, 
Feed on her damask cheek : she pin'd in thought ; 
And, with a green and yellow melancholy, 
She sat like patience on a monument, 
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed? 
We men may say more, swear more : but, indeed, 
Our shows are more than will ; for still we prove 
Much in our vows, but little in our love. 

Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy 1 

Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house, 
And all the brothers too ; — and yet I know not. — 
Sir, shall I to this lady f 

Duke. Ay, that's the theme. 

To her in haste ; give her this jewel ; say, 
My love can give no place, bide no denay. [Eieunf. 

SCENE v.— Olivia's Garden. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Anduew Aoue-cheek, 
and Fabian. 

Sir To. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. 

Fah. Nay, I '11 come ; if I lose a scruple of this 
sport, let me be boiled to death with melanclioly. 

Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the nig- 
gardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable 
shame 1 

Full. I would exult, man : you know, he brought 
me out of favour with my lady, about a bear-beating 
here. 

Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again ; 
and we will fool him black and blue : — Shall we not, 
sir Andrew 1 

Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives. 

Enter Maria. 

Sir To. Here comes the little vill 
my metal of India"! 

Mar. Get ye all three into the 
volio's coming down this walk ; he 
i' the s>in, practising behaviour to 
this half hour: observe him, for the 
for, I know, this letter will make 
ideot of him. Close, in the name 
men hide themselves.~\ Lie thou ther 
a letter'] for here comes the trout th 
with tickling. 

Enter Malvolio. 

Mill. 'Tis but fortune ; all is fortune. Maria 
once told me, she did affect me : and I have heard 
herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it 
should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses 
me with a more exalted respect, than any one else 
that follows her. What should I think on 't 1 



ain : — How now, 

box-tree : Mal- 

has been yonder 
his own shadow, 

love of mockery ; 

a contemplative 
of jesting! l_The 
e ; [t/n'on's down 
at must be caught 
\_Eiit Maria. 



Sir To. Here 's an over-weening rogue ! 

Fiib. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey- 
cock of him ; how he jets under his advanced plumes' 

Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue: — 

Sir To. Peace, I say. 

Mai. To be count JNIalvolio ; — 

Sir To. Ah, rogue ! 

Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. 

Sir To. Peace, peace ! 

Mul. There is example for't ; the lady of the 
strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. 

Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel! 

Fah. O, peace! now he's deeply in ; look, how 
imagination blows him. 

Mai. Having been three months married to her, 
sitting in my state, — 

Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! 

Mai. Calling my officers about me, in my branched 
velvet gown ; having come from a day-bed, where 1 
left Olivia sleeping. 

Sir To. Fire and brimstone ! 

Fah. O, peace, peace. 

Mai. And then to have the humour of state : and 
after a demure travel of regard — telling them, I know 
my place, as I would they should do theirs, — to ask 
for my kinsman Toby : 

Sir To. Bolts and shackles ! 

Fab. O, peace, peace, peace ! now, now. 

Mat. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, 
make out for him : 1 frown the while ; and, perchance, 
wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. 
Toby approaches ; court'sies there to me : 

Sir To. Shall this fellow live ? 

Fah. Though our silence be drawn from us with 
cars, yet peace. 

Mat. 1 extend my hand to him thus, quenching 
my familiar smile v/itli an austere regard of control : 

Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the 
lips then ? 

Mai. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast 
me on your uiece, give me this yreraratiie of speech : — 

Sir To. What, whatl 

Mai. Yon must amend your drunkenness. 

Sir To. Out, scab ! 

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our 
plot. 

Mai. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time 
with a foolish knight. 

Sir And. That's me, I warrant you. 

Mai. One Sir Andrew : 

Sir And. I knew, 'twas I ; for many do call me fool. 

Mai. What employment have we here? 

[^Taking up the letter. 

Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. 

Sir To. O, peace! and the spirit of humours "ati- 
mate reading aloud to him ! 

Mai. By my life, this is my lady's hand : these 
be her very C"s, her U's, and her T's ; and thus 
makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of ques 
tion, lier hand. 

Sir And. HerC's,herC/'s,andher T's: Whythat? 

Mai. [reads,] To the tinknown beloved , this, and my 
good ii'ishes : her very phrases ! — By your leave, wax. 
— Soft ! — and the impressure her Lucrece, with which 
she uses to seal: 'tis my lady: To whom should 
this be ? 

Fab This wins him, liver and all 

Mai. [reat/s. j Jove knows, I love : 
But who 7 
Lips do not move, 
No man must know. 
No man must know. — What follows 1 the numbers 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 



95 



altered ! — No man must know : — If this should be 
thee, Malvolio ? 

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock! 

Mai.- I may command, where I adore : 

But siloice, like a Lucrece knife, 
M'ith bloodless stroke mu heart doth gore ; 
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life. 

Fab. A fustian riddle ! 

Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. 

Mai. M, O, A, I, doth sway my /(/>.— Nay, but 
first, let me see, — let me see, — let me see. 

Fah. What a dish of poison has she dressed him ! 

Sir To. And with what wing the stannyel checks 
at it! 

j\Ial. 1 max; cnmmand where I adore. Why, she 
may command me : I serve her, she is my lady. 
Why, tliis is evident to any formal capacity. There 
is no obstruction in this ; — ^^And the end, — What 
should that alpliabetical position portend ? if I could 
make that resemble something in me, — Softly ! — 
M, 0, A, I.— 

Sir To. O, ay ! make up that : — he is now at a 
cold scent. 

Fah. Sovvterwill cry upon 't, for all this, though 
it be as rank as a fox. 

Mill. M, — JNIalvolio ; — M, — why, that begins my 
name. 

Fah. Did not I say he would work it out? the cur 
is excellent at faults. 

Mai. M, — But then there is no consonancy in the 
sequel ; that suffers under probation : A should fol- 
low, but does. 

Fab. And shall end, I hope. 

Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him 
cry, 0. 

Mai And then I comes behind. 

Fob. Ay, an you had an eye behind you, you 
might see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes 
before you. 

Mai. M, 0, A, I ;— This simulation is not as the 
former : — and yet to crush tliis a little, it would bow 
to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. 
Soft ; here follows prose. — If this full into thy hand, 
revolve. In my stars I am above thee ; bat he not 
afraid of greatness : Some are born great, some achieve 
greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. 
Thy fates open tlieir hands ; let thy blood and spirit 
embrace them. And, to inure thyself to what thou art 
tike to be, cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh. 
Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants : let 
thy tongue tang arguments of state ; put thyself into 
the trick of singularity : She thus advises thee, that 
sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow 
stockings ; and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered : 
I say, remember. Go to ; tlwu art made, if thou de- 
siresl to be so ; if not, let me see thee a steward still, the 
fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch fortune's 
fingers. Farewell. She that xvould alter services with tliee. 

The fortunate unhappit. 
Day-light and champian discovers not more : this 
is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, 
I will baftie Sir Toby, I will wash oft' gross acquaint- 
ance, 1 will be point-de-vice, the very man. I do 
not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me ; for 
every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. 
She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she 
did praise my leg being cross-gartered ; and in this 
she manifests herself to my love, and, with a kind of 
injunction, drives me to these habits of her liking. 
I thank my stars, I am happy. 1 will be strange, 
stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even 
with the swiftness of putting on. Jove, and my stars 



be praised ! — Here is yet a postscript. Thou canst 
not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainest 
my love, let it appear in thy smiling ; thy smiles be- 
come thee well : therefore in my presence still smile, 
dear my sweet, I pr'ythee. Jove, I thank thee. — I 
will smile : I will do every thing that thou wilt have 
me. [Exit. 

Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a 
pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. 

Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device : 

Sir And. So could I too. 

iS(> To. And ask no other dowry with her, but 
such another jest. 

Enter Maria. 

Sir And. Nor I neither. 

Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. 

Sir To. Wilt thou set tliy foot o' my neck? 

Sir And. Or o' mine either ? 

Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and 
become thy bond-slave ? 

Sir And. 1' faith, or I either? 

Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, 
that, when the image of it leaves him, lie must run 
mad. 

Mar. Nay, but say true ; does it work upon him? 

Sir To. Like aqua-vitaj with a midwife. 

Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, 
mark his first approach before my lady : he will come 
to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she ab- 
hors ; and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests ; and 
he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuit- 
able to her disposition, being addicted to a melan- 
choly as she is, tliat it cannol but turn him into a 
notable contempt: if you will see it, follow me. 

Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent 
devil of wit ! 

Sir And. I'll make one too. ^Exeunt 



ACT III. 

SCENE I.— Olivia's Garden. 

Enter Viola, and Clown with a tabor. 

Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music : Dost thou 
live by thy tabor ? 

Clo. No, sir, I live by the church. 

Vio. Art thou a churchman ? 

Clo. No such matter, sir ; I do live by the churcli ; 
for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand 
by the church. 

Vio. So thou may'st say, the king lies by a beggar, 
if a beggar dwell near him ; or the church stands by 
thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. 

Clo. You have said, sir. — To see this age ! — A 
sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit ; How 
quickly the wrong side may be turned outward ! 

Vio. Nay, that's certain ; they that dally nicely 
with words, may quickly make them wanton. 

Clo. I would therefore, my sister had had no name, 
sir. 

Vio. Why, man? 

Clo. Why, sir, her name's a word ; and to dal'y 
with that word, mi^ht make my sister wanton : But, 

-111- 1 

indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds disgraced 
them. 

Vio. Thy reason, man ? 

Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without 
words ; and words are grown so false, I am loath to 
prove reason with them. 



.9(3 



TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT' YOU WILL. 



Vip. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and carest 
for nothing. 

CIp, Not so, sir, I do care for something : but in 
my conscience, sir, I do not care for you ; if that be 
to care for nothing, sir, I woultl it would make you 
invisible. 

Via. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool "! 

Clo. No, indeed, sir ; the lady Olivia has no folly : 
she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married ; and 
fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to her- 
rings, the husband's the bigger ; 1 am, indeed, not 
her fool, but her corrupter of words. 

Via. 1 saw thee late at the count Orsino's. 

Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like the 
sun ; it shines every where. 1 would be sorry, sir, 
but the fool should be as oft with your master, as with 
my mistress : I think, I saw your wisdom there. 

Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with 
thee. Hold, there's expenses for ihee. 

Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, 
send thee a beard ! 

Vio. By my troth, I '11 tell thee ; I am almost sick 
for one ; tliough 1 would not have it grow on my chin. 
Is thy lady within ? 

Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir'! 

Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use. 

Clo. I would play lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, 
to bring a Cressida to this Troilus. 

Vio. I understand you, sir ; 'tis well begg'd. 

Clo. I'he matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging 
but a beggar : Cressida was a beggar. ]\Iy lady is 
within, sir. I will construe to them whence you 
come ; who you are, and what you would, are out of 
my welkin : I might say, element ; but the word is 
over-worn. [Eiit. 

Vio. This fellow's wise enough to play the fool ; 
And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit : 
He must observe their mood on whom he jests. 
The quality of persons, and the time ; 
Nor, like the haggard, check at every feather 
I'hat comes before his eye. This is a practice, 
As full of labour as a wise man's art ; 
For folly, that he wisely shews, is fit ; 
But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew 
Ague-cheek. 

Sir To. Save you, gentlemen. 

Vio. And you, sir. 

Sir A)id. D ie II vous garde, monsieur. 

Vio, Et vous aussi ; votre serviteur. 

Sir And. I hope, sir, you are ; and I am yours. 

Sir To. Will you encounter the house'! my niece 
is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. 

Vio. 1 am bound to your niece, sir : 1 mean, she is 
the list of my voyage. 

Sir To. Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion. 

Vio. ]\Iy legs do better understand me, sir, than I 
understand what you mean by bidding me taste my 
legs. 

Sir To. I mean to go, sir, to enter. 

Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance : 
But we are prevented. 

Enter Olivia and IMahia. 
Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain 
odours on you ! 

Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier ! Rain 
odours! well. 

Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your 
own most pregnapt and vouchsafed ear. 

Sir And. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed: — I'll 
get 'em ; all three all ready. 



OH. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to 
my hearing. 

[Edeunt Sir Tony, Sir Andrew, and Mauia. 
Give me your hand, sir 

Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. 

Oli. What is your name I 

Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair prmcess. 

Oli. My servant, sir ! 'Twas never merry world, 
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment: 
You are servant to the count Orsino, youtii. 

Vio. And he is yours, and Ids must needs be yours ; 
Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. 

Oli. For him, 1 think not on him : for his thoughts, 
Would they were blanks, rather than filled with me' 

Vio. RJadam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts 
On his behalf: — 

Oli. O, by your leave, I pray you; 

I bade you never speak again of him : 
But, would you undertake another suit, 
1 had rather hear you to solicit that, 
Than music from the spheres. 

Vio. Dear lady, 

Oli. Give me leave, I beseech you : I did send 
After the last enchantment you did here, 
A ring in chase of you ; so did 1 abuse 
Rlyself, my servant, and, I fear me, you : 
Under your hard construction must I sit. 
To force that on you, in a shameful cunning. 
Which you knew none of yours: What might you 
Have you not set mine honour at the stake, [think 1 
And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts 
That tyrannous heart can think 1 To one of your re- 
Enougli is shewn ; a Cyprus, not a bosom, [ceiving 
Hides my poor heart : So let me hear you speak. 

Vio. 1 pity you. 

Oli. That's a degree to love. 

Vio. No, not a grise ; for 'tis a vulgar proof. 
That very oft we pity enemies. 

Oli. \Vhy, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again. 

world, how apt the poor are to be proud ! 
If one should be a prey, how much the better 

To fall before the lion, than the wolf! [Clack strikes. 
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. — 
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you : 
And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, 
Your wife is like to reap a proper man : 
There lies your way, due west. 

Vio. Then westward-hoe : 

Grace, and good disposition 'tend your ladyship ', 
You '11 nothing, madam, to my lord by me 1 

Oli. Stay: 

1 pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me. 

Vio. That you do think, you are not what you are. 

Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you. 

Vio. Then think you right; I am not what I am. 

Oli. I would you were as I would have you be ! 

Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am, 
I wish it might ; for now I am your fool. 

Oli. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful 
In the contempt and anger of his lip ! 
A murd'rous guilt shews not itself more soon 
Than love that would seem hid : love's niglit is noon- 
Cesario, by the roses of the spring. 
By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing, 
I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride. 
Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide. 
Do not extort thy reasons from tins clause. 
For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause : 
But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter : 
Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better. 

Vio. By innocence I swear, and by ray youth, 
I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, 



ACT III.— SCENE III. 



97 



And that no woman has ; nor never none 
Shall mistress be of it, save 1 alone. 
And so adiexi, good madam ; never more 
Will 1 my master's tears to you deplore. [move 

OU. Yet come again : for thou, jwrhaps, may'st 
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. 

SCENE II. — A Room iu Olivia's House. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, 
and Fabian. 

Sir And- No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer. 

Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason. 

Fab. You must needs yield your reason, sir An- 
drew. 

Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours 
to the count's serving man, than ever she bestowed 
upon me ; I saw'l i' the orchard. 

Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell 
me that. 

Sir And. As plain as I see you now. 

Fall. This was a great argument of love in her 
toward you. 

Sir Atid. 'Slight ! will you make an ass o' me ? 

Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oatiis 
of judgment and reason. 

Sir To. And they have been grand jurymen, since 
before Noah was a sailor. 

Fah. She did shew favour to the youth in your 
sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dor- 
mouse valour, to ]>ut fire in your heart, and brimstone 
in your liver: \'oi>. should then have accosted her; 
and with some excellent jests, hre-new from the mint, 
/OU should have banged the youth into dumbness. 
This was looked for at your hand, and this was 
baulked : the double gilt of this opportunity you 
let time wash off, and you are now sailed into the 
north of my lady's opinion ; where you will hang like 
an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do re- 
deem it by some laudable attempt, either of valour, 
or policy. 

Sir And. And't be any way, it must be with va- 
lour : for policy I hate ; I had as lief be a Brownist, 
as a politician. 

Sir To. Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the 
basis of valour. Challenge me the count's youth to 
light with iiim ; hurt him in eleven places ; my niece 
shall lake note of it : and assure thyself, there is no 
love-broker in the woikl can more prevail in man's 
commendation with women, than report of valour. 

Fah. There is no way but this, sir Andrew. 

Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challenge 
to him 1 

Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand ; be curst 
and brief ; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent 
and full of invention ; taunt him with the licence of 
ink : if thou tlwu'st him some thrice, it shall not be 
amiss ; and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of 
paper, although the sheet were big enough for the 
bed of Ware in England, set 'em down ; go about it. 
Let there be gall enough in thy ink ; though thou 
write with a goose-pen, no matter : About it : 

Sir And. Where shall I find you 1 

Sir To. We'll call thee at the cubiculo: Go. 

[^Eiit Sir Andrew. 

Fab. This is a dear manakin to you, sir Toby. 

Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad ; some two 
thousand strong, or so. 

Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him : but 
you'll not deliver it. 

Sir To. Never trust me then ; and by all means 



stir on the youth to an answer. I think oxen and 
wainropes cannot hail tliem together. For Andrew, 
if he were opened, and you find so nuicli blood in his 
liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest 
of the anatomy. 

Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his 
visage no great pret-age of cruelty. 

Enter Mahia. 

Sir To. Look where the youngest wren of nine 
comes. 

Mar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh your- 
selves into stitches, follow me : yon' gull ]\Ialvolio 
is turned heathen, a very renegado ; for there is no 
Christian, that means to be saved by believing rightly, 
can ever believe such impossible passages ol gross- 
ness. He 's in yellow stockings. 

Sir To. And cross-gartered t 

Mar. Most villanously ; like a pedant that keeps 
a school i' the church. — I have dogged him, like his 
murderer : lie does obey every point of the letter 
that I dropped to betray him. lie does smile his 
face into more lines than are in the new map, with 
the augmentation of the Indies : you have not seen 
such 3 thing as 'tis ; 1 can hardly forbear hurling 
tilings at him. I know my lady will strike him ; if 
she do, he'll smile, and taK 't for a great favour. 

Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. 

\_E3jeunt. 

SCENE III.— ^ Street. 

Enter Antonio and Sfhastian. 

Seb. I would not by my will have troubled you ; 
But, since you make your pleasure of your pains, 
I will no further chide you. 

Ant. I could not stay behind you ; my desire, 
More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth ; 
And not all love to see you, (though so much. 
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,) 
But jealousy what might befall your travel, 
Being skilless in these parts ; which to a stranger, 
Unguided, and unfriended, often prove 
Rough and unhospitable : My willing Inve, 
The rather by these arguments of fear, 
Set forth in your pursuit. 

Seb. My kind Antonio, 

I can no other answer make, but thanks. 
And thanks, and ever thanks : Often good turns 
Are shuffled ofl' with such uncurrent pay: 
But, were my worth, as is my conscience, firm, 
You should find better dealing. What's to do ? 
Shall we go see the reliques of this town ] [ing. 

Ant. To-morrow, sir ; best, first, go see your lodg- 

Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night ; 
I pray you let us satisfy our eyes 
With the memorials, and the things of fame. 
That do renown this city. 

Ant. 'Would, you'd pardon me; 

I do not without danger walk these streets : 
Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst the count his gallies, 
I did some service ; of such note, indeed, 
That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd. 

Seb. Belike, you slew great number of his people. 

Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody nature ; 
Albeit the quality of the time, and quarrel, 
JNlight well have gi\en us bloody argument. 
It might have since been answer'd in repaying 
What we took from them ; wliich, for traihck's sake. 
Most of our city did : only myself stood out : 
For which, if 1 be lapsed in this place, 
I shall pay dear. 

Seb. Do not then walk too open. 



OS 



TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my purse ; 
In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, 
Is best to lodge : I will bespeak our diet, [ledge, 
Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your know- 
"With viewing of the town ; there shall you have me. 

Seb. Why I your purse ? • 

AjU. Haply, your eye shall light upon some toy 
You have desire to purchase ; and your store, 
I think, is not for idle markets, sir. 

Seb. I '11 be your purse-bearer, and leave you for 
Ai hour. 

Ant. To the Elephant. — 

Seb, 1 do remember. 

[^Eieunt. 

SCENE IV.— Olivia's Garden. 
Enter Olivia and Maria. 

on. I have sent after him. He says he "11 come ; 
How shall I feast him 1 what bestow on him ] 
For youth is bought more oft, than begg'd or bor- 

I speak too loud. [row'd. 

Where is Malvolio ? — he is sad, and civil, 

And suits well for a servant with my fortunes ; — 

Where is Malvolio 1 

Mar, He's coming, madam ; 

But in strange manner. He is sure possess'd. 

Oil. Why, what's the matter! does he rave? 

Mar. No, madam, 

He does nothing but smile : your ladyship 
Were best have guard about you, if he come ; 
For, sure, the man is tainted in his wits. 

Oli. Go call him hither. — I 'm as mad as he, 
If sad and merry madness equal be. — 

Enter Malvolio. 

How now, jMalvolio 1 

Mill. Sweet lady, ho, ho. \ Smiles fantastically. 

Oli. Smil'st thoa ? 
I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. 

Mill. Sad, lady 1 I could be sad : This does make 
some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering ; 
But what of that, if it please the eye of one, it is 
with me as the very true sonnet is : I'lease one, and 
■pledse all. 

Oli. Why, how dost thou man 1 what is the mat- 
ter with thee 1 

Mai. Not black in my mind, though yellow in my 
legs : It did come to his hands, and commands shall 
be executed. I think, we do know the sweet Roman 
hand. 

Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Blalvolio 1 

Mai. To bed 1 ay, sweet-heart ; and I'll come to 
thee. 

Oli. God comfort thee ! Why dost thou smile so, 
and kiss thy hand so oft ] 

Mar, How do you, IMalvolio? 

Mai. At your request I Yes ; Nightingales an- 
swer daws. 

Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous bold- 
ness before my lady 1 

Mai, Be not afraid of greatness : — 'twas well writ. 

Oli. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio "! 

Mai. Some are born great, — 

on. Ha? 

Mai. Some achieve greatness, — 

Oli. What say'st thou ? 

Mai. And some have greatness thrust ujwn thenu 

Oli. Heaven restore thee ! 

Mai. Remember, who commended thy yellow stock- 
ings ;— 

Oli. Thy yellow stockings ■• 



Mai. And wished to see thee cross-gartered. 
Oli. Cross-gartered ? 

Mai. Go to: thou art made, if thou desirest to be 
so ; — 

Oli, Am I made ? 

Mai. If not, let me see thee a servant still, 

Oli. Why, this is very midsummer madness. 

Etiter Servant. 

Ser, Madam, the young gentleman of the count 
Orsino's is returned ; I could hardly entreat him 
back : he attends your ladyship's pleasure. 

Oli. I'll come to him. \_Exit Servant.] Good 
Maria, let tiiis fellow be looked to. Where's my 
cousin Toby ? Let some of my people have a special 
care of him ; I would not have him miscarry for the 
half of my dowry. l^Eieunt Olivia and Maria. 

Mat. Oh, ho! do you come near me now? no 
worse man than sir Toby to look to me ? This con- 
curs directly with the letter : she sends him on pur- 
pose, that 1 may appear stubborn to him ; for she 
incites me to that in the letter. Cost (/?(/ humble 
slougli, says she ; — be opposite with a kiiisman., surly 
with servants, — let tliy tongue tang icitli aiguments of 

state, — put thyself into the trick of singularity ; 

and consequently, sets down the manner how ; as, a 
sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the 
habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have limed 
her ; but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make me thank- 
ful ! And, when she went away now. Let this fellow 
he looked to : Fellow ! not Malvolio, nor after my 
degree, but fellow. Why, every thing adheres toge- 
ther ; that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a 
scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe cir- 
cumstance, — What can be said? Nothing, that can 
be, can come between me and the full prospect of 
my hopes. W^ell, J ove, not I, is the doer of this, and 
he is to be thanked. 

Re-enter Maria, with Sir Toby Belch and Fabian. 

Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? 
If all the devils in hell be drawn in little, and Legion 
himself possessed him, yet I '11 speak to him. 

Fab. Here he is, here he is ; — How is 't with you, 
sir? how is't with j'ou, man? 

Mai. Go off; I discard you; let me enjoy my 
private ; go off. 

Mar, Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him ! 
did not I tell you ? — Sir Toby, my lady prays you to 
have a care of him. 

Mul. Ah, ah ! does she so? 

Sir To. Go to, go to ; peace, peace, we must deal 
gently with him ; let me alone. How do you, Mal- 
volio ? how is 't with you ? What, man I defy the 
devil : consider, he 's an enemy to mankind. 

Mai. Do you know what you say ? 

Mar. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he 
takes it at heart ! Pray God, he be not bewitched i 

Fab. Carry his water to the wise woman. 

Mar. INIarry, and it shall be done to-morrow morn- 
ing, if I live. My lady would not lose him for more 
than I '11 say. 

Mai. How now, mistress ? 

Mar. O lord ! 

Sir To. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace ; this is not the 
way : Do you not see, you move him? let me alone 
with him. 

Fab. No way but gentleness; gently, gently: the 
fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used. 

Sir To. Why, how now, my bawcock? how dost 
thou, chuck ? 

Mai. Sir? 



.^~ 







/;/VDE/iSON Sc- 



TV/ELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 

Malvolio Remember who commended thy yeUow stockings 

Act III, Scent 4. 



ACT III. -SCENE IV. 



99 



Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What man ! 
'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan : 
Hang him, foul collier ! 

Mar. Get him to say his prayers ; good sir Toby, 
get him to pray. 

M(tl. My prayers, minx ? 

Mar. No, I warrant you, he will not hear of god- 
liness. 

MaL Go, hang yourselves all ! you are idle shal- 
low things : I am not of your element ; you shall 
know more hereafter [Exit. 

Sir To. Is 't possible 1 

Fah. If this were played upon a stage now, I 
could condemn it as an improbable fiction. 

Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infection 
of the device, man. 

i\Uir, Nay, pursue him now ; lest the device take 
air, and taint. 

Fub. Why, ws shall make him mad, indeed. 

Mar. The house will be the quieter. 

Sir To. Come, we'll have him in a dark room, 
and bound. My niece is already in the belief that 
he is mad ; we may carry it thus, for our pleasure, 
and his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of 
breath, prompt us to have mercy on him : at which 
time, we will bring the device to the bar, and crown 
thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see. 

Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 

Fah. More matter for a May morning. 

Sir And. Here's the challenge, read it; I war- 
rant there's vinegar and pepper in't. 

Fab. Is 't so sawcy ? 

Sir And. Ay, is it, I warrant him : do but read. 

Sir To. Give me. \_reads.'\ Youth, whatsoever thou 
art, thou art but a scurvy fellow. 

Fab. Good, and valiant. 

Sir To. ]Vonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, lohy 
I do call thee so, for I will shew thee no reason for 't. 

Fab. A good note : that keeps you from the blow 
■of the law. 

Sir To. Thou contest to the ladtf Olivia, and in my 
sight she uses thee kindly : but^thou liest in thy throat, 
that is not the matter I challenge thee for. 

Fab. Very brief, and exceeding good sense-less. 

Sir To. 1 will waif-lay thee going liome ; where if 
it be thy chance to kill me, 

Fah. Good. 

Sir To. Thou killest me like a rogue and a villain. 

Fab. Still you keep o' the windy side of the law ; 
Good. 

Sir To. Fare thee well; And God have mercy upon 
one of' our souls! He may have mercif upon mine; but 
my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy friend, 
as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy, 

AnDIIEW AorE-CHEEK. 

Sir To. If this letter move him not, his legs can- 
not : I '11 give 't him. 

Mar. You may have very fit occasion for 't ; he is 
now in some commerce with my lady, and will by 
and by depart. 

Sir To. Go, sir Andrew ; scout me for him at the 
corner of the orchard, like a bum-bailiff: so soon 
as ever thou seest him, draw ; and, as thou drawest, 
swear horrible ; for it comes to pass oft, that a ter- 
rible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged 
off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof 
itself would have earned him. Away. 

Sir And. Nay, let me alone for swearing. [Exit. 

Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter : for the 
behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out to 
be of good capacity and breeding ; his employment 



between his lord and my niece confirms no less ; 
therefore this letter, being so excellently ignorant, 
will breed no terror in the youth, he will find it 
comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his 
challenge by word of mouth ; set upon Ague-cheek 
a notable report of valour ; and drive the gentleman, 
(as, I know his youth will aptly receive it,) into a 
most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and im- 
petuosity. This will so fright them both, that they 
will kill one another by the look, like cockatrices. 

Enter Olivia and Viola. 

Fab. Here he comes with your niece : give them 
v/ay, tin he take leave, and presently after him. 

Sir To. I will meditate the while upon some hor- 
rid message for a challenge. 

[Exeunt Sir Touv, Fabian, and Maria. 

Oli. I have said too much unto a heart of stone, 
And laid my honour too unchary out : 
There 's something in me, that reproves my fault ; 
But such a headstrong potent fault it is, 
That it but mocks repioof. [bears, 

Vio. With the same 'haviour that your passion 
Go on my master's griefs. 

Oli. Here, wear this jewel forme, 'tis my picture ; 
Refuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you : 
And, 1 beseech you, come again to-morrow. 
W^hat shall you ask of me, that I'll deny ; 
That honour, sav'd, may upon asking give ^ [master. 

Vio. Nothing but this, your true love for my 

Oli. How with mine honour may I give him that 
Which I have given to you "! 

Vio. I will acquit you. 

Oli. Well, come again to-morrow ; Fare thee well ; 
A fiend, like thee, might bear my soul to hell. [Exit. 

Re-enter Sir Toby Belch and Fabian. 

Sir To, Gentleman, God save thee. 

Vio. And you, sir. 

Sir To. That defence thou hast, betake thee to 't ; 
of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, 
I know not ; but thy intercepter, full of despight, 
bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard 
end : dismount thy tuck, be yare in thy preparation, 
for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly. 

Vio. You mistake, sir ; I am sure, no man hath 
any quarrel to me ; my remembrance is very free and 
clear from any image of offence done to any man. 

Sir To. You'll find it otherwise, I assure you : 
therefore, if you hold your life at any price, betake 
you to your guard ; for your opposite hath in him 
what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish 
man withal. 

Vio. I pray you, sir, what is he 1 

Sir To. He is knight, dubbed with unbacked ra- 
pier, and on carpet consideration ; but he is a devil 
in private brawl ; souls and bodies hath he divorced 
three ; and his incensement at this moment is so im- 
placable, that satisfaction can be none but by pangs 
of death and sepulchre : hob, nob, is his word ; 
give 't, or take 't. 

Vio. I will return again into the house, and desire 
some conduct of the lady. I am no fighter. I have 
heard of some kind of men, that put quarrels pur- 
posely on others, to taste their valour : belike, this 
is a man of that quirk. 

Sir To. Sir, no ; his indignation derives itself out 
of a very competent injury ; therefore, get you on, 
and give him his desire. Back you shall not to the 
house, unless you undertake that with me, which 
with as much safety you might answer him : there- 
fore, on, or strip your sword stark naked ; for med- 
G!2 



100 



TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



die you must, that's certain, or forswear to wear iron 
about you. 

Vio. 'J'his is as uncivil, as strange. I beseech you, 
do me tills courteous office, as to know of the knight 
what my offence to him is ; it is something of my 
negligence, nothing of my purpose. 

Sir To. I will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by 
this gentleman till my return. [Exit Sir Tony. 

Vio. Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter ? 

Fab. I know, the knight is incensed against you, 
even to a moral arbitrement ; but nothing of the cir- 
cumstance more. 

Vio. I beseech you, what manner of man is he ? 

Fab. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read 
him by his fonn, as you are like to find him in the 
proof of his valour. He is, indeed, sir, the most 
skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could 
possibly have found in any part of lllyria : Will you 
walk towards him ? I will make your peace with 
him, if 1 can. 

Vio. 1 shall be much bound to you for 't : I am 
one, that would rather go with sir priest, than sir 
knight : I care not who knows so much of my mettle. 

[Exeunt. 

Re-enter Sir Toby, rvith Sir Andiiew. 

Sir To. Why, man, he's a very tlevil ; I have not 
seen such a virago. I had a pass with him, rapier, 
scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck-in, 
with such a mortal motion, that it is inevitable ; and 
on the answer, he pays you as surely as your feet hit 
the ground they step on : They say, he has been 
fencer to the Sophy. 

Sir And. Pqx on 't, I'll not meddle with him. 

Sir To. Ay, but he will not now be pacified : Fa- 
bian can scarce hold him yonder. 

Sir And. Plague on't ; an 1 thought he had been 
valiant, and so cunning: in fence, I 'd have seen him 
damned ere I 'd have challenged him. Let him let 
the matter slip, and 1 '11 give him my horse, gray 
Capilet. 

Sir To. I'll make the motion: Stand here, make 
a good show on't ; this shall end without the perdi- 
tion of souls : Marry I '11 ride your horse as well as 
I ride you. [Aside. 

Re-enter Fabian aiid Viola. 

I have his horse [to Fad.] to take up the quarrel ; 
I have persuaded him the youth's a devil. 

Fab. He is as horribly conceited of him ; and 
pants, and looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels. 

Sir To. There's no remedy, sir; he will fight with 
you for his oath's sake : marry, he hath better be- 
thought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now 
scarce to be worth talking off: therefore draw, for 
the supportance of his vow ; he protests, he will not 
hurt you. 

Vio. Pray God defend me ! A little thing would 
make me tell them how much I lack of a man. 

[Aside. 

Fab. Give ground, if you see him furious. 

Sir To. Come, sir Andrew, there's no remedy; 
the gentleman will, for his honour's sake, have one 
bout with you : he cannot by the duello avoid it ; 
but he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and 
a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on: to't. 

■Sir And. Pray God, he keep his oath. [Draws. 

Enter Antonio. 

Vio. I do assure you 'tis against my will. [Draws. 

Aiit. Put up your sword ; — If this young gentle- 
Have done offence, I take the fault on me ; [man 
If you offend him, I for him defy you. [Drawing. 



Sir To. You, sir? why what are you? 

Ant. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more 
Than you have heard him brag to you he will. 

Sir To. Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for 
you. [Draws. 

Enter two Officers. 

Fah. O good sir Toby, hold ; here come the 
officers. 

Sir To. I '11 be with you anon. [To Antonio. 

Vio. Pray, sir, put up your sword, if you please. 

[To Sir Andrew. 

Sir And. Marry, will I, sir; — and. for that I 
promised you, I'll be as good as my word : He will 
bear you easily, and reins well. 

1 Off'. This is the man ; do thy otiice. 

2 Ojf'. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit 
Of count Orsino. 

Ant. You do mistake me, sir ; 

1 OJf'. No, sir, no jot ; I know your favour well, 
Though now you have no sea-cap on your head. — 
Take him away ; he knows, I know him well. 

Ant. I must obey. — This comes with seeking you , 
But there's no remedy ; I shall answer it. 
What will you do? Now my necessity 
IMakes me to ask you for my purse : It grieves me 
Much more for what I cannot do for you. 
Than what befalls myself. You stand amaz'd ; 
Put be of comfort. 

2 Off. Come, sir, away. 

Ant. I must intreat of you some of that money. 

Vio. What money, sir ! 
For the fair kindness you have shew'd me here. 
And, part, being prompted by your present trouble, 
Out of my lean and low ability 
I'll lend you something: my having is not much ; 
I'll make division of my present with you: 
Hold, there is half my coffer. 

Ant. Will you deny me now? 

Is't possible, that my deserts to you 
Can lack persuasion ? Do not tempt my misery, 
Lest that it make me so unsound a man, 
As to upbraid you with those kindnesses 
That I have done for you. 

Vio. I know of none ; 

Nor know I you by voice, or any feature : 
I hate ingratitude more in a man. 
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness. 
Or any taint of vice, whose strong corruption 
Inhabits our frail blood. 

Ant. O heavens themselves ! 

2 Off. Come, sir, I pray you go. [see here. 

Ant. Let me speak a little. This youth that you 
I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death ; 

Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love, ■ 

And to his image, which methought did promise 
Most venerable worth, did I devotion. 

1 Off. What's that to us ? The time goes by ; away. 

Ant. But, O, how vile an idol proves this god ! — 
Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. — 
In nature there's no blemish, but the mind ; 
None can be call'd deform'd, but the unkind : 
Virtue is beauty ; but the beauteous-evil 
Are empty trunks, o'erfiouiished by the devil. 

1 Off. The man grows mad ; away with him. 
Come, come, sir. 

Ant. Lead me on. [Exeunt Officers tuith Antonio. 

Vio. Methinks, his words do from such passion fly. 
That he believes himself ; so do not I. 
Prove true, imagination, O, prove true. 
That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you! 

Sir To. Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian, 
we'll whisper o'er a couple or two of most sage saws. 



ACT IV.— SCENE II. 



101 



Vw, He named Sebastian ; I my brother kuow 
Yet living in my glass ; even such, and so, 
In favour was my brother ; and lie went 
Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, 
For him I imitate : O, if it prove, 
Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love. [Eiit. 

Sir To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a 
coward than aliare : his dishonesty appears in leaving 
his friend here in necessity, and denying him ; and 
for his cowardship, ask Fabian. 

Fab<, A coward, a most devout coward, religious 
in it. 

Sir And. 'Slid, I'll after him again, and beat him. 

Sir To. Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy 
sword. 

Sir And. An I do not, — \_Eiit. 

Fab. Come, let's see the event. 

Sir To. 1 dare lay any money, 'twill be nothing 
vet. \_Eieunt, 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I — The Street befm-e OlK-ia's House. 

Enter Sebastian and Clown. 

Clo. Will you make me believe, that I am not 
sent for you. 

Seh. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow; 
Let me be clear of thee. 

Clo, Well held out, i'faith! No, I do not know 
you ; nor I am not sent to you by my lady, to bid 
you come speak with her ; nor your name is not 
master Cesario ; nor tliis is not my nose neither. — 
Nothing, tiiat is so, is so. 

Seb. 1 pr'ythee, vent thy foil}' somewhere else : 
Thou know'st not me. 

Clo. Vent my folly ! he has heard that word of 
some great man, and now applies it to a fool. \'ent 
my folly ! I am afraid this great lubber, the world, 
will prove a cockney. — I pr'ythee now, ungird thy 
strangeness, and tell me what 1 shall vent to my lady; 
Shall Ivent to her, that thou art coming? 

Seb, I pr'ythee, foolish Greek, depart from me; 
There 's money for thee ; if you tarry longer, 
I shall give worse payment. 

CVo. By my troth, thou hast an open hand : — 
These wise men, that give fools money, get themselves 
a good report after fourteen years' purchase. 

Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Tobv, and Fabian. 

Sii And. Now, sir, have I met you again? there's 
for you. [Striking SEnAsxiAX. 

Seb. Why, there's for thee, and there, and there : 
Are all the people mad ? [Beating Sir Andiiew. 

Sir To. Hold, sir, or I'll throw youj dagger o'er 
the house. 

Clo. Tiiis will I tell my lady straight : I would 
not be in some of your coats for two-pence. 

[El it Clown. 

.Sir To. Come on, sir ; hold. [Holding Sebahtiaw 

Sir And. Nay, let him alone, I'll go another way 
to work with him ; I'll have an action of battery 
against him, if there be any law in lllyria : though 
1 struck him first, yet it's no matter for that. 

Seb. Let go thy hand. 

Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, 
my young soldier, put up your iron : you are well 
fleshed ; come on. 

Seh. I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou 
now ■? 



If thou dai'st tempt me further, draw thy sword. 

[Draws. 

Sir To. What, what! Nay, then I must have an 

ounce or two of this malapert blood from you, [Draws. 

Enter Olivia. 

Oli. Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee, hold. 

Sir To. jMadam ">. 

Oli. Will it be over thus ? Ungracious wretch, 
Fit for the mountains, and the barbarous caves, 
Where manners ne'er were preach'd ! outof my sight ! 

I3e not ofiended, dear Cesario ! ■ 

Rudesby, begone! — I pr'ythee, gentle friend, 

[£ieii/i( Sir Tody, Sir Andrew, and I-'auian, 
Let thy fair wisdom, not thjf passion, sway 
In this uncivil and unjust extent 
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house; 
And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks 
This ruffian hath bolch'd up, that thou thereby 
May'st smile at tiiis ; thou shalt not choose but go ; 
Do not deny : Beshrew his sou! for me. 
He started one poor heart of mine in thee. 

Seb. What relish is in this! how runs the stream? 
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream: — 
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep; 
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep! 

Oli. Nay, come, I pr'ythee : 'Would thou'dst be 

Seb. Madam, I will. [rul'd by me ? 

Oli. O, say so, and so be! [Exeunt. 

SCENE 11.—^ Room in Olivia's House. 
Enter Maria and Clown. 

Mar. Nay, I pr'ythee, put on this gown, and this 
beard ; make him believe thou art sir Topas the cu- 
rate ; do it quickly: I'll call sir Toby the while. 

{ Eiit Maiua. 

Clo. Well, rU put it on, and I will dissemble 
myself in't ; and 1 would 1 were the first that ever 
dissembled in such a gow«. I am not fat enough 
to become the function well : nor lean enough to be 
thought a good student : but to be said, an honest 
man, and a good housekeeper, goes as fairly, as to 
say, a careful man, and a great scholar. The com- 
petitors enter. 

Enter Sir Tobv Beich and Mapia. 

Sir To. Jove bless thee, master parson. 

Clo. Bonos diei, sir Toby : for as the old hermit 
of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily 
said to a niece of king Gorboduc, That, that is. is: 
so I, being master parson, am master parson : For 
what is that, but that 1 and is, but is? 

Sir To. To him, sir Topas. 

Clo. What, hoa, I say, — Peace in this prison! 

Sir To. The knave counterfeits well ; a good 
knave. 

Mai. [in an inner cJiamber.] Who calls there? 

Clo. Sir To;'as, the curate, who comes to visit 
Malvolio the lunatic. 

Mat. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas, go to 
my lady. 

Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend I how vexest thou this 
m.an ? talkest thou nothing but of ladies? 

Sir To. Well said, master parson. 

Mai. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged : 
good sir Topas, do not tliink I am mad ; tliey have 
laid me here in hideous darkness. 

Clo. Fye, thou dishonest Sathan! I call thee by the 
most modest terms ; for I am one of those gentle 
ones, that will use the devil himself with courtesy: 
Say'st thou, tliat house is dark'. 

Mai. As hell, sir Topas, 



102 



TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



Clo. Why, it hath bay-windows, transparent as 
bairicadoes, and the clear stories towards the south- 
north are as lustrous as ebony ; and yet complainest 
thou of obstruction? 

Mill- I am not mad, sir Topas ; I say to you, this 
nouse is dark. 

Clo. Madman, thou errest : I say, there is no dark- 
ness, but ignorance ; in winch thou art more puzzled, 
than the Egyptians in their fog. 

Alal. I say, this house is as dark as ignorance, 
though ignorance were as dark as hell ; and 1 say, 
there was never man thus abused : I am no more 
mad than you are ; make the trial of it in any con- 
stant question. 

Vto. What is the opinion of Pythagoras, concern- 
ing wild-fowl 1 

Alal. That the soul of our grandam might haply 
iiihabit a bird. 

Clo. What thinkest thou of his opinion? 

Mai. I think nobly of the soul, and no way ap- 
prove his opinion. 

Clo. Fare thee well : Remain thou still in dark- 
ness : thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras, ere 
I will allow of thy wits ; and fear to kill a woodcock, 
lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare 
thee well. 

Alal. Sir Topas, sir Topas, — 

Sir To. My most exquisite sir Topas ! 

Clo. Nay, 1 am for all waters. 

Alar. Thou might'st have done this without thy 
beard, and gown ; he sees ihee not. 

Sir To. I'o him in thine own voice, and bring 
roe word how thou iindest him : I would, we were 
well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently 
delivered, I would he were ; for I am now so far in 
oflence with my niece, that 1 cannot pursue with any 
safety this sport to the upshot. Come by and by to 
my chamber. [Exeunt Sir Touy and Maria. 

Clo. Heii Robin, Jolly Rohin, * 

Tell me how thu ladu does. \Sinarin<r. 

Mai. Fool.— L « » 

Clo. All/ lady is unkind, perdy. 

Mai. Fool. — 

Clo. Alas, jii/ii/ is slie so? 

Alal. Fool, I say ;— 

Clo. She loves another — Who calls, ha? 

Alal. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at 
my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and 
paper ; as 1 am a gentleman, I will live to be thank- 
ful to thee for 't. 

Clo. Master IMalvolio ! 

Mai. Ay, good fool. 

Clo. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits ? 

Alal. Fool, there was never man so notoriously 
abused: I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art. 

Clo. But as well ? then you are mad, indeed, if 
you be no better in your wits than a fool. 

Alal. They have here propertied me ; keep me in 
darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and do all 
they can to face me out of my wits. 

Clo, Advise you what you say ; the minister is 
here. — Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens re- 
store! endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain 
bibble babble. 

Alal. Sir Topas, 

Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fellow. — 
Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God b'wi'you, good sir 
Topas. — Marry, amen. — I will, sir, I will. 

Alal. Fool, fool, fool, I say, — 

Clo. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir ? I 
am shent for speaking to you. 



Alal. Good fool, help me to some light, and some 
paper ; I tell thee, I am as well in my wits as any 
man in lllyria. 

Clo. \\ ell-aday, — that you were, sir ! 

Alal. By this hand, I am : Good fool, some ink, 
paper, and liglit, and convey what I will set down 
to my lady ; it shall advantage thee more than ever 
the bearing of letter did. 

Clo. I will help you to't. But tell me true, are 
you not mad indeed? or do you but counterfeit? 

Alal. Believe me, I am not ; -I tell thee true. 

Clo. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman, till I see 
his brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and ink. 

Alal. Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree : 
I pr'ythee, be gone. 

Clo. J am gone, sir. 

And anon, sir, 
I'll be ivith you again. 
In a trice, 
Like to the old vice, 
Your need to sustain; 

Who with dagger of lath. 
In his rage and his lorath. 

Cries, all, ha! to the devil: 
Like a ntad lad, 
Pare thy nails, dad. 

Adieu, goodman drivel. [Eait 

SCENE III —Olivia's Garden. 
Enter Sebastian. 

Seb. This is the air ; that is the glorious sun ; 
This pearl she gave me, I do feel't, and see't : 
And though 'tis wonder that envvra])s me thus. 
Yet 'tis not madness. Where 's Antonio then? 
I could not find him at the Elephant : 
Yet there he was ; and there 1 found this credit. 
That he did range the town to seek me out. 
His counsel now might do me golden service : 
F'or though my soul disputes well with my sense. 
That this may be some error, but no madness. 
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune 
So far exceed all instance, all discourse, 
That I am ready to mistrust mine eyes, 
And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me 
To any other trust, but that I am mad. 
Or else the lady's mad; yet, if 'twere so. 
She could not sway her house, command her followers, 
Take, and give back affairs, and their despatch. 
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing. 
As, I perceive, she does : there's something in't. 
That is deceivable. But here comes the lady. 

Enter Olivia and a Priest. 

Oh. Blame not this haste of mine : If you mean 
Now go with me, and with this holy man, [well, 
Into the chantry by : there, before him. 
And underneath tliat consecrated roof. 
Plight me the full assurance of your faith ; 
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul 
Alay live at peace : He shall conceal it. 
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note ; 
What time we will our celebration keep 
According to my birth. — W'hat do you say? 

Seb. I'll follow this good man, and go with you ; 
And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. 

Oli. Then lead the way, good father ; — And hea- 
vens so shine. 
That they may fairly note this act of mine ! [Eieunt. 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



103 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— The Street before Olivia's House. 
Enter Clown and Fabian. 

Fah. Now, as thou lov'st me, let me see his letter. 
Clo. Good master Fabian, grant me another request. 
Fub. Any thing. 

Clo. Do not desire to see this letter. 
Fab. That is, to give a dog, and, in recompense, 
desire my dog again. 

Enter Duke, Viola, and Attendants. 

Duke. Belong you to the lady Olivia, friends'? 

Clo. Ay, sir ; we are some of her trappings. 

Duke. I know thee well ; How dost thou, my good 
fellow'? 

Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the 
worse for my friends. 

Duke. Just the contrary ; the better for thy friends. 

Clo. No, sir, the worse. 

Duke. How can that be ? 

Clo. iMarry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass 
of me ; now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass : so 
that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of my- 
self ; and by my friends I am abused: so tliat, con- 
clusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make 
your two affirmatives, why, then the worse for my 
friends, and the better for my foes. 

Duke- ^Vhy, this is excellent. 

Clo. By my troth, sir, no ; though it please you to 
be one of my friends. 

Duke. Thou shall not be the worse for me ; there's 



gold. 

Clo. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I 
would you could make it another. 

Duke. O, you give me ill counsel. 

Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this 
once, and let your flesh and blood obey it. 

Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a 
double dealer ; there's another. 

Clo. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play ; and the 
old saying is, the third pays for all : the triplex, sir, 
is a good tripping measure ; or the bells of St. Ben- 
net, sir, may put you in mind ; One, two, three. 

Duke. You can fool no more money out of me at 
this throw : if you will let your lady know, I am here 
to speak with her, and bring her along with you, it 
may awake my bounty further. 

Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty, till I come 
again. 1 go, sir ; but I would not have you to think, 
that my desire of having is the sin of covetousness : 
but, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will 
awake it anon. [EiU Clown. 

Enter Antonio and Officers. 

Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. 

Duke. That face of his I do remember well ; 
Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear "d 
As black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war : 
A bawbling vessel was he captain of. 
For shallow draught, and bulk, unprizable ; 
With which such scathful grapple did he make 
With the most noble bottom of our fleet. 
That very envy, and the tongue of loss, 
Cry'd fame and honour on him — ^Vhat's the matter'? 

1 Off. Orsino, this is that Antonio, 
That took the PhoBnix, and her fraught, from Candy ; 
And this is he, that did the Tiger board, 
When your young nephew Titus lost his leg : 
Here in the streets, desperate of shame, and state, 
In private brabble did we apprehend hiin. 



Vio. He did me kindness, sir ; drew on my side ; 
But, in conclusion, put strange speech upon me, 
I know not what 'twas, but distraction. 

Duke. Notable pirate ! thou salt-water thief ! 
What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies, 
Whom thou, in terms so bloody, and so dear, 
Hast made thine enemies ■? 

Aiit. Orsino, noble sir, 

Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you give me ; 
Antonio never yet was thief, or pirate. 
Though, I confess, on base and ground enough, 
Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither : 
That most ingrateful boy there, by your side. 
From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy mouth 
Did I redeem ; a wreck past hope he was : 
His life 1 gave him, and did thereto add 
My love, without retention, or restraint, 
All his in dedication : for his sake. 
Did I expose myself, pure for his love, 
Into the danger of this adverse town ; 
Drew to defend him, wh^n he was beset ; 
Where being apprehended, his false cunning, 
(Not meaning to partake with me in danger,) 
■Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance. 
And grew a twenty-years-»removed thing, 
While one would wink ; denied me mine own purse, 
Which I had recommended to his use 
Not half an hour before. 

Vio. How can this be ■? 

Duke. When came he to this town 1 
Ant. To-day, my lord ; and for three months before, 
(No interim, not a minute's vacancy,) 
Both day and night did we keep company. 

Enter Olivia anci Attendants. 

Duke. Here comes the countess; now heaven walks 

on earth. 

But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness : 
Three months thi% youth hath tended upon me ; 

But more of that anon. Take him aside. 

OIL What would my lord, but that he may not have, 
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable? — 
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. 
Vio. Madam? 

Duke. Gracious Olivia, 

OU. What do you say, Cesario'? Good my 

lord, 

Vio. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me. 
Oil. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, 
It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear. 
As howling after music. 

Duke. Still so cruel? 

on. Still so constant, lord. 

Vuke. What! to perverseness ? you uncivil lady, 
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars 
My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath breath'd out, 
That e'er devotion tender'd ! What shall I do 1 
OH. Even what it please my lord, that shall be- 
come him. 
Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it. 
Like to the Egyptian thief, at point of death, 
Kill what I love ; a savage jealousy. 
That sometime savours nobly? — But hear me this • 
Since you to non regardance cast my faith. 
And that I partly know the instrument 
That screws me from my true place in your favour, 
Live you, the marble-breasted tyrant, still ; 
But this your minion, whom, I know, you love. 
And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly, 
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye. 
Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. — 
Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief : 



104 



TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love, 

To spite a raven's heart within a dove. [Going. 

Via. And I, most jocwiul, apt, and willingly, 
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. 

[Following. 

on. AVhere goes Cesario 1 



V 



After him I love. 



More than I love these eyes, more than my life, 
]\lore, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife : 
If I do feign, you witnesses above, 
Punish my life, for tainting of my love! 

Oli. Ah me, detested! how am I beguil'd ! 

Vio. Who does beguile you "! who does do you wrong? 

on. Hast thou forgot thyself! Is it so long"! — 
Call forth the holy father. [Eiit an Attendant. 

Duke. Come away. [To Vioi.a. 

Oli. Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay. 

Duke. Husband! , 

Oli. Ay, husband, can he that deny ? 

Duke. Her husband, sirrah ! 

Vio. No, my lord, not I. 

Oli. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear, 
That makes thee strangle thy propriety : 
Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up; 
Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art 
As great as that thou fear'st. — O, welcome, father ! 

Re-enter Attendant and Priest. 

Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, 
Here to unfold (though lately we intended 
To keep in darkness, what occasion now 
Eeveals before 'tis ripe,) what thou dost knov>. 
Hath newly past between this youth and me. 

Priest. A contract of eternal bond of love, 
Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands, 
Attested by the holy close of lips, 
Strengthen'd by interchangement of your rings ; 
And all the ceremony of this compact 
Seal'd in ray function, by my testimony : 
Since when, my watch hath told nie, toward my grave, 
I have travelled but two hours. 

Duke. O, thou dissembling cub! what wilt thou be, 
AVhen time hath sovv'd a grizzle on thy case? 
Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow, 
That thine own trip shall be tlune overthrow? 
Farewell, and take her ; but direct thy feet, 
Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. 

Vio. My lord, I do protest, — 

Oli. O, do not swear; 

Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear. 

Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, with his head broke. 

Sir And. For the love of God, a surgeon ; send 
one presently to sir Toby. 

OH. What's the matter? 

Sir And. He has broke my head across, and has 
given sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too : for the love of 
God, your help : I had rather than forty pound, I 
were at home. 

Oli. Who has done this, sir Andrew ? 

Sir And. The count's gentleman, one Cesario : we 
took him for a coward, but he's tlie very devil incar- 
dinate. 

Uuke. My gentleman, Cesario? 

Sir And. Od's lifelings, here he is : — You broke 
my head for nothing ; and that that I did, I was set 
on to do't by sir Toby. 

Vio. Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you : 
You drew yoTir sword upon me, without cause ; 
But I bespake you fair, and hurt you not. 

Sir And. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have 
hurt me ; 1 think, you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb. 



Enter Sir Toiiv Bej.cii, drunk, led by the Clown. 

Here comes sir Toby halting, you shall hear more; 
but if he held not been in drink, he would liave 
tickled you othergates than he did. 

Duke. How now, gentleman ? how is't with you ? 

Sir To. That's all one ; he has hurtnie, and there's 
the end on't. — Sot, did'st see Dick surgeon, sot? 

Clo. O he's drunk, sir Toby, an hour agone ; his 
eyes were set at eight i' the morning. 

Sir To. Then he's a rogue. After a passy-measuie, 
or a pavin, I hate a drunken rogue. 

Oli. Away with him: Who hath made this havoc 
with them ? 

Sir And. I '11 help you, sir Toby, because we'll be 
dressed together. 

Sir To. Will you help an ass-head, and a cox- 
comb, and a knave ? a thin-faced knave, a gull ? 

Oli. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be iook'd to. 
[Exeunt Clown, Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew. 

Enter Sebastian. 

Seh. I am sorry, madam, I have liurt your kins- 
But, had it been the brother of my blood, [man ; 
I must have done no less, with wit, and safety. 
You throw a strange regard upon me, and 
By that 1 do perceive it hath offended you ; 
Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows 
We made each other but so late ago. 

Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and two 
A natural perspective, that is, and is not. [persons; 

Seh. Antonio, O my dear Antonio ! 
How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me, 
Since 1 have lost thee. 

Ant. Sebastian are you ? 

Seb. Fear'st thou that, Antonio ? 

Ant. How have you made division of yourself! — 
An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin 
Than Hiese two creatures. Which is Sebastian ? 

Oli. Most wonderful ! 

Seh. Do I stand there ? I never had a brother : 
Nor can there be that deity in my nature, 
Of here and every where. I had a sister, 
Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd: — 
Of charity, what kin are you to me ? [To Vioi.a. 
What countryman ! what name ? what parentage ! 

I'll). Of Messaline : Sebastian was my father ; 
Such a Sebastian was my brother too. 
So went he suited to his watery tomb : 
If spirits can assume both form and suit 
Vou come to fright us. 

Seb. A spirit I am, indeed : 

But am in that dimension grossly clad. 
Which from the womb I did participate. 
Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, 
I should my tears lot fall upon your ch(!ek. 
And say — Thrice welcome, drowned \'iola ! 

Vio. My father had a mole upon his brow. 

Seb. And so had mine. 

Vio. And died that day when Viola from her birth 
Had nuinber'd thirteen years. 

Seb. O, that record is lively in my soul ! 
He finished, indeed, his mortal act. 
That day that made my sister thirteen years. 

Vio. If nothing lets lo make us happy both 
But this my masculine usurp'd attire, 
Do not embrace me, till each circumstance 
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere, and jump, 
That I am Viola: wliich to confirm, 
1 '11 bring you to a captain in this town, 
Where lie iny maiden weeds ; by whose gentle liolp 
I was preserv'd, to serve this noble count ; 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



105 



All the occurrence of my fortune since 
Hath been between this lady and tliis lord. 

Seh. So comes it, lady, you have been mistook : 

[I'o Olivia. 
But nature to her bias drew in that. 
You would have been contracted to a maid; 
Nor are you therein, by my life, deceiv'd. 
You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. 

Duke. Be not amaz'd; right noble is his blood. — 
If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, 
J shall have share in this most happy wreck : 
Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times, [To Vio. 
Thou never should'st love woman like to me. 

Vio. And all those sayings will 1 over-swear; 
And all those swearings keep as true in soul, 
As doth that orbed continent the fire 
That severs day from night. 

Duke. Give me thy hand ; 

And let me see thee in thy woman s weeds. 

Vio. The captain, that did bring me first on shore, 
Hath my maid's gannents : he upon some action, 
Is novf in durance : at IMalvolio's suit, 
A gentleman, and follower of my lady's. 

OLi. He sliall enlarge him: — Fetch Malvolio 
And yet, alas, now I remember me, [hither : — 

They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract. 

lie-enter Clown, with a letter, 

A most extracting frenzy of mine own 

From my remembrance clearly banish'd his. — 

How does he, sirrah ? 

Clo, Truly, madam, beholds Belzebubat the stave's 
end, as well as a man in his case may do : he has here 
writ a letter to you, 1 should have given it to you to- 
day morning ; but as a madman's epistles are no gos- 
pels, so it skills not much, when they are delivered. 

Oli. Open it, and read it. 

Clo. Look then to be well edified, when the fool 
delivers the madman : — By the Lord, mudam, — 

Oli. How now ! art thou mad 1 

Clo. No madam, I do but read madness : an your 
ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must 
allow vor. 

OH Pr'ythee, read i'thy right wits. 

Clo. So I do, madonna; but to read his right wits, 
is to read thus : therefore perpend, my princess, and 
give ear. 

Oli. Read it you, sirrah. [To Fabias. 

Fah. [reads.] By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, 
and the vorld shall know it : though you have jnit me 
into darkness, and given your drunken cousin rule over 
me, yet have 1 the benefit of my senses as well as your 
ladyship, I have your own letter that induced me to 
the semblance 1 put on ; with the which I doubt not but 
to do myself much right, or you much shame. Think 
of me as you please. 1 leave my duty a little unthought 
of, and speak out of my injury. 

The madly-used Malvolio. 

Oli. Did he write this ? 

Clo. Ay, madam. 

Duke. This savours not much of distraction. 

Oli. See him delivered, Fabian ; bring him hither. 

[Exit Fahian. 
My lord, so please you, these things further thought 
To think me as well a sister as a wife, [on, 

One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you. 
Here at my house, and at my proper cost. 

Duke. jAladain, I am most apt to embrace your 
ofll-r — [service done him, 

Your master quits you ; [To Viola.] and, for your 
So much against tlie mettle of your sex, 
So far beneath your soft and tender breeding;, i 



And since you call'd me master for so long. 
Here is my hand ; you shall from this time be 
Your master's mistress. 
Oli. 



A sister? — you are she. 
Pe-enter Fabian, with Mai.voi.io. 
Is this the madman ? 

Ay, my lord, this same , 



Diike. 

Oli. 
How now, Malvolio? 

^^"L Madam, you have done me wrong, 

Notorious wrong. 

<-^l<' Have I, Malvolio? no. 

^ Mai. Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse tiiat letter: 
You must not now deny it is your hand, 
Write from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase ; 
Or say, 'tis not your seal, nor your invention : 
You can say none of this : Well, grant it tiien. 
And tell me, in the modesty of honour, 
Why you have given me such clear lights of favour; 
Bade me come smiling, and cross-gartered to you. 
To put on yellow stockings, and to frown 
Upon sir Toby, and the lighter people : 
And, acting this in an obedient hope, 
\yhy have you surter'd me to be imprison'd, 
Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest. 
And made the most notorious geek, and gull, 
'J'hat e'er invention play'd on ? tell me why. 

Oli, Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing. 
Though, I confess, much like the character: 
But, out of (juestion, 'tis Maria's hand. 
And now 1 do bethink me, it was she 
First told me, thou wast mad ; thou cam'st in smiling, 
And in such forms which here were presuppos'd 
Upon thee in the letter. Pr'ythee, be content : 
This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee : 
But, when we know the grounds and authors of it, 
'i'hou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge 
Of thine ovvn cause. 

fab. Good madam, hear me speak ; 

And let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come. 
Taint tiie condition of this present hour. 
Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall not. 
Most freely 1 confess, myself, and Toby, 
Set this device against Malvolio here, 
Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts 
We had conceived against him : ftlaria writ 
The letter, at sir Toby's great importance ; 
In recompense whereof, he hath married her. 
How witii a sportful malice it was follow'd. 
May rather pluck on laughter than revenge ; 
If that the injuries be justly weigh'd. 
That have on both sides past. 

on. Alas, poor fool ! how have theybaflled thee! 

Clo. Why, some are horn great, some achieve great- 
ness, and some have greatness thrown upon them. I was 
one, sir, in this interlude ; one sir Topas, sir ; but 
that's all one -.—By the Lord, foul, I am not mad ; — 
But do you remember ? Madam, why laugh you at 
such a barren rascal? an you smile not, he's gagg'd: 
And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. 

Mai. I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you. 

[Kiii. 

Oli. He hath been most notoriously abus'd. 

Duke. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace : — 
He hath not told us of the captain yet ; 
When that is known and golden time convents, 
A solemn combination shall be made 
Of our dear souls — ]\Iean time, sweet sister, 
We will not part from hence. — Cesario, come ; 
For so you siiall be, while you are a man; 
But, when in other habits you are seen, 
Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen. [Exeunt 



106 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Clo. 



SONG. 

When that I vms and a little tiiiij hoi/. 
With /let/, ho, the wind and the rain, 

Afooliah thing was but a toi/, 

For the rain it rai^ieth every day. 

But when T came to man^s estate, 

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 

'Gainst knave and thiej men shut their gate. 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came, alas ! to wive. 

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 



By swaggering could I never thrive. 



For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came ^into m\i bed, 

]Vith hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 

With toss-pots still had drunken head. 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

A great while ago the world begun, 
Witli hey, ho, the.wind and the rain. 

But that's all one, our plaif is done. 

And we'll strive to please you every day. 

[Exit 



This play is in the graver part elegant and easy, and in some 
of the liglitcr scenes exijuisueiy luimorous. Agiie-cheek is 
drawn with great propriety, liut his cliaracter is, in a great 
measure, that of natural fatuity, and is ilierefore not the 
proper prey of a satirist. The solilociuy of Muivolio is truly 



comic ; he is betrayed to ridicule merely by his pride. The 
marriage of (Jlivia, and the succeeding perplexity, though well 
enough contrived to divert on the stage, wants credibility, and 
fails to produce the proper instruction renuired in the drama 
as it exhibits no just picture of life. — Johnson. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



This play was not printed till 1623.— Mr. Malone supposes it to 
have been written in 100.!. 

The plot IS found in Cinthio"s Novels. DecadS. Novel 5 — I'ut 
Shakspeare took the sub.iect of his drama from an old play call- 
ed Promus and Casiandra, written by George Whetstone, and 
published in 1578. — 

A hint, like a seed, is more or less prolific, according to the 
qualities of the soil on whicli it is thrown. The story, which 



in the hands of Whetstone producetf little more than barren 

insipidity, under the culture of Shakspeare became fertile of 
enlertainnient. 1 lie curious reader will find that the old play 
of Promos and Ca.\.sa>idi a, exhibits an almost complete embryo 
of iVeiisnre Jor Measure i yet the hints on which it is formed 
are so slight, that it is nearly as impossible to detect them, 
as it is to point out in the acorn the future ramifications of 
the oak.— ilALO.NE. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

VicENTio, Duke of Vienna. 

Angelo, lord deputy in the Duke's absence. 

EscALus, an ancient lord, joined with Angelo in the 

deputation. 
Claudio, a young gentleman. 
Lucio, a fantastic. 
Tivo oilier like gentlemen. 
Vauuu'S, a gentleman, servant to f/te Duke. 
Provost. 

Thomas, Peter, two friars. 
A Justice. 

Elbow, a simple constable. 
Froth, a foolish gentleman. 
Cloicu, servant to Mrs. Over-done. 
Aehorson. an executioner. 
Barnardine, a dissolute prisoner. 

Isabella, sister to Claudio. 
Mariana, betrothed to Angelo. 
Juliet, beloved by Claudio. 
Francisca, a nun. 
Mistress Over-done, a bawd. 

Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, Officers, and other 
Attendants. 

SCENE,— Vienna. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. — An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. 
Ewter Duke, Escalus, hordi, and Attendants. 

Duke. Escalus, — 

Escal. My lord. 

Duke. Of government the properties to unfold, 
Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse ; 
Since I ain put to know, that your own science 



Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice 
My strength can give you : Then no more remains 
But that to your suthciency, as your worth is able, 
And let them work. The nature of our people. 
Our city's institutions, and the terms 
For common justice, you are as pregnant in, 
As art and practice hath enriched any 
That we remember : There is our commission, 
From which we would not have you warp. — Call 
I say, bid come before us Angelo. — [hither, 

\_Eiit an Attendant. 
What figure of us think you he will bearl 
For you must know, we have with special soul 
Elected him our absence to supply ; 
Lent him our terror, drest him with our love ; 
And given his deputation all the organs 
Of our own power: What think you of it? 

Escal. If any in Vienna be of worth 
To undergo such ample grace and honoui . 
It is lord Angelo. 

Enter Angelo. 

Duke. Look, where he comes. 

Aug. Always obedient to your grace's will, 
I come to know your pleasure. 

Duke. Angelo, 

There is a kind of character in thy life. 
That, to the observer, doth thy history 
Fully unfold : Thyself and thy belongings 
Are not thine own so proper, as to waste 
Thyself upon thy virtues, them on thee. 
Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do ; 
Not light them for themselves : for if our virtues 
Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike 
As if we had tiiem not. Spirits are not finely touch'd, 
But to fine issues : nor nature never lends 
The smallest scruple of her excellence. 
But, like a tiirifty goddess, she determines 
Herself the glory of a creditor, 
Both thanks and use. But 1 do bend my speech 



ACT I.— SCENE II. 



107 



To one that can my part in him advertise ; 

Hold therefore, Angelo ; 

In our remove, be thou at full ourself :" 

Mortality and mercy in Vienna 

Live in thy tongue and heart : Old Escalus, 

Though first in question, is thy secondary : 

Take thy commission. 

Aug. Now, good my lord, 

Lei there be some more test made of my metal. 
Before so noble and so great a figure 
Be stamp'd upon it. 

Duke. No more evasion : 

We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice 
Proceeded to you ; therefore take your honours. 
Our haste from hence is of so quick condition, 
That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion'd 
Matters of needful value. We shall write to you. 
As time and our concernings shall imp6rtune, 
How it goes with us ; and do look to know 
What doth befall you here. So, fare you well: 
To the hopeful execution do I leave you 
Of your commissions. 

Ang. Yet, give leave, my lord, 

That we may bring you something on the way. 

Duke. My haste may not admit it ; 
Nor need you, on iiiine honour, have to do 
With any scruple : your scope is as mine own : 
So to enforce, or qualify the laws 
As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand ; 
I'll privily away : I love the people. 
But do not like to stage me to their eyes : 
Though it do well, 1 do not relish well 
Their loud applause, and aves vehement: 
Nor do I think the man of safe discretion, 
That does affect it. Once more, fare you well. 

Aug. The heavens give safety to your purposes ! 

Escal. Lead forth, and bring you back in happiness. 

Duke. I thank you: Fare you well. [Exit. 

Escal. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave 
To have free speech with you ; and it concerns me 
To look into the bottom of my place : 
A power I have ; but of what strength and nature 
I am not yet instructed. 

Ang. 'T^s so with me: — Let us withdraw together, 
.\nd we may soon our satisfaction have 
Touching that point. 

Escal. I'll wait upon your honour. 

[^Exeunt. 

SCENE II — A Street. 
Enter Lucio and two Gentlemen. 
Lucio. If the duke, with the other dukes, come not 
to composition with the king of Hungary, why, then 
all the dukes fall upon the king. 

1 Gent. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the 
king of Hungary's ! 

2 Gent. Amen. 

Lucid. Thou concludest like the sanctimonious 
pirate, that went to sea with the ten commandments, 
but scraped one out oi* the table. 

t Gent. Thou shalt not steal? 

Lucio. Ay, that he razed. 

1 Gent. Why, 'twas a commandment to command 
the captain and all the rest from their functions ; 
they put forth to steal : There's not a soldier of us 
all, that, in the thanksgiving before meat, doth relish 
the petition well that prays for peace. 

a Gent. I never heard any soldier dislike it. 

Lucio. I believe thee ; for, I think, thou never 
wast where grace was said. 

'2 Gent. No ] a dozen times at least. 

1 Gent. What? io metre? 



Lucio. In iny proportion, or in any language. 

1 Gent. I think, or in any religion. 

Lucio. Ay ! why not? Grace is grace, despite of all 
controversy • As for example ; Thou tliyself art a 
wicked villain, despite of all- grace. 

I Gent. Well, there went but a pair of sheers be- 
tween us. 

Lucio. I grant ; as there may between the lists and 
the velvet : Thou art the list. 

1 Gent. And thou the velvet; thou art good velvet; 
thou art a three-pil'd piece, I warrant thee : I had as 
lief be a list of an English kersey, as be pil'd as thou 
art pil'd, for a French velvet. Do I speak feelingly 
now ? 

Lucio. I tliink thou dost; and, indeed, with most 
painful feeling of thy speech : 1 will, out of thine 
own confession, learn to begin thy health ; but whilst 
I live, forget to drink after thee. 

1 Gent. I think, 1 have done myself wrong ; have 
I not? 

y Gent. Yes, that thou hast ; whether thou art 
tainted, or free. 

Lucio. Behold, behold, where madam Mitigation 
comes ! I have purchased as many diseases under 
her roof, as come to — 

2 Gent. To what, I pray ? 

1 Gent. Judge. 

2 Gent. To three thousand dollars a year. 
1 Gent. Ay, and more. 

Lucio. A French crown more. 

1 Gent. Thou art always figuring diseases in me : 
but thou art full of error ; I am sound. 

iMcio. Nay, not as one would say, healthy ; but 
so sound, as things that are hollo>v: thy bones are 
hollow : impiety has made a feast of thee. 

Enter Bawd. 

1 Gent. How now ? Which of your hips has the 
most profound sciatica? 

Bdwd. Well, well ; there's one yonder arrested, and 
carried to prison, was worth five thousand of you all. 

1 Gent. Wiio's that, I pray thee ? 

Baud. Marry, sir, that's Claudio, signior Claudio. 

1 Gent. Claudio to prison! 'tis not so. 

Bawd. Nay, but I know, 'tis so : I saw him arrest- 
ed ; saw him carried away ; and, which is more, with- 
in these three days his head's to be chopped oflT. 

Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would not have 
it so : Art thou sure of this ? 

Bau'd. 1 am too sure of it : and it is for getting 
madam Julietta with child. 

Lucio. Believe mc, this may be : he promised to 
meet me two hours since ; and he was ever precise 
in promise keeping. 

2 Gent. Besides, you know, it draws something 
near to the speech we had to such a purpose. 

1 Gent, But most of all, agreeing with the procla- 
mation. 

Lucio. Avvay ; let's go learn the truth of it. 

[Exeunt Lucio and Gentlemen. 

Bawd. Thus, what with the war, what with the 

sweat, what with the gallows, and what with poverty, 

I am custom-shrunk. How now ? what's the news 

with you 1 

Enter Clown. 

C'i7. Yonder man is carried to prison. 

Buicd. Well ; what has he done ? 

Clo. A woman. 

Bawd. But what's his offence ? 

Clo. Groping for trouts in a iieculiar river. 

Bawd. What, is there a maid with child by him? 

Clo. No ; but there's a woman with maid by him; 



108 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



You have not heard of the proclamation, have you"! 

Bawil. \Vhat proclamation, man? 

Clo. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be 
pluck'd down. 

Bawd. And what shall become of those in the city 1 

Clo. They shall stand for seed : they had gone 
down too, but that a wise burgher put in for ihera. 

Bawd. But shall all our houses of resort in the 
suburbs be puH'd down 1 

CLo. To the ground, mistress. 

Bawd. Why, here 's a change, indeed, in the com- 
monwealth ! What shall become of me 1 

Cit). Come ; fear not you : good counsellors lack 
no clients: though you change your place, you need 
not change your trade ; 1 '11 be your tapster still. 
Courage ; there will be pity taken on you : you tliat 
have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you 
will be considered. 

Bawd. What's to do here, Thomas Tapster? Let's 
withdraw. 

Cli). Here comes signior Claudio, led by the pro- 
vost to prison : and there 's madam Juliet. \_Eieu.iit. 

SCENE III.— The same. 

Enter Provost, Claudio, Jut-tet, and Officers ; 
Lucio and two Gentlemen. 

Claud. Fellow, why dost thou shew me thus to the 
Bear me to prison where I am committed, [world ? 

Pro. I do it not in evil disposition. 
But from lord Angelo by special charge. 

Claud. I'hus can the demi-god, Authority, 
]\Iake us pay down for our offence by weight. — 
The woids of heaven ; — on whom it will, it will ; 
On whom it will not, so ; yet still 'tis just. 

Lucio. Why, how now, Claudio ? whence comes 
this restraint ? 

Claud. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty : 
As surfeit is the father of much fast, 
So every scope by the immoderate use, 
Turns to restraint: Our natures do pursue, 
(Like rats that ravin down tiieir proper bane,) 
A thirsty evil, and when we drink, we die. 

Lucio. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, 
I would send for certain of my creditors : And yet, 
to say tiie truth, 1 had as lief have tiie foppery of 
freedom, as the morality of imprisonment. — What's 
thy offence, Claudio 1 

Claud. What, but to speak of would ofTend again. 

Lucio. What is it? murder? 

Claud. No. 

Lucio, Lechery t 

Claud. Call it so. 

Prov, Away, sir ; you must go. 

Claud. One word, good friend: — Lucio, a word 
with you. [Takes him aside. 

Lucio. A hundred, if they'll do you any good. — 
Is lechery so look'd after? 

Claud Thus stands it with me : — Upon a truecon- 
I got possession of Julietta's bed ; [tract. 

You know the lady ; she is fast my wife, 
Save that we do the denunciation lack 
Of outward order : this we came not to, 
Only for propagation of a dower 
Remaining in the coft'er of lier friends ; 
From whom we thought it meet to hide our love, 
Till time had made them for us. But it chances, 
The stealth of our most mutual entertainment, 
With characters too gross, is writ on Juliet, 

Lucio. With child, perhaps? 

Claud. Unhappily, even so. 
And the new deputy now for the duke, — 
Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness ; 



Or whether that the body public be 

A horse whereon the governor doth ride. 

Who, newly in the seat, that it may know 

He can command, lets it straight feel the spur ; 

Whether the tyranny be in his place. 

Or in liis eminence that fills it up, 

I stagger in: — But this new governor 

Awakes me all the enroll'd penalties. 

Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the wall 

So long, that nineteen zodiacs have gone round. 

And none of them been worn ; and, for a name, 

Now puts the drowsy and neglected act 

Freshly on me : — 'tis surely, for a name. 

Lucio. I warrant, it is : and thy head stands so 
tickle on thy shoulders, that a milkmaid, if she be 
in love, may sigh it off. Send after the duke, and ap- 
peal to him. 

Claud. I have done so, but he's not to be found. 
I pr'ythee, Lucio, do me this kind service ; 
Tliis day my sister should the cloister enter, 
And there receive her approbation : 
Acquaint her with the danger of my state ; 
Implore her in my voice, that she make friends 
To the strict deputy ; bid herself assay him ; 
1 have great hope in that: for in her youth 
There is a prone and speechless dialect. 
Such as moves men ; beside, she hath prosperous art 
When she will play with reason and discourse. 
And well she can persuade. 

Lucio. I pray, she may: as well for the encou- 
ragement of the like, which else would stand under 
grievous imposition ; as for the enjoying of thy life, 
who I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost 
at a game of tick-tack. I '11 to her. 

Claud. 1 thank you, good friend Lucio. 

Lucio. Within two hours, 

Claud. Come, ofHcer, away. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— ^ Monastery. 
Enter Duke and Friar Thomas. 

Duke. No ; holy father ; throw away that thought ; 
Believe not that the dribbling dart of love 
Can pierce a complete bosom : why I desire thee 
To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose 
More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends 
Of burning youth. 

^7-/. May your grace speak of it ? 

Uuke. My holy sir, none better knows than you 
How I have ever lov'd the life removed ; 
And held in idle price to haunt ass;emblies, 
Where youth, and costs, and witless bravery keeps. 
I have deliver'd to lord Angelo 
(A man of stricture, and firm abstinence,) 
i\[y absolute power and place here in Vienna, 
And he supposes me travell'd to Poland ; 
For so I have strew'd it in the common ear, 
And so it is receiv'd : Now, pious sir. 
You will demand of me, why 1 do this ? 

Fri. Gladly, my lord. 

Duke. We have strict statutes, and most biting laws, 
(The needful bits and curbs for head-strong steeds,) 
Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep; 
Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave. 
That goes not out to prey : Now, as fond fathers 
Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch. 
Only to stick it in their children's sight, 
For terror, not to use ; in time the rod 
Becomes more mock'd, than fear'd : so our decrees, 
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead ; 
And liberty plucks justice by the nose. 
The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart 
Goes all decorum. 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



109 



Fri. It rested in your grace 

To unloose this tied-up justice, when you pleas'd : 
And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd, 
Than in lord Angelo. 

Vnke. I do fear, too dreadful : 

Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope, 
'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them 
For what I bid them do : For we bid this be done, 
When evil deeds have their permissive pass, 
And not the punishment. 1'herefore, indeed, my 
I have on Angelo impos'd the office ; [father, 

Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home, 
And yet my nature never in the sight, 
To do it slander : And lo behold his sway, 
I will, as 'twere a brother of your order, 
Visit both prince and people : therefore, I pr'ythee, 
Supply me with the habit, and instruct me 
How 1 may formally in person bear me 
Like a true friar. More reasons for this action, 
At our more leisure shall 1 render you ; 
Only, this one : — Lord Angelo is precise ; 
Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses 
That his blood flows, or that his appetite 
Is more to bread than stone : Hence shall we see, 
If power change purpose, what our seemers be. 

SCENE v.— ^ Nunnery. 
Enter Isabella and Francisca. 

hub. And have you nuns no further privileges 1 

Fran. Are not these large enough ] 

hah. Yes, truly: I speak not as desiring more ; 
But rather wishing; a more strict restraint 
Upon the sister-hood, the votarists of saint Clare. 

Lucio. Ho ! Peace be in this place ! [ IViihin. 

Isab Who's that which calls? 

Fran. It is a man's voice : Gentle Isabella, 
Turn you the key, and know his business of him ; 
You may, I may not ; you are yet unsworn : 
When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men. 
But in the presence of the prioress ; 
Then, if you speak, you must not shew your face : 
Or, if you shew your face, you must not speak. 
He calls again ; 1 pray you answer him. 

[Exit Francisca. 

hub. Peace and prosperity ! Who is 't that calls :' 

Enter Lucio. 

Litcio, Hail, virgin, if you be ; as those cheek-roses 
Proclaim you are no less ! Can you so stead me. 
As bring me to the sight of Isabella, 
A novice of this place, and the fair sister 
To her unhappy brothei Claudio 1 

Isab. Why her unhappy brother? let me ask ; 
The rather, for I now must make you'know 
I am that Isabella, and his sister. [you : 

Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets 
Not to be weary with you, he 's in prison. 

Isab. Woe me ! For what? 

Lucio. For that, which if myself might be his judge, 
He should receive his punishment in thanks : 
He hath got his friend with child. 

Isab, Sir, make me not your story. 

Lucio. It is true. 

I would not — though 'tis my familiar sin 
With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest. 
Tongue far from heart, — play with a>ll virgins so: 
I hold you as a thing ensky'd, and sainted ; 
By your renouncement, an immortal spirit ; 
And to be talk'd with in sincerity, 
As with a saint. 

Isab. You do blaspheme the good, in mocking me. 

Lucio Do not believeit. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus : 



Your brother and his lover have embrae'd : 
As those that feed grow full; as blossoming time, 
That from the seedness the bare fallow brings 
To teeming foison ; even so her plenteous womb 
Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry. 

Isith. Some one with child by him? — My cousin 

Lucio. Is she your cousin ? [Juliet? 

hah. Adoptedly ; as school-maids change their 
By vain thought apt affection. [names, 

Lticii'. She it is. 

hith. O, let him marry her ! 

Lncio, This is the point. 

The duke is very strangely gone from hence ; 
Bore many gentlemen, myself being one. 
In hand, and hope of action : but we do learn 
By those that know the very nerves of state. 
His givings out were of an infinite distance 
From his true-meant design. I'pon his place. 
And with full line of his authority, 
Governs lord Angelo : a man, wiiose blood 
Is very snow-broth ; one who never feels 
The wanton stings and motions of the sense ; 
But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge 
With profits of the mind, study and fast. 
He (to give fear to use and liberty, 
\\'hich have, for long, run by the hideous law, 
As mice by lions,) liatli pick'd out an act. 
Under whose heavy sense your brother's life 
Falls into forfeit: he arrests him on it; 
And follows close tlie rigour of the statute 
To make him an example ; all hope is gone. 
Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer 
To soften Angelo : And that 's my pith 
Of business 'twixt you and your poor brother. 

hah. Doth he so seek his life ? 

Lncio. Has censur'd him 

Already ; and, as I hear, the provost hath 
A warrant for his execution. 

hab. Alas! what poor ability's in me 
To do him good ? 

l.ucio. Assay the power you have. 

hah. ]My power I Alas! I doubt, — 

Lucio Our doubts are traitors. 

And make us lose the good we oft might win. 
By fearing to attempt: Go to lord Angelo, 
And let him learn to know, when maidens sue. 
Men give like gods ; but when they weep and kneel 
All tlieir petitions are as freely theirs 
As they themselves would owe them. 

li>ah. I'll see what I can do. 

Lucio. But, speedily 

hah. I will about it straight ; 
No longer staying but to give the mother 
Notice of my afi'air. I humbly thank you : 
Commend me to my brother : soon at night 
1 '11 send him certain word of my success. 

Lucio. 1 take niy leave of you. 

hab. Good sir, adieu. [Exeitnt 



ACT 11. 

SCENE l.—A Hall in Angelo's House. 

Enter Angelo, Escalus, a Justice, Provost, 
Officers, and other Attendants. 

Aug. We must not make a scare-crow of the law 
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey. 
And let it keep one sliape, till custom make it 
Their perch, and not their terror. 

Eical. Ay, but yet 

Let us be keen, and ratliei cut a little, 



110 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Than fall, and bruise to death: Alas! this gentleman, 

Whom 1 would save, had a most noble father. 

Let but your honour know, 

(Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue.) 

That, in the working of your own affections, 

Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing, 

Or that the resolute acting of your blood 

Could have attain'd the effect of your own purpose, 

Whether you had not sometime in your life 

Err'd in this point which now you censure him, 

And puU'd the law upon you. 

Aug. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, 
Another thing to fall. I not deny, 
The jury, passing on the prisoner's life. 
May, in tlie sworn twelve, have a thief or two 
Guiltier than him they try: What's open made to 
That justice seizes. What know the laws, [justice, 
That thieves do pass on thieves ? 'Tis very pregnant. 
The jewel that we find, we stoop and take it. 
Because we see it ; but what we do not see. 
We tread upon, and never think of it. 
You may not so extenuate his offence, 
For I have had such faults ; but rather tell me, 
When I, that censure him, do so offend. 
Let mine own judginent pattern out my death. 
And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. 

Escal. Be it as your wisdom will. 

Alio-. Where is the provost? 

Prov. Here, if it like your honour. 

Aii<r. See that Claudio, 

Be executed by nine to morrow morning : 
Bring him his confessor, let him be prepar'd ; 
For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. 

[Exit Provost. 

Escal. Well, heaven forgive him ! and forgive us 
Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall : [all ! 

Some run from brakes of vice, and answer none ; 
And some condemned for a fault alone. 

Enter Elbow, Froth, Clown, Officers, S^e. 
Elh. Come, bring them away : if these be good 
people in a common-weal, that do nothing but use 



their abuses in common houses, i know no law ; bring 
them away. 

An<r. How now, sir! What's your name 1 and 
what's the matter"! 

Elb. If it please your honour, I am the poor duke's 
constable, and my name is Elbow ; I do lean upon 
justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good 
honour two notorious benefactors. 

Aug. Benefactors T Well ; what benefactors are 
they? are they not malefactors 1 

Elh. if it please your honour, I know not well 
what tliey are : but precise villains they are, that I 
am sure of ; and void of all profanation in the world, 
that good Christians ought to have. 

Eical. This comes off well ; here's a wise officer. 

Aug. Goto: What quality are they of ! Elbow is 
your name 1 Why dost thou not speak, Elbow ? 

Clo. He cannot, sir ; he 's out at elbow. 

Aug. What are you, sir 1 

Elb. He, sirf a tapster, sir; parcel- bawd ; one 
that serves a bad woman ; whose house, sir, was, as 
they say, pluck'd down in the suburbs ; and now 
she professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a very 
ill house too. 

Escal. How know you that"! 

Elb. My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven 
and your honour, — 

Escal. How ! thy wife 1 

Elb. Ay, sir ; whom, I thank heaven, is an honest 
womaa — 



Escal. Dost thou detest her therefore ? 
Eib. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well 
as she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house, 
it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house. 
Escal. How dost thou know that, constable? 
Etb. Marry, sir, by my wife ; who, if she had been 
a woman cardinally given, might have been accused 
in fornication, adultery, and all uncleanliness there. 
Escat. By the woman's means "^ 
Elb. Ay, sir, by mistress Overdone's means : but 
as she spit in his face, so she defied him. 

Clo. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so. 
Elb. Prove it before these varlets here, thou ho- 
nourable man, prove it. 

Escal. Do you hear how he misplaces? 

[To Angelo. 
Clo. Sir, she came in great with child ; and long- 
ing (saving your honour's reverence,) for stew'd 
prunes ; sir, we had but two in the house, which at 
that very distant time stood, as it were, in a fruit- 
dish, a dish of some three-pence; yjur honours have 
seen such dishes ; they are not China dishes, but 
very good dishes. 

Escal. Go to, go to ; no matter for the dish, sir. 
Clo. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin ; you are therein 
in the right : but, to the point: As 1 say, this mis- 
tress Elbow, being, as X say, with child, and being 
great belly'd, and longing, as 1 said, for prunes ; and 
having but two in the dish, as I said, master Froth 
here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I said, 
and, as I say, paying for them very honestly ; — for, 
as you know, master Froth, I could not give you 
three-pence again. 
Froth, No, indeed. 

Clo. Very well : you being then, if you be remem- 
ber'd, cracking the stones of the aforesaid prunes. 
Froth. Ay, so I did, indeed. 
Clo. Why, very well : 1 telling you tiien, if you 
be remember'd, that such a one, and such a one, were 
past cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept 
very good diet, as 1 told you. 
Froth. All this is true. 
Clo. Why, very well then. 

Escal. Come, you are a tedious fool : tt> thfc pur- 
pose. — Wliat was done to Elbow's wife, that he hath 
cause to complain of? Come we to what was done 
to her. 

Clo. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. 
Escal. No, sir, nor I mean it not. 
Clo. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's 
leave : And, I beseech you, look into master Froth 
here, sir ; a man of fourscore pound a pear ; whose 
father died at Plallowmas : — Was't not at Hallow- 
mas, master Froth ? 

Froth. AU-hallownd eve. 

Clo. Why, very well ; I hope here be truths : He, 
sir, sitting, as 1 say, in a lower chair, sir; — 'twas in 
the Bunch of Grapes, where, indeed, you have a de- 
light to sit : Have you not ? 

Froth. I have so ; because it is an open room, and 
good for winter. 

Clo. Why, very well then ; —I hope here be truths. 
Ang. This will last out a night in Russia, 
When nights are longest there : I '11 take my leave, 
And leave you the hearing of the cause ; 
Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them all. 
Escal. 1 think no less : Good morrow to your lord- 
ship. [Exit Angelo. 
Now, sir, come on : What was done to Elbow's wife, 
once more ? 

Clo. Once, sir? there was nothing done to her 
once. 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



Ill 



Elb. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man 
did to my wife. 

Clo. I beseech your honour, ask me. 

Escal. Well, sir: what did this gentleman to her? 

Clo. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's 
face : — Good master Froth, look upon his honour ; 'tis 
for a good purpose : Doth your honour mark his face 1 

Escul. Ay, sir, very well. 

Cln. Nay, 1 beseech you mark it well. 

Escal. Well, I do so. 

Clo. Dolh j'our honour see any harm- in his face ? 

Escal, Why, no. 

Clo, I '11 be suppos'd upon a book, his face is the 
worst thing about him : Good then ; if his face be 
the worst thine about him, how could master Froth 
do the constable's wife any harm 1 1 would know that 
of your honour. 

Escal, He 's in the right : Constable, what say 
you to it 1 

Elb, First, an it like you, the house is a respected 
house; next, this is a respected fellow ; and his mis- 
tress is a respected woman. 

Clo. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected 
woman than any of us all. 

Elb. Varlet, thou liest ; thou liest, wicked varlet : 
the time is yet to come, that she was ever respected, 
with man, woman, or child. 

Clo. Sir, she was respected with him before he 
married with her. 

Eacal. Which is the wiser here? Justice, or Ini- 
quity? — Is this true? 

/■://». O thou caitiff! tliou varlet! Ihou wicked 
Hannibal! 1 respected with hei, before J was mar- 
ried to her ? If ever I was respected with her, or she 
with me, let not your worship think me the poor 
duke's officer : — Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, 
or I '11 have mine action of battery on tliee. 

Escal. If he took you a box o' th' ear, you might 
have your action of slander too. 

Elb. JMarry, I thank your good worship for it : 
What is't your worship's- pleasure I should do with 
this wicked caitiff? 

Escal. Truly, officer, because he hath some offences 
in him, that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, 
let him continue in his courses, till thou know'st 
what they are. 

Elb. INIarry, I thank your worship for it : — Thou 
seest, thou v/icked varlet now, v. hat's come upon 
thee ; thoa art to continue now, thou varlet ; thou 
art to continue. 

Escal, Where were you born friend ? [To Froth. 

Froth, Here in Vienna, sir. 

Escal. Are you of fourscore pounds a year? 

Froth. Yes, and 't please you, sir. 

Escal, So. — What trade are you of, sir? 

[To the Clown. 

Cln. A tapster ; a poor widow's tapster. 

Escal. Your mistress's name ? 

Clo. Mistress Over-done. 

Escal. Hath she had any more than one husband? 

Clo, Nine, sir ; Over-done by the last. 

Escal, Nine! — Come hither to me, master Froth. 
Master Froth, I would not have you acquainted with 
tapsters : they will draw you, master Froth, and you 
will hang them : Get you gone, and let me hear no 
moro of you. 

Froth, I thank your worship: For mine own part, 
I never come into any room in a taphouse, but 1 am 
drawn in. 

Escal. Well ; no more of it, master Froth : fare- 
well. [Exit FnoTii.J — Come you hither to me, mas- 
ter tapster ; what's your name, master tapster? 



Clo. Pompey. 

Escal. What else ? 

Clo. Bum, sir. 

Escal. 'Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing 
about you ; so that, in the beastliest sense, you are 
Pompey the great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, 
I'ompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapster. 
Are you not? come, tell me true; it shall be the 
better for you. 

Clo. Tndy, sir, 1 am a poor fellow, that would live. 

Escal. How would you live, Pompey? by being a 
bawd ? What do you think of the trade, Pompey ? 
is it a lawful trade ? 

Cb. If the law would allow it, sir. 

Lscal. But the law will not allow it, Pompey: 
nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna. 

Clo. Does your worship mean to geld and spay all 
the youth in the city? 

Escal. No, Pompey. 

Clo. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't 
then : If your worship will take order for the drabs 
and the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds. 

Escal. There ai'e pretty orders beginning, I can 
tell j'ou : It is but heading and hanging. 

Clo, If you head and hang all that offend that 
way but for ten year together, you'll be glad to give 
out a commission for more heads. If this law hold 
in Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest house in it, 
after three pence a bay : If you live to see this come 
to pass, say, Pompey told you so. 

Escal. Thank you, good Pompey: and, in re- 
quital of your prophecy, hark yon, — I advise you, 
let me not find you before me again upon any com- 
plaint whatsoever, no, not for dwelling where you 
do ; if I do, Pompey, 1 shall beat you to your tent, 
and prove a shrewd Ca;sar to you ; in plain dealing, 
Pompey, 1 shall have you whipt : so for this time, 
Pompey, fare you well. 

Clo, I thank your worship for your good counsel ; 
but I shall follow it, as the flesh and fortune shall 
better determine. 

Whip me ? No, no ; let carman whip his jade ; 
The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade. [Exit, 

Escal. Come hither to me, master Elbow ; come 
hither, master Constable. How long have you been 
in this place of constable ? 

Elb Seven year and a half, sir. 

Escal, I thought, by your readiness in the office, 
you had continued in it some time : You say, seven 
years together ? 

Elb, And a half, sir. 

Escal. Alas ! it hath been great pains to you I 
They do j'ou wrong to put you so oft upon 't : Are 
there not men in your ward sufficient to serve it ? 

Elb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters : 
as they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for 
them ; I do it for some piece of money, and go 
through with all. 

Escal. Look you, bring me in the names of some 
six or seven, the most sufficient of your parish. 

Elb. To your worship's house, sir? 

Escal. To my hotise : Fare you well. [Exit El- 
bow.] What 's o'clock, think you ? 

Just, Eleven, sir. 

Escal. I pray you home to dinner with me. 

Just. I humbly thank you. 

Escal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio ; 
But there's no remedy. 

J list. Lord Angelo is severe. 

Escal. It is but needful : 

Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so ; 
Pardon is still the nurse of second woe : 



112 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



But yet, — Poor Claudlo ! — There's no remedy. 
Come, sir. [FAeunt. 

SCENE II. — Aiiother Room in the same. 
Enter Provost and a Servant. 

Serv. He 's hearing of a cause ; he will come 
I'll tell him of you. [straight. 

Prov. Pray you do. [Exit Servant.] I '11 Icnow 
His pleasure ; may be, he will relent: Alas, 
He hath but as offended in a dream ! 
All sects, all ages, smack of this vice ; and he 
To die for it ! — 

Enter Anciflo. 

Ang. Now, what's the matter, provost? 

Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow? 

Aug. Did I not tell thee, yea 1 hadst thou not 
Why dost thou ask again? [order? 

Prou. Lest I might be too rash : 

Under your good correction, I have seen, 
When, after execution, judgment hath 
Repented o'er his doom. 

Awr. Go to ; let that be mine : 

Do you your office, or give up your place, 
Aud you shall well be spar'd. 

Prav. 1 crave your honour's pardon. — 

What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet ! 
She's very near her hour. 

Aug. ' Dispose of her 

To some more fitter place ; and that with speed. 

Re-enter Servant. 

Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd, 
Desires access to you. 

Ang. Hath he a sister ? 

Prov. Ay, my good lord ; a very virtuous maid. 
And to be sliortly of a sisterhood. 
If not already. 

Ang. Well, let her be admitted. [Exit Servant. 
See you, the fornicatress be remov'd; 
Let her have needful, but not lavish means ; 
There shall be order for it. 

Enter Lucio and Isabella. 

Prov. Save your honour ! [Offering to retire. 

Ang. Stay a little while.— [To Isais.] You are 
welcome : What 's your will ? 

Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honour. 
Please but your honour hear me. 

Arig, Well ; what 's your suit ? 

Isab. There is a vice, that most I do abhor. 
And most desire should meet the blow of justice ; 
For which I would not plead, but that I must ; 
For which I must not plead, but that I am 
At war, 'twixt will, and will not. 

Ang. Well ; the matter? 

Isab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die : 
I do beseech you, let it be his fault. 
And not my brother, 

Prov. Heaven give thee moving graces ! 

Ano-. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it ! 
Why, every fault 's condemn'd, eve it be done : 
Mine was the very cipher of a function. 
To find the faults, whose fine stands in record, 
And let go by the actor. 

Jsah. O just, but severe law ! 

1 had a brother then.— Heaven keep your honour ! 

[^Retiring. 
Lucio. [To Isab.] Give't not o'er so; to him 
again, intreat him ; 
Kneel down before him, hang upon Ids gown ; 
Vou are too cold : if you should need a pin, 



You could not with more tame a tongue desire it : 
To him, I say. 

Isab. JMust he needs die 1 

Ang. IMaiden, no remedy. 

Isab. Y'es ; I do think that you might pardon him, 
And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy. 

Ang. I will not do't. 

Isab. But can you, if you would? 

Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. 

Isab. But might you do 't, and do the world no 
wrong. 
If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse 
As mine is to him? 

Ang. • He 's sentenc'd ; 'tis too late. 

Lucio. You are too cold. [7'o Isabella. 

Isab. Too late ? why, no ; I, that do speak a word, 
May call it back again : Well, believe this. 
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs. 
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sv/ord. 
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe. 
Become them with one half so good a grace. 
As mercy does. If he had been as you, 
And you as he, you would have slipt like him ; 
But he, like you, would not have been so stern. 

Ang. Pray you, begone. 

hub. I would to heaven I had your potency. 
And you were Isabel? should it then be thus? 
No ; 1 would tell what 'twere to be a judge. 
And what a prisoner. 

Lucio. Ay, touch him: there's the vein. [Aside, 

Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law. 
And you but waste your words. 

hub. Alas ! alas ! 

Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once ; 
And He that might the vantage best have took, 
Found out the remedy : Plow would you be, 
If he, which is the top of judgment, should 
But judge you as you are ? O, think on that ; 
And mercy tiien will breathe within your lips, 
Like man new made. 

Aii^. Be you content, fair maid j 

It is the law, not I, condemns your brother : 
Weie he my kiasman, brother, or my son. 
It should be thus with him ; — he must die to-morrow. 

hub. To-morrow? O, that's sudden I Spare him, 
spare him : * 

He 's not prepar'd for death ! Even for our kitchens 
We kill the fowl of season ; shall we serve heaven 
With less respect than we do minister [you : 

'J'o our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink 
Who is it that hath died for this offence ? 
There's many have committed it. 

Lucio. Ay, well said. 

Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it hath 
Those many had not dar'd to do that evil, [slept : 
If the first man that did the edict infringe. 
Had answer'd for his deed : now, 'tis awake ; 
Takes note of what is done ; and, like a prophet. 
Looks in a glass, that shews what future evils, 
(Either now, or by remissness new-conceiv'd. 
And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,) 
Are now to have no successive degrees. 
But, where they live, to end. 

hub. ' Y''et shew some pity. 

Ang. I shew it most of all, when I shew justice ; 
For then I pity those I do not know. 
Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall ; 
And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong. 
Lives not to act another. Be satisfied ; 
Your brother dies to-morrow ; be content. 

hob. So you must be the first, that gives this sen- 
And he, that suffers : O, it is excellent [tence; 



ACT II.— SCENM-: III. 



113 



To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous 
To use it like a giant. 

Lucio. That 's well said. 

hah. Could great men tliunder 
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, 
For every pelting, petty officer 
Would use his heaven for thunder : nothing but 

RIeiciful heaven! [thunder. 

Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, 
Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak. 
Than the soft myrtle ; — But man, proud man ! 
Drest in a little brief authority ; 
Most ignorant of what he' s most assur'd. 
His glassy essence, — like an angry ape. 
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, 
As make the angels weep ; who, with our spleens, 
Would all themselves laugh mortal. 

Lucio. O, to him, to him, wench : he will relent ; 
He 's coming, I perceive 't. 

Prov. Pray heaven, she win him ! 

Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself : 
Great men may jest with saints : 'tis wit in them ; 
But, in the less, foul profanation. 

Lucio. Thou 'rt in the right, girl ; more o' that. 

Isab. That in the captain 's but a choleric word, 
Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. 

Lucio. Art advis'd o' thatl more on 't. 

Aug. Why do you put these sayings upon me 1 

Isab. Because authority, though it err like others. 
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself, 
I'hat skins the vice o' the top : Go to your bosom ; 
Knock there ; and ask your heart, what it doth know 
That 's like my brother's fault : if it confess 
A natural guiltiness, such as is his, 
Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue 
Against my brother's life. 

Aug, [aside.] She speaks, and 'tis 
Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. Fare 

Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back. [you well. 

Aug. I will bethink me : — Come again to-morrow. 

Isab. Hark, how I'll bribe you: Good my lord, 

Aug. How ! bribe me 1 [turn back. 

hah. Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shall share 

Lucio. You had marr'd all else. [with you. 

Isab. Not with fond shekels of the tested gold, 
Or stones, whose rates are either rich, or poor, 
As fancy values them : but with true prayers, 
That shall be up at heaven, and enter there, 
Ere sun-rise : prayers from preserved souls. 
From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate 
To nothing temporal, 

Aug. Well : come to me 

To-morrow. 

Lucio. Go to ; it is well ; away. [^Aside to Isabel, 

Isah. Heaven keep your honour safe ! 

Aug. Amen : for I 

Am that way going to temptation, [^Aside. 

Where prayers cross. 

hub. At what hour to- morrow 

Shall I attend your lordship] 

Aug. At any time 'fore noon. 

Isab. Save your honour ! 

^Exeunt Lvcio, Isabella, and Provost. 

Aug. From thee ; even from thy virtue ! — 

What's this 1 what's this ? Is this her fault, or mine ■? 
The tempter, or the tempted, who sins most 1 Ha ! 
Not she ; nor doth she tempt : hut it is I, 
That lying by the violet, in the sun, 
Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower. 
Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be. 
That modesty may more betray our sense [enough. 
Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground 



Shall we desire to rare tlie sanctuary. 

And pitch our evils there ? (), fy, fy, fy ! 

What dost thou t or what art thou, Angelo 1 

Dost thou desire her foully, for those things 

That make her good '. (), let her brother live : 

Thieves for their robbery have autliority, 

When judges steal themselves. What? do I love her, 

Tiiat 1 desire to hear her speak again, 

And feast upon her eyes ? What is 't I dream on 'f 

cunning enemy, that to catch a saint. 

With saints dost bait thy hook ! Most danarerous 
Is tliat temptation, that doth goad us on 
To sin in loving virtue : never could the strumpet, 
AVith all her double vigour, art, and nature, 
Once stir my temper ; but this virtuous maid 
Subdues me quite ; — Ever till now, 
When men were fond, I smil'd and wonder'd how. 

[Exit. 

SCENE Ul.—A Room in a Prison. 
Enter Duke, habited like a Friar, and Provost. 

Duke. Hail to you, provost ! so, 1 think you are. 
Prov. I am the provost: W'hat's your will, good 

friar 1 
Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bless'd order, 

1 come to visit the afflicted spirits 

Here in the prison : do me the common right 
To let me see them ; and to make me know 
The nature of their crimes, that I may minister 
To them accordingly. 
Prov. I would do more than that if more were needful. 

Enter Juliet. 

Look, here comes one ; a gentlewoman of mine, 
Who falling in the flames of her own youth. 
Hath blister'd her report : She is with child ; 
And he that got it, sentenc'd : a young man 
More fit to do another such ofl'ence. 
Than die for this. 

Duke. When must he die 1 

Prov. As I do think, to morrow. — . 
I have provided for you ; stay a while, [^To Juliet. 
And you shall be conducted. 

Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry? 

Juliet. I do ; and bear the shame most patiently. 

Duke. I '11 teach you how you shall arraign your 
And try your penitence, if it be sound, [conscience, 
Or hollowly put on. 

Juliet. I'll gladly learn. 

Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd you ? 

Juliet. Yes, as 1 love the woman that wrong'd him. 

Duke. So then, it seems, your most oflenceful act 
was mutually committed ? 

Juliet. Mutually. 

Duke. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his. 

Juliet. I do con less it, and repent it, father. 

Duke. 'Tis meet so, daughter : but lest you do 
repent, 
As that the sin hath brought you to this shame, — 
^Vhich sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven; 
Shewing, we 'd not spare heaven, as we love it, 
But as we stand in fear, — 

Juliet. I do repent me, as it is an evil ; 
And take the shame with joy. 

Duke. There rest. 

Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow, 
And I am going with instruction to him. — 
Grace go with you ! Benedicite ! [Ejit. 

Juliet. Must die to-morrow ! 0, injurious love, 
That respites me a life, whose very comfort 
Is still a dying horror ! 

Prov. 'Tis pity of him. [EieuHt. 

H 



114 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



SCENE IV. — A Room in Angelo's House. 

Enter Angelo. 

Aug. When Iwould pray and think, I think and pray 
To several subjects : heaven hath my empty words : 
Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue, 
Anchors on Isabel : Heaven in my mouth, 
As if I did but only chew his name ; 
And in my heart, the strong and swelling evil 
Of my conception ; The state whereon I studied, 
Is like a good thing, being often read, 
Grown fear'd and tedious ; yea, my gravity. 
Wherein (let no man hear me) 1 take pride. 
Could I, with boot, change for an idle plume, 
Which the air beats for vane- O place ! O form ! 
How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit. 
Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls 
To tiiy false seeming 1 Blood, thou still art blood : 
Let's write good angel on the devil's horn, 
'Tis not the devil's crest. 

Enter Servant. 

How now, who's there? 

Sew. One Isabel, a sister, 

Desires access to you. 

Aug. Teach her the way. [Exit Serv. 

O heavens ! 

Why does my blood thus muster to my heart : 
Making both it unable for itself, 
And dispossessing all the other parts 
Of necessary fitness 1 

So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons ; 
Come all to help him, and so stop the air 
By which he should revive : and even so 
The general, subject to a well-wish'd king, 
Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness 
Croud to his presence, where their untaught love 
Must needs appear offence. 

Enter Isabeli-a. 

How now, fair maid "! 

Isab. 1 am come to know your pleasure. 

Aug. That you might know it, would much better 
please me. 
Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live. 

Isab. Even so ! — Heaven keep your honour ! 

[ Retiring. 

Ang. Yet may he live awhile ; and it may be. 
As long as you, or 1 : yet he must die. 

Isab. Under your sentence ] 

Ang. Yea. 

Isab. When, I beseech you ? that in his reprieve. 
Longer, or shorter, he may be so fitted. 
That his soul sicken not. 

Ang. Ha ! Fye, these filthy vices ! It were as good 
To pardon him, that hath from nature stolen 
A man already made, as to remit 
Their sawcy sweetness, that do coin heaven's image, 
In stamps that are forbid : 'tis all as easy 
Falsely to take away a life true made. 
As to put mettle in restrained means. 
To make a false one. 

Isab. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth. 

Ang. Say you so ? then I shall pose you quickly. 
Which had you rather, That the most just law 
Now took your brother's life ; or, to redeem him. 
Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness. 
As she that he hath stain'd 1 

Isab, Sir, believe this, 

I had rather give my body than my soul. 

Ang. I talk not of your soul ; Our compell'd sins 
Stand more for number than accompt. 

Isab How say you 1 



Ang. Nay, I '11 not warrant that ; for I can speak 
Against the thing I say. Answer to this ; — 
1, now the voice of the recorded law. 
Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life : 
Might there not be a charity in sin, 
To save this brother s life ? 

Isab. Please you to do't, 

I '11 take it as a peril to my soul, 
It is no sin at all, but charity. 

Ang. Pleas'd you to do 't, at peril of your soul, 
Were equal poise of sin and charity. 

hah. That I do beg his life, if it be sin. 
Heaven, let me bear it ! you granting of my suit, 
If that be sin, 1 "II make it my morn prayer 
To have it added to the faults of mine, 
And nothing of your, answer. 

Ang. Nay, but hear me 

Your sense pursues not mine : either you are ignorant. 
Or seem so, craftily ; and that's not good. 

Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good. 
But graciously to know 1 am no better. 

Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright, 
When it doth tax itself: as these black masks 
Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder 
Than beauty could displayed. — But mark me ; 
To be received plain, I'll speak more gross ; 
Your brother is to die. 
Isab. So, 

Ang. And his offence is so, as it appears 
Accountant to the law upon that pain. 
Isab. True. 

Ang. Admit no other way to save his life, 
(As I subscribe not that, nor any other. 
But in the loss of question,) that you, his sister. 
Finding yourself desir'd of such a person. 
Whose credit with the judge, or own great place, 
Could fetch your brother from the manacles 
Of the all-binding law ; and tliat there were 
No earthly mean to save him, but that either 
You must lay down the treasures of your body 
To this supposed, or else to let him sutl'er ; 
What would you do ? 

Isab. As much for my poor brother, as myself: 
That is, Were I under the terms of death. 
The impression of keen whips 1 'd wear as rubies, 
And strip myself to death, as to a bed 
That longing I have been sick for, ere I 'd yield 
My body up to shame. 



An^ 



Then must your brother die 



hab. And 'twere the cheaper way : 
Better it were, a brother die at once, 
Than that a sister, by redeeming him, 
Should die for ever. 

Ang. Were not vou then as cruel as the sentence 
That you have slander'd so ? 

Isab. Ignominy in ransom, and free pardon. 
Are of two houses : lawful mercy is 
Nothing akin to foul redemption. 

Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant ; 
And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother 
A merriment than a vice. 

Isab. O, pardon me, my lord ; it oft falls out, 
To have what we'd have, we speak not what we mean 
I something do excuse the thing I hate. 
For his advantage that I dearly love. 

Ang. We are all frail. 

Isab. Else let my brother die. 

If not a feodary, but only he. 
Owe, and succeed by weakness. 

Ang. Nay, women are frail too. 

Isab. Ay , as the glasses where they view themselves ; 
Which are as easy broke as they make forms 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 



Ilo 



Women ? — Help heaven ! men their creation inar 
In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail ; 
For we are soft as our complexions are, 
And credulous to false prints. 

Aug: I think it well : 

And from this testimony of your own sex, 
(Since, 1 suppose, we are made to be no stronger 
Than faults may shake our frames,) let me be bold ; — 
I do arrest your words ; Be that you are, 
That is, a woman ; if you be more, you're none ; 
If you be one, (as you are well express'd 
By all external warrants,) shew it now. 
By putting on the destin'd livery. 

hub. I have no tongue but one : gentle my lord, 
Let me entreat you speak the former language. 

Aug. Plainly conceive, I love you. 

Isdb. My brother did love Juliet; and you tell me. 
That he shall die for it. 

Aug. He sliall not, Isabel, if you give me love. 

hah. I know, your virtue hath a licence in't. 
Which seems a little fouler than it is. 
To pluck on others. 

■A"g' Believe me, on mine honour, 

My words express my purpose. 

Isab. Ha ! little honour to be much believed. 
And most pernicious purpose ! — Seeming, seeming! — 
I will proclaim thee, Angelo ; look for't : 
Sign me a present pardon for my brother, 
Or, with an outstretch'd throat, I'll tell the world 
Aloud, what man thou art, 

Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel? 

My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life. 
My vouch against you, and my place i' the state, 
Will so your accusation overweigh. 
That you shall stifle in your own report. 
And smell of calumny. I have becrun ; 

A I T • D ' 

And now I give my sensual race the rein : 

Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite ; 

Lay by all nicety, and prolixious blushes. 

That banish what they sue for ; redeem thy brother 

By yielding up thy body to my will ; 

Or else he must not only die the death. 

But thy unkindness shall his death draw out 

To lingering sufferance : answer me to-morrow, 

Or, by the affection that now guides me most, 

I '11 prove a tyrant to him : As for you, 

Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true. 

[Exit. 
Isab. To whom shall I complain 1 Did I tell this. 
Who would believe me ? O perilous mouths, 
That bear in them one and tlie self-same tongue, 
Either of condemnation or approof ! 
Bidding the law make court'sy to their will ; 
Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite, 
To follow as it draws ! 1 '11 to my brother : 
Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood, 
Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour, 
That had he twenty heads to tender down 
On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up, 
Before his sister should her body stoop 
To such abhorr'd pollution. 
Then Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die : 
More than our brother is our chastity. 
I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request. 
And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. [Exit. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — A Boom in the Prison. 
Enter Duke, Claubio, and Provost. 
Duke. So, then you hope of pardon from lord Angelo 1 



Claud. The miserable have no other medicine, 
]5ut only hope : 
I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. 

Duke. Be absolute for death; either death, or life 
Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life, — 
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing 
That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art, 
(Servile to all the skiey influences,) 
That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st. 
Hourly afflict : merely, thou art death's fool ; 
For him thou labour's! by thy flight to shun, 
And yet run'st toward him still : Thou art not noble , 
For all the accommodations that thou bear'st. 
Are nurs'd by baseness : Thou art by no means 
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork [valiant ; 
Of a poor worm : Thy best of rest is sleep. 
And that thou oft provok'st ; yet grossly fear'st 
Thy death, wliich is no more. Thou art not thyself ; 
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains 
That issue out of dust: Happy thou art not : 
For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get ; 
And what thou hast, forget'st : Thou art not certain ; 
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects. 
After the moon : If thou art rich, thou art poor ; 
For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows. 
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, 
And death unloads thee : Friends hast thou none; 
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire. 
The mere effusion of thy proper loins, 
Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum. 
For ending thee no sooner : Thou hast nor youth. 
But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, [nor age; 
Dreaming on both : for all thy blessed youth 
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms 
Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old, and rich. 
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty. 
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this, 
That bears the name of life? Yet in this life 
Lie hid more thousand deaths : yet death we fear. 
That makes these odds all even. 

Claud. I humbly thank you. 

To sue to live, I find, I seek to die ; 
And, seeking death, find life : Let it come on. 

Enter Isaueli.a. 

Isab. What, ho! Peace here; grace and good 
company ! 

Frov. Who's there? come in : the wish deserves 
a welcome. 

Duke. Dear sir, ere long I '11 visit you again. 

Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you. 

Isnh. My business is a word or two with Claudio. 

Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior, here 's 

Duke. Provost, a word with you. [your sister. 

Prov. As many as you please. [ceal'd, 

Duke. Bring them to speak, where I may be con- 
Yet hear them. [Eieunt Duke and Provost, 

Claud. Now, sister, what 's the comfort ? 

Isab. Why, as all comforts are ; most good in deed 
Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven. 
Intends you for his swift embassador. 
Where you shall be an everlasting liegcr: 
Therefore your best appointment make with speed ; 
To-morrow you set on. 

Claud. Is there no remedy? 

hah. None, but such remedy, as, to save a head, 
To cleave a heart in twain. 

Claud. But is there any? 

hub. Yes, brother, you may live ; 
There is a devilish mercy in the judgo 
If you'll implore it, that will free your life. 
But fetter you till death. 

H2 



no 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Claud. Perpetual durance 1 

Isab. Ay, just, perpetual duiance ; a restraint, 
Though all the world's vastidity you had, 
To a determin'd scope. 

Claud. But in what nature? 

huh. In such a one as (you consenting to't) 
Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, 
And leave you naked. 

Claud. Let me know the point. 

Lab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio ; and 1 quake, 
Lest thou a feverish life should'st entertain, 
And six or seven winters more respect 
Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die ? 
The sense of death is most in apprehension ; 
And the poor beetle, that we tread upon. 
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great 
As when a giant dies. 

Claud. Why give you me this shame 1 

Think you I can a resolution fetch 
From flowery tenderness 1 If I must die, 
I will encounter darkness as a bride, 
And hug it in mine arms. 

Isab. There spake my brother ; there my father's 
Did utter forth a voice ! Yes, thou must die : [grave 
Thou art too noble to conserve a life 
In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, — 
Whose settled visasre and deliberate word 
Nips youth x the head, and follies doth enmew. 
As falcon doth the fowl, — is yet a devil ; 
His filth within being cast, he would appear 
A pond as deep as hell. 

Claud. The princely A ngelo ? 

Isab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell. 
The damned'st body to invest and cover 
In princely guards ! Dost thou think, Claudio, 
If I would yield him my virginity. 
Thou miglit'st be freed ! 

Claud. O, heavens! it cannot be. [offence, 

Isab. Yes, he would give it thee, from tliis rank 
So to offend him still : This night's the time 
That I should do what I abhor to name, 
Or else thou diest to-morrow. 

Claud. Thou shall not do 't. 

Isab. O, were it but my Hie, 
I 'd throw it down for your deliverance 
As frankly as a pin. 

Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel. 

Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. 
Claud. Yes. — Has he affections in him, 
That thus can make him bite the law by the nose ; 
When he would force it ! Sure it is no sin ; 
Or of the deadly seven it is the least. 
Isab. Which is the least? 
Claud. If ii were damnable, he, being so wise. 
Why, would he for the momentary trick 
Be perdiuably fin'dl — O Isabel ! 
Isab. What says my brother ? 
Claud. Death is a fearful thing 

Isab. And shamed life a hateful 
Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; 
To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; 
This sensible warm motion to become 
A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit 
To bathe m fiery floods, or to reside 
In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice' ; 
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds. 
And blown with restless violence round about 
The pendent world ; or to be worse than worst 
Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts 
Imagine howling ! — 'tis too horrible ! 
The weariest and most loathed worldly life, 
'J'hat age, ach, penury, and imprisonment 



Can lay on nature, is a paradise 
To what we fear of death. 

Isab. Alas ! alas ! 

Claud. Sweet sister, let me live : 

What sin you do to save a brother's life, 
Nature dispenses with the deed so far. 
That it becomes a virtue. 

Isah. O, you beast! 

O, faithless coward ! O, dishonest wretch ! 
Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice ] 
Is 't not a kind of incest, to take life 
From thine own sister's shame ! What should! think 1 
Heaven shield, my mother play'd my father fair ' 
For such a warped slip of wilderness 
Ne'er issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance. 
Die ; perish ! might but my bending down 
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed : 
I '11 pray a thousand prayers for thy deatji. 
No word to save thee. 

Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. 

Isab. O, fye, fye, fye ! 

Thy sin 's not accidental, but a trade: 
Rlercy to thee would prove itself a bawd: 
"lis best that thou diest quickly. [Going 

Claud. O hear me, Isabella. 

Re-enter Dvke. 

Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one" 
word 

Isab. What is your will 1 

Duke. INliglit you dispense with your leisure, I 
would by and by have some speech with you; the satis- 
faction 1 would require, is likewise your own benefit. 

hah. 1 have no superfluous leisure ; my slay must 
be stolen out of other affairs ; but I will attend you 
a while. 

Duke. [To Ci. AUDIO, aside.] Son, I have over- 
heard what hath past between you and your sister. 
Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her ; only 
he hath made an essay of her virtue, to practise his 
judgment with the disposition of natures ; she, hav- 
ing the truth of honour in her, hath made him that 
gracious denial which he is most glad to receive : I 
am confessor to Angelo, and 1 know this to be true ; 
therefore prepare yourself to death: Do not satisfy 
your lesolution with hopes that are fallible : to-mor- 
row you must die ; go to your knees, and make ready. 

Claud. Let me a>k my sister pardon. 1 am so out 
of love with life, lliat 1 will sue to be rid of it. 

Duke. Hold you there : Farewell. [Exit Cl.\udio. 

Re-enter Provost. 

Provost, a word with you. 

Prov. What's your will, father ? 

Duke. That now you are come, you will be gone : 
Leave me a while with the maid ; my mind pro- 
mises with my habit, no loss shall touch her by my 
company. 

Prov. In good time. [Exit Provost. 

Duke. The hand that hath made you fair, hath 
madeyou good: the goodness, thatis cheap in beauty, 
makes beauty brief in goodness ; but grace, being the 
soul of your complexion, should keep the body of it 
ever fair. The assault, that Angelo hath made to you, 
fortune hath convey'd to my understanding ; and, 
but that frailty hath e.xamples for his falling, 1 should 
wonder at Angelo. How would you do to content 
this substitute, and to save your brother. 

hub. 1 am now going to resolve him : I had rather 
my brother die by the law, than my son should be un- 
lawfully born. But O, how mi ch is the good duke 
deceived in Angelo ! If ever he return, and I can 



^^,. ,,i,iai|lllllll{:|lllllllllllill-;!!l!i:l!!^,l||jj 




MEASURE FOE, MliJASURE 



IsABBLLA. Take my defiance: 

Die ; perish ! might hut my handing down 
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed. 

Act 111., Scene 1 



ACT III.— SCENE II. 



117 



speak to him, I will opca my lips in vain, or discover 
his government. 

Duke. That shall not be much amiss: Yet, as the 
matter now stands, he will avoid your accusation ; he 
Riade trial of you only. — Therefore^ fasten your ear 
on my advisings ; to the love 1 have in doing good, a 
remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe, 
that vou mav most upnghteously do a poor wronged 
ladv a merited benefit ; redeem your brother from the 
aiigrv law ; do no stain to your own gracious person ; 
and much plea>e the absent duke, if, peradventure, 
he shall ever return to have hearing of this business. 

hull. Let me hear you s]>eak further; I have spirit 
to do any thing that appears not foul in the truth of 
my spirit. 

Uuhe. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. 
Have you not heard speak of Mariana the sister of Fre- 
derick, the great soldier, who miscarried at sea ? 

Isiiii. I have heard of the lady, and good words 
went with her name> 

Duke. Her should this Angelo have married ; was 
affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial ajipointed: 
between which time of the contract, and limit of the 
solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea, 
having in that perish'd vessel the dowry of his sister. 
But mark, how heavily this befel to the poor gentle- 
woman: there she lost a noble and renowned brother, 
in his love toward her ever most kind and natural ; 
with him the portion and sinew of her fortune, her 
marriage -dowry ; with both, her combinate husband, 
this well seeming Angelo. 

hub. Can this be so 1 Did Angelo so leave her 1 

Duke. Left her in her tears, and dry'd not one of 
them with his comfort ; swallowed his vows whole, 
pretCEding, in her, discoveries of dishonour ; in few, 
bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she yet 
wears for his sake ; and he, a marble to her tears, is 
washed with them, but relents not. 

hub. What a merit were it in death, to take this 
poor maid from the woi Id I What corruption in this 
life, that it will let this man live ! — But how out of 
this can she avail 1 

Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily heal ; and 
the cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps 
you from dishonour in doing it. 

hub. Shew me how, good father. 

Didie. This fore- named maid hath yet in her the 
continuance of her first affection ; hisunjust unkind- 
ness, that in all reason should have quenched her 
love, hath, like an impediment in the current, made 
it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo ; an- 
swer his requiring with a plausible obedience ; agree 
with his demands to the point : only refer yourself to 
this advantage, — first, that your stay with him may 
not be, long ; that the time may have all shadow and 
silence in it ; and the place answer to convenience : 
this being granted in course, now follows all. We 
sharll advise this wronged maid to stead up your ap 
pointment.go in your place ; if theeucounter acknow- 
ledge itself hereafter, it may compel him to her re- 
compense : and here, by this, is your brother saved, 
your honour untainted, the poor INIariana advantaged, 
ana tiiecorrupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame, 
ind make fit for his attempt. If you think well to 
carry this as you may, thedoubleness of the benefit de- 
fends the deceit from reproof. What think you of itl 

hab. The image of it gives me conten*already ; and 
I trust, it will grow to a most prosperous perfection. 

Duke. It lies much in your holding up : Haste you 
speedily to Angelo; if for this night he entreat you 
to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will 
presently to St. Luke's ; there, at the moated grange 



resides this dejected Mariana : At that place call up- 
on me ; and despatch with Angelo, that it may be 
quickly, 

Isab. I thank you for this comfort : Fare you well, 
good father. [^Exeunt severally. 

SCENE ll.—The Stieet before the Prison. 

Enter Duke, as a Friar ; to him Elbow, Clown, 
and Officers. 

Elh. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that 
you will needs buy and sell men and women like 
beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and 
white bastard. 

Duke. O, heavens! what stuffis herel 

Cb. 'Twas never merry world, since, of two usu- 
ries, the merriest was put down, and the worser al- 
low'd by orderof law a furr'd gown to keep him warm ; 
and furr'd with fox and lamb-skins too, to signify, 
that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for 
the facing. 

Elb. Come your way, sir : — Bless you, good fa- 
ther brother. 

Duke. And you, good brother father: What of- 
fence hath this man made you, sir 1 

Elb. ]\Iarry, sir, he hath offended the law ; and, 
sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir ; for we have 
found upon him, sir, a strange pick-lock, which we 
have sent to the deputy. 

Duke. Fye, sirrah; a bawd, a wicked bawd ' 
The evil that thoucausest to be done, 
That is thy means to live : Do fkou but think 
What 'tis to cram a maw, or clothe a back, 
From such a filthy vice : say to thyself, — 
From their abominable and beastly touches 
I drink, 1 eat, array myself, and live. 
Canst thou believe thy living is a life, 
So stinkingly depending? Go, mend, go, mend. 

Cb. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir ; but 
yet, sir, I would prove [sin, 

Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for 
Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer ; 
Correction and instruction must both work, 
Ere this rude beast will profit. 

Elb. He must before the deputy, sir ; he has given 
him warning : thedeputy cannotabide a whoremaster : 
if he be a whoremonger, and comes before hiin, he 
were as good go a mile on his errand. 

Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be, 
Free from our faults, as faults from seeming free! 

Enter Lucio. 

Elb. His neck will come to your waist, a cord, sii. 

Cb. I spy comfort ; I cry, bail : Here's a gentle- 
man, and a friend of mine. 

Lucio. How now, noble Pompey 1 W' hat, at the 
heels of Ccesar 1 Art thou led in triumph 1 What, is 
there none of Pygmalion's images, newly made wo- 
man, to be had now, for putting the hand in the poc- 
ket and extracting it clutch'dl \Vhat reply? Ha? 
What say'st thou to this tune, matter, and method ? 
Is't not drown'd i' the last rain ? Ha ? What say'st 
thou, trot ? Is the world as it was, man ? Which is 
the way ? Is it sad, and few words ? Or how l The 
trick of it? 

Duke. Still thus, and thus ! still worse ! 

Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress ? 
Procures she still ? Ha ? 

Cb. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and 
she is herself in the tub. 

Lucio. Why, 'tis good ; it is the right of it : it 



118 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



must be so : Et^er your fresh whore, and your pow- 
der'd bawd : An unshunn'd consequence; it must 
be so : Art going to prison, Pompey 1 

do. Yes, faith, sir. 

Lucio. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey : Farewell ; 
Go ; say, 1 sent thee thither. Tor debt, Pompey 1 
Or how ? 

Elb. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. 

Lucio. Well, then imprison him : If imprisonment 
be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right : Bawd is 
he, doubtless, and of antiquity too : bawd-born. 
Farewell, good Pompey : Commend me to the prison, 
Pompey : You will turn good husband now, Pompey; 
you will keep the house. 

Clo. 1 hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail. 

Lncio, Iso, indeed, will I not, Pompey ; it is not 
the wear. I will pray, Pompey, to increase your 
bondage : if you take it not patiently, why, your met- 
tle is the more : Adieu, trusty Pompey, — Bless you, 
friar. 

Duke. And you. 

Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey ? Ha? 

Elb. Come your ways, sir ; come. 

Cloi You will not bail me then, sir? 

Lucio. Then, Pompey ? nor now. — What news 
abroad, friar ? What news 1 

Elb. Come your ways, sir ; come. 

Lucio. Go, — to kennel, Pompey, go : 

[Exeunt Elbow, Clown, and Officers. 
What news, friar, of the duke 1 

Duke. I know none : Can you tell me of any 1 

Lucio. Some say he is with the emperor of llussia ; 
other some, he is in Rome : But where is he, think 
you ? 

Duke. I know not where : But wheresoever, I wish 
him well. 

Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him to 
steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was 
never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his ab- 
sence ; he puts transgression to't. 

Duke. He does well in't. 

Lucio. A little more lenity tolecliery would do no 
harm in him: something too crabbed that way, friar. 

Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must 
cure it. 

Lucio. Yes, ii. good sooth, the vice is of a great 
kindred; it is well ally'd : but it is impossible to ex- 
tirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put 
down. They say, this Angelo was not made by man 
and woman, after the downright way of creation : Is 
it true, think you 1 

Duke. How should he be made then ? 

Lucio. Some report, a sea-maid spawn'd him . — 
Some, that he was begot between two stock-tishes : 
— But it is certain, that when he makes water, his 
urine is congeal'd ice ; that 1 know to be true : and 
he is a motion ungenerative, that's infallible. 

Duke. You are pleasant, sir ; and speak apace. 

Lucio. Why what a ruthless thing is this in him, 
for the rebellion of a cod-piece, to take away the life 
of a man ? Would the duke, that is absent, have done 
this 1 Ere lie would have hang'd a man for the get- 
ting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the 
nursing a thousand : He had some feeling of the 
sport ; he knew the service, and that instructed him 
to mercy. 

Duke. I never heard the absent duke much detect 
ed for women ; he was not inclined that way. 

Lucio. O, sir, you are deceived. 

Duke. 'Tis not possible. 

Lucio. Who? not the duke? yes, your beggar of 
fifty ; — and his use was, to put a ducat in her clack- 



dish : the duke had crotchets in him : He would be 
drunk too ; that let me inform you. 

Duke. You do him wrong, surely. 

Lucio. Sir, 1 was an inward of his : A shy fellow 
was the duke : and, I believe, 1 know tlie cause of his 
withdrawing. 

Duke. What, I pr'ythee, might be the cause? 

Lucio. No, — pardon ; — 'tis a secret must be lock'd 
within the teeth and the lips : but this 1 can let you 
understand, — The greater file of the subject held the 
duke to be wise. 

Duke. Wise ? why, no question but he was. 

Lucio. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing 
fellow. 

Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mistak- 
ing ; the very stream of his life, and the business he 
hath helmed, must, upon a warranted need, give him 
a better proclamation. Let him be but testimonied 
in his own bringings forth, and he shall ajipear to the 
envious, a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier : There- 
fore, you speak unskilfully ; or, if your knowledge 
be more, it is much darken'd in your malice. 

Lucio. Sir, I know him, and I love him. 

Duke. Lovetalks with better knowledge, and know- 
ledge with dearer love. 

Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know. 

Duke. I can hardly believe that, since you know 
not what you speak. But, if ever the duke return, 
(as our prayers are he may,) let me desire you to make 
your answer before him : If it be honest you have 
spoke, you have courage to maintain it : I am bound 
to call upon you ; and, I pray you, your name ? 

Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio ; well known to the 
duke. 

Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live 
to report you. 

Lucio. I fear you not. 

Duke. O, you hope the duke will return no more : 
or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But, 
indeed, I can do you little harm : you'll forswear 
this again. 

Lucio. I'll be hang'd first : thou art deceiv'd in me, 
friar. But no more of this : Canst thou tell, if Clau- 
dio die to-morrow, or no? 

Duke. Why should he die, sir? 

Lucio. Why? for filling a bottle with a tun-dish. 
I would, the duke, we talk of, were return'd again: 
this ungenitur'd agent will unpeople the province 
with continency ; sparrows must not build in his 
house-eaves, because they are leciierous. The duke 
yet would have dark deeds darkly answer'd ; he would 
never bring them to light : would he were return'd ! 
Rlarry, this Claudio is condemn'd for untrussing. 
Farewell, good friar; I pr'ythee, pray for me. The 
duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fri- 
days. He's now past it ; yet, and 1 say to thee, 
he would mouth witli a beggar, though she smelt 
brown bread and garlick : say, that I said so. Fare- 
well. [Exit. 

Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality 
Can censure 'scape ; back-wounding calumny 
The whitest virtue strikes : What king so strong, 
Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue ? 
But who comes here ? 

Enter Escalus, Provost, Bawd, and Officers. 

Escal. Go, away with her to prison. 

Baud. Good my lord, be good tome ; your honour 
is accounted a merciful man : good my lord. 

Escal. Double and treble admonition, and still for- 
feit in the same kind ? This would make mercy swear, 
and play the tyrant. 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



119 



Prov, A bawd of eleven years' coatinuauce, may 
il please your honour. 

Bawd. My lord, this is one Lucio's information 
against me : mistress Kate Keep-down was with 
cliild by him in tlie duke's time, he promised her mar- 
riag^e ; his child is a year and a quarter old, come 
Philip and Jacob: 1 have kept it myself ; and see 
how he goes about to abuse me. 

EscaL, That fellow is a fellow of much licence : — 
let him be called before us. — Away with her to pri- 
son : Go to ; no more words. \_Exeaiit Bawd and 
Officers.] Provost, my brother Angelo will not be 
alter'd, Claudio must die to-morrow : let him be 
furnished with divines, and have all charitable pre- 
paration : if ray brother wrought by my pity, it should 
not be so with him. 

Vrov. So please you, this friar hath been with him, 
and advised him for the entertainment of death. 

Escal. Good even, good father, 

Dake. Bliss and goodness on you ! 

Escal. Of whence are you ? [now 

Duke. Not of this country, though my chance is 
To use it for my time : 1 am a brother 
Of gracious order, late come from the see, 
In special business from his holiness. 

Escal, What news abroad i' the world 1 

Duke. None, but that there is so great a fever on 
goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it : 
novelty is only in request; and it is as dangerous to 
be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to be 
constant in any undertaking. There is scarce truth 
enough alive, to make societies secure ; but security 
enough, to make fellowships accurs'd: much upon 
this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This news 
is old enough, yet it is every day's news. I pray 
you, sir, of what disposition was the duke ] 

Escal. One, that, above all other strifes, con- 
tended especially to know himself. 

Duke. What pleasure was he given to ] 

Escal. Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than 
merry at any thing which profess'd to make him re- 

ioice : a gentleman of all temperance. But leave we 
dm to his events, with a prayer they may prove 
prosperous ; and let me desire to know how you find 
Claudio prepared. I am made to understand, that 
you have lent him visitation. 

Duke. He professes to have received no sinister 
measure from his judge, but most willingly humbles 
himself to the determination of justice : yet had he 
framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, 
many deceiving promises of life ; which I, by my 
good leisure, have discredited to him, and now is he 
resolved to die. 

Escal. You have paid the heavens your function, 
and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. I 
have labour'd for the poor gentleman, to the ex- 
tremest shore of my modesty ; but my brother j ustice 
have I found so severe, that he hath forced me to tell 
him, he is indeed — justice. 

Duke. If his own life answer the straitness of his 
proceeding, it shall become him well ; wherein, if he 
chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself. 

Escal. I am going to visit the prisoner : Fare you 
well. 

Duke. Peace be with you ! 

[^Eieunt EscALus and Provost. 
He, who the sword of heaven will bear, 
Should be as holy as severe ; 
Pattern in himself to know, 
Grace to stand, and virtue go ; 
More nor less to others paying, 
Thau by self-offeaces weighing. 



Shame to him, whose cruel striking 
Kills for faults of his own liking I 
Twice treble shame on Angelo, 
To weed my vice and let his grow ! 
O, what may man within him hide. 
Though angel on the outward side ! 
How may likeness, made in crimes. 
Making practice on the times. 
Draw with idle spiders' strings 
Most pond'rous and substantial things 
Craft against vice I must apply : 
With Angelo to-night shall lie 
His old, betrothed, but despis'd ; 
So disguise shall, by the disguis'd, 
Pay with falsehood false exacting, 
And perform an old contracting. 



[Eiif. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — A Room in Mariana's House. 
Mariana discovered sitting ; a Boy singinif. 

SONG. 

Take, oh take those lips away, 

That so sweetly were forsworn ; 
And those eyes, the break of day. 

Lights that do mislead the morn : 
But my kisses bring again, 

bring again 
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, 

seal'd in vain. 

Mari. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick 
Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice [away ; 
Hath often still'd my brawling discontent. — 

l^Eiit Boy. 

Enter Duke. 

I cry you mercy, sir ; and well could wish 

You had not found me here so musical : 

Let me e.xcuse me, and believe me so, — 

My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe. 

Duke. 'Tis good ; though music oft have such a 
charm. 
To make bad good, and good provoke to harm. 
I pray you, tell me, hath any body inquired for me 
here to-day ] much upon this time have I promis'd 
here to meet. 

Mari. You have not been inquired after : I have 
sat here all day. 

Enter Isabella. 

Duke. I do constantly believe you : — The time is 
come, even now, I shall crave your forbearance a 
little ; may be, I will call upon you anon, for some 
advantage to yourself. 

Mari, I am always bound to you. [Exit. 

Duke. Very well met, and welcome. 
What is the news from this good deputy t 

Isab. He hath a garden circummur'd with brick, 
Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd ; 
And to that vineyard is a planched gate, 
That maJces his opening with this bigger key ; 
This other doth command a little door. 
Which from the vineyard to the garden leads ; 
There have 1 made my promise to call on him, 
Upon the heavy middle of the night. ["'ay 1 

Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find this 

Isab. 1 have ta'en a due and wary note upon't j 
With whispering and most guilty diligence, 



120 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



In action all of precept, he did shew me 
The way twice o'er 

Duke. Are there no other tokens 

Between you 'greed, concerning her observance 1 

hab. No, none, but only a repair i' the dark. ; 
And that I have possess'd him, my most stay 
Can be but brief : for 1 have made him know, 
I have a servant comes with me along, 
That stays upon me ; whose persuasion is, 
I come about my brother. 

Dulie. ' Tis well borne up. 

I have not yet made known to Mariana 
A word of this :— What, ho ! within ! come forth ! 

He-enter Maiuana. 

1 pray you be acquainted with this maid ; 
She comes to do you good. 

hab. I do desire the like. 

Duke. Do you persuade yourself, that I respect 
you ? [found it. 

Mari. Good friar, I know you do ? and have 

Duke. Take then this your companion by the hand, 
Who hath a story ready for your ear: 
I shall attend your leisure ; but make haste; 
The vaporous night approaches. 

Mari, Will 't please you walk aside ? 

[TLieunt RlAniANA and Isareli.a. 

Duke, place and greatness, millions of false 
Are stuck upon thee ! volumes of report [eyes 

Run with these false and most contrarious quests 
Upon thy doings ! thousand 'scapes of wit 
IMake thee the father of their idle dream, [agreed? 
And rack thee in their fancies I — Welcome ! How 

Be-enter Mariana and Isabella. 

hah. She '11 take the enterprise upon her, father, 
If you advise it. 

Duke. It is not my consent. 

But my intreaty too. 

hab. Little have you to say, 

When you depart from him, but, soft and low, 
Kememher now my brotlier. 

Mari. Fear me not. 

Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all : 
He is your husband on a pre-contract : 
To bring you thus together, 'tis no sin ; 
Sith that the justice of your title to him 
Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go ; 
Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow. 

[£ic»(tt. 

SCENE 11.— A Room, in the Prison. 
Enter Provost and Clown. 

Prnv. Come hither, sirrah : Can you cut off a 
man's head 1 

Clo. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can : but if 
he be a married man, he is his wife's head, and I 
can never cut off a woman's head. 

Prov. Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and 
yield me a direct answer. To-morrow morning are 
to die Claudio and Barnardine : Here is in our pri- 
son a common executioner, who in his office lacks a 
helper : if you will take it on you to assist him, it 
shall redeem you from your gyves ; if not, you shall 
have your full time of imprisonment, and your de- 
liverance with an unpitied whipping ; for you have 
been a notorious bawd. 

Clo. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd, time out 
of mind ; but yet I will be content to be a lawful 
hangman. I would be glad to receive some instruc- 
tion from my fellow partner. 



Prov. What ho, Abhorson ! Where's Abhorson, 
there 1 

Enter Abhohson. 

Abhor. Do you call, sir ? 

Prov. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to« 
morrow in your execution : If you think it meet, 
compound with him by the year, and let him abide 
here with you ; if not, use him for the present, and 
dismiss him : He cannot plead his estimation with 
you ; he hath been a bawd. 

Abhor. A bawd, sir ? Fye upon him, he will dis- 
credit our mystery. 

Prov. Go to, sir ; you weigh equally ; a feather 
will turn the scale. [Etit. 

Clo. Pray, sir, by your good favour, (for, surely, 
sir, a good favour you have, but that you have a 
hanging look,) do you call, sir, your occupation a 
mystery 1 

Abhor. Ay, sir ; a mystery. 

Clo. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery ; 
and your whores, sir, being members of my occupa- 
tion, using painting, do prove my occupation a mys- 
tery : but what mystery there should be in hanging, 
if I should be hang'd, I cannot imagine. 

Abhor. Sir, it is a mystery. 

Clo. Proof. 

Abhor. Every true man's apparel fits your thief : 
If it be too little for your thief, your true man thinks 
it big enough ; if it be too big for your thief, your 
thief thinks it little enough : so every true man'.s 
apparel fits your thief. 

Re-enter Provost, 

Prov, Are you agreed ? 

Clo. Sir, I will serve him ; for I do find, your 
hangman is a more penitent trade than your bawd ; 
he doth oftener ask forgiveness. 

Prov. You, sirrah, provide your block and your 
axe, to-morrow four o'clock. 

Abhor. Come on, bawd ; I will instruct thee in 
my trade ; follow. 

Clo. I do desire to learn, sir ; and, I hope, if you 
have occasion to use me for your own turn, you shall 
find me yare : for, truly sir, for your kindness, 1 
owe you a good turn. 

Prov. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio : 

\Exeunt Clown and Abhorson. 
One has my pity ; not a jot the other. 
Being a murderer, though he were my brother. 

Enter Claudio. 

Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death : 
'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow 
Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine 1 

Claud, As fast lock'd up in sleep, as guiltless la- 
When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones : [hour 
He will not wake. 

Prov. W^ho can do good on him 2 

Well, go, prepare yourself. But hark, what noise 1 

[^Knocking tvithin. 
Heaven give your spirits comfort ! [_Exit Claudio. 

By and by : — 
I hope it is some pardon, or reprieve, 
For the most gentle Claudio. — Welcome, father. 

Enter Duke. 

Duke. The best and wholesomest spirits of the 
night 
Envelop you, good provost! Who called here of late 1 
Prov. None, since the curfew rung. 
Duke. Not Isabel '.' 



ACT IV.— SCENE 11. 



1-21 



Prov. No. 

.Duke. They will then, ere't be long. 

Vrov. What comfoit is for Claudio ? 

Duke. There's some in hope. 

Prov. It is a bitter deputy. 

Buke. Not so, not so ; his life is parallel'd 
Even with the stroke and line of liis great justice ; 
He dotli with holy abstinence subdue 
That in himself, which he spurs on his power 
To qualify in others : were he meal'd 
■\Vlth that which he corrects, then were he tyrannous ; 
But this being so, he's just. — Now are they come. — 
\^Knocking irithin. — Provost gees out. 
This is a gentle provost : Seldom, when 
The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. — [haste, 
How now ! Uliat noise? Tliat spirit's possess'd with 
That wounds the unsisting postern with these strokes. 

Provost returns, speaking to one at the door. 

Prov. There he must stay, until the officer 
Arise to let him in ; he is call'd up. 

Duke. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet. 
But he must die to-morrow ? 

Prov. None, sir, none. 

Duke. As near the dawning, provost, as it is, 
You shall hear more ere morning. 

Prov. Happily, 

You something know ; yet, I believe, there comes 
No countermand ; no such example have we : 
Besides, upon the very siege of justice, 
Lord Angelo hath to the public ear 
Profess'd the contrary. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Duke. This is his lordship's man. 

Prov. And here comes Ciaudio's pardon. 

Mess. My lord hath sent you this note ; and by 
me this furtlier charge, that you swerve not from the 
smallest article of it, neither in time, matter, or other 
circumstance. Good-murrow ; for, as 1 take it, it is 
almost day. 

Provt 1 shall obey him. [Eiit Messenger. 

Duke. This is his pardon ; purchas'd by such sin, 
For which the pardoner himself is in : [Asi(/«. 

Hence hath ofi'ence his quick celerity, 
When it is borne in high authority: 
When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended, 
That for the fault's love, is tlie offender friended. — 
Now, sir, what news ] 

Prov. 1 told you : Lord Angelo, belike, thinking 
me remiss in mine office, awakens me with this un- 
wonted putting on : methinks, strangely ; for he hath 
not used it before. 

Duke. Pray you, let's hear. 

Prov. l^lieuds.] ]\ luitsoever vou inay hear to the 
contrar>i, let Clau.ilio he executed hii four nj the clock ; 
and, in llie alternoon, Barnardiiie : for 7/iu better satis- 
faction, let me have Clnudio^s head sent me hyjive. Let 
this be dulii perform'd; with a thought, tliat wore de- 
pends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail not to 
do your office, as you will answer it at your peril. 
What say you to this, sir ? 

Dnke. What is that Barnardine, who is to be exe- 
cuied in the afternoon ? 

Prov. A Bohemian born ; but here nursed up and 
bred : one that is a prisoner nine years old. 

Duke. How came it, that the absent duke had not 
either deliver'd him to his liberty, or executed him ? 
1 have heard, it was ever his manner to do so. 

Prov. His friends still wrought reprieves for him : 
And, indeed, his fact, till now in the government of 
lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof. 



Duke. Is iiwiow apparent? 

Frov. ]\lost manifest, and not denied by himself. 
Duke. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison ? 
How seems he to be touch'd ? 

Prov. A man that apprehends death no more 
dreadfully, but as a drunken sleep ; caieless, reck- 
less, and fearless of what's past, present, or to come ; 
insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal. 
Duke. He wants advice. 

Prov. He will hear none ; he hath evermore had 
the liberty of the prison ; give him leave to escape 
hence, he would not: drunk many times a day, if not 
many days entirely drunk. We have veiy often 
awaked him, as if to carry him to execution, and 
shew'd him a seeming warrant for it : it hath not 
moved him at all. 

Dnke. More of him anon. There is written in your 
brow, provost, honesty and constancy : if I read it 
not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me ; but in the 
boldness of my cunning, I will lay myself in hazard. 
Claudio, whom here you have a warrant to execute, 
is no greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath 
sentenced him : To make you understand this in a 
manifested efi'ect, 1 crave but four days respite ; for 
the which you are to do me both a present and a 
dangerous courtesy. 

Prov. Pray, sir, in what? 

Duke. In the delaying death. 

Prov. Alack 1 how may 1 do it ? having the hour 
limited ; and an express command, under penalty, to 
deliverjiis head in the view of Angelo 1 I may make 
my case as Ciaudio's, to cross this in the smallest. 

Dnke. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you, 
if my instructions may be your guide. Let this 
Barnardine be this morning executed, and his head 
borne to Angelo. 

Prov. Angelo hath seen them both, and will dis- 
cover the favour. 

Dnke. O, death's a great disguiser : and you may 
add to it. Shave the head, and tie the beard ; and 
sav, it was the desire of the penitent to be so bared 
before his death : You know the course is common. 
If any thing fall to you upon this, more than thanks 
and good fortune, by the saint whom I profess, 1 will 
plead ao^ainst it with my life. 

Prov, I'aidon me, good father : it is against my 
oath. 

Duke. Were you sworn to the duke, or to the 
deputy ? 

Prov. To him, and to his substitutes. 

Duke. You will think you have made no offence, 
if the duke avouch the justice of your dealing ? 

Prov. But what likelihood is in that ? 

Dnke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet 
since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, inte- 
grity, nor my persuasion, can with ease attempt you, 
I will go further than I meant, to pluck all fears out 
of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of 
the duke. You know the character, 1 doubt not ; and 
the signet is not strange to you. 

Prov. I know them both. 

Duke. The contents of this is the return of the 
duke ; you shall anon over read it at vour pleasure : 
where you shall find, within these two days he will 
be here. This is a thing, that Angelo knows not : 
for he this very day receives letters of strange tenor : 
perchance, of the duke's death ; perchance, entering 
into some monastery ; but, by chance, nothing of 
what IS writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up the 
shepherd : Put not yourself into amazement, how 
these things should be : all difficulties are but easy 
when they are known. Call your executioner, and 



122 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



off with BarnarJine's head : I will give him a present 
thrift, and advise him for a better place. Yet you 
are amazed : but this shall absolutely resolve you. 
Come away ; it is almost clear dawn. [Eieunt, 

SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Clown. 

Clo. I am as well acquainted here, as I was in our 
house of profession : one would think, it were mistress 
Overdone's own house, for here be many of her old 
customers. First, here's young master Rash ; he's 
in for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger, 
ninescore and seventeen pounds ; of whicii he made 
five marks, ready money : marry, then, ginger was 
not much in request, for the old women were all 
dead. Then is there here one master Caper, at the 
suit of master Three-pile the mercer, for some four 
suits of peach-colour'd satin, which now peaches him 
a beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and 
young master Deep-vow, and master Copper-spur, 
and master Starve-lackey the rapier and dagger- man, 
and young Drop-heir that kill'd lusty Pudding, and 
master Forthright the tilter, and brave master Shoe- 
tie the great traveller, and wild Half-can tliat stabb'd 
Pots, and, I think, forty more ; all great doers in our 
trade, and are now for the Lord's sake. 

Enter Abhorson. 

Abhor Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. 

Clo. Master Barnardine ! you must rise and be 
hang'd, master Barnardine ! 

Abhor. What, ho, Barnardine ! 

Btrrnar. \_]Vithin ] A pox o' your throats ! Who 
makes that noise there 1 What are you ? 

Clo. Your friends, sir ; the hangmen ; You must 
be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death. 

Barnar. [ iri(/«'«.] Away, you rogue, away ; I am 
sleepy. 

Abhor. Tell him, he must awake, and that quickly 
too. 

Clo. Pray, master Barnardine, awake till you are 
executed, and sleep afterwards. 

Abhor. Go in to him, and fetcli him out. 

Clo. He is coming, sir, he is coming ; 1 hear his 
straw rustle. 

Enter Barnaudine. 

Abhor. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah ? 

Clo. Very ready, sir. 

Barnar. How now, Abhorson \ what's the news 
with you 1 

Abhor Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into 
your prayers ; for, look you, the warrant's come. 

Barnar. You rogue, I have been drinking all night, 
I am not fitted for't 

Clo. O, the better, sir ; for he that drinks all night, 
and is hang'd betimes in the morning, may sleep the 
sounder all the next day. 

Enter Duke. 

Abhor. Look you, sir, here comes your ghostly 
father ; Do we jest now, think you ! 

Duke. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing 
how hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise 
you, comfort you, and pray with you. 

Barnar. Friar, not 1 ; I have been drinking hard 
all nigiit, and 1 will have more time to prepare me, 
or they shall beat out my brains with billets : 1 will 
not consent to die t'.iis day, that's certain. 

Duke. O, sir, you must ; and therefore, I beseech 
Look forward on the journey you shall go. [you, 

Barnar. 1 swear, I will not die to-day for any 
man's persuasion. 



Duke. But hear you, 

Barnar. Not a word ; if you have any thing' to 
say to me, come to my ward ; for thence will not I 
to-day. lExit. 

Enter Provost. 

Duke. Unfit to live, or die : O, gravel heart ! — 
After him, fellows ; bring him to the block. 

[E.teitnt AiuiORSON and Clown. 

Prov. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner 1 

Duke. A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for death. 
And, to transport him in the mind he is. 
Were damnable 

Prov. Here in the prison, father. 

There died this morning of a cruel fever 
One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate, 
A man of Claudio's years ; his beard, and head, 
Just of his colour : What if we do omit 
This reprobate, till he were well inclined ; 
And satisfy the deputy with the visage 
Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio ? 

Duke. O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides ! 
Despatch it presently ; the hour draws on 
Prefix'd by Angelo : See, this be done. 
And sent according to command ; whiles I 
Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die. 

Prov. This shall be done, good father, presently. 
But Barnardine must die this afternoon : 
And how shall we continue Claudio, 
To save me from the danger that might come, 
If he were known alive? 

Duke. Let this be done ; — Put them in secret holds. 
Both Barnardine and Claudio : Ere twice 
The sun hath made his journal greeting to 
The under generation, you shall find 
Your safety manifested. 

Prov. I am your free dependant, 
Duke. Quick, despatch. 

And send the head to Angelo. [L'.iif Provost. 

Now will I write letters to Angelo, — 

The provost, he shall bear them, whose contents 

Shall witness to him, 1 am near at home ; 
And that, by great injunctions, I am bound 
To enter publicly : him I '11 desire 
To meet me at the consecrated fount, 
A league below the city ; and from thence, 
By cold gradation and weal-balanced form, 
We shall proceed with Angelo. 

He-enter Provost. 

Prov. Here is the head ; I '11 carry it myself. 

Duke. Convenient is it: Make a swift return ; 
For 1 would commune with you of such things. 
That want no ear but yours. 

Prov. 1 '11 make all speed. [Exit 

hab. \^]Vithin.'] Peace, ho, be here! 

Duke. The tongue of Isabel : — She's come to know, 
If yet her brother's pardon be come hither : 
But I will keep her ignorant of her good. 
To make her heavenly comforts of despair 
When it is least expected. 

Enter Isarklla. 

hah. ITo, by your leave. 

Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious 
daughter. 

Jsab. The better, given me by so holy a man. 
Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon '' 

Duhe. He hath releas'd him, Isabel, from the 
His head is off, and sent to .\ngelo. [world j 

Isab. Nay, but it is not so. 

Duke. It is no other: 

Shew your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience. 



ACT IV.— SCENE VI. 



123 



Tsab. O, I will 10 him, and pluck out his eyes. 

Duke. You shall not be adniitifd to his sight. 

ls(tb. Unhappy Claudio ! Wretched Isabel 1 
Injurious world ! i\Iost damned Angelo ! 

Duke. 'I'his nor hurts him nor profits you a jot: 
Forbear it therefore ; give your cause to heaven. 
Mark what 1 say ; which you shall find 
By every syllable, a faithful verity : 
The duke comes home to-morrow ; — nay, dry your 
One of our convent, and his confessor, [eyes ; 

Gives me this instance : Already he hath carried 
Notice to Escalus and Angelo ; 
Who do prepare to meet him at the gates, 
There to give up their power. If you can, pace your 
In that good path that 1 would wish it go ; [wisdom 
And you shall have your bosom on this wretch, 
Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart, 
And general honour. 

hob. I am directed by you. 

Duke. This letter then to Friar Peter give ; 
Tis that he sent me of the duke's return : 
Say, by this token, I desire his company 
At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause, and yours, 
I '11 perfect him withal ; and he shall bring you 
Before the duke ; and to the head of Angelo 
Accuse liim home, and home. For my poor self, 
1 am combined by a sacred vow. 
And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter: 
Command these fretting waters from your eyes 
With a light heart ; trust not my holy order, 
If 1 pervert your course. — Who 's here 1 

Enter Lucio. 

Lucio. Good even ! 

Friar, where is the provost 1 

Duke. ■ Not within, sir. 

Lucio. O, pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart, 
to see thine eyes so red : thou must be patient : I 
am fain to dine and sup with water and bran ; I dare 
not for my head fill my belly ; one fruitful meal would 
set me to 't ; But they say the duke will be here to- 
morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I lov'd thy brother ; 
if the old fantastical duke of dark corners had been 
at home, he had lived. [Exit Isabella. 

Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholden 
to your reports ; but the best is, he lives not in them. 

Lucio. Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well as 
I do : he 's a better woodman than thou takest him for. 

Duke. Well, you '11 answer this one day. Fare 
ye well. 

Lucio. Nay, tarry ; I '11 go along with thee ; I can 
tell thee pretty tales of the duke. 

Duke. You have told me too many of him already, 
sir, if they be true ; if not true, none were enough. 

Lucio. I was once before him for getting a wench 
with child 

Duke. Did you such a thing 1 

Lucio. Yes, marry, did I ; but was fain to for- 
swear it ; they would else have married me to the 
rotten medlar. 

Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than honest : 
Rest you well. 

Lucio. By my troth, I '11 go with thee to the lane's 
end : If bawdy talk oH'end you, we '11 have very little 
of it ; Nay, friar, 1 am a kind of burr, 1 shall stick. 

\_Exeunt, 

SCENE IV.— .'1 Room iu Angelo's House. 
Etiter .Angi;i.o and Escali'S. 
Escal. Every letter he haih writ liuth disvouch'd 
other. 
Ans. In most uneven and distracted manner. His 



actions shew much like to madness : pray heaven, 
his wisdom bt not tainted ! And why meet him at 
the gates, and re-deliver our authorities there 1 

Escal. I guess not. 

Ang. And why should we proclaim it in an hour 
before his entering, that, if any crave redress of injus- 
tice, they should exhibit their petitions in the street? 

Escal. He shews his reason for that: to have a de- 
spatch of complaints ; and to deliver us from devices 
hereafter, which shall then have no power to stand 
against us. 

Ang. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim'd : 
Betimes i' the morn, I '11 call you at your house : 
Give notice to such men of sort and suit, 
As are to meet him. 

Escal. 1 shall, sir: fare you well. [Exit. 

Ang. Good night. — 
This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnaat, 
And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid ! 
And by an eminent body, that enforc'd 
The law against it ! — But that her tender shame 
Will not proclaim against her maiden loss. 
How might she tongue me 1 Yet reason dares her ? — 
For my authority bears a credent bulk, [no: 

That no particular scandal once can touch. 
But it confounds the breather. He should have liv'd, 
Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense, 
Might, in the times to come, have ta'en revenge, 
By so receiving a dishonour'd life, 
With.ransomeof such shame. 'Would yet he hadliv'd! 
Alack, when once our grace we have forgot. 
Nothing goes right ; we would, and we would not. 

[Exit. 
SCENE V. — Fields irithout the Town. 

Enter Duke in his own habit, and Friar Peter. 

Duke. These letters at fit time deliver me. 

[Giving letters. 
The provost knows our purpose, and our plot. 
The matter being afoot, keep you instruction. 
And hold you ever to our special drift ; 
Though sometimes you do blench from this to that. 
As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavius' house. 
And tell him where I stay : give the like notice 
To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus, 
And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate ; 
But send me Flavius first. 

J^. Peter. It shall be speeded well. [Exit Friar. 

Enter Varrius. 
Duke. I thank thee, Varrius ; thou hast made good 
haste : 
Come, we will walk : There 's other of our friends 
Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — Street near the City Gate. 

Enter Isabella and Mariana. 

Isab. To speak so indirectly, I am loath ; 
I would say the truth ; but to accuse him so, 
That is your part : yet I 'm advised to do it ; 
He says, to veil full purpose. 

Mari. Be rul'd by him. 

Isuh. Besides, he tells me, that, if peradventure 
He speak against me on the adverse side, 
I should not think it strange ; for 'tis a physic. 
That 's bitter to sweet end. 

Miiri. I would, friar Peter — 

Isab. O, peace ; the friar is come. 

Enter Friar Piter. 
F. Peter. Come, 1 have found you out a stand most 
Where you may have such vantage on the duke, [lit. 



124 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



He shall not pass you ; Twice have the trumpets 
The generous and gravest citizens [sounded ; 

Have hent the gates, and very near upon 
Thedukeisent'ring ; therefore hence, away. \_Excunt. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — A public Place near the City Gate. 

Mariana (^veiled), Isabella, and Peieu, at a dis- 
tance. Enter at upiio^ite doors, Dtke, VAimius, 
Lords ; Anoelo, EsCALUs, Lucio, Provost, Offi- 
cers, and Citizens. 

Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met: — 
Our old and faitliful friend, we aie giad to see you. 
Ang. and Escal. Happy return be to your royal 

grace ! 
Duke. Many and hearty thankings to you both. 
We have made inquiry of you ; and we hear 
Such goodness of your justice, that our soul 
Cannot but yield you fortli to public tlianks. 
Forerunning more requital. 

Aug. You make my bonds still greater 

Duke. 0, your deseit speaks loud ; and 1 L-hoi.ld 
To lock it in the wards of covert bosom, [wrong it, 
When it deserves with characters of brass 
A forted residence, 'gainst the tooth of time, 
And razure of oblivion ; Give me your hand. 
And let the siibject see, to make them know 
Tiiat outward courtesies would fain proclaim 
Favours that keep within. — Come, Escalus, 
You must walk by us on our other hand ; 
And good supporters are you. 

Peter and Isabella come forward. 
F. Peter. Now is your time ; speak loud, and 
kneel before him. 

Isah. Justice, O royal duke ! Vail your regard 
Upon a wrong'd, I 'd fain have said, a maid ! 
worthy prince, dishonour not your eye 
By throwing it on any other object, 
Till you have heard me in my true complaint. 
And given me justice, justice, justice, justice ! 

Uu/ie. Relate your wrongs : In what! By whom "? 
Here is lord Angelo shall give you justice ! [Be brief: 
Reveal yourself to him. 

Isah. O, wortiiy duke, 

Y'ou bid me seek redemption of the devil : 
Hear me yourself; for tliat which 1 must speak 
IMust either punish me, not being believ'd. 
Or wring redress from you : hear me, O, hear me, here 

Ang. My lord, her wits, 1 fear me, are not firm : 
She hath been a suitor to me for her brother. 
Cut off by course of justice ! 

Isah. By course of justice! 

Ang. And she will speak most bitterly, and strange. 

Isah. Most strange, but yet most truly, will 1 speak: 
That Angelo 's forsworn ; is it not strange ? 
That Angelo 's a murderer ; is 't not strange 1 
That Angelo is an adulterous thief, 
An hypocrite, a virgin-violator ; 
Is it not strange, and strange ] 

Duke. Nay, ten times strange. 

huh. It is not truer he is Augelo, 
Than this is all as true as it is strange : 
Nay, it is ten times true ; for truth is truth 
To the end of reckoning. 

Duke. Away with her ; — Poor soul, 

She speaks this in the infirmity of sense. 

isab. O prince, 1 conjure thee, as thou believ'st 
There is another comfort than this world. 



That thou neglect me not, with that opinion, 

That I am toucli'd with madness ; make not impossible 

That which but seems unlike •. 'tis not imj)ossible 

But one, the wicked'st caitifl'on the ground. 

May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute, 

As Angelo ; even sr may Angelo, 

In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms. 

Be an arch-villain ; believe it, royal prince, 

If lie be less, he 's notliing ; but lie 's more, 

Had I more name for badness. 

Duke. By mine honesty, 

If she be mad, as I believe no otiier. 
Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense. 
Such a dependency of thing on thing. 
As e'er I heard in madness. 

Isah. O, gracious duke. 

Harp not on that : nor do not banish reason 
For inequality ; but let your reason serve 
To make the truth appear, where it seems hid ; 
And hide the false, seems true. 

Duke. Many that are not mad. 

Have, sure, more lack of reason. — What would you 
Isah. 1 am the sister of one Claudio, [say 1 

Condemn'd upon the act of fornication 
To \o^e his head; condemn'd by Angelo: 
I, in probation of a sisterhood. 
Was sent to by my brother : One Lucio 
As then the messenger ; — 

Lucio. That's I, an't like your grace: 

I came to her from (Jlaudio, and desir'd her 
To try her gracious fortune with lord Angelo, 
For her poor brother's pardon. 

Isah. That's he, indeed. 

Duke. You were not bid^to speak. 
Lucio. No, my. good lord ; 

Nor wish'd to hold my peace. 

Duke. I wish you now then ; 

Pray you, take note of it ; and when you have 
A business for yourself, pray heaven, you then 
Be perfect. 

Lucio, I warrant your honour. 

Duke. The warrant's for yourself; take lieed to it. 
Isah. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale. 
Lucio. Right. 

Duke. It may be riglit ; but you are in the wrong 
To speak before your time. — Proceed. 

hub. I went. 

To this pernicious caitiff deputy. 

Unke, That's soniewiiat madly spoken. 
Isah. Pardon it ; 

The phrase is to the matter. 

Duke. Mended again : the matter; — Proceed. 
Isah. In brief, — to set the needless process by. 
How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd. 
How he refell'd me, and how 1 reply 'd; 
(For this was of much length,) the vile conclusion 
I now begin with grief and shame to utter : 
He would not, but by gift of my chaste body 
To his concupiscible intemperate lust. 
Release my brother ; and, after mucli debatement, 
]\ly sisterly remorse confutes mine honour, 
And I did yield to him: But the next morn betimes, 
His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant 
For my poor brotlier's head. 

Duke. This is most likely 

Isah. O, that it were as like as it is true! 
Duke. By heaven, itmd wretch, thou know'st not 
what thou speak'st ; 
Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour, 
In hateful practice : First, liis integrity 
Stands witliout blemish : — next, it imports no reason, 
That with such vehemency he should pursue 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



1-25 



faults proper to himself: if lie had so offended, 
He would have weigh'd thy brother by liimself, 
And not have cut him off: Some one hath set you on ; 
Confess the truth, and say by whose advice 
Thou cam'st here to complain. 

I sab. And is this all ? 

Then, oh, you blessed ministers above. 
Keep me in patience ; and with ripen'd time. 
Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up 
In countenance! — Heaven shieldyourgrace from woe, 
As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go ! 

Duke. 1 know, you'd fain be gone : — An officer ! 
To prison with her : — Shall we thus permit 
A blasting- and a scandalous breath to fall 
On him so near usl This needs must be a practice. 
— Who knew of your intent, and coming hither ! 

Isab. One that I would were here, friar Lodowick. 

Duke. A ghostly father, belike : Who knows that 
Lodowick? 

Lucio. l\Iy lord, I know him ; 'tis a meddling friar t 
I do not like the man : had he been lay, my lord. 
For certain words he spake against your grace 
In your retirement, I had swing'd him soundly. 

Duke. Words against me 1 This is a good friar belike ! 
And to set on this wretched woman here 
Against our substitute! — Let this friar be found. 

Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar 
I saw them at the prison: a saucy friar, 
A very scurvy fellow. 

F. Peter. Blessed be your royal grace I 

I have stood by, my lord, and 1 have heard 
Your royal ear abus'd: First, hath tliis woman 
Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute ; 
Who is as free from touch or soil with her, 
As she from one ungot. . 

Dicke. We did believe no less. 

Know you that friar Lodowick, that she speaks of? 

F. Peter. I know him for a man divine aud holy ; 
Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler. 
As he's reported by this gentleman ; 
And, on my trust, a man that never yet 
Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace. 

Lucio. My lord, most villanously ; believe it. 

F. P«rer.V\'ell,heintime may come to clear himself; 
But at this instant he is sick, my lord. 
Of a strange fever: Upon his mere request, 
(Being come to knowledge that there was complaint 
Intended 'gainst lord Angelo,) came 1 hither. 
To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know 
Is true, and false; and what he with his oath, 
And all probation, will make up full clear. 
Whensoever he's convented. First, for this woman ; 
(To justify this worthy nobleman. 
So vulgarly and personally accus'd,) 
Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, 
Till she herself confess it. 

Duke. Good friar, let's hear it. 

[Isabella is carried off, guarded; and 
Ma RiANA comes J'oruard. 
Do you not smile at this, lord Angelo ? — 
O heaven ! the vanity of wretched fools ! 
Give us some seats. — Come, cousin Angelo; 
In this I'll be impartial ; be you judge 
Of your own cause — Is this the witness, friar? 
First, let her shew her face ; and, after, speak. 

Mari. Pardon, my lord ; I will not shew my face. 
Until my husband bid me. 

Duke. What, are you married ? 

Mart. No, my lord. 

Duke. Are you a maid ? 

J^Jari. N^o, iny lord. 

Duke. A widow then ? 



Mari, Neither, my lord. 

Duke. Wiiy, you 

Are nothing then: — Neither maid, widow, nor wife? 

Lucio. My lord, she may be a punk ; for many of 
them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. 

Duke. Silence that fellow : I would, he had some 
To prattle for him>elf. [cause 

Lucio. Well, mv lord. 

Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married ; 
And, I confess, besides, 1 am no maid : 
I have known my husband;' yet my husband knows 
That ever he knew me. [not, 

Lucio. He was drunk then, my lord; it can be no 
better. 

Duke. For the benefit of silence, would thou wort 
so too. 

Lucio. Well, my lord. 

Duke. This is no witness for lord Angelo. 

Miiri. Now I come to't, my lord: 
She, that accuses him of fornication, 
In self-same manner doth accuse my husband ; 
And charges him, my lord, with such a time, 
When I'll depose 1 had him in mine arms. 
With all the effect of love. 

Aug. Charges she more than me? 

Mari. Not that I know. 

Duke. No? you say, your husband. 

Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, 
Who thinks, he knows, that he ne'er knew my body, 
But knows, he thinks, that he knows Isabel's. 

Aug. This is a strange abuse:— Let's see thy face. 

Mari. My husband bids me ; now I will unmask. 
This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, [Unceiling. 
Which, once thou swor'st, was worth the looking on : 
I'his is the hand, which, with a vow'd contract, 
Was fast belock'd in thine : this is the body 
That took away the match from Isabel, 
And did supply thee at thy garden-house. 
In her iniagin'd person. 

Duke. Know you this woman ? 

Lucio. Carnally, she says. 

Du!:e. Sirrah, no more. 

Lucio. Enough, my lord. 

Aug. My lord, I must confess, 1 know this woman ; 
And, five years since, there was some speech of mar- 

ri;ige ^ 
Betwixt myself and her ; which was broke off, 
Partly, for that her promised proportions 
Came short of composition ; but, in chief, 
For that her reputation was disvalued 
In levity : since v\'hich time of five years, 
1 never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her, 
Upon my faith and honour. 

Mari. Noble prince, [breath, 

As there comes light from heaven, and words from 
As there is sense in truth, and truth in virtue, 
I am atfianc'd this man's wife, as strongly 
As words could make up vows : and, my good lord. 
But Tuesday night las! gone, in his gardeu-house 
He knew me as a wife : As this is true 
Let me in safety raise me from my knees ; 
Or else for ever be conli.\ed here, 
A marble monument ! 

Aug. I did but smite till now; 

Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice; 
!\ly patience here is touched : I do perceive. 
These poor informal women are no more 
But instruments of some more mightier member, 
That sets them on : Let me have way, my lord, 
To find this practice out. 

Duke. Ay, with all my heart : 

And punish them unto your height of pleasure. — 



126 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Thou foolish friar ; and thou pernicious woman, 
Compact with her that's gone ! think'st thou, thy oaths. 
Though they would swear down each particular saint, 
Were testimonies against his worth and credit. 
That's seal'd in approbation!— You, lord Escalus, 
Sit with my cousin ; lend him your kind pains 
To find out this abuse, whence 'tis deriv'd, — 
There is another friar that set them on ; 
Let him be sent for. 

F. Peter. Would he were here, my lord, for he, in- 
Hath set the women on to this complaint : [deed, 
Your provost knows the place where he abides. 
And he may fetch him. 

Duke. Go, do it instantly.— [Exit Provost. 

And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin, 
Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth. 
Do with your injuries as seems you best, 
In any chastisement : I for a while 
Will leave you ; but stir not you, till you have well 
Determined upon these slanderers. 

Escai. My lord, we'll do it thoroughly.— [E.rif 
Duke.] Signior Lucio, did not you say, you knew 
that friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person? 

Lucio. CuctiUus 7wn facit monachum: honest in 
nothing, but in his clothes ; and one that hath spoke 
most villanous speeches of the duke. 

Escal. We shall intreat you to abide here till he 
come, and enforce them against him : we shall find 
this friar a notable fellow. 

Lvcio. As any in Vienna, on my word. 

Escal. Call that same Isabel here once again; 
[To a?i Attendant] 1 would speak with her: Pray 
you, my lord, give me leave to question ; you shall 
see how I'll handle her. 

Lucio. Not better than he, by her own report. 

EscdI. Say you 1 

Lucio. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her pri- 
vately, shewould sooner confess: perchance, publicly 
she'll be ashamed. 

He-enter Oflficers, with Tsabei.i-a ; the Duke, in the 
Friar's habit, and Provost. 

Escal. I will go darkly to work with her. 

Lucio. That's the way ; for womeu are light at 
midnight. 

Escal. Come on, mistress : [To IsAnEi>i,A.] here's 
a gentlewoman denies all that you have said. 

Lucio. My lord, here come's the rascal I spoke of; 
here with the provost. 

Escal. In very good time: — speak not you to him, 
till we call upon you. 

Lucio. Mum. 

Escal. Come, sir: Did you set these women on to 
slander lord Ange'ol they have confess'd you did. 

Duke. 'Tis false. 

Escal. Flow! know you where you are 1 

Duke. Respect to your great place ! and let the devil 
Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne : — 
Where is the duke? 'tis he should hear me speak. 

Escal. The duke's in us ; and we will hear you 
Look, you speak justly. [speak : 

Duke. Boldly, at least : But, O, poor souls. 

Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox 1 
Good night to your redress. Is the duke gone ? 
Then is your cause gone too. The duke's unjust, 
Thus to retort your manifest appeal 
And put your trial in the villain's mouth. 
Which here you come to accuse. 

Lucio. This is the rascal ; this is he I spoke of. 

Escal. Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd friar! 
Is't not enough, thou hast suborn'd these women, 
To accuse this worthy man ; but, in foul mouth, 



And in the .witness of his proper ear. 

To call him villain? 

And then to glance from him to the duke himself; 

To tax him with injustice? Take him hence ; 

To the rack with him : — We'll touze you joint by joint 

But we will know this purpose : — What ! unjust? 

Duke. Be not so hot ; the duke 
Dare no more stretch this finger of mine, than he 
Dare rack his own ; his subject am I not. 
Nor here provincial : My business in this state 
Made me a looker-on here in Vienna, 
Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble, 
Till it o'er-run the stew : laws, for all faults ; 
But faults so countenanc'd, that the strong statutes 
Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop. 
As much in mock as mark. ' [prison 

Escal. Slander to the state ! Away with him to 

Aug. What can you vouch against him, signior 
Is this the man that you did tell us of? [Lucio ? 

Lucio. 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither good-man 
bald-pate : Do you know me? 

Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your 
voice : I met you at the prison, in the absence of the 
duke. 

Lucio. O did you so ? And do you remember what 
you said of the duke ? 

Duke. Most notedly, sir. 

Lucio. Do you so, sir ? And was the dnke a flesh- 
monger, a fool, and a coward, as you then reported 
him to be? 

Duke. You must, sir, change persons with me, ere 
you make that my report : you, indeed, spoke so of 
him ; and much more, much worse. 

Lucio. O thou damnable fellow ! Did not I pluck 
thee by the nose, for thy speeches ? 

Duke. I protest, I love the duke, as I love myself. 

Aug. Ilark ! how the villain would close now, 
after his treasonable abuses. 

Escal. Such a fellow is not to be talk'd withal :-- 
Away with him to prison: — Where is the provost? 
— Away with him to prison ; lay bolts enough upon 
him : let him speak no more : — Away with those 
giglots too, and with the other confederate companion. 
[The Provost laifs hands on the Duke. 

Duke. Stay, sir ; stay awhile. 

Aug. What! resists he ! Help him, Lucio. 

Lucio. Come, sir ; come, sir ; come, sir ; foh, sir : 
Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal ! you must be 
hooded, must you ? Shew your knave's visage, with 
a pox to you ! shew your sheep-biting face, and be 
hang'd an hour ! Will 't not oft"? 

[Pulls off the Friar's hood, and discovers the Duke. 

Duke, ihou art the first knave, that e'er made a 

duke. 

First, provost, let me bail these gentle three : 

Sneak not away, sir ; [to Lucio.] for the friar and you 
Must have a word anon : — lay hold on him. 

Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging. 

Duke. What you have spoke, I pardon ; sit you 

down [7'o Escalus. 

We '11 borrow place of him — Sir, by your leave : 

[To Angelo. 
Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence. 
That yet can do thee office ? If thou hast. 
Rely upon it till my tale be heard. 
And hold no longer out. 

An<r. O my dread lord, 

I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, 
To think I can be undiscernible. 
When I perceive, your grace, like power divine. 
Hath look'd upon my passes ; Then, good prince. 
No longer session hold upon my shame, 



ACT v.— SCENE I, 



1-27 



But let my trial be mine own confession ; 
{inniediate sentence then, and sequent death, 
Is all the grace 1 beg. 

Duke. Come hither, Mariana: — 

Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman I 

Aug. I was, my lord. 

Duke. Go take her hence and marry her instantly. — 
Do you the office, friar ; which consummate. 
Return him here again : — Go with him, provost. 

[Eiennt Angki.o, Mariana, Pkteh, and Provost. 

Escal. JMy lord, I am more amazed at his dishonour, 
Than at the strangeness of it. 

Duke. Come hither, Isabel : 

Your friar is now your prince : As I was then 
Advertising, and holy to your business, 
Not changing heart with habit, 1 am still 
Attorney 'd at your service. 

hah. O give me pardon, 

That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd 
Your unknown sovereignty. 

Duke. You are pardon'd, Isabel . 

And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. 
Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart ; 
And you may marvel, why I obscur'd myself. 
Labouring to save his life ; and would not rather 
Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power. 
Than let him so be lost : O most kind maid. 
It was the swift celerity of his death. 
Which I did think with slower foot came on. 
That brain'd my purpose : Ikit, peace be with him ! 
1'iiat life is better life, past fearing death. 
Than that which lives to fear ; make it your comfort. 
So happy is your brother. 

Re-enter Angelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provost. 

hub. I do, my lord. 

Duke. For this new-married man, approaching here. 
Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd 
\ our well defended honour, you must pardon 
For Mariana's sake : but as he adjudg'd your brother, 
(Being criminal, in double violation 
Of sacred chastity, and of promise breach. 
Thereon dependent, for your brother's life,) 
The very mercy of the law cries out 
Blost audible, even from his proper tongue, 
An Angelo for Claudio, death for death. 
Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure ; 
Like doth quit like, and Measure still for Measure. 
Then Angelo, thy fault 's thus manifested : 
Which though thou would'st deny, denies thee van- 
We do condemn thee to the very block [tage : 

Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste ; 
Away witli him. 

Blari. O, my most gracious lord, 

I hope you will not mock me with a husband ! 

Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a hus- 
Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, [band : 
I thought your marriage fit ; else imputation 
For that he knew you, might reproach your life. 
And choke your good to come : for his possessions, 
Although by conhscation they are ours. 
We do instate and widow you withal. 
To buy you a better husband. 

Mari. O, my dear lord, 

I crave no other, nor no better man. 

Duke. Never crave him ; we are definitive. 

Mari. Gentle, my liege, — [Kneeling. 

Duke, \ ou do but lose your labour ; 

Away with him to death. — Now, sir, \_to Lucio.j 

to you. [part ; 

Mari. O, my good lord ! — Sweet Isabel, take my 
Lend me your knees, and all my life to come 



I '11 lend you all my life to do you service. 

Duke. Against all sense do you importune her : 
Should she kneel down, in mercy of this fact. 
Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break. 
And take her hence in horror. 

Mari. Isabel, 

Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me ; 
Hold up your hands, say nothing, I'll speak all. 
They say, best men are moulded out of faults ; 
And, for the most, become much more the better 
For being a little bad : so may my husband. 
O, Isabel ! will you noi lend a knee? 

Duke. He dies for Claudio's death. 

Isab. Most bounteous sir, [Kneeling 

Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd. 
As if my brother liv'd : I partly think, 
A due sincerity govern'd his deeds. 
Till he did look on me ; since it is so. 
Let him not die : My brother had but justice, 
In that he did the thing for which he died : 
For Angelo, 

His act did not o'ertake his bad intent; 
And must be buried but as an intent 
That perished by the way : thoughts are no subjects 
Intents but merely thoughts. 

Mari. Merely, my lord. 

Duke. Your suit's unprofitable ; stand up, I say.— 
I have bethought me of another fault : — 
Provost, how came it, Claudio was beheaded 
At an unusual hour"? 

Prov. It was commanded so. 

Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed 1 

Prov. No, my good lord ; it was by private message 

Duke. For which I do discharge you of your otbce : 
Give up your keys. 

I^roo. Pardon me, noble lord : 

I thought it was a fault, but knew it not ; 
Yet did repent me after more advice : 
For testimony whereof, one in the prison. 
That should by private order else have died, 
I have reserv'd alive. 

Duke. What's he 1 

Prov. His name is Barnardine. 

Duke. I would thou had'st done so by Claudio,— 
Go, fetch him hither ; let me look upon him. 

[Exit Provost. 
Escal. I am sorry, one so learned and so wise 
As you, lord Angelo, have still appear'd, 
Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood, 
And lack of temper'd judgment afterward. 

Aug. I am sorry, that such sorrow I procure 
And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart. 
That I crave death more willingly than mercy; 
'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it. 

Re-ewter Provost, Ba RNARDiNE, Claudio, ond Juliet. 

Duke. Which is that Barnardine ? 

P>-ov. This, my lord 

Duke. There was a friar told me of this man ; 

Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul, 
That apprehends no further than this world, 
And squar'st thy life according. Thou 'rt condemn'd • 
But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all ; 
And pray thee, take this mercy to provide 

For better times to come: Friar, advise him • 

I leave him to your hand.— What muffled fellow's 

Prov. This is another prisoner, that I sav'd, [that? 
That should have died when Claudio lost his head • 
As like almost to Claudio, as himself. 

[Unmuffies Claudio 

Duke. If he be like your brother, [to Isabella.] 
for his sake 



128 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Is he pardon'd ; And, for your lovely sake, 
Give me your hand, and say you will be mine. 
He is luy brother too : But fitter time for that. 
By this, lord Angelo perceives he 's sate ; 
Methinks, 1 see a quick'ning in his eye: — 
Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well : 
Look that you love your wife ; her worth, worth 
I find an apt remission in myself : [yours. — 

And yet here 's one in place I cannot pardon : — 
You, sirrah, [to Lucic] that knew me for a fool, a 
One all of luxury, an ass, a madman ; [coward, 

AV herein have I so deserv'd of you. 
That you extol me thus 1 

Lucio. 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to 
the trick; If you will hang me for it, you may, but I 
had rather it would please you,l might be whipp'd. 

Duke. Whipp'd first, sir, and hang'd after, — 
Proclaim it, provost, round about the city ; 
If any woman's wrong'd by this lewd fellow, 
(As 1 have heard hira swear himself, there 's one 
Whom he begot with child,) let her appear. 
And he shall marry her: the nuptial finish'd. 
Let him be whipp'd and hang'd. 

Lucio. 1 beseech your highness, do not marry me 
to a whore ! Your highness said even now, 1 made 



you a duke ; good my lord, do not recompense me, 
in making me a cuckold. 

Duke. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her. 
Thy slanders 1 forgive ; and therewithal 
Remit thy other forfeits : — Take him to prison : 
And see our pleasure herein executed. 

Lucio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to 
death, whipping, and hanging. 

Duke. Slandering a prince deserves it. — 
She, Claudio, liiat you wrong'd, look you restore. — 
Joy to you, Mariana! — love her, Angelo ; 
I have confess'd her, and 1 know her virtue, — 
Thanks, good friend I'^scalus, for thy much goodness: 
There 's more behind, that is more gratulate. 
Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy ; 
We shall employ thee in a worthier place : — 
Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home 
1'he head of Ragozine for Claudio's; 
The offence pardons itself. — Dear Isabel, 
I have a motion much imports your good ; 
Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline. 
What's mine is your's and what is yours is mine : — • 
So, bring us to our palace ; where we'll shew 
What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know. 

\_Eieunt, 



Of this play, the light or comic part is very natural and pleas- 
ing, but the grave scenes, if a few passages be excepted, have 
more labour than elegance. The plot is rather intricate than 
artful. The time of the action is indefinite ; some time, we 
know not how much, must have elapsed between the recess of 
the duke and the imprisonment of Claudio ; for he must have 
learned the story of Mariana in his disguise, or he delegated 
his power to a man already known to be corrupted. The unities 
of action and jilace are sufficiently preserved.— .loHNSON. 

There are very few readers whose admiration for 8hakspeare 
■will not be outraged by reading the above harsh and tasteless 
observations of Ur Johnson. It may perhaps allay their irri- 
tation to find that all critics are not equally cold to the various 
merits of this beautiful play.—" Of .Measure for Measure," s,ays 
Dr. Drake, " independent of the comic characters, which afford 
a rich fund of emertainment.the great charm springs from the 
lovely example of female excellence exhibited in the person of 
Isabella. Piety, spotless purity, tenderness combined with 
firmness, and an eloquence the most persuasive, unite to render 
her singularly interesting and attractive. C est un ini^e de lu- 
miere sous C htmhle habit d' ime itovtce. To save the life of her 
brother she hastens to quit the peaceful seclusion of her con- 
vent, and moves amid the votaries of corruption and hypocrisj', 
amid the sensual, the vulgar, and the profligate, as a being of a 
digher order, as a ministering spirit from the throne of grace. 
Her first interview with Angelo, and the immediately subse- 



quent one with Claudio, exhibit, along with the most engaging 
feminine diffidence and modesty, an extraordinary display of 
intellectual energy, of dexterous argument, and of indignant 
contempt. Her pleadings before the lord deputy, are directed 
with a strong appeal both to his understanding and his heart, 
while her sagacity and address in the communication of the re- 
sult of her apijointment with him to her brother, of whose weak- 
ness and irresolution she is justly apprehensive, are, if possible, 
still more skilfully marked, and add another to the multitude 
of instances whicn have established for bhakspeare an unri- 
valled intimacy with the finest feelings of our nature." i here 
is one beauty in this play which I do not remember to have seen 
observed; though the vice of Claudio is one which the world 
is inclined to think too lightly of, and though there was ofiered 
so easy and popular away of exciting an interest for him in the 
minds of the audience, by diminishing the heinousness of his 
ofTence, and representing tee transgressor rather as a martyr than 
a culprit; .Shakspeare has in no instance breathed a syllable that 
might seem to extenuate his guilt. Throughout the play, the 
crime which is so much debated, is represented as an object of 
disgust, both in its own impurity and in the mean, the selfish, 
and the loathsome baseness of its ministers, the very passages 
of a gross and indecent nature that occur, only serve to heighten 
the general, moral effect of the whole, and raise the reader's 
admiration of the holy chastity of Isabel, by placing it in con- 
trast with the repulsive levity of the votai-iesof licKutiousness. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



This play was printed in quarto in the year 1600 ; and entered 
at ijtaiioners' Uall, August 2.S, of that year: and as it is not 
mentioned hv Meres, m his list of our Author's works pub- 
lished in 15y8, the date of its prod uci ion is ascertained with 
more than usual accuracy. 

Mr. I'ope says that the plot was taken from the filth book ot 
the Ur.'atttio t'uriffsc— Mr. .steevens conceives that not Ariosto 
but -ipenser afforded the subject of the play, and that it was 
taken from the iairi/ Queen, b. 2. c. 4. But as both these 



priginaU are most justly acknowledt^ed to be remote, it has 
been suggested that the story niiyht have been copied from 
tbe 18th history of the third volume of Belleforest. It never 
appears to have entered into the minds of the critics that 
Shakspeare might occasionally have dramatized a story of 
his own invention.— TljfwA ado about JSothing, is reported in 
ci?' """."k's MSS. to have passed formerly under the name 
of Benedick and Beatrice- 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Don Peuro, Prince o/' Arragon. 

Don JotiN, his lidstiird brother. 

Claudio, a uoitng lord of Florence, favourite to Don 

Pedro. 
Benedick, a young lord of FdLdua., favourite likewise 

of Don I'edro. 
Lf.onato, governor t^' Messina. 
Antonio, his brother. 
Balthazar, servant to Don Pedro. 
BoRAciiio, CoNRADE,yo//oii'ers o/' DoH John. 
Dogberry, Verges, two foolish officers. 
A Sexton, A Friar, A Boy, 

Hero, daughter to Leonato. 
Beatrice, niece to Leonato. 
Margaret, Ursula, gentlewomen attending on Hero. 

Messengers, Watch, and Attenda7its. 

SCENE,— Messina. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — Before Leonato's House. 

Enter Leonato, Hero, Beatkice, and others, 
with a JNIessenger. 

Leon. I learn in this letter, that Don Pedro of 
Arragon comes this night to Messina. 

Mes.'i. lie is very near by this ; he was not three 
leagues off when I left him. 

Lenn. How many gentlemen have you lost in this 
action 1 

Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. 

Leon. A victory is twice itself, when the achiever 
brings home full numbers. I find here, that Don 
Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young Flo- 
rentine, called Claudio. 

Mess. Much deserved on his part, and eijually re- 
membered by Don Pedro : He hath borne himself 
beyond the promise of his age ; doing, in the figure 
of a lamb, the feats of a lion : he hath, indeed, 
better bettered expectation, than you must expect of 
me to tell you how. 

Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be 
very much glad of it. 

Mess. 1 have already delivered him letters, and 
there appears much joy in him ; even so much, that 
/oy could not shew itself modest enough, without a 
badge of bitterness. 

Leon. Did he break out into tears ? 

Mess. In great measure. 

Leon. A kind overflow of kindness : There are 
no faces truer than those that are so washed. How 



much better is it to weep at joy, than to joy at 
weeping ? 

Bent. I pray you, is signior Montanto returned 
fiom the wars, or no ? 

Mess. I know none of that name, lady ; there was 
none such in the army of any sort. 

Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece 1 

Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of 
Padua. 

Mess. O, he is returned, and as pleasant as ever 
he was. 

Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, and 
challenged Cupid at the flight: and my uncle's fool, 
reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and 
challenged him at the bird-bolt. — I pray you, how 
many hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But 
how many hath he killed '^. for, indeed, I promised 
to eat all of his killing. 

Leon. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too 
much; but he'll bo meet with you, I doubt it not. 

Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these 
wars. 

Beat. Yon had musty victual, and he hath holp 
to eat it : he is a very valiant trencher-man, he hath 
an excellent stomach. 

Mess. And a good soldier too, lady. 

Beat. And a good soldier to a lady ; — But what is 
he to a lord 1 

Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed 
with all honourable virtues. 

Beat. It is so, indeed : he is no less than a stuffed 
man : but for the stuffing, — Well, vveareall mortal. 

Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece : there 
is a kind of merry war betwixt signior Benedick and 
her : they never meet, but there is a skirmish of wit 
between them. 

Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last 
conflict, four of his five wits went halting off, and 
now is the old man governed with one : so that if he 
have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear 
it for a difference between himself and his horse ; 
for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known 
a reasonable creature. — Who is his companion nowl 
He hath every month a new sworn brother. 

Mess. Is it possible 1 

Beat. Very easily possible: he wears his faith but 
as the fashion of his hat, it ever changes with the 
next block. 

Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your 
books. 

Beat. No : an he were, I would burn my study. 
But, I pray you, who is his companion 1 Is there no 
young squarer now, that will make a voyage with 
him to the devil 1 

Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble 
Claudio. 

Beat. O Lord ! he will hang upon him like a dis- 
I 



130 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



ease : he is sooner caught than the pestilence : and 
the taker runs presently mad. God help the noble 
Claudio ! if he have caught the Benedick, it will 
cost him a thousand pound ere he be cured. 

Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady. 

Beat. Do, good friend. 

Leon, You will never run mad, niece. 

Beat. No, not till a hot January. 

Mess. Don Pedro is approached. 

Enter Don Pedko, attended by Balthazai? and 
others, Don John, Claudio, and Benkdick. 

D. Pedro. Good signior Leonuto, you are come 
Jo meet your trouble : the fashion of the world is to 
avoid cost, and you encounter it. 

Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the 
likeness of your grace ; for trouble being gon».-, com- 
fort should remain ; but when you depart fioni me, 
sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leavu. 

D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly. 
— I think, this is your daughter. 

Leon. Her mother liath many times told me so. 

Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her ! 

Leon. Signior Benedick, no ; for then were you a 
child. 

D.Pedro. You have it full, Benedick: we may 
guess by this what you are, being a man. Truly, the 
lady fathers herself : — Be happy, lady ! for you are 
like an honourable father. 

Bene. If signior Leonato be her father, she would 
not have his head on her shoulders, for all Messina, 
as like him as she is. 

Beat, 1 wonder that you will still be talking, 
signior Benedick ; no body marks you. 

Bene. What, my dear lady Disdain I are you yet 
living? 

Beat. Is it possible, disdain should die, while she 
hath such meet food to feed it, as signior Benedick ? 
Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come 
in her pre sence. 

Bene. 1 hen is courtesy a turn-coat : — But it is 
certain, I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted : 
and 1 would I could find in my heart that 1 had not 
a hard heart: for, truly, 1 love none. 

Beat. A dear happiness to women ; they would 
else iiave been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I 
thank God, and my cold blood, I am of your hu- 
mour for that ; I had rather hear my dog bark at a 
crow, than a man swear he loves me. 

Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that mind ! 
so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predesti- 
nate scratched face. 

Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, aa 
'twere such a face as yours were. 

Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. 

Beat. A bird of my tongue, is better than a beast 
of yours. 

Bene. I would, my horse had the speed of your 
tongue ; and so good a continuer : But keep your 
way o' God's name ; 1 have done. 

Beat. You always end with a jade's trick ; I 
know you of old. 

D. Pedro. This is the sum of all : — Leonato, — 
signior Claudio, and signior Benedick, — my dear 
friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him, we 
shall stay here at the least a month ; and he heartily 
prays some occasion may detain us longer : I dare 
swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from his heart. 

Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be for- 
sworn. — Let me bid you welcome, my lord : being 
reconciled to the prince your brother, I owe you all 
duty. 



D. John. I thank you : I am not of many words, 

but I thank you. 

Leon. Please it your grace lead on ? 

D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato ; we will go toge- 
ther. [Exeunt all but Benedick and Claudio. 

Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of 
signior Leonato ! 

Bene. I noted her not : but I looked on her. 

Claud. Is she not a modest young lady '! 

Bene. Do you question me as an honest man 
siiould do, for my simple true judgment ; or would 
you have me speak after my custom, as being a pro- 
fessed tyrant to their sex 1 

Claad. No, I pray thee, speak in sober judgment. 

Bene, ^^'hy, i'faith, methinks she is too low for a 
high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too 
little for a great praise : only this commendation I 
can afford her ; that were she other than she is, she 
were unhandsome ; and being no other but as she is, 
I do not like her. 

Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport ; I pray thee, 
tell me truly how thou likest her. 

Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire after 
her? 

Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel ? 

Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak 
you this with a sad brow ? or do you play the flout- 
ing Jack; to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder, 
and Vulcan a rare carpenter ? Come, in what key 
shall a man take you, to go in the song ? 

Claud. In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady that 
ever I looked on. 

Bene. 1 can see yet without spectacles, and I see 
no such matter: there's her cousin, an she were not 
possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in 
beauty, as the first of May doth the last of Decem- 
ber. But I hope, you have no intent to turn hus- 
band ; have you ? 

Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I had 
sworn the contrary, if Hero woukl be my wife. 

Bene. Is it come to this, i'faith ? Hath not the 
world one man, but he will wear his cap with suspi- 
cion ? Shall I never see a bachelor of three-score 
again ? Go to, i'faith : an thou wilt needs thrust thy 
neck into a yoke, wear the print of it, and sigh away 
Sundays. ' Look, Don Pedro is returned to seek you. 

Re-enter Don Pedro. 

D. Pedro. AVhat secret hath held you here, that 
you followed not to Leonato's ? [tell. 

Bene. I would, your grace would constrain me to 

D. Pedro. 1 charge thee on thy allegiance. 

Bene. You hear, count Claudio : 1 can be secret 
as a dumb man, I would have you think so ; but on 
my allegiance, — mark you this, on my allegiance: — 
He is in love. With who? — now that is your grace's 

fart. — Rlark, how short his answer is : With Hero, 
eonato's short daughter. 

Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. 

Bene. Like the old tale, my lord : " it is not so, 
nor 'twas not so : but, indeed, God forbid it should 
be so." 

Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God for- 
bid it should be otherwise. 

D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her ; for the lady is 
very well worthy. 

Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. 

D. Pedro. By my troth, 1 speak my thought. 

Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. 

Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, 
I spoke mine. 

Claud. That I love her. I feel. 



ACT I.— SCENE III. 



131 



D, Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. 
Bene. That 1 neither feel how she should be loved, 
nor know how she should be worthy, is the opinion 
that fire cannot melt out of me ; I will die in it at 
the stake. 

D, Fetinu Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in 
the despite of beauty. 

Claud. And never could maintain his part, but in 
the force of his will. 

Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her ; 
that she brought me up, I likewi-e give her most 
humble thanks : but that I will have a recheat winded 
in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible 
baldrick, all women shall pardon me : Because I will 
not do them the wrong to mistrust any, I will do my- 
self the riglit to trust none ; and the fine is, (for the 
which 1 may go the finer,) I will live a bachelor. 

D. Pedro. 1 shall see thee, ere 1 die, look pale 
with love. 

Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, 
my lord; not with love: prove, that ever I lose 
more blood v,'ith love, than I will get again with 
drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad maker's 
pen, and hang me up at the door of a brothel-house, 
for the sign of blind Cupid. 

D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this 
faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument. 

Beite. If 1 do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and 
shoot at me ; and he that hits me, let him be clapped 
on the shoulder, and called Adam. 

D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try: 
2?j time the savage hull doth hear the yoke. 

Bene. The savage bull may ; but if ever the sen- 
sible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns, and 
set them in my forehead : and let me be vilely paint- 
ed ; and in such great letters as they write. Here is 
good horse to hire, let them signify under my sign, — 
Here you may see Benedick the married man. 

Claud. If this should ever happen, thou would'st 
be horn -mad. 

D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his 
quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly. 

Bene. I look for an earthquake too then. 

D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the 
hours. In the mean time, good signior Benedick, 
repair to Leonato's ; commend me to him, and tell 
him, I will not fail him at supper; for, indeed, he 
hath made great preparation. 

Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for such 
an embassage ; and so I commit you — 

Claud. To the tuition of God : From my house, 
(if I had it)— 

D. Pedro. The sixth of July: Your loving friend. 
Benedick. 

Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not : The body of 
your discourse is sometime guarded with fragments, 
and the guards are but slightly basted on neither : 
ere you flout old ends any further, examine your 
conscience ; and so 1 leave you. [Exit BENtnick. 

Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me 
good. [but how, 

J). Pedro. i\Iy love is thine to teach ; tv^ach it 
And tiiou shalt see how apt it is to leain 
Anv hard lesson that may do thee good. 

Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord ? 

D. Pedro. No child but Hero, Jie's his on'v heir: 
Dost thou affect her, Claudio ? 

Claud. O my lord, 

\\ hen you went onward on this ended acilon, 
1 louk'd upon her with a soldier's eye, 
'i l.at lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand 
l l;an to dnve liking to the name of love: 



But now I sun return'd, and that war-thoughts 
Have left their places vacant, in their rooms 
Come thronging soft and delicate desires. 
All prompting me how fair young Hero is, 
Saying, 1 lik'd her ere I went to wars. 

D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently 
And tire the hearer with a book of words : 
If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it ; 
And I will break with her, and with her father, 
And thou shak have her : Was't not to this end, 
That thou began'st to twist so fine a story ? 

Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love. 
That know love's fi;rief by his complexion! 
But lest my liking might too sudden seem, 
I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise. 

D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader 
The fairest grant is the necessity : [than the flood ! 
Look, what will serve, is fit : 'tis once, thou lov'st ; 
And I will fit thee with the remedy. 
I know, we shall have revelling to night ; 
I will assume thy part in some disguise. 
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio ; 
And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart. 
And take her hearing prisoner with the force 
And strong encounter of my amorous tale : 
Then, after, to her father will I break ; 
And, the conclusion is, she shall be thine : 
In practice let us put it presently. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Leonato's House. 
Enter Leonato a7id Antonio. 

Leon, How now, brother ? Where is my cousin, 
your son 1 Hath he provided this music ? 

Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can 
tell you strange news that you yet dreamed not of. 

Leon. Are they good 1 

Ant. As the event stamps them ; but they have a 
good cover, they shew well outward. The prince 
and count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached 
alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard by a 
man of mine : The prince discovered to Claudio, that 
he loved my niece your daughter, and meant to ac- 
knowledge it this night in a dance ; and, if lie found 
her accordant, he meant to take the present time by 
the top, and instantly break with you of it. 

Leon. Hath the fellow any wit, that told you this? 

Ant. A good sharp fellow ; I will send for him, 
and question him yourself. 

Leon. No, no ; we will hold it as a dream, till it 
appear itself :- but I will acquaint my daughter 
withal, that she may be the better prepared for an 
answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you, and 
tell her of it. [Several persons cross llie stage.] Cou- 
sins, you know what you have to do. — O, 1 cry you 
mercy, friend : you go with me, and I will use your 
skill : — Good cousins, have a care this busy time. 

[Eieunt. 
SCENE III. — Another Boom in Leonato's House, 
Enter Don John and Conrade. 

Coti. What the goujere, my lord ! why are you 
thus out of measure sad ! 

D.John. Tliere is no measure in the occasion that 
breeds it, liierefore the satlness is without limit. 

Con, You should hear reason. 

D. John. And when 1 have heard it, what blessing 
bringeth it? 

Con. If not a present resnedy, yet a patient suffer- 
ance. 

D. John. 1 wonder, that thou being (as thou say'st 
thou art) born under Saturn, goest about to apply a 
1 2 



132 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



moral medicine to a mortifying mischief. I cannot 
liide what I am : I must be sad when I have cause, 
and smile at no man's jests ; eat when I have sto- 
mach, and wait for no man's leisure ; sleep when I 
am drowsy, and tend to no man's business ; laugh 
wlien 1 am merry, and claw no man in his humour. 

Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show of 
tliis, till you may do it without controlment. You 
have of late stood out against your brother, and he 
hath ta'en you newly into his grace ; where it is im- 
/ possible you should take true root, but by the fair 
■weather that you make yourself: it is needful that 
you frame the season for your own harvest. 

-D. John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge, than 
a rose in his grace ; and it better fits my blood to be 
disdain'd of all, than to fashion a carriage to rob 
love from any : in this, though 1 cannot be said to 
bo a flattering honest man, it must not be denied that 
1 am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a 
muzzle, and enfranchised with a clog : therefore I 
have decreed not to sing in my cage : If I had my 
mouth, I would bite ; if 1 had my liberty, I would 
do my liking : in the mean time, let me be that I 
am, and seek not to alter me. 

Cow. Can you make no use of your discontent ? 

D. John. I make ail use of it, for I use it only. 
Who comes here 1 What news, Borachio 1 

Enter Borachio. 

Bora. I came yonder from a great supper ; the 
prince, your brother, is royally entertained by Leo- 
nato ; and I can give you intelligence of an intended 
marriage. 

D. John. Will it serve for any model to build mis- 
chief on 1 What is he for a fool, that betroths him- 
self to unquietness ? 

Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand. 

D. John. Who? the most exquisite Claudio? 

Bora. Even he. 

D. John. A proper squire ! And who, and who 7 
which way looks he? 

Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of 
Leonato. 

1). John. A very forward March-chick ! How came 
you to this ? 

Boia. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was 
smoking a musty room, comes me the prince and 
Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference : I whipt 
me behind the arras ; and there heard it agreed upon, 
that the prince should woo Hero for himself, and hav- 
ing obtained her, give her to count Claudio. 

D. John. Come, come, let us thither ; this may 
prove food to my displeasure : that young start-up 
hath all the glory of my overthrow ; if I can cross 
him any way, 1 bless myself every way : You are 
both sure, and will assist me ? 

Con, To the death, my lord. 

D. John. Let us to tlie great supper : their cheer 
is the greater, that I am subdued : 'Would the cook 
were of my mind ! — Shall we go prove what's to be 
done ? 

Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. l^Exemit. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I.— A Hall in Leonato's House. 

Enter Lr.OfiATO, Antomo, Hero, Beatiiii^e, 
and others, 
Leon. Was not coi.nt John here at supper ? 
Ant. I saw him not. 



Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks ! I nevsj 
can see him, but I am heart-burned an hour after. 

Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. 

Beat. He were an excellent man, that were made 
just in the mid-way between him and Benedick ; the 
one is too like an image, and says nothing ; and the 
other, too like my lady's eldest son, evermore tattling 

Leon. Then half signior Benedick's tongue in count 
John's mouth, and half count John's melancholy in 
signior Benedick's face, — 

Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, 
and money enough in his purse, such a man would 
win any woman in the world, — if he could get hei 
good will. 

Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee 
a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. 

Ant. In faith, she is too curst. 

Bent. Too curst is more than curst : I shall lessen 
God's sending that way : for it is said, God sends a 
curst cow short horns ; but to a cow too curst he sends 
none. 

Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you 
no horns. 

Beat. Just, if he send me no husband ; for the 
which blessing, I am at him upon my knees every 
morning and evening : Lord! I could not endure a 
husband with a beard on his face : 1 had rather lie 
in the woollen. 

Leon. You may light upon a husband, that hath 
no beard. 

Beat. What should 1 do with him ? dress him in 
my apparel, and make him my waiting gentlewoman ? 
He that hath a beard, is more than a youth ; and he 
that hath no beard, is less than a man : and he that 
is more than a youth, is not for me ; and he that is 
less than a man, 1 am not for him : Therefore I will 
even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-herd, and 
lead his apes into hell. 

Leon. Well then, go you into hell 1 

Beat. No ; but to the gate ; and there will the 
devil meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on his 
head, and say, Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you 
to heaven; here's no place for yon mauls: so deliver I 
up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for the heavens ; 
he shews me where the bachelors sit, and there live 
we as merry as the day is long. 

Ant. Well, niece, [to Hero.] I trust you will be 
ruled by your father. 

Beat. Yes, faith ; it is my cousin's duty to make 
courtesy, and say, Father, as it please you : — but yet 
for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, 
or else make another courtesy, and say, Father, as it 
please me. 

Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day 
fitted with a husband. 

Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal 
than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be 
over-mastered with a piece of valiant dust 1 to make 
an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl ? 
No, uncle, I '11 none . Adam's sons are my brethren ; 
and truly, 1 hold it a sin to match in my kindred. 

Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you : if 
the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your 
answer. 

Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you 
be not woo'd in good time : if the prince be too im- 
portant, tell him, tiiere is measure in every thing, 
and so dance out the answer. For hear me. Hero ; 
Wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, 
a measure, and a cinque-pace: the first suit is hot 
and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical: 
the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure full of 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



133 



state and ancientry; and then comes repentance, and, 
with his bad !egj, falls into the cinque-pace faster 
and faster, till he sink into his grave. 

Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. 

Beat. I have a good eye, uncle ; 1 can see a 
church by day-light. 

Leon, The revellers are entering ; brother, make 
good room. 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Baltha- 
zar ; Don John, Bohachio, Margaret, Ursula, 
aiid others, masked. 

D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your 
friend 1 

Hero, So you walk softly, and look siveetly, and 
say nothing, I am yours for the walk ; and, espe- 
cially, when I walk away. 

D. Pedro. With me in your company 1 

Hera. I may say so, when I please. 

D. Pedro. And when please you to say so T 

Hero. When I like your favour ; for God defend, 
the lute should be like the case ! 

D. Pedro. j\ly visor is Philemon's roof; within the 
house is Jove. 

Hero. Why, then your visor should be thatch'd. 

D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. 

[^Takes her aside. 

Bene. Well, I would you did like me. 

Marg. So would not I, for your own sake, for I 
have many ill qualities. 

Bene. Which is one 1 

Marg. I say my prayers aloud. 

Bene. I love you the better ; the hearers may cry. 
Amen. 

M(irg. God match me with a good dancer ! 

BaUlu Amen. 

Miirg. And God keep him out of my sight when 
the dance is done ! — Answer, clerk. 

Balth. Ko more words ; the clerk is answered. 

Urs. I know you well enough ; you are signior 
Antonio. 

Ant. At a word, I am not. 

Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head. 

A7tt. To tell you tn:e, I counterfeit him. 

Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless 
3'ou were the very man : Here's his dry hand up and 
down ; you are he, you are he. 

Ant, At a word, 1 am not. 

Urs, Come, come ; do you think I do not know 
you by your excellent wit? Can virtue hide itself? 
Go to, mum, you are he : graces will appear, and 
there's an end. 

Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so t 

Bene. No, you shall pardon me. 

Beat Nor will you not tell me who you are 1 

Bene, Not now. 

Beat. That I was disdainful, — and that I had my 
good wit out of the Hundred merrij Tales; — Well, 
this was signior Benedick that said so. 

Bene. What's he 1 

Beat. I am sure, you know him well enough. 

Bene. Not I, believe me. 

Beat. Did he never make you laugh 1 

Bene. I pray you, what is he 1 

Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester : a very dull 
fool ; only his gift is in devising impossible slanders : 
none but libertiues delight in him ; and the com- 
mendation is not in his wit, but in his villainy ; for 
he both pleaseth men, and angers them, and then 
they laugh at him, and beat him : I am sure he is in 
the fleet ; I would he had boarded me. 



Bene, When I know the gentleman, I '11 tell him 
what you say. 

Beat. Do, do: he'll but break a comparison or 
two on me ; whicli, peradventure, not marked, or not 
laughed at, strikes him into melancholy ; and then 
there 's a partridge' wing saved, for the fool will eat 
no supper that night. \_Mnsic wittiin.] We must fol- 
low the leaders. 

Bene. In every good thing. 

Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave 
them at the next turning. 

[Da/ice. Then cieiint all but Don John, 
BoRACiiio, and Claudio. 

D. John. Sure, my brother is amorous on Hero, and 
hath withdrawn her father to break with him about 
it : The ladies follow her, and but one visor remains. 

Bora, And that is Claudio : I know him by his 
bearing. 

D. John. Are not you signior Benedick? 

Claud. You know me well : I am he. 

D. John. Signior, you are very near my brother 
in his love : he is cnaniour'd on Hero ; I pray you, 
dissuade him from her, she is no equal for his birth: 
you may do the part of an honest man in it. 

Claud. How know you lie loves her I 

D.John. I heard him swear his affection. 

Bom. So did I too ; and he swore he would marry 
her to-night. 

D.John. Come, let us to the banquet. 

[Exeunt Don John and Borachio. 

Claud. Thus answeif I in name of Benedick, 
But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. — 
'Tis certain so ; — the prince wooes for him.self. 
Friendship is constant in all other things, 
Save in the oiKce and affairs of love : 
Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues ; 
Let every eye negotiate for itself, 
And trust no agent: for beauty is a witch. 
Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. 
This is an accident of hourly proof. 
Which I mistrusted not : Farewell therefore, Hero ' 

He-enter Benedick. 

Bene. Count Claudio ■? 

Claud. Yea, the same. 

Ben£. Come, will you go with me 1 

Claud. Whither? 

Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own 
business, count ! Wlial fashion will you wear the 
garland of? About your neck, like an usurer's chain 1 
or under your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf? You 
must wear it one way, for the prince hath got your 
Hero. 

Claud. I wish him joy of her. 

Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover ; 
so they sell bullocks. But did you think, the prince 
would have served you th\is ? 

Claud. I pray you, leave me. 

Bene. Ho ! now you strike like the blind man j 
'twas the boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat 
the post. 

Claud. If it will not be, I'll leave you. [Eiit. 

Bene. Alas ! poor hurt fowl ! Now will he creep 

into sedges. But, that my lady Beatrice should 

know me, and not know me 1 The prince's fool ! — 
Ha, it may be, I go under that title, because I am 
merry. — Yea ; but so ; 1 am apt to do myself wron» : 
I am not so reputed : it is the base, the bitter disposi- 
tion of Beatrice, that puts the world into her person, 
and so gives me out. Well, I '11 be revenged as I 
may. 



134 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Re-enter Don Pedro. 



D. Pedro, You have put hira down, lady, you 



P.v/ro. Now, signior. Where's the count! Did liave put him down 

' ° Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord. 



D 

you see him f 

Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of 
lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a 
lodge in a warren ; I told him, and, I think, I told 
hirn true, that your grace had got the good will of 
this young lady ; and I offered him my company to 
a willow tree, either to make him a garland, as being 
forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being worthy 
to be whipped. 

D. Pedro. To be whipped ! What's his fault"! 

Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy ; who, 
being overjoy'd with finding a bird's nest, shews it 
his companion, and he steals it. 

D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression] 
The transgression is in the stealer. 

Bene. Yet it had not been amiss, the rod had been 
made, and the garland too; for the garland he might 
liave worn himself; and the rod he might have be- 
stow'd on you who, as I take it, have stol'n his bird's 
nest. 

D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and re- 
store them to the owner. 

Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my 
faith, you say honestly. 

D. Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you ; 
the gentleman, that danced with her, told her, she is 
much wrong'd by you. 

Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance of a 
block; an oak, but with one green leaf on it, would 
liave answer'd her; my very visor began to assume 
life, and scold with her : She told me, not thinking I 
had been myself, that I was the prince's jester; that 
I was duller than a great thaw ; huddling jest upon 
jest, with such impossible conveyance, upon me, that 
1 stood like a man at a mark, with a whole army 
shooting at me : She speaks poniards, and every word 
stabs : if her breath were as terrible as her termina- 
tions, there were no living near her, she would infect 
to the north star. I would not marry her, though she 
were endowed with all that Adam had left him before 
he transgressed : she would have made Hercules have 
turned spit; yea, and have cleft his club to make the 
fire too. Come, talk not of her: you shall find her 
the infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God, 
some scholar would conjure her ; for, certainly, while 
she is here, a man may live as quiet in hell, as in a 
sanctuary ; and people sin upon purpose, because 
they would go thither ; so, indeed, all disquiet, hor- 
ror, and perturbation, follow her. 

Ee-enter Claudio, Beatrice, Leonato, and Hero. 

D. Pedrn. Look, here she comes. 

Bene. Will your grace command me any service 
to the world's end I 1 will go on the slightest errand 
now to the Antipodes, that you can devise to send m§ 
on ; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the far- 
thest inch of Asia ; bring you the length of Prester 
John's foot ; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's 
beard ; do you any embassage to the Pigmies, rather 
than hold three words' conference with this harpy : 
You have no employment for me 1 

D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good company. 

Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish 1 love not ; 1 cannot 
endure my lady Tongue. [E.rif. 

D. Pedro. Come, lady, come ; you have lost the 
heart of signior Benedick. 

Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile ; and 
I gave him use for it, a double heart for his single 
one : marry, once before, he won it of me with false 
dice, therefoteyoiir grace may well say, i have lost it 



lest I should prove the mother of fools. I have 
brought count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek. 
D. Pedro. Why, how now, count 1 wherefore are 
you sad ? 

Claud. Not sad, my lord. 
D. Pedro. How then 1 Sick ? 
Claud. Neither my lord. 

Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor 
merry, nor well : but civil, count ; civil as au 
orange, and something of that jealous complexion. 
D. Pedro. I'faith, lady, I think your blazon to be 
true ; though, I'll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit 
is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, 
and fair Hero is won ; I have broke with her father, 
and his good will obtained : name the day of mar- 
riage, and God give thee joy ! ^ 

Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with 
her my fortunes ; his grace hath made the match, 
and all grace say Amen to it ! 

Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue. 
Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy : 1 
were but little happy, if 1 could say how much. — 
Lady, as you are mine, I am yours : I give away 
myself for you, and dote upon the exchange. 

Beat. Speak, cousin ; or, if you cannot, stop his 
mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak, neither. 
D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart. 
Beat. Yea, my lord ; I thank it, poor fool, it 
keeps on the windy side of care : — My cousin tells 
him in his ear, that he is in her heart. 
Claud. And so she doth, cousin. 
Beat. Good lord, for alliance ! — Thus goes every 
one to the world but 1, and 1 am sun-burned ; I may 
sit in a corner, and cry, heigh-ho ! for a husband. 
D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. 
Beat. I would rather have one of your father's 
getting : Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you ? 
Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could 
come by them. 

D, Pedro. Will you have me, lady? 
Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another 
for working-days ; your grace is too costly to wear 
every day : But, I beseech your grace, pardon me ; 
1 was born to speak all mirth, and no matter. 

D. Pedro. Your silence most oft'ends me, and to 
be merry best becomes you ; for, out of question, you 
were born in a merry hour. 

Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cry'd ; but 
then there was a star danced, and under that was I 
born. — Cousins, God give you joy ! 

Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told 
you of! 

Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle. — By your grace's 
pardon. [Esit Beatrice. 

D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady. 
Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in 
her, my lord ; she is never sad but when she sleeps ; 
and not ever sad then ; for 1 have heard my daughter 
say, she hath often dreamed of unhappiness, and 
waked herself with laughing. 

D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a hus- 
band. 

Leon. O, by no means; she mocks all her wooers 
out of suit. 

D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick. 
Leon. O lord, my lord, if they were but a week 
married, they would talk themselves mad. 

D. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to go 
to church 1 



ACT II.— SCENE III. 



13o 



Clavd. To-iuoTrow, my lord : Time goes on 
criitclifs, till iove have all his rites. 

Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is 
hence a just seven-night ; and a time too brief too, 
to have all things answer my mind. 

D. Pedro Come, you shake the head at so long a 
breathing ; but I warrant thee, Claudio, the time 
shall not go dully by us ; I will, in the interim, un- 
dertake one of Hercules' labours; which is, to bring 
signior Benedick and the lady Beatrice into a moun- 
tain of affection, the one with the other. I would 
fain have it a match ; and I doubt not but to fashion 
it, if you three will but minister such assistance as 
I shall give you direction. 

Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me 
ten nights' watchings. 

Claud. And I, my lord. 

D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero "! 

Hero. I will do any modest oifice, my lord, to help 
my cousin to a good husband. 

D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest 
husband that I know : thus far can 1 praise him ; he 
is of a noble strain, of approved valour, and confirm- 
ed honesty. 1 will teach you how to humour your 
cousin that she shall fall in love with Benedick : — 
and I, with your two helps, will so practise on Bene- 
dick, that, in despite of his quick wit and his queasy 
stomach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we 
can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer ; his glory 
shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go in 
with me, and I will tell you my drift. [Exeiait. 

SCENE II. — Another Room in Leonato's House. 

Enter Don John and Borachio. 

D. John. It is so ; the count Claudio shall marry 
the daughter of Leonato. 

Bora. Yea, my lord, but I can cross it. 

D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will 
be medicinable to me : I am sick in displeasure to 
nim ; and whatsoever comes athwart his affection, 
ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this 
marriage t 

Bora. Not honestly, my lord ; but so covertly that 
no dishonesty shall appear in me. 

-D. John. Shew me briefly how. 

Bora. I think, I told your lordship, a year since, 
how much I am in the favour of JMargaret, the 
waiting-gentlewoman to Hero. 

D. John. I remember. 

Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the 
night, appoint her to look, out at her lady's chamber- 
window. 

B. John. What life is in that, to be the death of 
this marriage t 

Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. 
Go you to the prince your brother ; spare not to tell 
him, that he hath wronged his honour in marrying 
the renowned Claudio (whose estimation do you 
mightily hold up) to a contaminated stale, such a one 
as Hero. 

D. Jhn. What proof shall I make of that ? 

Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex 
Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato : Look you 
for any other issue ? 

D. John. Only to despite them, 1 will endeavour 
any thing. 

Bora. Go then, find me a meet hour to draw Don 
Pedro and the count Claudio, alone : tell them, that 
you know that Hero loves me ; intend a kind of zeal 
both to the prince and Claudio, as — in love of your 
brother's honour who hath made this match ; and 



his friend's reputation, who is thus liked to be cozened 
with the semblance of a maid, — that you have dis- 
covered thus. They will scarcely believe this with- 
out trial : offer them instances ; which shall bear no 
less likelihood, than to see me at her chamber-win- 
dow ; hear me call Margaret, Hero ; hear aiargaret 
term me Borachio ; and bring them to see this, the 
very night before the intended wedding : for, in the 
mean time, I will so fashion the matter, that Hero 
shall be absent ; and there shall appear such seem- 
ing truth of Hero's disloyalty, that jealousy shall be 
call'd assurance, and all the preparation overthrown. 

D.Johii. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, 
I will put it in practice : Be cunning in the working 
this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. 

Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my 
cunning shall not shame me. 

D.John. I will presently go learn their day of 
marriage. [Exeunt, 

SCENE III.— Leonato's Garden. 
Filter Benedick and a Boy. 

Bene. Boy, — 

Boij. Signior, 

Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book ; bring 
it hither to me in the orchard. 

Boy. I am here already, sir. 

Bene. I know that ; — but I would have thee 
hence, and here again. [Exit Boy.] — I do much 
wonder, that one man, seeing how much another 
man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to 
love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow fol- 
lies in others, become the argument of his own scorn, 
by falling in love : And such a man^s Claudio. I 
have known when there was no music with him but 
the drum and fife ; and now had he rather hear the 
tabor and the pipe : I have known, when he would 
have walked ten mile afoot, to see a good armour ; 
and now will he lie ten nights awake, carving the 
fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak 
plain, and to the purpose, like an honest man, and 
a soldier ; and now is he turn'd orthographer ; his 
words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many 
strange dishes. May I be so converted, and see with 
these eyes "! I cannot tell ; I think not : I will not 
be sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster ; 
but I '11 take my oath on it, till he have made an 
oyster of me, he shall never make me such a fool. 
One woman is fair ; yet I am well : another is wise ; 
yet I am well : another virtuous ; yet I am well : 
but till all graces be in one woman, ,one woman 
shall not come in my grace. Rich, she shall be, 
that's certain ; wise, or I'll none ; virtuous, or I'll 
never cheapen her ; fair, or I '11 never look on her ; 
mild, or come not near me ; noble, or not I for an 
angel ; of good discourse, an excellent musician, 
and her hair shall be of what colour it please God. 
Ha ! the prince and monsieur Love ! I will hide me 
in the arbour. [Withdraws. 

Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, and Claudio. 
D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music 1 
Claud. Yea, my good lord ; — How still the even- 
As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony ! [ing is, 
D, Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid 

himself! 
Claud, O, very well, my lord ; the Hiusic ended. 
We'll fit the kid fox with a pennyworth. 

Enter Balthazar, with music, 
D. Pedro. Come, Balthazar, we '11 hear that song 



136 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Balth. good my lord, tax not so bad a voice 
To slander music any more than once. 

1). Pedro. It is tlie witness still of excellency. 
To put a strancre i'ace on his own perfection : — 
I pray thee, sing^, and let me woo no more. 

Balth. Because you talk of wooing, 1 will sing : 
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit 
To her he thinks not worthy ; yet he wooes ; 
Yet will he swear, he loves. 

D. Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come : 

Or if thou wilt hold longer argument. 
Do \t in notes. 

Balth. Note this before my notes. 

There 's not a note of mine that 's wortii the noting. 

D. Pedro. Why these are very crotchets that he 
speaks ; 
Note, notes, forsooth, and noting ! [Music. 

Bene. Now, Divine air ! now is his soul ravished ! 
— Is it not strange, that sheeps' guts should hale 
souls out of men's bodies ? — Well, a horn for my 
money, when all's done. 



I. 



Ualthazar sings. 
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh 7W more ; 



Men were deceivers ever ; 
One foot in sea, and one on shore ; 
To one thing constant never: 
Then sigh not so, 
But let them go. 
And be yon blithe and bonnv > 
Converting all i/onr sounds o/ ivoe 
Into, Hey nonrti), nonnif. 
II. Sing no moi-e ditties, sing no mo 
Of dumps so dull and heavq ; 
TheJifaud of men was ever so. 
Since su7n}ner first wu.s leavif. 
Then sigh not so, &c. 

D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. 
Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. 
Claud. Ha ? no ; no, faith ; thou singest well 
enough for a shift. 

Bene. [Aside.] An ^e had been a dog, that should 
have howled thus, they would have hanged him : 
and, I pray God his bad voice bode no mischief! I 
had as lief have heard the night raven, come what 
plague could have come after it. 

D. Pedro. Yea, marry ; [to Claudio.] — Dost thou 
hear, Balthazar ? 1 pray thee, get us some excellent 
music ; for tomorrow night we would have it at the 
lady Hero's chamber-window. 
Balth. The best I can, my lord. 
D. Pedro. Do so : farewell. [Exeunt Balthazar 
and music.'] Come hither, Leonato : What was it 
you told me of to-day ? that your niece Beatrice was 
in love with signior Benedick ? 

Claud. O, ay :— Stalk on, stalk on : the fowl sits. 
[Aside to Pedro.] I did never think that lady would 
have loved any man. 

Leon. No, nor I neither ; but most wonderful, that 

she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom she 

hath in all outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor. 

Bene. Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner? 

[Aside. 
Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to 
think of it ; but that she loves iiim with an enraged 
affection, — it is past the infinite of thouorht. 
D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit. 
Claud. 'Faith, like enough. 

Leon. O God ! counterfeit ! There never was coun- 
terfeit of passion came so near the life of passion, as 
she discovers it. 



D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shews she? 

Claud. Bait the hook well ; this fish will bite. 

[Aside. 

Leon. What effects, my lord! She will sit you, — 
You heard my daughter tell you how, 

Claud. She ilid, indeed. 

D. Pedro. How, how, I pray youl You amaze 
me : 1 would have thought her spirit had been in- 
vincible against all assaults of affection. 

Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord; espe- 
cially against Benedick. 

Bene. [Aside.] 1 should think this a gull, but 
that the white bearded fellow speaks it ; knavery 
cannot, sure, hide itself in such reverence. 

Claud. He hath ta'en the infection ; hold it up. 

[Aside, 

D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to 
Benedick. 

Leon. No ; and swears she never will : that's her 
torment. 

Claud. 'Tis true, indeed ; so your daughter says: 
Shall I, says she, that have so oft encountered him with 
scorn, ivrite to him that 1 love him ? 

Leon. This says she now when she is beginning to 
write to him : for she'll be up twenty times a night : 
and there will she sit in her smock, till she have writ 
a sheet of paper: — my daughter tells us all. 

Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remem- 
ber a pretty jest your daughter told us of 

Leon. O! — W'hen she had writ it, and was read- 
ing it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between 
the sheet ? — 

Claud. That. 

Leon. O ! she tore the letter into a thousand half- 
pence ; railed at herself, that she should be so im- 
modest to write to one that she knew would flout 
her : I measure him, say? she, by my own s})irit ; for 
I should font him, if he writ to me; yea, though I love 
him, I should. -p 

Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, 
sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses ; 
— O sweet Benedick! Cod give me patience! 

Leon. She doth indeed ; my daughter says so : and 
the ecstacy hath so much overborne her, that my 
daughter is sometime afraid she will do a desperate 
outrage to herself: It is very true. 

D. Pedro. It were sjood, that Benedick knew of it 
by some other, if she will not discover it. 

Claud. To what end? He would but make a sport 
of it, and torment the poor lady worse. 

D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to hang 
him : She's an excellent sweet lady ; and, out of all 
suspicion, she is virtuous ' 

Claud. And she is exceeding wise. 

D. Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick. 

Leon. O my lord, wisdom and blood combating in 
so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one, that 
blood hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have 
just cause, being her uncle and her guardian. 

D. Pedro. 1 would she had bestowed this dotage 
on me ; I would have dafTd all other respects, and 
made her half myself: 1 pray you, tell Bendick of 
it, and hear what he will say. 

Leon. Were it good, think you ? 

Claud. Hero thinks surely, she will die; for she 
says, she will die if he love her not ; and she will die 
ere she makes her love known : and she will die if 
he woo her, rather than she will 'bate one breadth of 
her accustomed crossness. 

D. Pedro. She doth well : if she should make ten- 
der of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it : for the 
man. as yoii know all, hath a contemptible spirit. 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 



137 



Claud, He is a very proper man. 

1). Fedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward hap- 
piness, 

Claud. 'Fore God, and in my mind, very wise. 

D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks that 
are like wit 

Lenn. And I take him to be valiant. 

D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you ; and in the 
managing of quarrels you may say he is wise ; for 
either lie avoids them with great discretion, or un- 
dertakes them with a most Christian-like fear. 

Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily keep 
peace ; if he break the peace, he ought to enter into 
a quarrel with fear and trembling. 

D. Pedro. And so will he do ; for the man doth 
fear God, howsoever it seems not in him, by some 
large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for your 
niece : Shall we go see Benedick, and tell him of her 
love? 

Claud, Never tell him, my lord ; let her wear it 
out with good counsel. 

Leon. Nay, that's impossible ; she may wear her 
heart out first. 

D. Pedro. Well, we'll hear further of it by your 
daughter : let it cool the while. 1 love Benedick 
well : and 1 could wish he would modestly examine 
himself to see how much he is unworthy so good a lady. 

Leon, My lord, will you walk 1 dinner is ready. 

Claud. If he do not doat on her upon this, 1 will 
never trust my expectation. \_Aside. 

D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for her : 
and that must your daughter, and her gentlewoman 
carry. The sport will be, when they hold one an 
opinion of another's dotage, and no such matter ; 
that's the scene that I would see, which will be merely 
a dumb show. Let us send her to call him to dinner. 

[Aside. 
[^Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato. 

Benedick advances from the arhour. 

Bene. This can be no trick : The conference was 
sadly borne. — They have the truth of this from Hero. 
They seem to pity the lady ; it seems, her affections 
have their full bent. Love me ! why, it must be re- 
quited. I hear how I am censured : they say, 1 will 
bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from 
her ; they say too, that she will rather die than give 
any sign of affection. — I did never think to marry — 
I must not seem proud : — Happy are they that hear 
their detractions, and can put them to mending. They 
say, the lady is fair ; 'tis a truth, I can bear them 
witness : and virtuous — 'tis so, I cannot reprove it ; 
and wise, but for loving me : — By my troth, it is no 
addition to her wit ; — nor no great argument of her 
folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. — I may 
cliance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit 
broken on me, because I have railed so long against 
marriage : But doth not the appetite alter ! A man 
loves the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure 
in his age: Shall quips, and sentences, and these 
paper bullets of the brain, awe a man from the career 
of his humour 1 No : The world must be peopled. 
When I said, I would die a bachelor, I did not think 
I should live till I were married. — Here comes Bea- 
trice : By this day, she's a fair lady : I do spy some 
marks of love in her. 

Enter Beatrice. 

Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid ycu come 
in to dinner. 

Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. 
Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks, than 



you take pains to thank nie ; if it had been painful, 
I would not have come. 

Bene. You take pleasure then in the message'' 
Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a 
knife's point, and choke a daw withal: — You have 
no stomach, signior ; fare you well. [Exit. 

Bene. Ha ! Against my will I am sent to bid yon 
come to dinner — there's a double meaning in that. / 
took no more pains for those tlianks, ihan uou took pains 
to thank me— that's as much as to say. Any pains that 
I take for you is as easy as thanks ; — If 1 do not take 
pity of her, I am a villain ; if I do not love her, I am 
a Jew : 1 will go get her picture. \_E.\it, 



ACT III. 

SCENE L — Leonato's Garden. 
Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 

Hero. Good Margaret, run thee into the parlour ; 
There thou shalt find my cousin Beatrice 
Proposing with the prince and Claudio: 
Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula 
Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse 
Is all of her; say, that thou overhuard'st us; 
And bid her steal into the pleached bower, 
Where honey-suckles, ripen'd by tlie sun, 
Forbid the sun to enter ; — like favourites. 
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride 
Against that power that bred it : — there will she hide 
To listen our purpose : This is thy office. [her. 

Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone. 

Marg. I'll make her come, 1 warrant you, pre- 
sently. [El it. 

Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come. 
As we do trace this alley up and down. 
Our talk must only be of Benedick : 
When I do name him, let it be thy part 
To praise him more than ever man did merit: 
My talk to thee must be, how Benedick 
Is sick in love with Beatrice : Of this matter 
Is little Cupid's crafty arroiv made. 
That only wounds by hear-say. Now begin ; 

Enter Beatrice, behind. 

For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs 
Close by the ground, to hear our conference. 

Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish 
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream, 
And greedily devour the treacherous bait ; 
So angle we for Beatrice ; who even now 
Is couched in the woodbine coverture : 
Fear you not my part of the dialogue. 

Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing 
Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. — 

[They advance to the bower 
No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ; 
I know, her spirits are as coy and wild 
As haggards of the rock. 

Urs. But are you sure 

That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely ? 

Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed loid. 

Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam? 

Hero. They did intreat me to acquaint her of it: 
But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick, 
To wish him wrestle with affection. 
And never to let Beatrice know of it. 

Urs. Why did you so 1 Doth not the gentleman 
Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed. 
As evei Beatrice shall couch upon 1 



138 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Hero. O God ol love ! I know, he doth deserve 
As much as may bo yielded to a man • 
But nature never framed a womau's heart 
Of prouder stuff thau that of Beatrice : 
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, 
Misprising what they look on ; and her wit 
Values itself so highly, that to her 
All matter else seems weak : she cannot love. 
Nor take no shape nor project of affection, 
She is so self endeared. 

Urs. Sure, I think so ; 

And therefore, certainly, it were not good 
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. 

Hero. Why, you speak truth : 1 never yet saw man, 
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd. 
But she would spell him backward : if fair-faced, 
Slie'd swear, the gentleman should be lier sister ; 
If black, why, nature, drawing of an antic, 
Made a foul blot: if tall, a lance ill-headed ; 
If low, an agate very vilely cut : 
If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds; 
If silent, why, a block moved with none. 
So turns she every man tlie v/rong side out ; 
And never gives to truth and virtue, that 
Which simpleness and merit purcliaseth. 

Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable. 

Hero. No : not to be so odd, and from all fashions, 
\s Beatrice is, cannot be commendable : 
But who dare' tell her so ^ If I should speak. 
She'd mock me into air ; O, she would laugh me 
Out of myself, press me to death with wit. 
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire. 
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly : 
It were a better death than die with mocks ; 
Which is as bad as die witii tickling. 

Urs. Yet tell her of it; hear what she will say. 

Hero. No ; rather I will go to Benedick, 
And counsel him to fight against his passion : 
And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders 
To stain my cousin with : One doth not know, 
How much an ill word may empoison liking. 

Urs. 0, do not do your cousm such a wrong. 
She cannot be so much without true judgment, 
(Having so swift and excellent a wit. 
As she is priz'd to have,) as to refuse 
So rare a gentleman as siguior Benedick. 

Hero. He is tlie only man of Italy, 
Always excepted my dear Claudio. 

Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam. 
Speaking my fancy ; siguior Benedick, 
For shape, for bearing, argument, and valour, 
Goes foremost in report through Italy. 

Hero. Indeed, he hatli an excellent good name. 

Vrs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. — 
When are you married, madam 1 

Hero. Why, every day ; — to-morrow : Come, go in ; 
I 'U shew thee some attires ; and have thy counsel. 
Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. 

Urs. She 's liui'd, I warrant you ; we have caught 
her, madam. 

Hern. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps . 
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. 

[L'aeiiHt Hero and Ursula. 

Beatrice advances. 

Bent. What fire is in my ears T Can this be true 1 

Stand I condemu'd for pride and scorn so much ] 
Contempt, farewell ! and maiden pride, adieu! 

No glory lives behind the back of such. 
And, Benedick, love on, I will recpiite thee ; 

Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand ; 
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite iheo 



To bind our loves up in a holy band : 
For others say, thou dost deserve ; and 1 
Believe it better than reportingly. [E.tit. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Leonato's House. 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and 
Leonato. 

D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be con- 
summate, and then 1 go toward Arragon. 

Claud. 1 '11 bring you thither, my lord, if you '11 
vouchsafe me. 

D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in 
the new gloss of your marriage, as to shew a child 
his new coat, and forbid idm to wear it. I will only 
be bold with Benedick for his company ; for, from 
the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all 
mirth ; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow-string, 
and the litile hangman dare not shoot at him ; he hath 
a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the 
clapper; for what his heart thinks, his tongue speaks. 

Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. 

Leon. So say I ; methinks, you are sadder. 

Claud, I hope, he be in love. 

D. Pedro. Hang him, truant; there's no true drop 
of blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love : if he 
be sad, he wants money. 

Bene. I have the tooth-ach. 

D. Pedro. Draw it. 

Bene. Hang it ! 

Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards. 

D. Pedro. What ] sigh for the tooth-ach 1 

Leon. Where is but a humour or a worm 1 

Bene. Well, every one can master a grief, but he 
that has it. 

Claud. Yet, say I, he is in love. 

D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him, 
unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises ; 
as, to be a Dutchman to-day ; a Frenchman to-mor- 
row ; or in the shajjc of two countries at once, as, a 
German from the waist downward, all, slops ; and a 
Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet: Unless 
he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, 
he is no fool for fancy, as you would have it appear 
he is. 

Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, 
there is no believing old signs : he brushes his hat 
o' mornings ; What should that bode 1 

D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's? 

Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen 
with him ; and the old ornament of his cheek hath 
already stufi'ed tennis-balls. 

Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by 
the loss of a beard. 

D. Pedro Nay, he rubs himself with civet : Can 
you smell him out by that? 

Claud. Thai's as much as to say. The sweet youth's 
in love. 

D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy. 

Claud. And wiien was he wont to wash his face ! 

D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which 
I hear what they say of him. 

Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit ; which is now 
crept into a lutestring, and now governed by stops. 

b. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him: 
Conclude, conclude, he is in love. 

Claud. Nay, but 1 know who loves him. 
D. Pedro. 'I'iiat would 1 know too ; 1 warrant, one 
that knows him not. 

Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions; and, in despite 
of all, dies for him. 

D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face uo- 
wards. 



ACT III.— SCENE III. 



V39 



Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth ach. — | 
Old signior, walk aside with me ; I have studied 
eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which 
these hobby-horses must not hear. 

[Exeiiitt Benedick and Leonato. 

D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about 
Beatrice. 

Claud. 'Tis even so : Hero and Margaret have by 
this played tiieir parts with Beatrice ; and then the 
two bears will not bite one another, wiien they meet. 

Enter Don John. 

J). John. My lord and brother, God save you. 

D. Pedro. Good den, brother. 

D. John. If your leisure served, I would speak 
with you. 

D, Pedro. la private "! 

D.John. If it please you; — yet count Claudio 
rray hear ; for what I would speak of, concerns him. 

D.Pedro. What's the matter! 

D. John. Means your lordsliip to be married to- 
morrow "! [To Cl.AUDIO. 

D. Pedro. You know, he does. 

D. John. I know not that, when he knows what I 
know. 

Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you, 
discover it. 

D. John. You may think, I love you not ; let that 
appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I now 
will manifest : For my brother, I think, he holds you 
well ; and in dearness of heart hath help to effect 
your ensuing marriage : surely, suit ill spent, and 
labour ill bestowed ! 

D. Pedro. Why, what's the matter? 

D. John. I came hither to tell you : and, circum- 
stances shortened, (for she hath been too long a talk- 
ing of,) the lady is disloyal. 

Claud. \Vhol Hero? 

D. John. Even she ; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, 
every man's Hero. 

Claud. Disloyal 1 

D. John. The word is too good to paint out her 
wickedness ; I could say, she were worse ; tliink you 
of a worse title, and I will fit her to it. Wonder not 
till further warrant : go but with me to-night, you 
shall see her chamber-window entered ; even the 
niglit before her wedding-day : if you love her then, 
to-morrow wed her ; but it would better fit your 
honour to change your mind. 

Claud. May this be so 1 

D. Pedro. I will not think it. 

D. John. If you dare not trust that you see, con- 
fess not that you know: if you will follow me, I will 
shew you enough ; and when you have seen more, 
and heard more, proceed accordingly. 

Claud. If I see any thing to-night why I should 
not marry her to-morrow ; in the congregation, 
where 1 should wed, there will I shame her. 

D. Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, 
I will join with thee to disgrace her. 

D. John. I will disparage iier no farther, till you 
are my witnesses : bear it coldly but till midnight, 
and let the issue shew itself. 

D. Pedro. O day untowardly turned ! 

Claud. O misciiief strangely thwarting ! 

D. John. O plague right well prevented! 
So will you say, when you have seen the sequel. 

l^Eieunt. 

SCENE III.— yl Street. 

Enter Doobeiuiv and Vkhoes, n-ith the Watch. 

Diigb. Are you good men and true ? 



Verg. Yea, or elje it were pity but they should 
suffer salvation, body and soul. 

Dn^h. Nay, that were a punishment too good for 
them, if they should have any allegiance in them 
being chosen for the prince's watch, 

Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour 
Dogberry. 

Dogl). First, who think you the most desartless 
man to be constable 1 

1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal ; 
for they can write and read. 

Dogb. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal : God hath 
blessed you with a good name : to be a well-favoured 
man is the gift of fortune ; but to write and read 
comes by nature. 

2 Watch. Both which, master constable, 

Dogb. You have ; I knew it would be your an- 
swer. Well, for your favour, sir, why, give God 
thanks, and make no boast of it ; and for your wri- 
ting and reading, let that appear when there is no 
need of such vanity. You are thought here to be 
the most senseless and fit man for the constable of 
the watch ; therefore bear you the lantern : This is 
your charge ; You shall comprehend all vagrom men ; 
you are to bid any man stand, in the prince's name. 

2 Watch. How if he will not stand ? 

Dogb. Why then, take no note of him, but let him 
go ; and presently call the rest of the watch toge- 
ther, and thank God you are rid of a knave. 

Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he 
is none of the prince's subjects. 

Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none but 
the prince's subjects ; — You shall also make no noise 
in the streets ; for, for the watch to babble and talk, 
is most tolerable and not to be endured. 

■^ Watch. We will rather sleep than talk ; we 
know what belongs to a watch. 

Dogb. Why, you speak like an ancient and most 
(juiet watchman ; for I cannot see how sleeping 
should offend : only, have a care that your bills be 
not stolen : — W^ell, you are 'to call at all the ale- 
houses, and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. 

a Watch. How if they will not? 

Dogb. Why then, let them alone till they are sober; 
if they make you not then the better answer, you 
may say they are not the men you took them for. 

2 Watch. Well, sir. 

Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, 
by virtue of your office, to be no true man : and for 
such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with 
them, why, the more is for your honesty. 

'2 Wutch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we 
not lay hands on him ? 

Dogb. Truly, by your office, you may ; but, I 
think, they that touch pitch will be defiled : the 
most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, 
is, to let him shew himself what he is, and steal out 
of your company. 

Verg. Vou have been always called a merciful 
man, partner. 

Dogb. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will; 
much more a man who hath any honesty in him. 

Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you 
must call to the nurse, and bid her still it. 

'2 Watch. How if the nurse be asleep, and will 
not hear us ? 

Dogb. Why then, depart in peace, and let tlie 
child wake her with crying : for the ewe that will 
not hear her lamb when it baes, will never answer a 
calf when he bleats. 

Verg. "lis very true. 

Dogb. This is the end of the charge. You, cou- 



140 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



stable, are to present the prince's own person ; if 
you meet the prince in the night, you may stay liim. 

Verg. Nay by 'r lady, that, 1 think, he cannot. 

Dogh. Five shillings to one on 't, with any man 
that knows the statues, he may stay him : marry, 
not witiiout tiie prince be willing : for, indeed, the 
watch ouglit to offend no man ; and it is an offence 
to stay a man against his will. 

Verg. By 'r lady, 1 think, it be so. 

Dogh. Ha, ha, ha ! Well, masters, goodnight: 
an there be any matter of weight chances, call up 
me : keep your fellows' counsels and your own, and 
good night. — Come, neighbour. 

5! Jl'utcli. Well, masters, we hear our charge : let 
us go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and 
then all to-bed. 

Dngb. One word more, honest neighbours : I 
pray you, watch about signior Leonato's door ; for 
the wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great 
coil to-night: Adieu, be vigilant, I beseech you. 

[^Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. 

Enter BonAcmotinf/ Conr.\de. 

Bora. What! Conrade, — 

Watcli. Peace, stir not. \^Aside. 

Bora. Conrade, I say ! 

Cnii. Here, man, I am at thy elbow. 

Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched ; I thought, 
there would a scab follow. 

Con. I will owe thee an answer for that ; and now 
forward with thy tale. 

Bora. Stand thee close then under this pent-house, 
for it drizzles ra'in ; and I will, like a true drunkard, 
utter all to thee. 

Watch, [aside.] Some treason, masters ; yet stand 
close. 

Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don John 
a thousand ducats. 

Con. Is it possible that any villany should be so 
dear? 

Bora. Thou should'st rather ask, if it were possible 
any villany should be so rich ; for when rich villains 
have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what 
price they will. 

Con. I wonder at it. 

Boi-a. That shews, thou art unconfirmed: Thou 
knowest, that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a 
cloak, is nothing to a man. 

Con. Yes, it is apparel. 

Bora. I mean, the fashion. 

Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. 

Bora. Tush ! I may as well say, the fool's the 
fool. But see'st thou not what a deformed thief this 
fashion is ? 

Watch. I know that Deformed ; he has been a 
vile thief this seven year ; he goes up and down like 
a gentleman : I remember his name. [Aside. 

Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody? 

Con. No ; 'twas the vane on the house. 

Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief 
this fashion is? how giddily he turns about all the 
hot bloods, between fourteen and five and thirty ? 
sometime, fashioning them like Pharaoh's soldiers in 
the reechy painting ; sometime, like god Bel's priests 
in the old church window ; sometime, like the shaven 
Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten tapestry, where 
his cod-piece seems as massy as his club? 

Con. All this I see ; and see, that the fashion 
wears out more apparel than the man : But ait not 
thou thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou 
hast shitted out of thy tale inio telling me of tlie 
fashion ^ 



Bora. Not so neither : but know, that I have to- 
night wooed Margaret, the lady Hero's gentlewoman, 
by the name of Hero ; she leans me out at her mis- 
tress' chamber window, bids me a thousand times 
good night, — 1 tell this tale vilely :— I should first 
tell thee, how the Prince, Claudio, and my master, 
planted, and placed, and possessed by my master 
Don John, saw afar oH' in the orchard this amiable 
encounter. 

Con. And thought they, IMargaret was Hero? 

Bora. Two of them did, the Prince and C;iau(iio , 
but the devil my master knew she was Margaret ; 
and partly by his oaths, which first possessed them, 
partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, 
but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any 
slander that Don John had made, away went Claudio 
enraged ; swore he would meet her as he was ap- 
pointed, next morning at the temple, and there, be- 
fore the whole congregation, shame her with what he 
saw over-night, and send her home again without a 
husband. 

1 Watch. We chargeyou in the prince's name, stand. 

'■i Watch. Call up the right master Constable : we 
have here recovered the most dangerous piece of 
lechery that ever was known in the commonwealth. 

1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them ; I 
know him, he wears a lock. 

Con. INIaBters, masters. 

2 Watch. You '11 be made bring Deformed forth, 
I warrant you. 

Con. Masters, — 

1 Watch. Never speak ; we charge you, let us 
obey you to go with us. 

Bora. We are likely to prove a goodly commodity, 
being taken up of these men's bills. 

Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. 
Come, we '11 obey you. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A Room in Leonato's House. 
Enter Hero, IMargaret, and Ursula. 
Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and 
desire her to rise. 
Urs. I will, lady. 
Hero. And bid her come hither. 



Urs. Well. 



[Etit Ursula. 



Marg. Troth, I think, your other rabato were better. 

Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I '11 wear this. 

Marg. By my troth, it 's not so good ; and I war- 
rant, youi' cousin will say so. 

Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another ; 
I '11 wear none but this. 

Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, if the 
hair were a thought browner: and your gown's a 
most rare fashion, i'faith. I saw tlie duchess of Mi- 
lan's gown that they praise so. 

Hero. O, that exceeds, they say. 

Marg. By my troth, it's but a night-gown in re- 
spect o*" yours : Cloth of gold, and cuts, and laced 
with silver ; set with pearls, down sleeves, side- 
sleeves, and skirts round, underborne with a blueish 
tinsel : but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent 
fashion, yours is worth ten on't. 

Hero. Give me joy to wear it, for my heart is ex- 
ceeding heavy ! 

Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon, by the weight of 
a man. 

Hero. Fye upon thee ! art not ashamed ? 

Marg. Of what lady? of speaking honourably'' 
Is not marriage honourable in a beggar ? Is not your 
lord honourable without marriage ! 1 think, you would 
have me say, saving your reverence, — a husband : 
an bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I' 11 of- 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



141 



fend nobody: Is there any harm \u--the heavier for 
a huihmul ? None, I think, an it be the right husband, 
and the right wife : otherwise 'tis light, and not heavy : 
Ask my lady Beatrice else, here she comes. 
Enter Beatrice. 

Hero. Good morrow, coz. 

Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. 

Hero. Why, how now! do you speak in the sick tune? 

Beat. 1 am out of all other tune, methinks. 

Marg. Clap usinto— Light o love ; that goes with- 
out a burden ; do you sing it, and 1 '11 dance it. 

Beat. Yea, Light o' love, with your heels '. — then 
if your husband have stables enough, you '11 see he 
shall lack no barns. 

Marg. illegitimate construction 1 I scorn that 
with my heels. 

Rent. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin ; 'tis time 
you were ready. By my troth 1 am exceeding ill :— 
hey, ho ! 

Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband? 

Beat.' For the letter that begins them all, H. 

Mitrg. Well, an you be not turned Turk, there 's 
no more sailing by the star. 

Beat. What means the fool, trow? 

Marg. Nothing I ; but God send every one their 
heart's desire ! 

Hero. These gloves the count sent me, they are an 
excellent perfume. 

Beat. I am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell. 

Marg. A maid, and stuffed, there 's goodly catch- 
ing of cold. 

Beat. O, God help me! God help me! how long 
liave you profess'd apprehension ! 

Marg. Ever since you left it : doth not my wit be- 
come me rarely 1 

Beat. It is not seen enough, you should wear it in 
your cap.— By my troth, 1 am sick. 

Marg. Gel you some of this distilled Carduus Be- 
nedictus, and lay it to your heart ; it is the only thing 
for a qualm. 

Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. 

Beat. Benedictus? why Benedictus ? you have 
some moral in this Benedictus. 

Marg. Moral? no, by my troth, I have no moral 
meaning; I meant, plain holy-thistle. You may 
think, perchance, that I think you are in love: nay, 
by'r lady, I am not such a fool to think what I list : 
nor I list not to think what I can ; nor, indeed, I 
cannot think, if I would think my heart out of think- 
ing, tliat you are in love, or that you will be in love, 
or that you can be in love : yet "Benedick was such 
another, and now is he become a man ; he swore he 
would never marry ; and yet now, in despite of his 
heart, he eats his meat without grudging: and how 
you may be converted, I know not ; but, methinks, 
you look with your eyes as other women do. 

Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps? 

Marg. Not a false gallop. 

lie-enter Uitsui.A. 

Urs. Madam, withdraw ; the prince, the count, 
sio-nior Benedick, Don .Tohn, and all the gallants of 
the town, are come to fetch you to church. 

Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good 
Ursula. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Another Room in Leonato's House. 

Enter Leonato with DoGUEnnv and Verges. 
Leon. What would you with me, honest neighbour? 
Dogh. Marry, sir, 1 would have some confidence 
with you, that discerns you nearly. 



Leon. Brief, I pray you ; for you see, 'tis a busy 
time with me. 

Dogb. Marry, this it is, sir. 

Fe)-^. Yes, in truth it is, sir. 

Leon. What is it, my good friends? 

Dogb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the 
matter : an old man, sir, and his wits are not so 
blunt, as, God help, 1 would desire they were ; but, 
in faith, honest as the skin between his brows. 

Verg Yes, I tiiank God, 1 am as honest as any man 
living-, that is an old man, and no honester than I. 

Dogh. Comparisons are odorous: pa/(i/»'as, neigh- 
bour Verges. 

Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious. 

Dogh. It pleases your worship to say so, but we 
are the poor duke's oificers ; but, truly, fur mine own 
part, if 1 were as tedious as a king, 1 could find in 
my heart to be>tow it all of your worship. 

Leon. All thy tediousness on me ! ha ! 

Dogh Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more than 
'tis : for I hear as good exclamation on your worship, 
as of any man in the city ; and though i be but a 
poor man, I am glad to hear it. 

Verg. And so ain I. 

Leon. I would fain know what you have to say. 

Verg. Rlarry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting 
your worship's presence, have ta'en a couple of as 
arrant knaves as any in INIessina. 

Dogb. A good old man, sir; he will be talking; 
as they say, When the age is in, the wit is out ; God 
1 help us ! it is a world to see! — Well said, i'faith, 
neighbour Verges : — well, (jod's a good man; an 
two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind : — 
An honest soul i'faith, sir ; by my troth he is, as 
ever broke bread : but God is to be v/orshipped : All 
men are not alike ; alas, good neighbour! 

Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you. 

Dogb. Gifts, that God gives. 

Leon. I must leave you. 

Dogb. Oneword,sir: ourwatch, sir, have, indeed, 
comprehended two auspicious persons, and we would 
have them this morning examined before your worship. 

Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring 
it me ; I am now in great haste, as it may appear 
unto you. ^ 

Dogh. ]t shall be suffigance. 

Leon. Drink some wine ere you go : fare you well. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. IMy lord, they stay for you to give your 
daughter to liur husband. 

Leon. I will wait upon them ; I am ready. 

[Exeunt Leonato and Messenger. 

Dogb. Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis 
Seacoal, bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the 
gaol : we are now to examination these men. 

Verg. And we must do it wisely. 

Dogb. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you ; 
here's that [touching his forehead] shall drive some 
of tiiem to a non com : only get the learned writer 
to set down our excommunication, and meet me at 
the gaol. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE l.—The Inside of a Church. 

Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar, 

Claudio, Benedick, Hero, and Beatrice, &c. 

Leon. Come, friar Francis, be brief; only to the 

plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their 

particular duties afterwards. 



142 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Friar, You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady ? 

Claud. No. [marry her. 

Leon. To be married to her, friar ; you come to 

Friar, Lady, you come hither to be married to 
this count ? 

Hero. I do. 

Friar, If either of you iinovv any inward impedi- 
meut why you should not be conjoined, I cliarge you, 
on your souls, to utter it. 

Claud. Know you any, Hero? 

Hero. None, my lord. 

Friar> Know you any, count? 

Leon. I dare make his answer, none. 

Claud. O, what men dare do ! wliat men may do ! 
what men daily do ! not knowing what they do ! 

Bene. How now ! Interjections? Why, then some 
be of laughing, as, ha ! ha ! he ! 

Claud. Stand thee by, friar : — Father, by your 
Will you with free and unconstrained soul [leave; 
Give me tliis maid, your daughter? 

Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. 

Claud. And wliat have I to give you back, whose 
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift? [worth 

D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again. 

Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thank- 
There, Leonato, take her back again ; {fulness. — 
Give not this rotten orange to your friend ; 
She's but the sign and semblance of her honour: — 
Behold, how like a maid she blushes here : 
O, what authority and show of truth 
Can cunning sin cover itself withal ! 
Comes not that blood, as modest evidence, 
To witness simple virtue ? Would you not swear. 
All you that see her, that she were a maid. 
By these exterior shows ? But she is none : 
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed- 
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. 

Leon. What do you mean, my lord? 

Claud. Not to be married, 

Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. 

Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof 
Have vanquished the resistance of her youth. 
And made defeat of her virginity, 

Cliiud. 1 know what you would say ; If I have known 
You '11 say, she did embrace me as a husband, [her, 
And so extenuate the 'forehand sin : 
No, Leouato, 

1 never tempted her with word too large : 
But, as a brother to his sister shew'd 
Bashful sincerity, and comely love. 

Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you ? 

Claud. Out on thy seeming ! I will write against it : 
You seem to me as Dian in her orb ; 
As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown ; 
But you are more intemperate in your blood 
Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals 
Tiiat rage in savage sensuality. 

Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide ? 

Leo7i. Sweet prince, why speak not you ? 

D. Pedro. What should I speak ? 

T stand dishonour'd, that have gone about 
To link my dear friend to a common stale. 

Leon. Are these things spoken? or do 1 but dream ? 

D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things are 

Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. [true 

Hero. True, O God ! 

Claud. Leonato, stand I here? 
Is this the prince? Is this the prince's brother? 
Is this face Hero's ? Are our eyes our own ? 

Leon. All this is so ; But what of this, my lord? 

Claud. Let me but move one question to your 
And, by that fatherly and kindly jiower [daughter ; 



That you have in her, bid her answer truly. 

Leon, I charge thee do so, as thou art my child. 

Hero. O God defend me! how am I beset I — 
What kind of catechising call you this ? 

Claud. To make you answer truly to your name. 

Hero. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name 
With any just reproach ? 

Claud. Marry, that can Hero ; 

Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. 
What man was he talk'd with you yesternight 
Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one? 
Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. 

Hero. 1 talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord- 

D. Pedro. Why, then you are no maiden. — Leonato, 
I am sorry you must hear ; Upon mine honour, 
]\lyse!f, my brother, and this grieved count. 
Did see her, hear her, at tiiat hour last night, 
'Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window ; 
^^'ho hath, indeed, most like a liberal villain, 
Confess'd the vile encounters they liave had 
A thousand times in secret. 

U. John. Fy, fye ! they are 

Not to be nam'd my lord, not to be spoke of; 
There is not chastity enough in language, 
W'ithout oflence, to utter them : Thus, pretty lady, 
I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. 

Claud, O Hero ! what a Hero hadst thou been. 
If half thy outward graces had been placed 
About thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart ! 
But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair ! farewell, 
Thou pure impiety, aud impious purity ! 
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love, 
And on my eye-lids shall conjecture hang. 
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm. 
And never shall it more be gracious. 

Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me ? 

[Hkuo swoons. 

Beat, Why, how now, cousin? wherefore sink 
you down. 

D. John. Come, let us go : these things, come 
Smother her spirits up. [thus to light, 

[Exeunt Dun Pedro, Don John, and Clauhio. 

Bene. How doth the lady? 

Beat. Dead, I think ;— help, uncle; — [friar! 
Hero ! why Hero ! — Uncle ! — Signior Benedick ' — 

Leon. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand ! 
Death is the fairest cover for her shame, 
That may be wish'd for. 

Beat. How now, cousin Hero ? 

Friar. Have comfort, lady. 

Leon. Dost thou look up ? 

Friar. Yea; W^herefore should she not? 

Leon. Wherefore? VVhy, doth not every earthly 
Cry shame upon her? Could she liere deny [thing 
The story that is printed in her blood ? — 
Do not live. Hero; do not ope thine eyes: 
For did I think thou would'st not quickly die. 
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames, 
M3'self would, on the rearward of reproaches. 
Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one? 
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame ? 
O, oae too much by thee! ^Vhy had I one? 
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes? 
Why had I not with charitable hand. 
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates ; 
Who smirched thus, and mired with infamy, 
I might have said, No ]iart of it is mine, 
This shame derives itself from unknoun loins! 
But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine 1 prais'd. 
And mine that I was proud on ; mine so much, 
That 1 myself was to myself not mine. 
Valuing of her , why, she— O, she is fallen 



ACT IV SCENE I. 



143 



Into a pit of ink ! that the wide sea 
Hath drops too few to wash her clean a^ain ; 
And salt too little, which may season give 
To her foul tainted flesh ! 

Bene- Sir, sir, be patient : 

For my part I am so attir'd in wonder, 
I know not what to say. 

Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied ! 

Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night? 

Beat. No, truly not ; although, until last night, 
I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. 

Leon. Coufirm'd, confirm'd! O, that is stronger 
■Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron ! [made, 
Would the two princes lie ! and Claudio lie ? 
Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness, 
Wash'd it with tears'! Hence from her; let her die. 

Fi'iar. Hear me a little ; 
For 1 have only been silent so long, 
And given way unto this course of fortune, 
By noting of the lady ; I have mark'd 
A thousand blushing apparitions start 
Into her face ; a thousand innocent shames 
In angel witnesses bear away those blushes ; 
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire. 
To burn the errors that these princes hold 
Against her maiden truth : — Call me a fool ; 
Trust not my reading, nor my observations, 
W hich with experimental zeal doth warrant 
The tenour of my book ; trust not my age, 
My reverence, calling, nor divinity. 
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here 
Under some biting error. 

Leon. Friar, it cannot be : 

Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left, 
Is, that she will ,iot add to her damnation 
A sin of perjury ; she not denies it : 
Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse 
That which appears in proper nakedness ? 

Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of? 

Hero. They know, that do accuse me ; 1 know 
If I know more of any man alive, [none : 

Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, 
Let all my sins lack mercy! — O my father, 
Prove you that any man with me convers'd 
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight 
Maintain'd the change of words with any creature. 
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death, [princes. 

Friar. There is some strange misprision in the 

Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour ; 
And if their wisdoms be misled in this, 
The practice of it lives in John the bastard. 
Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies. 

Leon. 1 know not ; If they speak but truth of her. 
These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour. 
The proudest of them shall well hear of it. 
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, 
Nor age so eat up my invention. 
Nor fortune made such havoc of my means. 
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, 
But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind, 
Botli strength of limb, and policy of mind, 
Ability in means, and choice of friends. 
To quit me of them thoroughly. 

Friar. Pause a while. 

And let my counsel sway you in this case. 
Your daughter here the princes left for dead ; 
Let her awhile be secretly kept in, 
And publish it that she is dead indeed . 
IMaintain a mourning ostentation; 
And on your family's old monument 
Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites 
That appertain unto a burial. 



Leon. What shall become of this ** W^hal will 
this do? 

Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her bc- 
Change slander to remorse ; that is some good ; [half 
But not for that, dream 1 on this strange course. 
But on this travail look for greater birth. 
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd, 
Upon the instant that she was accus'd, 
Shall be lamented, pitied, anH excus'd, 
Of every hearer : For it so falls out, 
That wliat we have we prize not to the worth, 
Wiiiles we enjoy it ; but being lack'd and lost, 
Why, then we rack the value, then we find 
The virtue, that possession would not shew us 
Whiles it was ours : So will it fare with Cl!iudio : 
When he shall hear she died upon his words, 
The idea of iier life shall sweetly creep 
Into his study of imagination ; 
And every lovely organ of her life 
Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit. 
More moving-delicate, and full of life. 
Into the eye and prospect of his soul. 
Than when she lived indeed : — then shall he mourn, 
(If ever love had interest in his liver,) 
And wish he had not so accused her ; 
No, though he thought his accusation true. 
Let this be jO, and doubt not but success 
Will fashion the event in better shape 
Than I can lay it down in likelihood. 
But if all aim but this be levell'd false. 
The supposition of the lady's death 
Will quench the wonder of her infamy : 
And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her 
(As best befits her wounded reputation,) 
In some reclusive and religious life, 
Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries. 

Bene. Siguier Leonato, let the friar advise you • 
And though, you know, my inwardness and love 
Is very much unto the prince and Claudio, 
Yet, by mine honour, 1 will deal in this 
As secretly, and justly as your soul 
Should with your body. 

Lean. Being that I flow in grief. 

The smallest twine may lead me. 

Friar. 'Tis well consented ; presently away ; 

For to strange sores strangely they strain the 

Come, lady, die to live : this wedding day, [cure. — 

Perhaps, is but prolong'd ; have patience,'and 

endure. [Kieiint Friar, Hero, a)id Leonato. 

Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while? 

Beat. Yea, and I will weep awhile longer. 

Bene. I will not desire that. 

Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely. 

Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is 
wrong'd. 

Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me 
that would right her. 

Bene. Is there any way to shew such friendship 1 

Beat, A very even way, but no such friend. 

Bene. May a man do it? 

Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. 

Bene. I do love nothing in the world so %vell as 
you ; Is not that strange ? 

Beat. As strange as the thing I know not : It were 
as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so well as 
you : but believe me not ; and yet I lie not ; I confess 
nothing, nor I deny nothing : — I am sorrj' for my 
cousin. 

Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. 

Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it. 

Be)ie. I will swear by it, that you love me ; and I 
will make him eat it, that says, I love not you. 



144 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Beat. Will j'ou not eat your word "! I 

Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it : I 
protest, I love thee. 

Beat. Why then, God forgive me ! 

Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice ? 

Beat. You have staid me in a happy hour ; I was 
about to protest I loved you. 

Bene. And do it with all thy heart. 

Beat. I love you with so much of my heart that 
none is left to protest. 

Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. 

Beat. Kill Claudio. 

Bene. Ha ! not for the wide world. 

Beat., You kill me to deny it : Farewell. 

Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. 

Beat. I am gone, though I am here;— There is no 
love in you : — Nay, I pray you, let me go. 

Bene. Beatrice, — 

Beat. In faith, 1 will go. 

Bene. We '11 be friends first. 

Beat. You dare easier be friends with me, than 
fight with mine enemy. 

Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy ? 

Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, 
that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kins- 
woman ?— O, that I were a man ! — What ! bear her 
in hand until they come to take hands ; and then with 
public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated 
rancour. — O God, that I were a man ! I would eat 
his heart in the market-place. 

Bene. Hear me, Beatrice ; — 

Beat. Talk v/ith a man out at a window ? — a pro- 
per saying. 

Bene. Nay but, Beatrice ; — 

Beat. Sweet Hero ! — she is wronged, she is slan- 
dered, she is undone. 

Bene. Beat — 

Beat. Princes, and counties 1 Surely, a princely 
testimony, a goodly count- confect ; a sweet gallant, 
surely ! O that I were a man for his sake ! or that I 
had any friend would be a man for my sake ! But 
manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into com- 
pliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and 
trim ones too : he is now as valiant as Hercules, that 
only tells a lie, and swears it: — I cannot be a man 
with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with 
grieving. 

Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice : By this hand, I love 
thee. 

Beat. Use it for my love some other way than 
swearing by it. 

Bene. Think you in your soul the count Claudio 
hath wronged Hero ? 

Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a soul. 
Bene. Enough, 1 am engaged, I ^^ill challenge 
him ; I will kiss your hand, and so leave you : By 
this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account : 
As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort your 
cousin : I must say, she is dead ; and so, farewell. 

SCENE 11.—^ Prison. 

Enter Dogbeiiry, Verges, and Sexton, in gowns; 

and the Watch, with Conrade and BonAcmo. 

Dogh. Is our whole dissembly appeared 1 

Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton ! 

■Seifcm. Which be the malefactors'! 

Vogl). Many, that am I and my partner. 

Verg. Nviy, that's certain ; we have the exhibition 
to examine. 

Seiton. But which are the offenders that are to be 
examined 1 let them come before master constable. 



Dogh. Yea, marry, let them come before me. — 
What is your name, friend ! 

Bora. Boracliio 

Dogb. Pray write down — Borachio. Yours, 

sirrah ? 

Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is 
Conrade. 

Dogh. Write down — master gentleman Conrade. — 
Masters, do you serve God 1 

Con. Bora. Yea, sir, we hope. 

Dogh. Write down —that they hope they serve 
God: — and write God first; for God defend but 
God should go before such villains ! — Masters, it is 
proved already that you are little better than false 
knaves ; and it will go near to be thought so shortly. 
How answer you for yourselves. 

Con Rlarry, sir, we say we are none. 

Dogb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you , 
but I will go about with him. — Come you hither, 
sirrah ; a word inyourear, sir ; I say to you, it is 
thought you are false knaves. 

Bora. Sir, 1 say to you, we are none. 

Dogb. Well, stand aside. — 'Fore God, they are both 
in a tale : Have you writ down — that they are noup? 

Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way to 
examine ; you must call forth the watch that are 
their accusers. 

Dogh. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way : — Let the 
watch come forth : — Masters, I charge you, in the 
prince's name, accuse tiiese men. 

1 Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the 
prince's brother, was a villain. 

Dogh. Write down — prince John a villain: — Why 
this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother — villain. 

Bora. Alaster constable, — 

Dogh. Pray thee, fellow, peace ; I do not like thy 
look, I promise thee. 

Sexton. What heard you him say else? 

2 Watch, Marry, that he had received a thousand 
ducats of Don John, for accusing the lady Hero 
wrongfully. 

Dogb. Flat burglary, as ever was committed. 

Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is. 

Sexton. What else, fellow ? 

1 Watch. And that count Claudio did mean, upon 
his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, 
and not marry her. 

Dogh. O villain ! thou wilt be condemned into 
everlasting redemjjtion for this. 

Sexton. What else 1 

•i Watch. This is all. 

Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can 
deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen 
away ; Hero was in this manner accused, in this very 
manner refused, and upon the grief of this, suddenly 

died Master constable, let these men be bound, 

and brought to Leonato's ; I will go before, and shew 
him their examination. [Exit 

Dogh. Come, let them be opinioned. 

Verg. Let tliem be in band. 

Con. Off, coxcomb ! 

Dogh. God's my life ! where's the sexton"! let him 
write down — the prince's officer, coxcomb. — Con.e, 
bind them : Thou naughty varlet I 

Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass. 

Dogh. Dost thou not suspect my place ! Dost thou 
not suspect my years : — O that he were here to write 
me down — an ass ! but, masters, remember, that I 
am an ass ; thougli it be not written down, yet forget 
not that 1 am an ass : — No, thou villain, thou art full 
of piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good wit- 
ness. I am a wise fellow ; and, which is more, an 




ijotnsou 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



DoGBEERT. God'a my life ! -where's the sexton? let him write down — 
the prince's officer, coxcomh — come, bind them : — Thou naughty varlet 

Act iK, Scent » 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



145 



officer ; and, which is more, ahouseholder ; and, which 
is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Mes- 
sina ; and one that knows the law, go to ; and a rich 
fellow enough, go to ; and a fellow that hath had 
losses ; and one that hath two gowns, and every thing 
handsome about him : — Bring him away. O, that I 
had been writ dowa — an ass ! lExetint. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I.— Before Leonat.o's House. 
Enter Leonato and Antonio. 

Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself; 
And 'tis not wisdom, thus to second grief 
Against yourself. 

Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel, 

Which falls into mine ears as profitless 
As water in a sieve : give not me counsel ; 
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear, 
But such a one whose wrongs do siut with mine. 
Bring me a father, that so lov'd his child, 
Whose jov of her is overwhelm'd like mine. 
And bid him speak of patience ; 
IMeasure his woe the length and breadth of mine, 
And let it answer every strain for strain ; 
As thus for thus, and such a grief for such, 
In every lineament, branch, shape, and- form : 
If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard : 
Cry — sorrow, wag! and hem, when he should groan ; 
Patch grief with proverbs ; make misfortune drunk 
With candle-wasters ; bring him yet to me, 
And 1 of ium will gather patience. 
But there is no such man : For, brother, men 
Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief 
Wliich they themselves not feel ; but, tasting it, 
Their counsel turns to passion, which before 
Would give preceptial medicine to rage. 
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread. 
Charm ach with air, and agony with words : 
No, no ; 'tis all men's office to speak patience 
To those that wring under the load of sorrow ; 
But no man's virtue, nor sufhciency. 
To be so moral, when he shall endure 
The like himself: therefore give me no counsel: 
JMy griefs cry louder than ad\ ertisement. 

Aiit. Therein do men from children nothing differ. 

Leon. I pray thee, peace ; 1 will be flesh and blood ; 
For there was never yet philosopher. 
That could endure the tooth-ach patiently ; 
However they have writ the style of gods. 
And made a push at chance and sufferance. 

A lit. Vet bend not all the harm upon yourself; 
Make those, that do ofiend you, suffer too. 

Leon. There thou speak'st reason : nay, I will do 
My soul doth tell me, Hero is belied ; [so ; 

And that shall Claudio know, so shall the prince. 
And all of them, that thus dishonour her. 

Enter Don Pedro and Claudio. 

Ant. Here comes the prince, and Claudio, hastily. 

D. Pedro. Good den, good den. 

Claud. Good day to both of you. 

Leon. Hear you, my lords, — 

D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. 

Leon. Some haste, my lord! — well, fare you well, 
my lord : — 
Are you so hasty now? — well, all is one. [man. 

D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old 

Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling. 
Some of us would lie low. 



Claud. Who wrongs him 1 

Leon. Marry, 

Thou, thou dost wrong me ; thou dissembler, thou : — 
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword, 
I fear thee not. 

Claud. Marry, beshrewmy hand. 

If it should give your age such cause of fear . 
In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. 

Leon. Tush, tush, man, never fleer audjest at mc : 
I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool ; 
As, under privilege of age, to brag 
What I have done being young, or what would do. 
Were I not old: Know, Claudio, to thy head. 
Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me, 
That 1 am forc'd to lay my reverence by ; 
And, with grey hairs, and bruise of many days. 
Do challenge thee to trial of a man. 
I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child ; 
Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart, 
And she lyes buried with her ancestors : 
O ! in a tomb where never scandal slept. 
Save this of her's, fram'd by thy villany. 

Claud. jMy villany ! 

Leon. Thine, Claudio ; thine I say. 

D. Pedro. You say not right, old man. 

Leon. My lord, my lord. 

I'll prove it on his body, if he dare; 
Despite his nice fence, and his active practice. 
His May of youth, and bloom of lusty hood. 

Claud. Away, I will not have to do with you. 

Leon. Canst thou so daff me"! Thou hast kill'd 
my child ; 
If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. 

Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed ; 
But that's no matter ; let him kill one first ; — 
Win me, and wear me, — let him answer me, — 
Come follow me, boy ; come, sir boy, followme: 
Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence ; 
Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. 

Leon. Brother, — [niece ; 

Ant. Content yourself: God knows, I lov'd my 
And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains; 
That dare as well answer a man, indeed, 
As I dare take a serpent by the tongue : 
Boys, apes, braggarts. Jacks, milksops!^ 

Leon. Brother Antony, — [ye<i. 

Ant. Hold you content: What, man! I know them. 
And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple : 
Scambling, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys, 
That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander. 
Go anlicly, and shew outward hideousness. 
And speak oft" half a dozen dangerous words. 
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst, 
And this is all. 

Leon. But, brother Antony, — 

Ant. Come, 'tis no matter ; 

Do not you meddle, let me deal in this. [patience. 

D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your 
My heart is sorry for your daughter's death ; 
But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing 
But what was true, and very full of proof. 

Leon. My lord, my lord, — 

D. Pedro. I will not hear you. 

Leon. No ? 

Come, brother, away : — I will be heard ; — 

Ant. And shall. 

Or some of us will smart for it. 

[Eieuht Leonato and Antonio. 

Enter Benedick. 



D. Pedro. 
to seek. 



See, see ; here comes the man we went 



K 



146 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Claud. Now, signior ! what news 1 
Bene. Good day, my lord. 
D. Pedro. Welcome, signior : You are almost ' 
come to part almost a fray. 

Claud, We had liked to have had our two noses 
snapped off with two old men without teeth. 

D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother: Whatthink'st 
thou 1 Had we fought, 1 doubt, we should have been 
too young for them. 

Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour : 
I came to seek you both, 

Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee ; 
for we are high proof melancholy, and would fain 
have it beaten away : Wilt ihou use thy wit ? 
Bene. It is in my scabbard ; Shall I draw it ? 
D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side ? 
Claud. Never any did so, though very many have 
been beside their wit. — I will bid tliee draw, as we 
do the minstrels ; draw, to pleasure us. 

D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale : 
— Art thou sick, or angry 1 

Claud. What! courage, man ! What though care 
killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill 
care. 

Bene Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an 
you charge it against me : — I pray you, choose an- 
other subject. 

Claud. Nay, then give him another staff ; this last 
was broke cross. 

D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and 
more ; I think, he be angry indeed. 

Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle. 
Bene. Shall I speak a wordin your ear ? 
Claud. God bless me from a challenge ! 
Bene. You are avillain ; — I jest not — I will make 
it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when 
you dare : — Do me right, or I will protest your cow- 
ardice. You have killed a sweet lady, and her death 
shall fall heavy on you : Let me liear from you. 

Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good 
cheer. 

D. Pedro. W'hat a feast 7 a feast? 
Claud. I'faith, 1 thank him ; he hath bid me to a 
calf's head and a capon, the which if I do not carve 
most curiously, say, my knife's naught. — Shall 1 not 
find a woodcock too ? 

Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well ; it goes easily. 
D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy 
wit the other day : I said, thou hadst a fine wit ; 
2'rue, says she, a fine little one: No, said I, a great 
wit ; Right, says she, a great gross one : Naii, said I, 
a good wit ; J ust, said she, it hurts nohodtf : Kay, 
said I, the gentlemen is uv'se ,• Certain, snid she, a 
wise gentleman : Naq, said I, he hath tlie tongues; 
That 1 believe, said she,_/i'r he swore a thing to me on 
Monday niglit, which he forswore on Tuesday morning ; 
there's a double tongue ; there's two tongues. Thus 
did she, an hour together, transshape thy particular 
virtues ; yet, at last, she concluded with a sigh, thou 
wast the properest man in Italy. 

Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and said, 
she cared not. 

D. Pedro. Yea, that she did ; but yet, for all that, 
an if she did not hate him deadly, she would love 
him dearly : the old man's daughter told us all. 

Claud. All, all ; and moreover, God saw him when 
he was hid in the garden. 

D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's 
horns on the sensible Benedick's head 1 

Claud. Yea, and text underneath. Here dwells 
Benedick the married man 1 

Bene. Fare you well, boy! you know my mind; 



I will leave you now to your gossip-like hnmors, 
you break jests as braggarts do their blades, which, 
God be thanked, hurt not. — i\Iy lord, for your many 
courtesies I thank you : I must discontinue your 
company : youi brother, the bastard, is fled from 
i\lessina : you have, among you, killed a sweet and 
innocent lady: For my lord Lack-beard, there, he 
and 1 shall meet ; and till then, peace be with him. 

[Exit Bknedick, 

D. Pedro. He is in earnest. 

Claud. In most profound earnest ; and I'll war- 
rant you, for the love of Beatrice. 

D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee ? 

Claud. Most sincerely. 

D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is, when be 
goes in his doublet and hose, and leaves ofFhis wit ! 

Enter DoonERRY, Verges, and the Watch, with 

CONRADE and BoRACIIIO. 

Claud. He is then a giant to an ape : but then is 
an ape a doctor to such a man. 

D. Pedro. But. soft you, let be ; pluck up, my 
heart, and be sad ' Did he not say, my brother was 
fled] 

Dogh. Come, you, sir; if justice cannot tame you, 
she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance : 
nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must 
be looked to. 

D. Pedro. How now, two of my brother's men 
bound ! Borachio, one ! 

Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord ! 

D. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men 
done? 

Dogh. Marry, sir, they have committed false re- 
port ; moreover, they have spoken untruths ; se- 
condarily, they are slanders ; sixth and lastly, they 
have belied a lady ; thirdly, they have verified un- 
just things: and, to conclude, they are lying knaves. 

D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done ; 
thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence ; sixth and 
lastly, why they are committed : and, to concludp 
what you lay to their charge ? 

Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division ; 
and, by my troth, there's one meaning well suited. 

D. Pedro. Wiiom have you offended, masters, that 
you are thus bound to your answer? this learned 
constable is too cunning to be understood : What's 
your offence ? 

Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no further to mine 
answer; do you hear me, and let this count kill me. 
I have deceived even your very eyes : what your wis- 
doms could not discover, these shallow fools have 
brought to light ; who, in the night, overheard me 
confessing to this man, how Don .John your brother 
incensed me to slander the lady Hero ; how you 
were brought into the orchard, and saw me court 
Margaret in Hero's garments ; how you disgraced 
her, when you should marry her : my villany they 
have upon record ; which 1 had rather seal with my 
death, than repeat over to my shame : the lady is 
dead upon mine and my master's false accusation ; and, 
briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of avillain. 

D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through 
your blood? 

Cland. I have drunk poison, whiles he uttered it. 

D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this? 

Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it. 

D. Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of trea- 
And fled he is upon this villany. [chery : — 

Claud. Sweet Hero I now thy image doth appear 
In the rare semblance that I loved it first. 

Dogb. Come, bring away the plaintiffs; by this 



ACT v.— SCENE II. 



147 



time our Sextan hath reformed sigoior Leonato of 
the matter : And masters, do not forget to specify, 
when time and place shall serve, that I am an ass. 

Verg. Here, here comes master signior Leonato, 
and the Sexton too. 

Re-enter Leonato ridrf Antonio, with the Sexton. 

Leon. Which is the villain 1 Let me see his eyes ; 
That when I note another man like him, 
1 may avoid him : Which of these is he 7 

Bold. If you would know your wronger, lookonme. 

Leon. Art thou the slave, that with thy breath hast 
Mine innocent child? [kill'd 

^"'•«. Yea, even I alone. 

Leirn. No, not so, villain ; thou bely'st thyself; 
Here stand a pair of honourable men, 
A third is fled, tliat had a hand in it : — 
I thank you, princes, for my daugiiter's death ; 
Record it with your high and worthy deeds ; 
'Tvvas bravely done, if you bethink you of it. 

Claud. I know not how to pray your patience. 
Yet I must speak : Choose your revenge yourself; 
Impose me to what penance your invention 
Can lay upon my sin : yet sinn'd I not, 
But in mistaking. 

D. Pedro. By ray soul, nor I ; 

And yet, to satisfy this good old man, 
I would bend under any heavy weight 
That he'll enjoin me to. 

Lean. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live, 
That were impossible ; but 1 pray you both. 
Possess the people in ftlessina here 
How innocent she died : and, if your love 
Can labour aught in sad izivention, 
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb. 
And sing it to her bones ; sing it to-night : — 
To-morrow morning come you to my house ; 
And since you could not be my son-in-law. 
Be yet my nephew : my brother hath a daughter. 
Almost the copy of my child that's dead, 
And she alone is heir to botli of us ; 
Give her the right you should have given her cousin. 
And so dies my revenge. 

ClAiud. O, noble sir. 

Your over kindness doth wring tears from me ! 
I do embrace your oflfer ; and dispose 
For henceforth of poor Claudio. 

Leon. To-morrow then 1 will expect your coming ; 
To-night I take my leave. — This naughty man 
Shall face to face be brought to ftlargaret, 
VVho, I believe, was pack'd in all this wrong, 
Hir'd to it by your brother. 

Bora. No, by my soul, she was not ; 

Nor knew not what she did, when she spoke to me ; 
But always hath fceen just and virtuous. 
In any thing that I do know by her. 

Dogh. Moreover, sir, (which, indeed, is not under 
white and black,) this plaintiff here, the offender, 
did call me ass : I beseech you, let it be remembered 
in his punishment : And also, the watch heard them 
talk of one Deformed : they say, he wears a key in 
his ear, and a lock hanging by it ; and borrows mo- 
ney in God's name ; the which he hath used so long, 
and never paid, that now men grow hard-hearted, 
and will lend nothing for God's sake: Pray you, 
examine him upon that point. 

Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. 
Dogb. Your worship speaks like a most thankful 
and reverend youth ; and I praise God for you. 
Leon. There 's for thy j)ains. 
Dogb. God save the foundation ! [thank thee. 
Leon, Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I 



Dogb. I leave an arrant knave with your worship ; 
which, I beseech your worship, to correct yourself, 
for the example of others. God keep your worship ; 
I wish your worship well ; God restore you to health : 
I humbly give you leave to depart ; and if a merry 
meeting may be wished, God prohibit it.— Come 
neighbour. 

[Exeunt DoGBERny, Verges, and Watch. 
Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. 
Ant. Farewell, my lords; we look foi you to- 
D. Pedro. We will not fail. [morrow. 

Claud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero. 

[Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio. 
Leon Brine you these fellows on ; we'll talk with 
Margaret, 
How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Leonato's Gardeji. 
Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting. 

Bene. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, deserve 
well at my hands, by helping me to the speech of 
Beatrice. 

Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in praise 
of my beauty 1 

Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man 
living shall come over it ; for, in most comely truth, 
thou deservest it. 

Marg. To have no man come over me 1 why, 
shall I always keep below stairs 1 

Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's 
mouth, it catches. 

Marg. And your's as blunt as the fencer's foils, 
which hit, but hurt not. 

Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret, it will not 
hurt a woman ; and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice : 
I give thee the bucklers. 

Marg. Give us the swords, we have bucklers of 
our own. 

Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put 
in the pikes with a vice ; and they are dangerous 
weapons for maids. 

Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who, I 
think, hath legs. [Exit Margaret. 

Bene. And therefore will come. 

The god of love, [Singing. 

That sits above, 
And knows me, and knows me. 

How pitiful I deserve, — 

I mean, in singing; but in loving Leander the 

good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of panders, 
and a whole book full of these quondam carpet- 
mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the even 
road of a blank verse, why, they were never so truly 
turned over and over as my poor self, in love : 
Marry, I cannot shew it in rhyme ; I have tried ; I 
can find out no rhyme to /(i(/v"'but babii, an innocent 
rhyme ; for scorn, horn, a hard rhyme ; "for school, fool, 
a babbling rhyme ; very ominous endings : No, I 
was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot 
woo in festival terms. 



Enter Beatrice. 

Sweet Beatrice, would'st thou come when I called 
thee ] 

Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. 

Bene. O, stay but till then ! 

Beat. Then, is spoken ; fare you well now : — 
and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for, 
which is, with knowing what hath passed between 
you and Claudio. 

K2 



148 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Bene. Only foul words ; and thereupon I will 
kiss thee. 

Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind 
is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome ; there- 
fore I will depart unkissed. 

Beiie. Thou hast flighted the word out of his 
right sense, so forcible is thy wit : But, 1 must tell 
thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge ; and 
either I must shortly hear from him, or I will sub- 
scribe him a cowivrd. And, I pray thee now, tell me, 
for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love 
with me ? 

Bent. For them all together; which maintained 
so politic a state of evil, that they will not admit 
any good part to intermingle with them. I'.ut for 
which of my good parts did you lirst sufrertoloveme. 

Bene. Siifjer love ; a good epitliet ! I do sutler 
love, indeed, for 1 love thee against my will. 

Beat. In spite of your heart, 1 tiiink ; alas ! poor 
heart ! If you spite it for my sake, 1 will spite it for 
yours ; for 1 will never love that which my friend 
hates. 

Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. 

Beat. It appears not in this confession : there 's 
not one wise man among twenty, that will praise 
himself. 

Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that 
lived in the time Ci good neigiibours : if a man do 
not erect in this age liis own tomb ere he dies, he 
shall live no longer in monument, than the bell 
rings, and the widow weeps. 

Beat. And how long is that, think you ? 

Bene, Question ] — ^Vhy, an hour in clamour, and 
a quarter in rheum : Therefore it is most expedient 
tor the wise, (if Don Worm, iiis conscience, find no 
impediment to the contrary,) to be the trumpet of 
his own virtues, as 1 am to myself: So much for 
praising myself, (who, 1 myself will bear witness, is 
praise-worthy,) and now tell me, How doth your 
cousin ? 

Beat. Very ill. 

Bene. And how do you 1 

Beat. Very ill too. 

J'ene. Serve God, love me, and mend : there will 
I leave you too, for here comes one in haste. 

Enter Unsui.A. 

Uis. IMadani, you must come to your uncle, yon- 
der's old coil at home : it is proved, my lady Mero 
hath been falsely accused, the prince and Claudio 
mightily abus'd ; and Uon .lohn is the author of all, 
who is fled and gone ; will you come presently 1 

Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior ? 

Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and 
be buried in thy eyes ; and, moreover, i will go 
with thee to thy uncle's. [Ereiuit. 

SCENE ni.— The Inside of a Church. 

Enter Don Pedro, Clauoio, and Attendants, with 
7nusic and tapers. 
Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato 1 
Atten. It is, my lord. 
Claud, l^Readsfroni a scroU.~\ 

Done to death bii slandermis tongues 

Was the Hero that here lies: 
Death, in guerdon of lier ivrongs. 

Gives her fame which never dies : 
So the Life, that died ivith sliame, 
Lives in death with glorious fame. 
Hang thou there iipon the tomb, [affixing it. 
Praisiticr her wJien 1 am dumb, — 



Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. 

SONG. 

Pardon, Goddess cf the night. 
Those that slew thxf virgin knight ; 
For the which, with songs of woe. 
Bound about her tomb they go. 

Midnight, assist our moan ; 

Help us to sigh and groan, 
Heavili], heavily : 

Graves, yawn, and yield your dead, 

Till death be littered, 
Heavenly, heavenly. 

Claud. Now unto thy bones good night ! 

Yearly will 1 do this rite. [out , 

D.Pedro. Good morrow, masters ; put your torches 

The wolves have prey'd : and look the gentle 

Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about [day, 

Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray : 
Thanks to you all, and leave us ; fare you well. 
Claud. Good morrow, masters ; each his several 
way. [weeds ; 

D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other 
And then to Leonato's we will go. [speeds, 

Claud. And, Hymen, now with luckier issue 
Than this, for whom we render'd up this woe ! 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE IV. — A Room in Leonato's House. 

Enter Leonato, Antonmo, Bfnf.dick, Beatrsce, 
Ursula, Friar, and Hero. 

Friar. Did 1 not tell you she was innocent ? 

Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who accus'd 
Upon the error that you have heard debated : [her, 
But iNlargaret was in some fault for this ; 
Although against her will, as it appears 
In the true course of all the question. 

Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. 

Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd 
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. 

Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all. 
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves ; 
And, when I send for you, come hither mask'd ! 
Tiie prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour 
To visit me : — You know your office, brother ; 
You must be father to your brother's daughter, 
And give her to young Claudio. [Eieunt Ladies. 

Ant. Which I will do with confirm 'd countenance. 

Bene. Friar, I must intreat your pains, I think. 

Friar. To do what, signior 1 

Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them. — 
Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior. 
Your niece regards me with an eye of favour, [true. 

],eon. That eye my daughter lent her ; 'Tis most 

Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her. 

Leon. The sight, whereof, i think, you had from 
me, 
From Claudio and the prince ; But what 's your 

Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical : [will ? 
But, for my will, my will is, your good will 
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd 
In the estate of lionourable marriage ; — 
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. 

Leon. My heart is with your liking. 

Friar. And my help. 

Here comes the prince, and Claudio. 

Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, with Attendants. 

D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. 
Leon. Good morrow, prince ; good morrow 
Claudio ■ 



ACT V._SCENE IV. 



149 



We here attend you ; Are you yet determin'd 
To-day to marry with iny brother's daughter ! 

Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope. 

Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar 
ready. [E.i!t Axtoxh). 

D. Pedro. Good morrow. Benedick : Why, what's 
the matter, 
That you have such a February face. 
So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness 1 

Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage hull : — 
Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold, 
And all Europa shall rejoice at thee ; 
As once Euro])a did at lusty .Tove, 
When he would play the noble beast in love. 

Bene. Bull .love, sir, had an amiable low; 
And some such strange bull leap'd your father's 
And got a calf in that same noble feat, [cow, 

Much like to you, for you have jtist his bleat. 

Re-enter Antonio, icith the Ladies masked. 

Claud. For this 1 owe you : iiere come other rec- 
Which is the lady I must seize upon ! [konings. 

Ant. This same is slie, and I do give you her. 

Claud. ^Vhy, then she's mine: Sweet, let me see 
your face. [hand, 

Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her 
Before this friar, and swear to marry her. 

Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar ; 
I am your husband, if you like of me. 

Hero. And when I lived, 1 was your other wife : 

[ Unmaakinir. 
And when you lov'd, you were my other husband. 

Claud. Another Hero 1 

Hero. Nothing certainer ; 

One Hero died defil'd ; but I do live, 
And, surely as I live, I am a maid. 

D. Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is dead '. 

Leon. She died my lord, but whiles her slander 

F7-iar. All this amazement can 1 qualify ; [lived. 
W^hen, after that the holy rites are ended, 
I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death • 
Mean time, let wonder seem familiar. 
And to fhe chapel let us presently. 

Bene, Soft and fair, friar. — Which is Beatrice? 

Beat. I answer to that name ; \_UnmasKiiig.] 

What is your will 1 

Bene. Do not you love me '! 

Beat. No, no more than reason. 

Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and 
(Maudio, 
Have been deceived ; for they swore you did. 

Beat. Do not you love me 1 

Bene. No, no more than reason. [sula. 

Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ur- 
Are much deceiv'd ; for they did swear, you did. 

Bene. They swore that you were almost sick forme. 



Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for 
nie. [love me ? 

Bene. 'Tis no such matter : — Then you do not 

Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. 

Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gen- 
tleman. 

Claud. And I '11 be sworn upon 't, that he loves her; 
For here's a paper, written in his hand, 
A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, 
Fashion'd to Beatrice. 

Hero. And here "s another. 

VVrit in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket, 
Containing her affection unto Benedick. 

Bene. A miracle ! here's our own hands against 
our hearts ! — Come, I will have thee ; but, by this 
light, 1 take thefe for pity. 

Beat. 1 would not deny you ; — but, by this good 
day, 1 yield upon great persuasion ; and, partly, to 
save your life, for 1 was told you were in a con- 
sumption. 

Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth. [Kissin<r her. 

1). Pedro. How dost thou. Benedick the married 
man ? 

Bene. I'll tell theevyhat, prince; a college of wit- 
crackers cannot Hout me out of my humour: Dost 
thou think, I care for a satire, or an epigram 1 No : 
if a man will be beaten with brains, he shall wear 
nothing handsome about him : In brief, since I do 
propose to marry, I will think nothing to any pur- 
pose that the world can say against it ; and there- 
fore never flout at me for what I have said against 
it ; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclu- 
sion. — For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have 
beaten thee ; but in that thou art like to be my kins- 
man, live unbruised, and love my cousin. 

Claud. I had well hoped, thou wouldst have de- 
nied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out 
of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer ; 
which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin 
do not^look exceeding narrowly to thee. 

Bene. Come, c< me, we are friends : — let's have a 
dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our 
own hearts, and oar wives' heels. 

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards. 

Bene. First, 'o my word; therefore, play music — 
Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife, get thee a 
wife : there is no staff more reverend than one tipped 
with horn. 

Enter a Messensrer. 

!\Iess. My lord, your brother .John is ta'en in 
flight. 
And brought with armed men back to Messina. 

Bene. Think not on him till tomorrow ; I'll de- 
vise thee brave punishments for him.— Strike up 
pipe's. [Dance. Exeunt 



This play may he. justly snid to contain two of the most 
spnf;litlv characters thai Slialispeare ever drew. I he wit, the 
buiiioiirist, the genileiupin, anil the soldier, are eoiiilujied in 
Henedicli. It is to he h.Dienied, indeed, that the lirst and njosi 
siileiulid of these distinctions, is dis'jraceu by uniiccessarv 
profaiieness ; for the tioodness of his heart is hardly snfficieiit 
to atone for the lieenee of his toriifiie. The too sarcastic levity, 
which Hashes out in the conversation of I'eatrice, may he ex- 
cused oa eccouat of the steadiness and friendship so appareut 



in her behaviour, when she urtres her lover to risk his life by 
a cliullenfe'e to r:iaudio. In the conduct of the fable, however 
there is an unperlection siniil.ir to th;\t which Dr. Johnson has' 
pointed nut in 7'/;^ Merry lliies of IVi,id.-ur .—the second con- 
trivance is less intrenious than the first:— or, to speak more 
plf.ialy, the same incident is become stale bv repetition ( 
wish some other method had been found to entrap I'eatrice 
than that very one which before had been successfully pi-ac- 
t;.sed on Benedick.— SxEtvENs. 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



This play was entered at Stationers' Hall, Oct. 8, 1600.— And there were two editions of it published in quarto in that year 
JNlr. INUlone supposes it to have been written in 1594. It is distinguished by one of the strongest characteristics of our 
author s early plays— the recurrence ot passages and scenes in rhyme. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Theseus, Duke of Athens. 

Ect-vs, father to Hermia. 

Lysander, i . • 

Demetrus, S ^" '"'■* '"*'' Hermia. 

Philostrate, master of the revels to Theseus. 

Quince, the carpenter. 

Snug, the joiner. 

Bottom, the weaver. 

Flute, the bellows-mender. 

Snout, the tinker. 

Starveling, the tailor. 

HippoLYiA, Queen of the Amazons, betrothed to 

Theseus. 
Hermia, daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander. 
Helena, in love with Demetrius. 
Oreron, king of the fairies. 
Titania, (jiieen of the fairies. 
Puck, or Robin-goodfellow, a fairy. 
Peas-blossom, Cobweb, Mom, Mustabd-seed, 

fairies. 

Pyramus, Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, Lion, characters 

in the Interlude performed by the Clowns. 

Other Fairies attending their King and Queen. 

Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta. 

SCENE, — Athens, and a Wood not far from it. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.— Athens. A Room in the Palace of 
Theseus. 

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, 

and Attendants. 

The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour 
Draws on apace ; four happy days bring in 
Another moon : but, oh, methinks, how slow 
This old moon wanes ! she lingers my desires. 
Like to a step-dame, or a dowager, 
Long withering out a young man's revenue, [nights; 

hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in 
Four nights will (juickly dream away the time ; 
And then the moon, like to a silver bow 
Now bent in heaven, shall behold the night 
Of our solemnities. 

The. Go, Philostrate, 

Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments ; 
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth ; 
Turn melancholy forth to funerals. 
The pale companion is not for our pomp. — 

[Exit Philostrate. 
Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword. 
And won thy love, doing thee injuries ; 
l^ut I will wed thee in another key, 
With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling. 

Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius. 
Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke I [thee? 
The, Thanks, good Egeus: \\ hat's the news with 



Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint 
Against my child, my daughter Hermia. — 
Stand forth, Demetrius ; — My noble lord. 
This man hath my consent to marry her : — 
Stand forth, Lysander : — and, my gracious duke. 
This hath bewitch 'd the bosom of my child : 
Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes 
And interchang'd love-tokens with my child : 
Thou^hast by moon-light at her window sung, 
With feigning voice, verses of feigning love ; 
And stol'n the impression of Iier fantasy 
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits. 
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats ; messengers 
Of strong prevailiueut in unharden'd youth : 
With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart, 
Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me, 
To stubborn harshness : — And, my gracious duke. 
Be it so she will not here before your grace 
Consent to marry with Demetrius, 
I beg the ancient privilege of Athens ; 
As she is mine, I may dispose of her : 
Which shall be either to this gentleman. 
Or to her death ; according to our law, 
Immediately provided in that case. 

Tlie. Wliat say you, Hermia f be advis'd, fair maid : 
To you your father should be as a god ; 
One that compos'd your beauties ; yea, and one 
To whom you are but as a form in wax, 
By him imprinted, and within his power 
To leave the figure, or disfigure it. 
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. 

Her. So is Lysander. 

The. In himself he is : 

But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice. 
The other must be held the worthier. 

Her. I would, my father look'd but with my eyes. 

The. Rather your eyes mustwith his judgment look. 

Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. 
I know not by what power I am made bold •, 
Nor how it may concern my modesty. 
In such a presence here to plead my thoughts: 
But I beseech your grace that I may know 
The worst that may befal me in this case. 
If I refuse to wed Demetrius. 

The. Either to die the death, or to abjure 
For ever the society of men. 
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires, 
Know of your youth, examine well your blood. 
Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, 
You can endure tlie livery of a nun ; 
For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd. 
To live a barren sister all your life, 
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. 
Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood 
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage : 
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd. 
Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn, 
Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness. 

Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord 
Ere I will yield my virgin patent up 
Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke 



ACT I.— SCENE I. 



J51 



My soul consents not to give sovereignty. 

The. Take time to pause ; and, by the next new 
(The sealing-day betwixt my love and me, . [moon 
For everlasting bond of fellowship,) 
Upon that day either prepare to die, 
For disobedience to your father's will ; 
Or else, towed Demetrius, as he would: 
Or on Diana's altar to protest. 
For aye, austerity and single life. 

Dem. Relent, sweet Ilermia; — And, Lysander, 
Thy crazed title to my certain right. [yield 

Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius ; 
Let me have Hermia's : do you marry him. 

Ege. Scornful Lysander ! true he liath my love ; 
And what is mine my love shall render him ; 
And she is mine ; and all my right of her 
I do estate unto Demetrius. 

Liis- I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he, 
As well possess'd ; my love is more tlian bis ; 
My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd. 
If not with vantage, as Demetrius ; 
And, which is more than all these boasts can be, 
I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia : 
Why should not I then prosecute my right? 
Demetrius, I '11 avouch it to his head, 
Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, 
And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes. 
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry. 
Upon this spotted and inconstant man. 

The. I must confess, that I have heard so much, 
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof ; 
But, being over-full of self-aftairs. 
My mind did lose it. — But, Demetrius, come ; 
And come, Egeus ; you shall go with me, 
I have some private schooling for you both. — 
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself 
To fit your fancies to your father's will ; 
Or else the law of Athens yields you up 
(Which by no means we may extenuate,) 
To death, or to a vow of single life. — 
Come, my Hippolyta; What cheer, iny love'! 
Demetrius, and Egeus, go along : 
I must employ you in some business 
Against our nuptial ; and confer with you 
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. 

Ege. With duty, and desire, we follow you. 

\^Exeunt. TiiES. Hip. Ege. Dem. and train. 

Lys. How now, my love"! Why is your cheek so 
How chance the roses there do fade so fast ? [pale ? 

Her. Belike for want of rain ; which I could well 
Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes. 

Lys. Ah me ! for ought that ever I could read, 
Could ever hear by tale or history. 
The course of true love never did run smooth : 
But, either it was different in blood. 

Her. O cross ! too high to be enthrall'd to low ! 

Lys. Or else misgrafFed, in respect of years : 

Her. O spite ! too old to be engag'd to young ! 

Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends : 

Her. O hell ! to choose love by another's eye ! 

Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice. 
War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it ; 
Making it momentary as a sound, 
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; 
Brief as the lightning in the coUied night, 
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, 
And ere a man hath power to say,— Behold ! 
The jaws of darkness do devoir it up : 
So quick bright things come to confusion. 

Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd, 
It stands as an edict in destiny : 
Then let us teach our trial patience 



Because it is a customary cross ; 

As due to love, as thoughts and dreams, and sighs. 

Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers. 

Lys. A good persuasion ; therefore, hear me 
I have a widow aunt, a dowager [Hermia. 

Of great revenue, and she hath no child ; 
From Athens is her house remote seven leagues ; 
And she respects me as her only son. 
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee ; 
And to that place the sharp Athenian law 
Cannot pursue us : If thou lov'st me then, 
Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night ; 
And in the wood, a league without the town, 
Where I did meet thee once with Helena, 
To do observance to a morn of May, 
There will I stay for thee. 

Her. My good Lysander ! 

I swear to thee by Cupids strongest bow; 
By his best arrow with the golden head ; 
By the simplicity of Venus' doves ; 
By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves ; 
And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen, 
When the false Trojan under sail was seen ; 
By all the vows that ever men have broke, 
In number more than ever women spoke ; — 
In that same place thou hast appointed me. 
Tomorrow truly will I meet with thee. 
Lys. Keep promise, love : Look, here comes Helena. 

Enter Helena. 

Her. God speed fair Helena ! Whither away ? 

Hel. Call you me faif 1 that fair again unsay. 
Demetrius loves you fair : O happy fair ! 
Your eyes are load-stars ; and your tongue's sweet air 
More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear. 
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. 
Sickness is catching ; O, were favour so ! 
Your's would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go ; 
My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye. 
My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. 
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, 
The rest I '11 give to be to you translated. 
O, teach me how you look ; and with what art 
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. 

Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. 

Hel. O, that your frowns would teach my smiles 
such skill ! 

Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. 

Hel. O, that my prayers could such affection move ' 

Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me. 

Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. 

Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. 

//"/. None, but your beauty ; 'Would that fault 
were mine ! 

Her. Take comfort ; he no more shall see my face ; 
Lysander and myself will fly this place. — 
Before the time I did Lysander see, 
Seem'd Athens like a paradise to me : 
O then, what graces in my love do dwell. 
That he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell ! 

Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold : 
To-morrow night when Phoebe doth behold 
Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass. 
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, 
(A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,) 
Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal. 

Her. And in the wood, where often you and I 
Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie, 
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet ; 
Thete my Lysander and myself shall meet; 
And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes, 
To seek neiv friends and stranger companies. 



152 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



Farewell, sweet playfellow ; pray thou for us, 
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius !— - 
Keep word, Lysander : we must starve our sight 
From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. 

[Exit Herm. 

Lys. I will, my Hermia. — Helena adieu : 
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! [E.iit Lys. 

Hel. How happy some, o'er other some can be I 
Through Athens lam thought as fair as she. 
But what of that "! Demetrius thinks not so ; 
He will not know what all but he do know. 
And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, 
So I, admiring of his qualities. 
Things base and vile, holding no quantity, 
Love can transpose to form atid dignity. 
Love looks not with the eyes, but witli the mind ; 
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. 
Nor hath love's mind of a; y judgment taste ; 
Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste : 
And therefore is love said to be a child, 
Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. 
As waggish boys in game themselves forswear. 
So the boy Love is perjur'd every where : 
For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne, 
He hail'd down oaths, that he was only mine ; 
And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, 
So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt. 
I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight : 
Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night. 
Pursue her ; and for this intelligence 
If I have thanks, it is a dear expense : 
But herein mean I to enrich my pain, 
To have his sight thither and back again. [Exit. 



SCENE II — The same. 



A Room in a Cottage. 



Enter Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, Quince, and 
Starveling. 

Qiiin. Is all our company here 1 

Bot- You were best to call them generally, man 
by man, according to the scrip. 

Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, 
which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in 
our interlude before the duke and duchess, on his 
wedding-day at night. 

Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play 
treats on ; then read the names of the actors ; and so 
grow to a point. 

Quin. Marry, our play is — The most lamentable 
comedy, and most cruel death of PyramusandThisby. 

Bot. A very good piece of work, 1 assure you, and 
a merry. — Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your 
actors by the scroll : Masters, spread yourselves. 

Quin. Answer, as I call you. — Nick Bottom, the 
weaver. 

Bot. Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed. 

Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Py- 
ramus. 

Bot. What IS Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant? 

Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallantly 
for love. 

Bot. That will ask some tears in the true per- 
forming of it : If I do it, let the audience look to 
their eyes ; I will move storms, I will condole in 
soine measure. To the rest: — Yet my chief humour 
is for d tyrant : 1 could play Ercles rarely, or a part 
to tear a cat in, to m?.ke all split. 

" The raging rocks, 
" With shivering shocks, 
" Shall break the locks 
" Of prison gates : 



" And Phibbus' car 
" Shall shine from far, 
" And make and mar 
" The foolish fates." 

This was lofty !— Now name the rest of the players. 
— This IS Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein ; a lover is 
more condoling. 

Quill. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. 

Flu. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. You must take Thisby on you. 

Flu. What is Thisby? a wandering knight? 

Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. 

Flu. Nay, faith let me not play a woman ; 1 have 
a beard coming. 

Quin. That 's all one ; you shall play it in a mask, 
and you may speak as small as you will. 

Bot. An 1 may hide my face, let me play Thisby 
too : I 'U speak in a monstrous little voice ; — Thisne, 
Tliisne, — Ah, Fyi-umm, my lover dear; thy Tliisby 
dear! and ladij dear ! 

Quin. No, no ; you must play Pyramus, and. Flute 
you Thisby. 

Bot. Well, proceed. 

Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. 

Star. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quia. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's 
mother. — Tom Snout, the tinker. 

Snout. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. You, Pyramus's father; myself, Thisby's 
father; — Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part: — and, 
1 hope, here is a play fitted. 

Snug. Have you the lion's part written ? pray you, 
if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. 

Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing 
but roaring. 

Bot. Let me play the lion too : I will roar, that 
1 will do any man's heart good to hear me ; I will 
roar, that I will make the duke say. Let him roar 
again, Let him roar again. 

Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you would 
fright the duchess and the ladies, that they would 
shriek ; and that were enough to hang us all. 

All. That would hang us every mother's son. 

Bot- I grant you, friends, if that you should fright 
the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more 
discretion but to hang us : but I will aggravate my 
voice so, that 1 will roar yo>i as gently as any sucking 
dove ; I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale. 

Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus : for 
Pyramus is a sweet- faced man ; a proper man, as 
one shall see in a summer's day ; a most lovely, 
gentleman-like man ; therefore you must needs play 
Pyramus. 

Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were 
I best to play it in ! 

Quin. VVhy, what you will. 

Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw- 
coloured beard, your orange-tav/ny beard, your pur- 
ple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown-colour 
beard, your perfect yellov/. 

Quin. Some of your French crowns have no hair 
at all, and then yru will play bare-facc;d. — But, mas- 
ters ; here are your parts: and 1 am to entreat you, 
request you, and desire you, to con them by to- 
morrow night ; and meet me in the palace wood, a 
mile without the town, by moon-light ; there will 
we rehearse : for if we meet in the city, we shall be 
dog'd with company, and our devices known. In the 
mean time I will draw a bill of properties, such as our 
play wants. I pray you fail me not. 

But. We will meet ; and there we may rehearse 



ACT II.— SCENE II. 



153 



more obscenely, and courageously. Take pains ; be 
perfect ; adieu. 

Qnin. At the duke's oak we meet. 

Bot. Enough ; Hold, or cut bow-strings. [^Eieunt. 



ACT 11. 

SCENE I.— A Wood near Athens. 

Enter a Fairy at one door, and Puck at another. 

Puck. How now, spirit ! wliither wander you 1 
Fai. Over lull, over dale, 

Thorough bush, thorough briar, 

Over park, o/or pale, 

Thorough tlood, thorough fire, 

T do wander every where. 

Swifter than the moones sphere ; 

And I serve the fairy queen. 

To dew her orbs upon tiie green: 

Tiie cowslips tall her pensioners be ; 

In their gold coats spots you see ; 

Those be rubies, fairy favours. 

In those freckles live their savours : 
I must go seek some dew-drops here. 
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
Farewell, thou lob of spirits, I'll be gone: 
Our queen and all our elves come here anon. 

Fuck. The king doth keep his revels here to-night ; 
Take heed, the queen come not within his sight. 
For Oberon is passing fell and wrath. 
Because, that she, as her attendant, hath 
A lovely boy, stol'n from an Indian king ; 
She never had so sweet a changeling: 
And jealous Oberon would have tiie child 
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild : 
But she, perforce, withholds the loved boy, 
Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy : 
And now they never meet in grove, or green, 
By fountain clear, or spangled star-light sheen. 
But they do square ; that all their elves, for fear. 
Creep into acorn cups, and bide them there. 

Fui. Either I mistake your shape and making quite, 
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite, 
Call'd Robin Good-fellow : are you not he, 
I'hat fright the maidens of the villagery ; 
Skim milk ; and sometimes labour in the quern. 
And bootless make the breathless iiousewife churn ; 
And sometime make the drink to bear no barm ; 
]\Iislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm 1 
'J'hose that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, 
You do their work, and they shall have good luck : 
Are not you he ? 

Puck. Thou speak'st aright ; 

I am that merry wanderer of the night. 
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile, 
^^'hen I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, 
Neighing in likeness of a filly foal : 
And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl. 
In very likeness of a roasted crab ; 
And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob. 
And on lier wither'd dew- lap pour the ale. 
The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, 
Sometime for three foot stool mistaketh me ; 
Then slip 1 from her bum, down topples she. 
And tailor cries, and falls into a cough; 
And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe ; 
And waxen in their mirth, and neeze and swear 
A merrier hour was never wasted there. — 
But room. Faery, here comes Oberon. [gone' 

Fai. And here my mistress : — 'Would that he were 



SCENE II. — Enter Oberon, at one door, with hi$ 
train, and Titania, at another, with hers. 

Ohe. Ill met by moon-light, proud Titania. 

Tita. What, jealous Oberon ? Fairy, skip hence , 
I have forsworn his bed and company. 

Ohe. Tarry, rash wanton ; Am not I thy lord ? 

Tita. Then I must be thy lady : J5ut 1 know 
When thou hast stol'n away from fairy land, 
And in the shape of Corin sat all day. 
Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love 
To amorous Philliila. Why art thoii here. 
Come from the farthest steep of India ? 
But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, 
Your buskin'd mistress, and your warrior love, 
To Theseus must be wedded ; and you come 
To give their bed joy and prosperity. 

Olie. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania, 
Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, 
Knowing I know thy love to Tiieseus? 
Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night 
From Perigenia, whom he ravished '! 
And make him with fair ^Egle break his faith, 
With Ariadne, and Antiopa! 

Tita. These are the foigeries of jealousy : 
And never, since the middle summer's spring, 
]\Iet we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, 
By paved fountain, or by rushy brook, 
Or on the beached margent of the sea. 
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, 
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport. 
Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain. 
As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea 
Contagious fogs ; which falling in the land. 
Have every pelting river made so proud. 
That they have overborne their continents : ' 
The o.x hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain. 
The ploughman lost his sweat ; and the green corn 
Hath rotted, ere his youth attain'd a beard: 
The fold stands empty in the drowned field. 
And crows are fatted with the murrain flock ; 
The nine men's morris is fiU'd up with mud; 
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green. 
For lack of tread, are undistinguishable ; 
The human mortals want their winter here ; 
No night is now with hymn or carol blest: — 
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods. 
Pale in her anger, washes all the air, 
I'hat rheumatic diseases do abound : 
And thorough this distemperature, we S23 
The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts 
Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose ; 
And on old Hyems' chin, and icy crown. 
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds 
Is, as in mockery, set : The spring, the summer. 
The childing autumn, angry winter, change 
Their wonted liveries ; and the mazed world. 
By their increase, now knows not which is which ; 
And this same progeny of evils comes 
From our debate, from our dissension ; 
We are their parents and original. 

Ohe. Do you amend it then : it lies in you : 
Why should Titania cross her Oberon? 
I do but beg a little changeling boy. 
To be my iienchman. 

Tita. Set your heart at rest. 

The fairy land buys not the child of me. 
His mother was a vot'ress of my order : 
And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, 
Full often hath she gossip'd by my side ; 
And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, 
Markini; the embarked traders on the Hood ; 



154 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive, 
And grow big bellied, with the wanton wind : 
Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait. 
Following (lier womb, then rich with my young 
Would imitate ; and sail upon the land, [squire,) 
To fetch me trifles, and return again, 
As from a voyage, rich with merchandise, 
But she, being mortal, of that boy did die ; 
And, for her sake, I do rear up her boy : 
And, for her sake, I will not part with him. 

Obe. How long within this wood intend you stay'! 

Tita, Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day. 
If you will patiently dance in our round, 
And see our moon-light revels, go with us ; 
If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. 

Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. 

Tita. Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away: 
We shall chide down- right, if I longer stay. 

[Eieujit TiTANiA and her train, 

Obe, Well, go thy way: thou shalt not from this 
Till I torment thee for this injury. — [grove, 

My gentle Puck come hither : Thou remember'st 
Since once I sat upon a promontory, 
And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, 
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, 
That the rude sea grew civil at her song ; 
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres 
To hear the sea-maid's music. 

Puck. 1 remember. 

Ube. That very time I saw, (but thou could'st not,) 
Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took 
At a fair vestal, throned by the west ; 
And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : 
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
Quencii'd in the chaste beams of the vvat'ry moon ; 
And the imperial vot'ress passed on, 
In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell : 
It fell upon a little western flower, — 
Before, milk-white ; now purple with love's wound, — 
And maidens call it love-in-idleness. 
Fetch me that flower ; the herb I shew'd thee once ; 
The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid, 
Will make or man or woman madly dote 
Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
Fetch me this herb : and be thou here again, 
Ere the leviathan can swim a league. 

Puck. I '11 put a girdle round about the earth 
In forty minutes. lEiit Puck. 

Obe. Having once this juice, 

I '11 watch Titania when she is asleep, 
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes : 
The next thing then she waking looks upon, 
(Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, 
On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,) 
She shall pursue it with the soul of love, 
And ere I take this charm off from her sight, 
(As I can take it, with another herb,) 
I '11 make her render up her page to me. 
But who comes here 1 I am invisible ; 
And 1 will over-hear their conference. 

Enter Demetrius, Helena following him. 

Bern. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. 
Where is Lysander, and fair Hennia 1 
The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me. 
Thou told'st me, they were stol'n into this wood. 
And here am I, and wood within this wood. 
Because 1 cani<ot meet with Hermia. 
Hence, get thee gone and follow me uo more. 



Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant, 
But yet you draw not iron, for my heart 
Is true as steel : Leave you your power to draw. 
And I shall have no power to follow you. 

Dem. Do 1 entice you ? Do I speak you fair? 
Or, rather, do I not in plainest trutli 
Tell you — I do not, nor I cannot love you 1 

Hel. And even for that do I love you the more. 
I am your spaniel ; and, Demetrius, 
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you : 
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me. 
Neglect me, lose me ; only give me leave, 
Unworthy as I am, to follow you. 
What worser place can I beg in your love, 
(And yet a place of high respect with me,) 
Than to be used as you use your dog ? 

Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit : 
For I am sick, when I do look on thee. 

Hel. And I am sick, when I look not on you. 

-Dem. You do impeach your modesty too much. 
To leave the city, and commit yourself 
Into the hands of one that loves you not ; 
To trust the opportunity of night, 
And the ill counsel of a desert place, 
With the rich worth of your virginity. 

Hel. Your virtue is my privilege for that. 
It is not night, when I do see your face, 
Theretore 1 ihmk I am not in the night : 
Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company ; 
For you, in my respect, are all the world : 
Then how can it be said, I am alone, 
When all the world is here to look on me ? 

Dem. I'll run from thee, and hide me in the brakes, 
And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. 

Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. 
Run when you will, the story shall be chang'd ; 
Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase ; 
The dove pursues the griflin ; the mild hind 
Makes speed to catch the tiger : Bootless speed ! 
When cowardice pursues, and valour flies. 

Dem. I will not stay thy questions ; let me go : 
Or, if thou follow me, do not believe 
But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. 

Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, 
You do me mischief. Fye, Demetrius ! 
Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex : 
We cannot fight for love, as men may do : 
We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo. 
I '11 follow thee, and make a heaven of hell, 
To die upon the hand 1 love so well. 

\^Exeunt Dem. and Hel 

Obe. Fare thee well, nymph ; ere he do leave this 
grove, 
Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. — 

Re-enter Puck. 

Hast thou the flower there 1 Welcome wanderer. 

Puck. Ay, there it is. 

Obe. I pray thee, give it me. 

I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, 
Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows ; 
Quite over canopied with lush woodbine. 
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine ; 
There sleeps Titania, some time of the night 
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight ; 
And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin. 
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in ; 
And with the juice of this I '11 streak her eyes. 
And make her full of hateful fantasies. 
Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove : 
A sweet Athenian lady is in love 
Witli a disdainful j'outh : anoint his eyes : 



ACT II.— SCENE 111. 



155 



But do it, when the next thing he espies 
May be the lady : Thou shall know the man 
By the Athenian garments he hath on. 
Effect it with some care ; that he may prove 
More fond on her, than she upon her love : 
And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. 
Puck. Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so. 

[_Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Another part of the Wood. 

Enter Titania, with her train. 

Tita. Come, now a roundel, and a fairy song ; 
Then, for the third part of a minute, hence ; 
Some, to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds ; 
Some, war with rear-mice for their leathern wings, 
'J'o make my small elves coats ; and some, keep back 
'J'he clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and wonders 
At our quaint spirits : Sing me now asleep ; 
Then to your offices, and let me rest, 

SONG. 
I. 

1 Fai. Yoit spotted snakes, with double tongue, 

Thorny hedge-hogs, be 7iot seen ; 
Newts, and blind-woryns, do no urong ; 

Come 7Wt near our fairy queen: 
CHorti'S, 
Philomel, with melodi/. 
Sing in our sweet lullaby ; 
Lulla, luLla, lullaby; luUa, lulla, lullaby ; 
Never harm, nor spell nor charm. 
Come oiir lovely lady nigh ; 
So, good night, with lullaby. 

II. 

2 Fai. Weaving spiders, come not here: 

Hence, you long-legged spinners, hence: 
Beetles black, approach not near; 

Worm, nor snail, do no offence. 
cnonus. 
Philomel, with melody, &c. 

1 Fai, Hence, away ; now all is well : 
One, aloof, stand sentinel. 

^Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleeps. 

Enter Obehon. 
Obe. What thou seest, when thou dost wake, 

[S(^(U'eie4' thejiouer on Titania's eye-lids. 
Do it for thy true-love take ; 
Love and languish for his sake ; 
Be it ounce, or cat, or bear, 
Pard, or boar with bristled hair, 
In thy eye that shall appear 
When thou wak'st, it is thy dear ; 
Wake, when some vile thing is near. [Eiit. 

Enter Lysander and Heiimia. 

Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the 

And to speak troth, 1 have forgot our way ; [wood ; 
We '11 rest us, Herraia, if you think it good. 

And tarry for the comfort of the day. 

Her. Be it so, Lysander, find you out a bed, 
For I upon this bank will rest my head. 

Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both ; 
One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth. 

Her. Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear. 
Lie further off yet, do not lie so near. 

Lys. O take the sense, sweet, of my innocence; 
Love takes the meaning, in love's conference. 
I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit ; 
So that but one heart we can make of it : 
Two bosoms interchained with an oath ; 
So then, two bosoms, and a single troth. 



Then, by your side no bed-room me deny ; 

For, lying so, Hermia, 1 do not lie. 
Her. Lysander riddles very prettily: — 

Now much beshrew my manners and my pride, 

If Hermia meant to say, Lysander lied. 

But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy 

Lie further off; in human modesty 

Such separation, as, may well be said, 

Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid : 

So far be distant ; and good night, sweet friend : 

Thy love ne'er alter, till thy sweet life end ! 
Lys. Amen, Amen, to that fair prayer, say I ; 

And then end life, when I end loyalty ! 

Here is my bed : Sleep give thee all his rest ! 

Her. With half that wish the wisher's eyes be 
press'd ! [,They sletp. 

Enter Puck. 
Puck, Through the forest have I gone, 
But Athenian found I none, 
On whose eyes I might approve 
This flower's force in stirring love. 
Night and silence ! who is herel 
Weeds of Athens he doth wear : 
This is he, my master said, 
Despised the Athenian maid ; 
And here the maiden, sleeping sound. 
On the dank and dirty ground. 
Pretty soul ! she durst not lie 
Near this lack-love, kill-courtesy. 
Churl, upon thy eyes 1 throw 
All the power this charm doth owe : 
When thou wak'st, let love forbid 
Sleep his seat on thy eye-lid. 
So awake, when I am gone ; 
For 1 must now to Oberon. [Eiit. 

Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. 

Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. 

Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me 
thus. 

Hel. O, wilt thou darkling leave me 1 do not so. 

Dem. Stay, on thy peril ; I alone will go. 

[Exit Demetrius 

Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase ' 
The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. 
Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies ; 
For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. 
How came her eyes so bright 1 Not with salt tears : 
If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers. 
No, no, I am as ugly as a bear ; 
For beasts that meet me, run away for fear: 
Therefore, no marvel, though Demetrius 
Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. 
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine 
Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne? — 
But who is here? — Lysander ! on the ground ! 
Dead ? or asleep 1 1 see no blood, no wound ! — 
Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. 

Lys. And run through fire I will, for thy sweet 
sake. [Uu/ci»ff. 

Transparent Helena ! Nature here shews art, 
That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. 
Where is Demetrius] O, how fit a word 
Is that vile name, to perish on my sword 1 

Hel. Do not say so, Lysander ; say not so : 
What though he love your Hennia? Lord, what 

thougli t 
Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content. 

Lys- Content with Hermia ! No: I do repent 
The tedious minutes 1 with her have spent. 
Not Hermia, but Helena 1 love: 
Who will not change a raven for a dove? 



156 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'h DREAM. 



The will of man is by his reason sway'd : 
And reason says you are the worthier maid. 
Things growing are not ripe until their season ; 
So 1, being young, till low ripe not to reason ; 
And touching now tlie point of human skill, 
Reason becomes the marshal to my will, 
And leads me to your eyes ; where I o'erlook 
Love's stories, written in love's richest book. 

HeL Wiierefore was I to this keen mockery born? 
When, at your hands, did 1 deserve this scorn! 
Is 't not enough, is 't not enough, young man, 
That I did never, no, nor never can. 
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, 
But you must flout my insufficiency 1 
Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do. 
In such disdainful manner me to woo. 
But fare you well : perforce 1 must confess, 
I thought you lord of more true gentleness. 
O, tliat a lady, of one man refus'd. 
Should, of another, therefore be abus'd ! [FaH. 

Lys. She sees not Hermia : — Herniia, sleep tliou 
And never mav'st thou come Lysanuer near ! [there ; 
For, as a surfeit of tlie sweetest things 
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings ; 
Or, as the heresies that men do leave, 
Are hated most of those they did deceive ; 
So thou, my surfeit, and my heresy. 
Of all be hated ; but the most of me ! 
And all my powers, address your love and might. 
To honour Helen, and to be her knight ! [Eiit. 

Her. [startiiio:.^ Help me, Lysander, help me ! do 
thy best. 
To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast ! 
All me, for pity ! — what a dream was here? 
Lysander, look, how 1 do quake with fear ! 
JMethought a serpent eat my heart away. 
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey : — 
Lysander! what, remov'd? Lysander! lord! 
What, out of hearing ? goiel no sound, no word? 
Alack, where are you? speak, an if you hear ; 
Speak, of all loves ; I swoon almost with fear. 
j\'o?~then I well perceive you are not nigh : 
Either death, or you, I '11 find immediately. [Eiit. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I.— The same. The Queen of 
Fairies lying asleep. 

Enter Quince, Snuo, Bottom, Flute, Snoot, 
and Staiiveling. 

But. Are we all met ? 

Quill. Pat, pat ; and here's a marvellous conve- 
nient place for our rehearsal : This green plot shall 
be our stage, this hawtiiorn brake our tyring-house ; 
and we will do it in action, as we will do it before 
the duke. 

But. Peter Quince, — 

Quin. What say'st thou, bully I'ottom ? 

Bot. There are things in this comedy of Pyramus 
and Thisbii, that will never please. First, Pyramus 
must draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies 
cannot abide. How answer you that ? 

Snout. By'rlakin, a parlous fear. 

Star. I believe, we must leave the killing out, 
when all is done. 

Bot. Not a whit ; I have a device to make all well. 
Write me a prologue : and let the prologue seem to 
say, we will do no harm with our swords : and that 
Pyramus is not killed indeed • and, for the more 



better assurance tell them, that I Pyramus am not 
Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver : This will put 
them out of fear. 

Quia. Well, we will have such a prologue ; and 
it shall be written in eight and six. 

Bot. No, make it two more ; let it be written in 
eia^ht and eisfht. 

Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion? 

Star. 1 fear it, I promise you. 

Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with your- 
selves : to bring in, God shield us ! a lion among 
ladies, is a most dreadful thing : for there is not a 
more fearful wild-fowl than your lion, living ; and 
we ought to look to it. 

Snout. Therefore, another prologue must tell, he 
is not a lion. 

Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half his 
face must be seen through the lion's neck ; and he 
himself must speak through, saying tlius, or to the 
same defect, — Ladies, or fair ladies, I would wish 
you, or, I would request you, or, I would intieat 
you, not to fear, not to tremble: my life for yours. 
If you think I come hither as a lion, it were pity of 
my life : No, I am no such tiling ; I am a man as 
other men are : and there, indeed, let him name his 
name ; and tell them plainly, he is Snug the joiner. 

Quin. Well, it shall be so. But there is two 
hard things ; that is, to bring the moon-light into a 
chamber : for you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet 
by moon-light. 

iSVmo- Doth the moon shine that night we play 
our play ? 

Bot. A calendar, a calendar ! look in the alma- 
nack ; find out moon-shine, find out moon sAine. 

Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night. 

Bot. Why, then you may leave a casement of the 
great chamber-window, where we play, open ; and 
the moon may shine in at the casement. 

Quin. Ay ; or else one must come in with a bush 
of tliorns and a lantern, and say, he comes to dis- 
figure, or to present, the person of moon-shine. 
Then, there is another thing : we must have a wal' 
in the great chamber ; for Pyramus and Thisby, .says 
the story, did talk through the chink of a wall. 

Snug. You never can bring in a wall. — What 
say you. Bottom ? 

Bot. Some man or other must present wall : and 
let him have some plaster, or some lome, or some 
rough-cast about him, to signify wall ; or let him 
hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall 
Pyramus and Thisby whisper. 

Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit 
down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts, 
Pyramus, you begin : when you have spoken your 
speech, enter into that brake ; and so every one ac- 
cording to his cue. 

Enter Puck behind. 

Puck. What hempen home-spuns have we swag- 
So near the cradle of the fairy queen ? [gering here, 
What, a play toward I I'll be an auditor ; 
An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause. 

Quin. Speak, Pyramus : — I'hisby, stand forth. 

Pi/'". Tiiisbij, tlie t'oners oj odious savours sweet, — 

Quill. Odours, odours. 

Pyr. odours savours sweet: 

So doth thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear. — 
But, hark, a voice! stnij thou hut here a while. 

And by and by I tvill to thee apjiear. [Eiit. 

Puck. A stranger Pyramus than e'er play'd here I 

[Aside. — Exit. 

Tilts. Must I speak now ? 



ACT III.— SCENE II. 



157 



Quin. Ay, marr}', must you : for you must under- 
stand, he goes but to see a noise that he lieard, and is 
to come again. 

■J'his. Most radiiinl Piiramus, most lilv xrhite of hue, 

Of coUnir like the red rose on triunijihiint brier, 
Most brisks Juvenal, and eke most locely Jew, 

As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire, 
I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb. 

Quin. Ninus' tomb, man : Why you must not 
speak that yet ; that you answer to Pyramus : you 
speak all your part at once, cues and all. — Pyramus 
enter ; your cue is past ; it is, never tire. 

lie-enter FircK and Bottom with an ass^s head. 
This. 0, — As true as truest horse, that yet ivould 
never tire. 
Pyr. If I were fair, Thimbu, I were onlif thine : — 
Quin. O monstrous ! O s'range ! we are haunted. 
Pray, masters ! fly, masters I help. [Kie'iut Clowns. 
Puck. I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round, 
Through bog, through bush, through brake, 
through brier ; 
Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound, 

A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire ; 
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn. 
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, tire, at every turn. 

[Eiit. 
Bot. Why do they run away? this is a knavery of 
them, to make nie afeard. 

Re-enter Snout. 

Snout. O Bottom, thou art changed ! what do I 
see on thee. 

Bot. Wiiat do you see 1 you see an ass's head of 
your own ; Do you ? 

Re-enter Quince. 

Quiti. Bless thee, Bottom ! bless thee ! thou art 
translated. [K.tit. 

Bot. I see their knavery : this is to make an ass 
of me ; to fright me, if they could. But I will not 
stir from this place, do what they can : I will walk 
up and down here, and 1 will sing, that they shall 
hear I am not afraid. l_Siugs, 

The oustl-cnrk, so black of line. 

With oran^e-tawneu bill. 
The throstle with his note so true 

The wren with little quill ; 

Tita. What angel wakes me from my f.owery bed ? 

[ Waking, 
Bot. The finch, the spnrrmr, and the lark. 

The jiliiin-soii^ o^ickoo u;raii, 
M'hose notejuli manii a iniin doth 7nark, 
And dares lurt answer, ucni ; — 

for, indeed, who would .set his wit to so foolish a 
bird"! who would give a bird the lie, though he cry 
cuckoo, never so l 

Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again : 
Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note, 
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape ; 
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me, 
On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee. 

Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little 
reason for that : And yet, to say the truth, reason 
and love keep little comjiany together now a-days : 
The more the pity, that some honest neighbours 
will not make them friends. Nay, 1 can gleek ujion 
occasion. 

Titd. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. 

Bot. Not so, neither : but if 1 had wit enougli to 
get out of this wood, 1 have enough to serve mine 
own turn. 



Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go ; 
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no. 
I am a spirit, of no common rate ; 
The summer still doth tend upon my state. 
And 1 do love thee : therefore, go with me ; 
I "11 give thee fairies to attend on thee ; 
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep. 
And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep 
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so. 
That thou shait like an airy spirit go. — 
Peas-blossom I Cobweb ! Moth 1 and Mustard-seed! 

Enter Jour Fairies. 
1 Fai. Ready. 
S Fai. And I. 

3 Fai. And I. 

4 Fai. Where shall we go '! 
Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman ; 

Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes ; 
Feed him with apricocks and dewberries ; 
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries; 
The honey bags steal from the humble bees. 
And, for night-tapers, crop their vva.xen thighs. 
And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes. 
To have my love to bed, ami to arise ; 
And pluck the wings from painted butterflie/s. 
To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes : 
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. 

1 Fai. Hail, mortal ! 

2 Fai. Hail ! 

3 /■',;/. Hail ! 

4 /•'(/(. Hail ! 

Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily. — ] be- 
seech your worship's name. 

Cob. Cobweb. 

Bot. 1 shall desire you of more acquaintance, 
good master Cobweb : If 1 cut my finger, I shall 
make bold with you. — Your name, honest gentleman ! 

Peas. Peas-blossom. 

Bot. I pray you, commend me to mistress Squasli, 
your mother, and to master Peas-cod, your father. 
Good master Peas-blossom, I shall desire you of 
more acquaintance too.— Your name, 1 beseech you, 
sir? 

Mus. Mustard-seed. 

Bot. Good master Mustard-seed, I know your 
patience well : that same cowardly, giant-like ox- 
beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your 
house : I promise you, your kindred hath made my 
eyes water ere now. I desire you more acquaintance, 
good master Rlustardseed. [bower. 

Tita. Come, wait upon him ; lead him to my 

The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye ; 
And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, 

Lamenting some enforced chastity, 

Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. 

\^Eieu7it, 

SCENE U.— Another part of the Wood. 

Enter Oberon. 

Obe. I wonder, if Titania be awak'd : 
Then, what it was that ne.xt came in her eye, 
Which she must dote on in extremity. 

Enter Puck. 

Here comes my messenger. — How now, mad spirit ? 
What night-rule now about this haunted grove ] 
Puck. iMy mistress with a monster is in love. 
Near to her close ^nd consecrated bower, 
^Vhile she was in her dull and sleeping hour, 
A crew of patches, rude mechanicals, 
I'hat work for bread upon Athenian stalls. 



158 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



Were met together to rehearse a play, 

Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day. 

The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort, 

Who Pyramus presented, in their sport 

Forsook his scene, and enter'd in a brake : 

When I did him at this advantage take, 

An ass's nowl I fixed on his iiead ; 

Anon, his Thisbe must be answered. 

And forth my mimic comes : When they him spy. 

As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye. 

Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort. 

Rising and cawing at the gun's report 

Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky ; 

So at his sight, away his fellows fly : 

And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls ; 

He murder cries, and help from Athenscalls. [strong, 

Their sense, thus weak, lost with their fears, thus 

Made senseless things begin to do them wrong : 

For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch ; 

Some, sleeves ; some, hats : fromyielders all things 

I led them on in this distracted fenr, [catch. 

And left sweet Pyramus translated there : 

When in that moment (so it came to pass,) 

Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass. 

Ohe. This falls out better than I could devise. 
But hast thou yet latched the Athenian's eyes 
With the love-juice, as 1 did bid thee do ! 

Puck. 1 took him sleeping, — that is finish'd too, — 
And the Athenian woman by his side ; 
That when he wak'd, of force slie must be ey'd. 

Enter Demetrius and Hermia. 

Obe. Stand close ; this is the same Athenian. 

Puck. This is the woman, but not this the man. 

Dem. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so ! 
Lay breatli so bitter on your bitter foe. 

Her. Nowl butcliide, but 1 should use thee worse ; 
For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. 
If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep. 
Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, 
And kill me too. 

The sun wa? not so true unto the day. 
As he to me : Would he have stol'n away 
From sleeping Ilermia 1 I'll believe as soon, 
This whole earth may be bor'd ; and that tlie moon 
May through the centre creep, and so displease 
Her brother's noon-tide with the Antipodes. 
It cannot be, but tliou hast murder'd him ; 
So should a murderer look ; so dead, so grim. 

Dem. So should the murder'd look •, and so should I, 
Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty : 
Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear. 
As yonder Venus in her glimmering spliere. 

Her. What's this to my Lysander^ where is he 1 
Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me ? 

Dem. I had rather give his carcase to my hounds. 

Her. Out, dog ! out, cur ! thou driv'st me past 
the bounds 
Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then 1 
Henceforth be never number'd among; men ! 
Oh ! once tell true, tell true, even for my sake ; 
Durst thou have look'd upon him, being awake, 
And hast thou kill'd him sleeping 1 O brave touch ! 
Could not a worm, an adder, do so much ? 
An adder did it ; for with doubler tongue 
Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. 

Dem. You spend your passion onamispris'dmood : 
I am not guilty of Lysander's blood ; 
Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. 

Her. I pray thee, tell me then'that he is well. 

Dem,. An if I could, what should I get therefore? 

Her. A privilege, never to see me more. — 



And from thy hated presence part I so : 
See me no more, whether he be dead or no. [Etu. 
Dem. I'hereis no following her in this fierce vein* 
Here, therefore, for a while 1 will remain. 
So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow 
For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe; 
Which now, in some .slight measure it will pay. 
If for his tender here 1 make some stay. [Lies il(ywn. 
Ohe. What hast thou done? thou hast mistaken 
quite. 
And laid the love-juice on some true love's sight. 
Of thy misprision must perforce ensue 
Some true-love turn'd, and not a false turn'd true. 

Puck. Then fate o'er-rules ; that, one man holding 
A million fail, confounding oath on oath. [troth, 

Ohe. About the wood go swifter than the wind. 
And Helena of Athens look thou find : 
All fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer 
With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood dear . 
By some illusion see thou bring her here ; 
I'll charm his eyes, against she doth appear. 

Puck. I go, 1 go ; look, how I go ; 
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. [£jit. 
Obe. Flower of this purple die, 
Hit with Cupid's archery, 
Sink in apple of his eye ! 
When his love he doth espy 
Let her shine as gloriously 
As the Venus of the sky. — 
When thou wak'st, if she be by, 
Beg of her for remedy. 

Be-enter Puck. 
Puck. Captain of our fairy band, 

Helena is here at hand. 

And the youth, mistook by me, 

Pleading for a lover's fee ; 

Siiall we their fond pageant see ? 

Lord, what fools these mortals be ! 
Obe. Stand aside : the noise they make, 

Will cause Demetrius to awake. 
Puck. Then will two at once, woo one ; 

That must needs be sport alone ; 

And those things do best please me, 

That befal preposterously. 

Enter Lysander and Helena. 

Liis. Why should you think, that I shou d woo in 

Scorn and derision never come in tears, [scorn ? 
Look, when I vow, I weep ; and vows so born. 

In their nativity all truth appears. 
How can these things in me seem scorn to you. 
Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true? 

Hel. You do advance your cunning more and more. 

When truth kills truth, O devilish holy fray! 
These vows are Hermia's ; Will you give her o'er? 

W'eigh oath with oath, and you will nolliing weigh 
Your vows, to her and me, put in two scales. 
Will even weigh ; and both as light as tales. 

J- vs. I had no judgment, when to her I swore. 

Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er. 

Li/s. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. 

Dem. [awaking.] O Helen, goddess, nymph, per- 
fect, divine ! 
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne ? 
Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show 
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow ! 
That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, 
Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow. 
When thou holdst up thy hand : O let me kiss 
This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss ! 

Hel. O spite ! O hell ! I see you all are bent 
To set against me, for your raeniment. 



ACT III.— SCENE II. 



159 



[f you weie civil, and knew courtesy. 

You would not do ine thus much injury. 

Can you not hate me, as ] know you do, 

But you must join, in souls, to mock me too? 

If you were men, as men you are in show, 

You would not use a gentle lady so ; 

To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, 

When, I am sure, you hate me with your hearts. 

You both are rivals, and love Hermia; 

And now both rivals, to mock Helena : 

A trim exploit, a manly enlerprize. 

To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes, 

^Vith youi derision 1 none, of noble sort, 

Would so offend a virgin ; and extort 

A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. 

Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius ; be not so ; 
For you love Hermia: this, you know, 1 know : 
And here, with all good will, with all my heart, 
In Hermia's love I yield you up my part ; 
And yours of Helena to me bequeath, 
\\ hom I do love, and will do till my death. 

llel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. 

Uem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia ; T will none : 
If e'er 1 lov'd her, all that love is rane. 
My heart with her but, as guest-wise, sojourn'd ; 
And now to Helen is it home return'd. 
There to remain. 

l.ifs. Helen, it is not so. 

Dein. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know. 
Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. — 
Look, where thy love comes ; yonder is thy dear. 

Enter Hermia. 

Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function 
The eai more quick of apprehension makes; [takes, 
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense. 
It pays the hearing double recompense : — 
Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found ; 
Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. 
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so ? [to go 1 
Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth press 
Her. W hat love could press Lysander from my side 1 
Liis. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide. 
Fair Helena ; who more engilds the night 
Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light. 
\\ hyseek'stthoume] could not this make thee know, 
The hate I bear thee made me leave thee so ? 

Jler. You speak not as you think ; it cannot be. 
HeL Lo, she is one of this confederacy ! 
Now I perceive they have conjoin'd, all three. 
To fashion this false sport in spite of me. 
Injurious Hermia I most ungrateful maid ! 
Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd 
To bait me with this foul derision 1 
Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd. 
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, 
When we have chid the hasty-footed time 
For parting us, — 0, and is all forgot I 
All school-days' friendshi]), childhood innocence 1 
We, Hermia, like two artificial gods. 
Have with our neelds created both one flower, 
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion. 
Both warbling of one song, both in one key ; 
As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds. 
Had been incorporate. So we grew together, 
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted ; 
But yet a union in partition. 
Two lovely berries moulded on one stem : 
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart ; 
Two of the first, like coats in heraldry. 
Due but to one, and crowned with one crest. 
And will you rend our ancient love asunder, 



To join with men in scorning your poor friend! 
It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly : 
Our sex, as well as 1, may chide you for it ; 
Though 1 alone do feel the injury. 

Her. I am amazed at your passionate words : 
I scorn you not ; it seems that you scorn me. 

HeL Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn, 
To follow me, and praise my eyes and face 1 
And made your other love, Demetrius, 
(Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,) 
To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare. 
Precious, celestial 1 Wherefore speaks he this 
To her he hates ? and wherefore dotli Lysander 
Deny your love, so rich within his soul. 
And tender me, forsooth, affection ; 
But by your setting on, by your consent? 
What though I be not so in grace as you. 
So hung upon with love, so fortunate ; 
But miserable most, to love unlov'd ? 
This you should pity, rather than despise. 

Her, I understand not what you mean by this. 

HeL Ay, do, pevsever, counterfeit sad looks, 
.Make mows upon me when I turn my back ; 
Wink at each other; hold the sweet jest up : 
This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. 
If you have any pity, grace, or manners, 
You would not make me such an argument. 
But, fare ye well : 'tis partly mine own fault ; 
Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy. 

].iis. Stay, gentle Helena ; hear my excuse ; 
My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena ! 

Hel. O excellent ! 

Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so. 

Dem. If she cannot entreat, I can compel. 

Lfis Thou canst compel no more than she entreat ; 
Thy threats have no more strength, than her weak 
Helen, I love thee ; by my life I do ; [prayers. — 
I swear by that which I will lose for thee. 
To prove him false, that says 1 love thee not. 

Dem. I say, I love thee more than he can do. 

Li/s. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too. 

Dem. Quick, come, — 

Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this? 

Lijs. Away, you Ethiop ! 

Dem. No, no, sir : — he will 

Seem to break loose ; take on, as you would follow ; 
But yet come not : You are a tame man, go ! 

Lijs. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr: vile thing let 
Or I will shake thee from me, like a serpent, [loose ; 

Her. Why are you grown so rude ! what change 
Sweet love ! [is this, 

Liis. Thy love ? out, tawny Tartar, out ! 

Out, loathed medicine ! hated potion, hence ! 

Her. Do you not jest ? 

HeL Yes, 'sooth ; and so do you. 

Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. 

Dem. I would, I had your bond ; for, I perceive, 
A weak bond holds you ; I '11 not trust your word. 

Lys. What, should 1 hurt her, strike her, kill her 
AltJ,|ough 1 hate her, I'll not harm her so. [dead? 

Her. What, can you do me greater harm, than hate? 
Hate me ! wherefore ? O me ! what news, my love? 
Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander? 
I am as fair now, as I was erewhile. 
Since night, you lovdme ; yet, since night you left me • 
^Vhy, then you left me, — O, the gods forbid 1 — 
In earnest, shall I say? 

Lys. Ay, by my life ; 

And never did desire to see thee more. 
Therefore, be out of hope, of question, doubt, 
Be certain, nothing truer; 'tis no jest. 
That I do hate thee, and love Helena. 



lO'O 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



Her. O me ! you juggler ! you canker-blossom ! 
You thief of love ! what, have you come by night, 
And stol'n my love's heart from him 1 

Hel. Fine, i'faith ! 

Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, 
No touch of bashfulness 1 ^Vhat, will you tear 
Impatient answers from my gentle tongue ? 
Fie, fie ! you counterfeit, you puppet you! 

Her. Puppet ! why so 1 Ay, that way goes the game. 
Now I perceive that she hath made compare 
Between our statures, she hath urg'd her height ; 
And with her personage, her tall personage, 
Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him. — 
And are you grown so high in his esteem, 
Because I am so dwarfi>h, and so low? 
How low am I, thou painted maypole"! speak ; 
How low am 111 am not yet so low, 
Bat that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. 

Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen. 
Let her not hurt me : 1 was never curst ; 
I have no gift at all in shrewishness ; 
I am a right maid for my cowardice ; 
Let her not strike me : You, perhaps, may think. 
Because she's something lower than myself. 
That I can match her. 

Her. Lower ! hark, again. 

Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. 
I evermore did love you, Hermia, 
Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you ; 
Save that, in love unto Demetiius, 
I told him of your stealth unto this wood : 
He follow'd you ; for love, I follow'd him. 
But he hath chid me hence ; and threaten'd me 
To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too : 
And now, so you will let me quiet go. 
To Athens will I bear my folly back, 
And follow you no further-. Let me go : 
You see how simple and how fond 1 am. 

Her. Why, getyou gone: Who is't that hinders you 1 

Hel. A foolish heart that I leave here behind. 

Her. What, with Lysauder 1 

Hel. W^ith Demetrius. 

Lys. Be not afraid: she shall not harm thee, Helena. 

Dem. No, sir ; she shall not, though you take her part. 

Hel. O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd : 
She was a vixen, when she went to school ; 
And, though she be but little, she is fierce. 

Her. Little again ? nothing but low and little 1 — 
Why will you suflfer her to flout me thus 1 
Let me come to her. 

Lys. Get you gone, you dwarf ; 

Yor. minimus, of hind'ring knot-grass made ; 
You bead, you acorn. 

Dem, You are too officious. 

In her behalf that scorns your services. 
Let her alone ; speak not of Helena ; 
Take not her part : for if thou dost intend 
Never so little show of love to her. 
Thou shalt aby it. 

Lvs. Now she holds me not ; 

Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right. 
Or thine or mine, is most in Helena. 

Dem. Follow ? nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jole. 

l^Exeunt Lys. and Dem. 

Her. You, mistress, all this coil is long of you : 
Nay, go not back. 

Pi el. I will not trust you, I ; 

Nor longer stay in your curst company. 
Your hands, than mine, are quicker for a fray ; 
My legs are longer though, to run away. [Exit. 

Her. I am aiiiaz'd, and know not what to say. 

[Exit, pursuing Helena. 



Ohe. This is thy negligence : still thou mistak'st, 
Or else commit'st thy knaveries wilfully 

Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. 
Did not you tell me, I should know the man 
By the Athenian garments he had on 1 
And so far blameless proves my enterprise, 
That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes : 
And so far am 1 glad it so did sort. 
As this their jangling I esteem a sport. 

Ohe. Thou see'st, these lovers seek a place to fight ; 
Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night ; 
Tlie starry welkin cover thou anon 
With drooping fog, as black as Acheron ; 
And lead these testy rivals so astray. 
As one come not within another's way. 
l^ike to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue, 
Then stir Demetrius up w ith bitter wrong ; 
And sometime rail thou like Demetrius ; 
And from each other look thou lead them thus. 
Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep 
With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep: 
Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye ; 
Whose liquor hath this \'Trtuous property. 
To take from thence all error, with his might, 
And make his eye balls roll with wonted sight 
When they next wake, all this derision 
Shall seem a dream, and fruitless vision ; 
And back to Athens shall the lovers wend, 
With league, whose date till death shall never end 
Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, 
I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy ; 
And then I will her charmed eye release 
From monster's view, and all things shall be ])eace. 

Fuck. My fairy lord, this must be done with haste ; 
For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast. 
And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger; 
At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there, 
Troop home to church-yards: damned spirits all. 
That in cross-ways and floods have burial. 
Already to their wormy beds are gone ; 
For fear lest day should look their shames upon. 
They wilfully themselves exile from light, 
And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night. 

Ohe. But we are spirits of another sort: 
I with the morning's love have oft made sport ; 
And, like a forester, the groves may tread. 
Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red. 
Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, 
Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams. 
But, notwithstanding, haste ; make no delay : 
Wemayefl^ecttiiisbusinessyetereday. [E.rii Oueron. 

Puck. Up and down, up and down ; 
I will lead them up and down : 
I am fear'd in field and town ; 
Goblin, lead tiiem up and down. 
Here comes one. 

Enter Lysandeh. 

Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius 1 speak 
thou now. 

Puck. Here villain; drawn and ready. Where art 

Lys. I will be with thee straight. [thou ? 

Puck. Follow me then 

To plainer ground. [Exit Lys. asjollowiug the voice. 

Enter DE.METnius. 

Dem. Lysander ! speak again. 

Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled? [head? 
Speak. In some bush ? Where dost thou hide tiiy 

Puck. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars. 
Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars, 
••iud wilt notcome? Come, recreant; come, tliou child, 










MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



Bottom. Scratch my head, Peas-blossom. — Where 'a monsieur Cohweh 

Act /('., S<:enc 1. 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



I'll whip thee with a rod : He is defil'd, 

That draws a sword on thee. 

l^em. Yea ; art thou there 1 

Puck. Follow my voice ; we'll try no manhood 

S»ere. [Exeunt. 

Re-enter Lvsander. 

Lua- He goes before me, and still dares me on ; 
When 1 come where he culls, then he is gone. 
The villain is mucii lighter heel'd than I : 
I foUow'd fast, but faster he did fly ; 
That fallen am 1 in dark uneven way, 
And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day ! 

[Lies dawn. 
For if but once thou shew me thy grey li"iit, 
I'll iiiftl Demetrius, and revenge this spite. [Sleeps. 

Re-enter Puck and Demetkius. 

Puck. Ho, ho! ho, ho! Coward, why com'st 
thou not"! 

Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st ; for well I wot, 
Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place ; 
And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face. 
Where art thou ! 

Puck. Come hither ; I am here. 

Dem Nay, then thou mock'st me. Thou shalt buy 
If ever I thy face by day-light see: [this dear, 

Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me 
To measure out my length on this cold bed. — 
By day's approach look to be visited. 

[Lies down and sleeps. 

Enter Helena. 
Hel. O weary night, O long and tedious night, 
Abate thy hours : shine, comforts, from the east ; 
That I may back to Athens, by day-light, 

From these that my poor company detest : — 
And, sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, 
Steal me a while from mine own company. [Sleeps. 

Puck. Yet but three ? Come one more ; 
Two of both kinds makes up four. 
Here she comes, curst and sad : — 
Cupid is a knavish lad. 
Thus to make poor females mad. 

Enter Her.mia. 
Her. Never so weary, never so in woe. 

Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers ; 
I can no further crawl, no further go ; 

My legs can keep no pace with my desires. 
Here will I rest me, till the break of day. 
Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray ! 

[Lies down. 
Puck. On the ground 
Sleep sound : 
I'll apply 
To your eye. 
Gentle lover, remedy. 

[Squeezing the juice on Lvsander's eye. 
When thou wak'st, 
Thou tak'st 
True delight 
In the sight 
Of thy former lady's eye : 
And the country pioverb known, 
That every man should take his own. 
In your waking shall be shewn : 
Jack shall have Jill ; 
Nought shall go ill ; 
The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be 
[Exit Puck. — Dem. Hel. &c. sleep. 



161 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— 77,g same. 

Enter Titania and Bottom, Fairies attending ; 
Obehon behind unseen. 

Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed. 
While 1 thy amiable cheeks do coy. 
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head. 
And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. 

Bot. Where's Peas-blossom \ 

Peas. Ready. 

Bet. Scratch my head. Peas-blossom.— Where s 

Cob. Ready. [monsieur Cobweb ? 

But. Monsieur Cobweb; good monsieui, get your 
weapons in your hand, and kill me a red- hipped 
humble bee on the top of a thistle ; and, good mon- 
sieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself 
too much in the action, monsieur ; and, good mon- 
sieur, have a care the honey-bag break not ; I would 
be loth to have you overflown with a honey-bag, sicr- 
nior. — Where's monsieur Mustard-seed ? 

Must. Ready. 

Bot. Give me your neif, monsieur Mustard-seed. 
Pray you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur. 

Mnst. What's your will 1 

Bot. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help cava- 
lero Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber's, 
monsieur ; for, methinks, I am marvellous hairy 
about the face : and I am such a tender ass, if my 
hair do but tickle me, I must scratch. 

Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet 
love 1 

Bot._ I have a reasonable good ear in music : let 
us have the tongs and the bones. 

Tita. Or, say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat. 

Bot. Truly, a peck of provender ; I could munch 
your good dry oats. Methinks, I have a great desire 
to a bottle of hay : good hay, sweet hay, hath no 
fellow. 

Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek 
The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. 

Bot. I had rather have a handful, or two, of dried 
peas. But, 1 pray you, let none of your people stir 
me ; I have an exposition of sleep come upon me. 

Tita. Sleep thou, and 1 will wind tliee in my arms. 
Fairies, be gone, and be all ways awav. 
So doth the woodbine, the sweet honeysuckle. 
Gently entwist, — the female ivy so 
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. 
O, how I love thee 1 how I dote on thee I [They sleep. 

Oberon advances. Enter Puck. 

Obe. Welcome, good Robin. See'st thou this sweet 
Her dotaije now I do begin to pity. [sight ? 

For meeting her of late, behind the^wood. 
Seeking sweet savours for this hateful fool, 
I did upbraid her, and fall out with her : 
For she his hairy temples then had rounded 
With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ; 
And that same dew, which sometime on the buds 
Was wont to swell, like round and orient pearls, 
Stood now within the pretty flourets' eyes. 
Like tears, that did their own disgrace bewail. 
When 1 had, at my pleasure, taunted her. 
And she, in mild terms, begg'd my patience, 
I then did ask of her her changeling child ; 
Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent 
To bear him to my bower in fairy land. 
And now I have the boy, I will undo 
This hateful imperfection of her eyes. 
And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp 



162 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



From off the head of this Athenian swain ; 
That he awaking v/hen the other do, 
]\Iay all to Athens back again repair ; 
And think no more of this night's accidents, 
But as the fierce vexation of a dream. 
But first I will release the fairy queen. 
Be, as thou wast wont to be ; 

[Touching her eyes with an herb. 
See, as thou wast wont to see : 
Diana's bud o'er Cupid's flower 
Hath such force and blessed power. 
Now, my Titania ; wake you, my sweet queen. 
Tita. My Oberon ! what visions have I seen ! 
Methought I was enamour'd of an ass. 
Ohe. There lies your love. 

Tita. How came these things to pass 2 

0, how mine eyes do loath his visage now ! 

('be. Silence, a while. — B obin, take off this head. — 
Titania, music call ; and strike more dead 
Than common sleep, of all these five the sense. 
Tita. Music, ho ! music ; such as charmeth sleep. 
Puck. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own 

fool's eyes peep. 
Ofce. Sound, music [Still ?«!(sic.] Come, my queen, 
take hands v.dth me. 
And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. 
Now thou and I are new in amity ; 
And will, to-morrow midnight, solemnly, 
Dance in duke Theseus' house triumphantly, 
And bless it to all fair posterity ; 
There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be 
Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity. 
Puck. Fairy king, attend, and mark ; 

I do hear the morning lark. 
Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad, 
Trip we after the night's shade : 
We the globe can compass soon, 
Swifter than the wand'ring moon. 
Tita. Come, my lord ; and in our flight, 
Tell me how it came this night, 
That I sleeping here was found, 
With these mortals, on the ground. [Eieiint. 

[Horns sound within. 

Filter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and train. 

The. Go, one of you, find out the forester ;— 
For now our observation is perform'd ; 
And since we have the vaward of the day. 
My love shall hear the music of my hounds. — 
Uncouple in the western valley ; go : — 
Despatch, I say, and find the forester. — 
We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top, 
And mark the musical confusion 
Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 

Hip. 1 was with Hercules, and Cadmus, once. 
When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear 
With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear 
Such gallant chiding ; for, besides the groves, 
The skies, the fountains, every region near 
Seem'd all one mutual cry : I never heard 
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 

The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind. 
So ficw'd, so sanded ; and their heads are hung 
With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; 
Crook-knee'd and dew-lap'd like Thessalian bulls ; 
Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells. 
Each under each. A cry more tuneable 
Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn. 
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : [these 1 

Judo-e, when you hear. — But, soft ; what nymphs are 

Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep ; 
And" this, Lysander ; this Demetrius is ; 



This Helena, old Nedar's Helena : 
I wonder of their being here together 

The. No doubt, they rose up early, to observe 
The rite of May ; and, hearing our intent, 
Came here in grace of our solemnity. — 
But, speak, Egeus ; is not this the day 
That Hermia should give answer of her choice ? 
Ege. It is, my lord. [horns 

The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their 

Horns, and shout within. Demetrius, Lysandeu, 
Hermia, and Helena, uake and start up. 

The. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is 
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now 1 [past ; 

Lys. Pardon, my lord. 

\ He and the rest kneel to Tiaeseu?. 

The. I pray you all, stand up. 

I know, you are two rival enemies ; 
How comes this gentle concord in the world. 
That hatred is so far from jealousy. 
To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity ? 

Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly. 
Half 'sleep, half waking : But as yet, 1 swear, 
I cannot truly say how I came here : 
But, as I think, (for truly would I speak, — 
And now I do bethink me, so it is ;) 
I came with Hermia hither : our intent 
Was, to be gone from Athens, where we might be 
Without the peril of the Athenian law. 

Ege. Enough, enough, my lord; you have enough 
I beg the law, the law upon his head. — 
They would have stol'n away, they would, Demetrius, 
Thereby to have defeated you and me : 
You, of your wife ; and me, of my consent ; 
Of my consent that she should be your wife. 

Bern. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth, 
Of this their purpose hither, to this wood ; 
And I in fury hither foUow'd them ; 
Fair Helena in fancy following me. 
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, 
(But, by some power it is,) my love to Hermia, 
Melted as doth the snow, seems to me now 
As the remembrance of an idle gawd. 
Which in my childhood I did dote upon : 
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, 
The object, and the pleasure of mine eye. 
Is only Helena. To her, my lord. 
Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia : 
But, like in sickness, did I loath this food : 
But, as in health, come to my natural taste. 
Now do I wish it, love it, long for it. 
And will for evermore be true to it. 

The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met : 
Of this discourse we more will hear anon. — 
Egeus, I will overbear your will ; 
For in the temple, by and by with us. 
These couples shall eternally be knit. 
And, for the morning now is something worn, 
Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside. — 
Away, with us, to Athens : Three and three. 
We'll hold a feast in great solemnity. — 
Come, Hippolyta. 

[Eieunt Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and train 

l)em. These things seem small and undistinguish- 
Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. [able, 

Her. Methinks, I see these things with parted eye, 
When every thing seems double. 

Hel. So, methinks : 

And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, 
Mine own, and not mine own. 

Dem. It seems to me. 

That yet we sleep, we dream. — Do not you think. 



ACT V.—SCENE I. 



The duke was here, and xi us follow him 1 

Her. Yea ; and my father. 

^^«'- And Hippolyta. 

Lii$. And he did bid us follow to the temple. 

De7n. ^\'hy then, we are awake: let's follow him • 
And, by the way, let us recount our dreams. [Ereuntl 

As they go otit, Bottom awakes. 
Pot. When my cue comes, call me, and I will 
answer^:— my next is, Mrst fair Fyramus Hey, 



163 



ho!— Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender I 
Snout, the tinker ! Starveling ! God's my life ! stolen 
hence, and left me asleep ! I have had a most rare 
vision. I have had a dream,— past the wit of man 
to say what dream it was :— Man is but an ass, if he 
go about to expound this dream. Methought I was 
—there is no man can tell what. Methought I was 
and methought I had.— But man is but a patched 
fool, if he will offer to say what methought I had. 
1 he eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath 
not seen ; man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue 
to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream 
was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this 
dream : it shall be called Bottom's Dream, because 
It hath no bottom ; and 1 will sing it in the latter end 
of a play, before the duke : Peradventure, to make it 
the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death. [Exit. 

SCENE 11.— Athens. A Room in Quince's House. 

Enter Quince, Flute, S.vout, and Stahveling. 

Quin. Have you sent to Bottom's house ? is he come 
home yet ] 

Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, he is 
transported. 

Flu. If he come not then, the play is marred ; It 
goes not forward, doth it ] 

Quin- It is not possible : you have not a man in 
all Athens, able to discharge Pyramus, but he. 

Flu. No ; he hath simply the best wit of any 
handycraft man in Athens. 

Qnht. Yea, and the best person too : and he is a 
very paramour, for a sweet voice. 

Flu. You must say, paragon : a paramour is, God 
bless us, a thing of nought. 

Enter Snug. 
Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the tem- 
ple, and there is two or three lords and ladies more 
married : if our sport had gone forward, we had all 
been made men. 

Flu. O sweet Bully Bottom ! Thus hath he lost 
sixpence a-day during his life ; he could not have 
scaped sixpence a-day : an the duke had not o-iven 
him sixpence a-day for playing Pyramus, I '1l be 
hanged ; he would have deserved it ; sixpence a-day, 
m Pyramus, or nothing. 

Enter Bottom. 

Boi. Where are these lads ? where are these hearts ? 
Quill. Bottom !— O most courageous day ! O most 
happy hour I 

Hot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders : but ask 
me not what ; for if 1 tell you, I am no true Athenian. 
I will tell you every thing, right as it fell out. 

Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. 

Bot Not a word of me. All that I will tell you, 
is, that tlie duke hath dined : Get your apparel to- 
gether ; good strings to your beards, new ribbons to 
your pumps ; meet presently at the palace ; every 
man look o'er his part ; for, tlie short and the long is, 
cur play is pieferred. In any case, let Thisby have 
clean linen ; and let not him that plays the lion, pare 



his nails, for they shall hangout for the lion's claws. 
And, most dear actors, eat no onions, nor garlick, for 
we are to utter sweet breath ; and I do not doubt, but 
to hear them say. It is a sweet comedy. No more 
words ; away ; go, away. [£..e«„t. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I.— The same. An Apartment m the 
Palace of Theseus. 

Enter Theseus, Hippolvta, Philostrate, 
Lords, and Attendants. 

Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers 
speak of. 

T/(e. More strange than true. I never may believe 
1 hese antique fables, nor these fairy toys. 
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains. 
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend 
More than cool reason ever comprehends. 
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
Are of imagination all compact : 
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold , 
That is, the madman : the lover, all as frantic. 
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt : 
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to 
And, as imagination bodies forth [heaven 

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 
A local habitation, and a name. 
Such tricks hath strong imagination ; 
That, if it would but apprehend some joy. 
It comprehends some bringer of that joy ; ' 
Or, in the night, imagining some fear. 
How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear ? 

Hip. But all the story of the night told over, 
And all their minds transfigured so together. 
More witnesseth than fancy's images. 
And grows to something of great constancy ; 
But, howsoever, strange, and admirable. 

Enter Lysanuer, Demetrius, Hermia, anrf Helena 

The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.— 
Joy, gentle friends ! joy, and fresh days of love 
Accompany your hearts ! ' 

^y^- More than to us 

Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed .' 
The. Come now ; what masks, what dances shall 
we have. 
To wear away this long age of three hours. 
Between our after-supper and bed-time ? 
Where is our usual manager of mirth ? 
What revels are in hand ? Is there no play, 
To ease the anguish of a torturintc hour' 
Call Philostrae. 

Philost. Here, mighty Theseus. [ing f 

The. Say, what abridgment have you for this even- 
What mask, what music ? How shall we beguile 
llie lazy time, if not with some delight? 
I I'hitost. There is a brief, how many sports are ripe J 
Make choice of which your highness will see first. 

[^Giving a jniper. 
The. [reads] The battle tvith the Centaurs, tohe^uug, 
By an Athenian eunuch to the harp. 
We'll none of that : that have I told my love, 
In glory of my kinsman Hercules. 
Tlie riot of ill e tipsy Bacchanals, 
Tearing the Thracian singer in their ra<re. 
That is an old device, and it was play'd 
L i 



JG4 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. 

The thrice three Muse.s nwunihig fur the death 

Of learning, lute dereus'd in beggary. 
That is some satire, keen, and critical, 
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. 

A tedious brief scene (f young Pyramns, 

And his lore Thishe ; very tragical inirth. 
Meiry and tragical ? Tedious and brief 7 
That is, hot ice, and wonderous strange snow. 
How shall we find the concord of this discord 1 

Philost. A play there is my lord, some ten words 
long ; 
Which is as brief as I have known a play ; 
But by ten words, my lord, it is too long. 
Which makes it tedious : for in all the play 
There is not one word apt, one player fitted. 
And tragical, my noble lord, it is ; 
For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. 
Which when I saw rehears'd, I must confess. 
Made mine eyes water ; but more merry tears 
The passion of loud laughter never shed. 

The. What are they that do play it? [here, 

Philost. Hard-handed men, that work in Athens 
W'hich never labour'd in their minds till now ; 
And now have toil'd their unbreath'd memories 
With this same play, against your nuptial. 

The, And we will hear it. 

Philost. No, my noble lord, 

It is not for you : 1 have heard it over, 
And it is nothing, nothing in the world ; 
Unless you can find sport in their intents. 
Extremely stretch'd and conn'd with cruel pain. 
To do you service. 

The. I will hear that play ; 

For never any thing can be amiss. 
When simpleness and duty tender it. 
Go, bring them in : and take your places, ladies. 

[Eieunt PhILOSI RATE. 

Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharged, 
And duty in his service perishing. 

The. Why, gentlesweet, you shall see no such thing. 

Hip. He says, they can do nothing in this kind. 

The. Thekinderwe, to give them thanks for nothing. 
Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake : 
And what poor duty cannot do. 
Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. 
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed 
To greet me with premeditated welcomes ; 
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale. 
Make periods in the midst of sentences, 
Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears. 
And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off. 
Not paying me a welcome: Trust me, sweet, 
Out of this silence, yet, 1 pick'd a welcome ; 
And in the modesty of fearful duty 
I read as much, as from the rattling tongue 
Of sawcy, and audacious eloquence- 
Love, therefore, and tongue tied simplicity. 
In least, speak most, to ray capacity. 

Enter Piiii.osi kate. 

Philost. So please your grace, the prologue is ad- 

drest. 
The. Let him approach. IFlourislioftrnmpets, 

Enter Quince as Prologue. 

Prol. If ive offend, it is uith ovr good irill. 

That you should think, ue come not to offend. 
But with good ivitl. To shew our simple skill. 

That is thetrve begimmig of our end. 
Consider then, we come but in despite. 

We do not come as minding to content you, 



Our true intent is. All for your delight, 

We are not here. That you should here repent you. 
The actors are at hand ; and, hy their shotv. 
You shall know all, that you are like to know. 

The. This Jellow doth not stand upon points. 

Lys. He hath rid his prologue, like a rough colt ; 
he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord : It 
is not enough to speak, but to speak true. 

//(■;). Indeed he hath played on this prologue, like 
a child on a recorder ; a sound, but not in govern- 
ment. 

The. His speech was like a tangled chain ; nothing 
impaired, but all disordered. Who is next ? 

Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, and 
Lion, as in dumb shotv. 

Prol. " Gentles, perchance, you wonder at this 
show ; 

"But wonder on, till truth make all things plain. 
"This man is Pyramus, if you would know ; 

"This beauteous lady Thisby is, certain. 
"This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present 

" Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers 

sunder ; [tenl 

"And through wall's chink, poor souls, they arecon- 

" To wliisper, at the which let no man wonder. 
" This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, 

" Presenteth moon-shine: for, if you will know, 
" By moon-shine did these lovers think no scorn 

" To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. 
" This grisly beast, which by name lion hight, 
" The trusty Thisby, coming first by night, 
" Did scare away, or rather did affright: 
" And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall ; 

" Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain: 
" Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall, 

" And finds his trusty Tliisby's mantle slain : 
" Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade, 

"He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast; 
" And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry shade, 

" His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, 
"Let lion, moon-shine, wall, and lovers twain, 
" At large discourse, while here they do remain." 

[Exeunt Prol. Tiiisi;E, Lion, and Moonshine. 

The. 1 wonder, if the lion be to speak. 

Dem. No wonder, my lord : one lior may, when 
many asses do. 

Wall. '• In this same interlude, it doth befall, 
" That I, one Snout by name, present a wall : 
" And such a wall as I would have you think, 
" That had in it a cranny 'd hole, or chink, 
" Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, 
" Did whisper often very secretly. 
" This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth shew 
" That 1 am that same wall : the truth is so : 
" And this the cranny is, right and sinister, 
" Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper." 

The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak 

better ] 
Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard 
discourse, my lord. 

The. Pyramus draws near the wall : silence I 

Enter Pyramvs. 
Pyr. " O grimlook'd night! O night with hue so 

black ! 
" O night, which ever art 'vhen day is not ! 
"O night, O night, alack, alack, alack, 

" 1 fear my Tliisby's promise is forgot! — 
" And thou, Owall, O sweet, O lovely wall, [mine , 
"That stand'st between her father's ground and 
" Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall. 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



165 



"Shew me thy cliink, to blink through with mine 
eyne. [Wall holds up hisjiiigers. 

"Thanks, courteous wall ; Jove shield thee well for 
"But what see I ? No Thisby do I see. [this! 

" O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss ; 
" Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me !" 

The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should 
curse again. 

Pyr, No, in truth, sir, he should not. Deceiving 
me, is Thisby's cue : she is to enter now, and I am 
to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will 
fall pat as I told you : — Yonder she comns. 

Enter TnisBE. 
This. " O wall, full often hast thou heard my 
" For parting my fair Pyramus and me : [moans, 
"My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones ; 
" Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee." 
Pifr. " I see a voice : now will I to the chink, 
" To spy aa I can hear my Thisby's face. 
"Thisby!" 

Thijs. " JMy love ! thou art my love, I think." 
P_Vr. " Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's 
And like Limander am I trusty still." [grace ; 
This. " And I like Helen, till the fates me kill." ' 
Pp: " Not Shafalus to Procrus, was so true." 
T/iM. " As Shafalus to Procrus, 1 to you." [wall." 
Pift: " O, kiss me through the hole of this vile 
This. " I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all." 
Pyr. " Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me 

straightvi^ay ?" 
This. " Tide life, tide death, 1 come without delay." 
Wall. " Thus have I, wall, my partdi:,charged .so ; 
" And, being done, thus wall away doth go." 

[Exeunt Wall, Pvramus, aiui Thisbe. 
ihe. Now IS the mural down between the two 
oeighbours. 

Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wil- 
ful to hear without warning. 

Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. 
T e. The best in this kind are but shadows ; and 
the worse are no worse, if imagination amend them. 
Ihp. It must be your imagination then, and not 
thejfs. 

ne. If we imagine no worse of them, than they 
of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. 
Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion. 
Enter Lion and Moonshine. 

Lk>n. " You, ladies, you, whose gentle heartsdo fear 

" l he smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor 
" .. ^-J ""^•.P«'<-"*'ant-e, both quake and tremble here,' 

'' W hen l;on rough in wildest rage doth roar. 
1^' Then know, that 1. one Snug, the joiner, am 
" A hon fell, nor else no lion's dam : 
" For if I should as lion come in strife 
"Irito this place, 'twere pity on my life." 

ly- \!i^''y »«^"^''^ ^ea^t, and of a good conscience. 

Dem. Ihe verjr best at a beast, my lord, that e'er 
i saw. 

Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. 

Ihe. True ; and a goose for his discretion. 

Dem. Not so, my lord ; for his valour cannot carry 
his discretion ; and the fox carries the goose. 

The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his 
valour ; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well • 
leave ,t to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon. 

Moon. " I his lantern doth the horned moon pre- 
eent:" 

Dem He should have worn the horns on his head. 

The. He IS no crescent, and his horns are invisible 
witlun the circumference. 

M,um. " This lantern doth the horned moon present ; 



" Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be." 

The. Tnis is the greatest error of all the rest: the 
man should be put into the lantern : How is it else 
the man i' the moon. 

Dem. He dares not come there for the candle : for, 
you see, it is already in snuff. 

Hip. I am aweary of this moon : Would, he would 
change ! 

The. It appears, by his small light of discretion, 
that he is in the wane : but yet, in courtesy, in all 
reason, we must stay the time. 

Lys. Proceed, moon. 

Moon. " All that I have to say, is, to tell you, that 
the lantern is the moon ; 1, the man in the moon ; this 
thorn-bush, my thorn-bush ; and this dog, my dog." 

Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern; for 
they are in the moon. But, silence; here comes 
Thisbe. 

Enter Thisbe. [love V 

This. " This is old Ninny's tomb: Where is mv 

Lion. " Oh—." 

[The Lion roars. — Thisbe ruris off. 

Dem. Well roared, lion. 

The. Weil run, Thisbe. 

Hip. Well shone, moon.— Truly, the moon shines 
with a good grace. 

The. Well mouz'd, lion. 

[The Lion fears Thisbe's mantle, and eut. 

Dem. And so comes Pyramus. 

Lys. And then the moon vanishes. 

Enter Pvramus. 
Pyr. "■ Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny 

beams ; 
" I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright: 
" For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams, 
"I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight. 
" But stay ; — O spite ! 
" But mark; — Poor knight, 
" What dreadful dole is here ? 
" Eyes, do you see ? 
" How can it be I 
"O dainty duck! Odear! 
" Thy mantle good, 
" V^ hat, stain d with blood! 
" Approach, ye furies fell ! 
" O fates ! come, come ; 
"Cut thread and thrum ; 
" Quail, crush, conclude, and quell !" 
The. This passion, and tiie death of a dear friend 
would go near to make a man look sad. 

Hip. Beshrew my heart, but 1 pity the man. 
Pyr."0, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame ! 
'• Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear: 
" Which is— no, no— which was the fairest dame, 
" That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with 
- " Come, tears, confound ; [cheer. 

" Out, sword, and wound 
" The pap of Pyramus : 
"Ay, that left pap, 
" Where heart doth hop: — 
" Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. 
" Now am 1 dead, 
" Now am I fled ; 
" My soul is in the sky : 

" Tongue, loose tiiy light I 
" Moon, take thy fl'ight I 
" Now die, die, die, die, die." 

[Dies. — El it Moonshine. 
Dem. No die, but an ace, for him ; for he is but one. 
Luf. Less thaji an ace, man ; for he is dead ; he 
is nothing. 



160 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet re- 
rover, and prove an ass. 

Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, before Thisbe 
comes back and finds her lover ? 

The. She will find him by star-li-ht.— Here she 
comes ; and her passion ends the play. 
Enter Thisbe. 
Hip. Methinks. she should not use a long one, 
foi such a Pyramus : I hope, she will be brief. 

Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyra- 
mus, which Thisbe, is the better. 

Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet 
eyes. 

Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet. 

This. " Asleep, my love ? 

" What, dead, my dove? 
"O Pyramus, arise, 

" Speak, speak. Quite dumb? 
"Dead, dead? A tomb 
" Must cover thy sweet eyes. 
"These lily lips, 
" This cherry nose, 
" These yellow cowslip cheeks, 
"Are gone, are gone: 
" Lovers, make moan ! 
" His eyes weie green as leeks. 
" O sisters three, 
" Come, come to me, 
" With hands as pale as milk ; 
' ' Lay them in gore, 
" Since you have shore 
" With shears his thread of silk. 
" Tongue, not a word : — 
" Come, trusty sword ; 
" Come, blade, my breast imbue : 
" And farewell, friends ; — 
" Thus Thisbe ends : 
" Adieu, adieu, adieu." [Dies. 

The. Moonshine and lion are left to bury the dead. 
Dem. Ay, and wall too. 

Bot. No, I assure you ; the wall is down that 
parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the 
epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance, between two 
of our company. 

The. No epilogue, 1 pray you ; for your play needs 
no excuse. Never excuse ; for when the players are 
all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if 
he that writ it iiad played Pyramus, and hanged him- 
self in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tra- 
gedy : and soit is, truly ; and very notably discharged. 
But come, your Bergomask : let your epilogue alone. 

[Here a dance i^' Clowns. 
The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve : — 
Lovers, to bed ; 'tis almost fairy time. 
1 fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn. 
As much as we tliis night have overwatch'd. 
This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd 
The heavy gait of niglu. — Sweet friends, to bed. — 
A fortnight hold we this solemnity. 
In niglitly revels, and new jollity. [Exeunt. 

SCENE U.— Enter Puck. 

Vuck. Now the hungry lion roars. 
And the wolf behowls the moon; 

Whilst tne heavy ploughman snores. 
All with weary task fordone. 

Now the wasted brands do glow. 

Whilst the scritch-owl, scritcbing loud. 



Puts the wretch that lies in woe, 

In remembrance of a shroud. 
Now it is the time of night. 

That the graves, all gaping wide. 
Every one lets forth his sprite, 

In the church-way paths to glide ; 
And we fairies, that do run 

By the triple Hecat's team. 
From the presence of the sun. 

Following darkness like a dream. 
Now are frolic ; not a mouse 
Shall disturb this hallow'd house: 
I am sent, with broom, before. 
To sweep the dust behind the door. 

Enter Oberon and Titania, with their train. 

Obe, Through this house give glimmering light, 
By tiie dead and drowsy fire : 

Every elf, and fairy sprite. 

Hop as light as bird from brier ; 

And this ditty, after me. 

Sing, and dance it trippingly. 
Tita. First, rehearse this song by rote : 

To each word a warbling note. 

Hand in hand, with fairy grace. 

Will we sing, and bless this place. 

SONG, AND DANCE. 

Obe. Now, until the break of day. 
Through this house each fairy stray. 
To the best bride-bed will we. 
Which by us shall blessed be; 
And the issue there create, 
Ever shall he fortunate. 
So shall all the couples three 
Ever true in loving be ; 
And the blots of nature's hand 
Shall not in their issue stand ; 
Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar. 
Nor mark prodigious, such as are 
Despised in nativity, 
Shall upon their children be. — 
With this field dew consecrate. 
Every fairy take his gait ; 
And each several chamber bless. 
Through this palace with sweet peace : 
Ever shall in safety rest. 
And the owner of it blest. 
Trip away ; 
IMake no stay : 
Meet me all by break of day. 

[Eieunt Oberon, Titania, and train. 
Puck. If'we shadows have offended, 

Think but this, (and all is mended,^ 

That yon have but slumber'd here. 

While these visions did appear. 

And this iveak and idle theme, 

No more yielding bat a dream. 

Gentles, do not reprehend ; 

Ij you p{irdon, we will mend. 

And, as I'm an honest Puck, 

If we have unearned luck 

Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue. 

We will make amends, ere long : 

Else the Puck a liar call. 

So, good night wnto you all. 

Give me your hands, if we befriends, 

And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit. 



Wild and faiitaslical as this play is, all the pans in their various modes are well written, and give the kind of pleasure whirh 
the author designed, l-'airies in his time were mueli in fashiou ; cummon tradilioo had made them familiar, and SiJeaser'.spaoia 
had made them great — Johnso.n. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



PUBLISHED in 1508. Mr. Malone supposes this play to have been written in 1594. The title page in the quano states tt to 
have been newly corrected and augmented by IV. H/iats/Jeare, and perhaps these corrections and augmentations constituted 
his only share of the production. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Ferdinand, King o/" Navarre. 

BiRON, LoNGAvii.LE, DuMAiN, Lords, attending on 

the King. 
BoYET, Mercade, Lords, attending on the Princess 

of France. 
Don Adriano de Akmado, a fantastical Spaniard. 
Sir Nathaniel, a curate. 
HoLOFERNES, tt schoolmaster , 
Dull, a constable. 
Costard, a clown. 
Moth, page to Armado. 
A Forester. 

Princess of France. 

Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, Ladies, attending on 

the Princess. 
Jaquenetta, a country wench. 

Officers and others, Attendants on the King 
and Princess. 

SCENE,— Navarre. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — Navarre. A Park, with a Palace in it. 

Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, 
and DuMAiN. 

King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, 
Live register'd upon our brazen tonabs. 
And then grace us in the disgrace of death ; 
When, spite of cormorant devouring time. 
The endeavour of this present breath may buy 
That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, 
And make us heirs of all eternity. 
Therefore, brave conquerors ! — for so you are. 
That war against your own affections. 
And the huge army of the world's desires, — 
Our late edict shall strongly stand in force : 
Navarre shall be the wonder of the world ; 
Our court shall be a little Academe, 
Still and contemplative in living art. 
You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville, 
Have sworn for three years' term to live with me. 
My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes. 
That are recorded in this schedule here : 
Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names ; 
That his own hand may strike his honour down. 
That violates the smallest branch herein : 
If you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do. 
Subscribe to your deep oath, and keep it too. 

Long. I am resolv'd : 'tis but a three years' fast ; 
The mind shall banquet, though the body pine : 
Fat paunches have lean pates ; and dainty bits 
Make rich the ribs, but bank'rout quite the wits. 

Duin. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified ; 
The grosser manner of these world's delights 
lie throws upon the gross world's baser slaves : 
To love, to wealth, to pomp, 1 pine and die. 
With all these living in philosophy. 

Biron. I can but say their protestation over, 



So much, dear liege, I have already sworn. 
That is, To live and study here three years. 
But there are other strict observances : 
As, not to see a woman in that term ; 
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there : 
And, one day in a week to touch no food ; 
And, but one meal on every day beside ; 
The which, I hope, is not enrolled there : 
And then, to sleep but three hours in the night, 
And not be seen to wink of all the day ; 
(When I was wont to think no harm all night, 
And make a dark night too of half the day ;) 
Which, 1 hope well, is not enrolled there:' 
O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep ; 
Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep. 

King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these. 

Biron. Let me say do, my liege, an if you please ; 
I only swore, to study with your grace. 
And stay here in your court for three years' space. 

Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest. 

Biron. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. — 
What is the end of study t let me know. 

King. Why, that to know, which else we should 
not know. 

Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from 
common sense 1 

King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. 

Biron. Come on then, I will swear to study so, 
To know the thing I am forbid to know : 
As thus, — To study where I well may dine. 

When I to feast expressly am forbid ; 
Or, study where to meet some mistress fine, 

When mistresses from common sense are hid : 
Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath. 
Study to break it, and not break my troth. 
If study's gain be thus, and this be so. 
Study knows that, which yet it doth not know . 
Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say, no. 

King. These be the stops that hinder study quite, 
And train our intellects to vain delight. 

Binm. Why, all delights are vain ; but that most 
Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain : [vain, 
As, painfully to pore upon a book. 

To seek the light of truth ; while truth the while 
Doth falsely blind the eye sight of his look : 

Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile : 
So, ere you find where light in darkness lies. 
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. 
Study me how to please the eye indeed. 

By fixing it upon a fairer eye ; 
Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed, 

And give him light that was it blinded by. 
Study is like the heaven's glorious sun. 

That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks ; 
Small have continual plodders ever won, 

Save base authority from others' books. 
These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights. 

That give a name to every fixed star, 
Have no more profit of their shining nights, 
^ Than those that v/alk, and wot not what they are. 
Too much to know, is, to know nought but fame ; 
And every godfather can give a name. 

King. How well he's read, to reason against reading ! 



168 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Vtim. I'roceeded well, to stop all good proceeding ! 
Long, He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the 

weeding. 

Biron. The spring is near, when green geese are a 

Diim, How follows that ? [breeding. 

Biron. Fit in his place and time. 

Diim. In reason nothing. 

Biron. Something then in rhyme. 

Long. Bir(')n is like an envious sneaping frost. 
That bites the first-born infants of the spring. 

Biron. Well, say 1 am ; why should proud sum- 
mer boast, 
Before the birds have any cause to sing 1 
Why should I joy in an abortive birth 1 
At Christmas 1 no more desire a rose, 
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows ; 
But like of each thing, that in season grows. 
So you, to study now it is too late, 
Climb o'er tiie house to unlock the little gnte. 

King. Well, sit you out : go home, Biron ; adieu ! 

Biron. No, my good lord ; 1 liave sworn to stay 
with you : 
And, though I liave for barbarism spoke more, 

'J'han for that angel knowledge you can say, 
Yet confident I'll keep what 1 have swore, 

And bide the penance of each three years' day. 
Give me the paper, let me read the same ; 
And to the strict'st decrees I '11 write my name. 

King. How well tins yielding rescues thee from 
shame ! 

Biron. [Reads.] Item, That no woman shall come 
within a mile of mij contt. — 
And hath this been proclaim'd ? 

Long. Four days ago. 

Biron. Let's see the penalty. 
[Reads,] — On pain of losing her tongue. — 

Whodevis'd this? 

Long. Marry, that did I. 

Biron. Sweet lord, and why 1 

Long. To fright them hence with that dread penalty. 

Biron. A dangerous law against gentility. 

[Reads,] Item, If any man be seen to talk with a wo- 
man within the term if three years, he shall endure such 
public shame as tlie ri'st of the court can possiblij devise. — 
This article, my liege, yourself must break ; 

For well you know, here comes in embassy 
The French King's daughter with yourself to speak, — 

A maid of grace and complete majesty, — 
About surrender-up of Aquitain 

To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father: 
Therefore this article is made in vain, 

Or vainly comes the admired princess hither. 

King. What say you, lords? why, this was quite 

Biron. So study evermore is over-shot ; [forgot. 
While it doth study to have what it would. 
It doth forget to do the thing it should : 
And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, 
'Tis won, as towns with fire ; so won, so lost. 

King. We must, of force, dispense with this de- 
•She must lie here on mere necessity. [cree ; 

Biron. Necessity will make us all forsworn 
Three thousand times within this three years' 
For every man with his afTects is born ; [space : 

Not by might master'd, but by special grace : 
If I break faith, this word shall speak for me, 
I am forsworn on mere necessity. — 
So to the laws at large I write my name ; [Subscribes. 

And he that breaks them in the least degree, 
Stands in attainder of eternal shame : 

Suggestions are to others, as to me ; 
But, 1 believe, although 1 seem so loth ; 
1 am the last that will last keep his oath. 



But is there no quick recreation granted ? 

King. Ay, that there is : our court, you know, is 

With a refined traveller of Spain ; [haunted 

A man in all the world's new fashion planted, 

That hath a mint of phrases in his brain 
One, whom the music of his own vain tongue 

Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony ; 
A man of complements, whom right and wrong 

Have chose as umpire of their mutiny : , 

This child of fancy, that Armado hight. 

For interim to our studies, shall relate. 
In high-born words, the worth of many a knight 

From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate. 
How you delight, my lords, I know not, I ; 
But, I protest, I love to hear him lie. 
And I will use him for my minstrelsy. 

Biron, Armado is a most illustrious wight, 
A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. 

Long. Costaid the swain, and he, shall be oursport 
And, so to study, three years is but short. 

Enter Dull, with a letter, and Costard. 

Dull. Which is the duke's own person? 

Biron. This, fellow ; What would'st? 

Dull. I myself reprehend his own person, for I am 
his grace's tharborough : but I would see his own 
person in flesh and blood. 

Biron, This is he. 

Dull. Signior Arme — Arme — commends you. 
There's villany abroad ; this letter will tell you more. 

Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me. 

King. A letter from the magnificent Armado. 

Biron. How low soever the matter, 1 hope in God 
for high words. 

Long. A high hope for a low having : God grant 
us patience ! 

Biron, To hear ? or forbear hearing ? 

Long. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh mode- 
rately ; or to forbear both. 

Biron. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us 
cause to climb in the merriness. 

Cost. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning .Ta- 
quenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken with the 
manner. 

Biron. In what manner ? 

Cost. In manner and form following, sir ; all those 
three : I was seen with her in the manor house, sit- 
ting with her upon the form, and taken following her 
into the park ; which, put together, is in manner and 
form following. Now, sir, for the manner, — it is the 
manner of a man to speak to a woman : for the form, 
— in some form. 

Bii-ou, For the following, sir? 

Cost. As it shall follow in my correction ; And 
God defend the right? 

King. Will you hear this letter with attention ? 

Biron. As we would hear an oracle. 

Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after 
the flesh. 

King. [Reads.] Great deputy, the welkin's vicege- 
rent, and sole dominator of Navarre, my soul's earth's 
God, and bodij's Joster))ig patron, — 

Cost. Not a word of Costard yet. 

King. So it is, — 

Cost. It may be so : but if he say it is so, he is, in 
telling true, but so, so. 

King. Peace 

Cost. — be to me, and every man that dares not fight' 

King, No words 

Cost. — of other men's secrets, I beseech you. 

Ki)ig. So it is, besieged with sable-coloured meian. 
choly, J did cammend the black-oppressing hunu^ur to 



ACT I.— SCENE II. 



169 



the most whoiesntne physic nf thy health-giving air ; 
and, as 1 am a gentleman, betook myself to walk. The 
' time when? About the siith hour; tchen beasts most 
graze, birds best peck, and men sit down to that nou- 
rishment which is called supper. So much for the time 
ivhen : Now for the ground which ; which, I mean, I 
Walked upon : it is ycleped thy park. Then for the 
place tvhere ; where, I mean, I did encounter that ob- 
scene and most preposterous event, that draueth from 
my snow-white pen the ebon-coloured ink, wh'icli here 
thou vieicest, beholdest, surveyest, or seest : But to the 
place, where, — It standeth north-north-east and hi] east 
f'rrm the tcest corner of thy curious-kmUted garden. 
There did I see that low-spirited swain, that base min- 
now of thy mirth. 

Cost. Me. 

Ki7ig. — that unletter'd small-knowing soul, 

Cost. Me. , 

King. — that shalloiv vassal, 

Cost. Still me. 

King. — which as I remember, hight Costard, 

Cost. O me ! 

King. — sorted and consorted, contrary to thy establish- 
ed proclaimed edict and continent canon, uith — with, — 

with — but withjhis I passion to say wherewith. 
Cost. With a wench. 

King. — ivith a child of our grandmother Eve, a 
female; or, for thy more sweet understanding, a wo- 
man. Him I (as my ever esteemed duty pricks me on) 
have sent to thee, to receive the meed of punishment, 
by thy sweet grace's officer, ./Intony Dull ; a man of 
good repute, carriage, bearing, and estimation. 

Dull. Me, an't shall please you ; I am Antony Dull. 

King. For Jaquenetta,{so is the weaker vessel call- 
ed, which I apprehended with the aforesaid swain,) 

1 keep her as a vessel of thy taw's fury : and shall, 
at the least of thy sweet notice, bring her to trial. 
Thine, in all compliments of devotedand heart-burn- 
ing heat of duty, Don Adriano de Armado. 

Biron. This is not so well as I looked for, but 
the best that ever I heard. 

King. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, 
what say you to this ? 

Cost. Sir, I confess the wench. 

King. Did you hear the proclamation ? 

Cost. I do confess much of the hearing it, but 
little of the marking of it. 

King. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment, 
to be taken with a wench. 

Cost. I was taken with none, sir ; I was taken 
with a damosel. 

King. Well, it was proclaimed damosel. 

Cost. This was no damosel neither, sir ; she was 
a virgin. 

King. It is so varied too ; for it was proclaimed 
virgin. 

Cost, If it were, I deny her virginity ; I was taken 
with a maid. 

King. This maid will not serve your turn, sir. 

Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir. 

King. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence ; You 
shall fast a week with bran and water. 

Cost. 1 had rather pray a month with mutton and 
porridge. 

King. And Don Armado shall be your keeper. — 
My lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er. — . 
And go we, lords, to put in practice, that 

Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. — 
[Kieunt King, Longaville, and Dumain. 

Biron. I'll lay my liead to any good man's hat. 
These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. — 



Sirrah, come on. 

Cost. I suffer for the truth, sir: for true it is, I 
was taken with .Taquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true 
girl ; and therefore, \Velcome the sour cup of pros- 
perity I Affliction may one day smile again, and till 
then. Sit thee down, sorrow ! [Eieujit. 

SCENE II. 

Another part of the same. Armado's House. 
Enter Au.maj)0 and Moth. 

Arm. Boy, what sign is it, when a man of great 
spirit grows melancholy ? 

Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. 
Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, 
dear imp. 

Moth. No, no : lord, sir, no. 
Arm. How canst thou pai t sadness and melancholy, 
my tender juvenal ? 

Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the work- 
ing, my tough senior. 

Arm. Why tough senior? why tough senior? 
Moth. Why tender juvenal ? why tender juvenal ? 
Arm, I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent 
epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which we 
may nominate tender. 

Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title 
to your old time, which we may name tough. 
Arm. Pretty, and apt. 

Moth. How mean you, sir ; I pretty, and my say- 
ing apt? or I apt, and my saying pretty ? 
Arm. 'J'hou pretty, because little. 
Moth. Little pretty, because little: Wherefore apt! 
Arm. And therefore apt, because quick. 
Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master? 
Arm. In thy condign praise. 
Moth. I will praise an eel with the same praise. 
Arm, What ? that an eel is ingenious ? 
Moth. That an eel is quick. 

Arm. 1 do say, thou art quick in answers : Thou 
heatest my blood. 

Moth. I am answered, sir. 
Arm. I love not to be crossed. 
Moth, He speaks the mere contrary, crosses love 
not him. [Aside. 

Arm. I have promised to study three years with 
the duke. 

Moth, You may do it in an hour, sir. 
Arm, Impossible. 

Moth. How many is one thrice told ? 
Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it fitteth the spirit of 
a tapster. 

Moth, You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir. 
Arm. I confess both ; they are both the varnish of 
a complete man. 

Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much the 
gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to. 

Arm. It doth amount to one more than two. 
Moth. Which the base vulgar do call, three. 
Arm. True. 

Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? 
Now here is three studied, ere you '11 thrice wink : 
and how easy it is to put years to the word three, and 
study three years in two words, the dancing horse 
will tell you. 

Arm. A most fine figure ! 

Moth. To prove you a cipher. [Aside. 

Arm. I will hereupon confess, I am in love: and, 

as it is base for a soldier to love, so am 1 in love with 

a base wench. If drawing my sword against the 

humour of afrectlon would deliver me from the repro- 



170 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



bate thought of it, I would take desire prisoner, and 
ransom him to any French courtier for a new devised 
courtesy. I think scorn to sigh ; methinks, I should 
out-swear Cupid. Comfort me, boy : What great 
men have been in love 1 

Moth. Hercules, master. 

Arm. JMost sweet Hercules ! — More authority, dear 
boy, name more ; and, sweet my child, let them be 
men of good repute and carriage. 

Moth. Sampson, master ; he was a man of good 
carriage, great carriage ; for he carried the town- 
gates on his back, like a porter: and he was in love. 

Ann. O well-knit Sampson ! strong-jointed Samp- 
son ! I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou 
didst me in carrying gates 1 am in love too, — Who 
was Sampson's love, my dear Moth ? 

Moth. A woman, master. 

Arm. Of what complexion 1 

Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two ; or 
one of the four. 

Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion ? 

Moth. Of the sea-water green, sir. 

Arm. Is that one of tlie four complexions? 

Moth. As I have read, sir : and the best of them too. 

Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers ; but 
to have a love of that colour, methinks, Sampson had 
small reason for it. He, surely, affected her for her 
wit 

Moth. It was so, sir ; for she had a green wit. 

Arvi. My love is most immaculate white and red. 

Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked 
under such colours. 

Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant. 

Moth. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue 
assist me. 

Arm. Sweet invocation of a child ; most pretty, 
and pathetical ! 

Moth. If she be made of white and red, 
Her faults will ne'er be known ; 
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred. 

And fears by pale white shewn : 
Then, if she fear, or be to blame. 

By this you shall not know ; 
For still her cheeks possess the same, 
Which native she doth owe.' 
A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of 
white and led. 

Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and 
the Beggar. 

Moth. The world was very guilty of such a ballad 
some three ages since : but, 1 think now 'tis not to 
be found ; or, if it were, it would neither serve for 
the writing, nor the tune. 

Arm. I will have the subject newly writ o'er, that 
I may example my digression by some mighty pre- 
cedent. Boy, 1 do love that country girl, that I took 
in the park with the rational hind Costard ; she de- 
serves well. 

Moth. To be whipped ; and yet a better love than 
my master. [Aside. 

Arm. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love. 

Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench. 

Arm. I say, sing. 

Moth. Forbear till this company be past. 

Enter Dull, Costard, and Jaquenetta. 

Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep 
Costard safe : and you must let him take no delight, 
nor no penance ; but a' must fast three days a-week. 
For this damsel, I must keep her at the park ; she 
is allowed for the day -woman. Fare you well. 

Arm. I do betray myself with blushing. — Maid. 



Jaq. Man. 

Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge. 

Jaq. That's hereby. 

Arm. I know where it is situate. 

Jaq. Lord, how wise you are I 

Arm. I will tell thee wonders. 

Juq. With that face 1 

Arm. I love thee. 

Jaq. «So I heard you say. 

Arm. And so farewell. 

Jaq. Fair weather after you ! 

Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away. 

[Eieimt Dull and Jaquenetta. 

Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences, ere 
thou be pardoned. 

Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when 1 do it, I shall do 
it on a full stomach. 

Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished. 

Cost. I am more bound to you, than your fellows, 
for they are but lightly rewarded. 

Aryn. Take away this villain ; shut him up. 

Moth, Come, you transgressing slave ; away. 

Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir ; I will fast, 
being loose. 

Moth. ]Vo, sir ; that were fast and loose : thou 
siialt to prison. 

Cost. VVell, if ever I do see the merry days of 
desolation that I have seen, some shall see — 

Moth. What shall some see 1 

Cost. Nay nothing, master Moth, but what they 
look upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent in 
their words ; and, therefore, I will say nothing ; I 
thank God, I have as little patience as another man ; 
and, therefore, I can be quiet. 

[£.ie«)it Moth and Costard. 

Arm. I do affect the very ground, which is base, 
where her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, 
which is basest, doth tread. I shall be forsworn, 
(which is a great argument of falsehood,) if I love : 
And how can that be true love, which is falsely at- 
tempted T Love is a familiar ; love is a devil : there 
is no evil angel but love. Yet Sampson was so 
tempted ; and he had an excellent strength : yet was 
Solomon so seduced ; and he had a very good wit. 
Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules' club, 
and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier. 
The first and second cause will not serve my turn ; 
the passado he respects not, the duello he regards 
not : his disgrace is to be called boy ; but his glory 
is, to subdue men. Adieu, valour ! rust, rapier ! be 
still, drum ! for your manager is in love ; yea, he 
loveth. Assist me some extemporal god of rhyme, 
for, 1 am sure, I shall turn sonneteer. Devise wit ; 
write pen ; for I am for whole volumes in folio. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — Another part of the same, A Pavilion 
and Tents at a distance. 

Enter the Prin'cess of France, Rosaline, Maria, 
Katharine, Boyet, Lords, and other Attendants. 

Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your dearest 
Consider who the king your father sends ; [spirits ; 
To whom'he sends ; and what's his embassy : 
Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem ; 
To parley with the sole inheritor 
Of all perfections that a man may owe, 
JMatchless Navarre ; the plea of no less weight 
Than Aquitain ; a dowry for a queen. 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



Ce now as prodigal of all dear grace, 
As nature was in making graces dear, 
When she did starve the general world beside. 
And prodigally gave them all to you, [mean 

Prill. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though bu 
Needs not the painted flourish of your praise ; 
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye. 
Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues : 
I am less proud to hear you tell my worth. 
Than you much willing to be counted wise 
In spending your wit in the praise of mine. 
But now to task the tasker,— Good Boyet, 
You are not ignorant, all-telling fame 
Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow, 
Till painful study shall out-wear three years, 
No woman may approach his silent court : 
Therefore to us seemeth it a needful course. 
Before we enter his forbidden gates. 
To know his pleasure ; and in that behalf. 
Bold of your worthiness, we single you 
As our best-moving fair solicitor: 
Tell him, the daughter of the king of France, 
On serious business, craving quick despatch,' 
Importunes personal conference with his grace. 
Haste, signify so much ; while we attend. 
Like humbly visag'd suitors, his high will. 

Bouet. Proud ofemployment,willinglyl go. [Exit. 
Prill. All pride is willing pride, and your's is so. — 
Who are the votaries, my loving lords. 
That are vow- fellows with this virtuous duke 2 
1 Lord. Longaville is one. 

^'"''** Know you the man 1 

3Iar. I know him, madam ; at a marriage feast. 

Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir 

Of Jacques Falconbridge solemnized, 

In Normandy saw I this Longaville : 

A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd ; 

Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms : 

Nothing becomes him ill, that he would well. 

The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss, 

(If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,) 

Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will ; 

Whose edge hath power to cut whose will still wills 

It should none spare that come within his power. 
Prill. Some merry mocking lord, belike ; is 't so ? 
Mar. They say So most, that most his humours 

know 
Prill. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow. 

Who are the rest? [youth, 

Kdth. The young Dumain, a well-accomplish'd 

Of all that virtue love for virtue lov'd ; 

Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill ; 

For he hath wit to make an ill shape good. 

And shape to win grace though he had no wit. 

I saw him at the duke Alenfon's once ; 

And much too little of that good I saw'. 

Is my report, to his great worthiness. 

Uos. Another of these students at that time 

Was there with him : if I have heard a truth, 

Biron they call him ; but a merrier man. 

Within the limit of becomin<T mirth 

I never spent an hour's talk withal : 

His eye begets occasion for his wit : 

For every object that the one doth catch. 

The other turns to a mirth-moving jest ; 

Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor,) 

Delivers in such apt and gracious words; 

That aged ears play truant at his tales. 

And younger hearings are quite ravished ; 

So sweet and voluble is his discourse. 

Prill. God bless my ladies ! are they all in love • 

That every one her own hath garnished 



171 



King. 



With such bedecking ornaments of praise? 
Mar. Here comes Boyet. 

Re-enter Boyet. 

Prin. Now, what admittance, lord ? 

Boijet. Navarre had notice of your fair approach ; 
And he, and his competitors in oath, 
Were all address'd to meet you, gentle lady. 
Before 1 came. Marry, thus much I have learnt, 
He rather means to lodge you in the field, 
(Like one that comes here to besiege his court,) 
Than seek a dispensation for his oath. 
To let you enter his unpeopled house. 
Here comes Navarre. [The Ladies mask. 

Enter King, Longaville, Dumain, Biron, 
and Attendants. 
Fair princess, welcome to the court of 
Navarre. 

Prin. Fair, I give you back again ; and, welcome 
I have not yet : the roof of this court is too high to 
be yours ; and welcome to the wild fields too base 
to be mine. 

A//(o-. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court. 

Pri«. I will be welcome then ; conduct me thither. 

hing. Hear me, dear lady ; I have sworn an oath. 

Prill. Our lady help my lord ! he'll be forsworn. 

^i-»g. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. 

Prill. Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing 

A(«^. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. [else. 

Prill. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise. 
Where now iiis knowledge must prove ignorance. 
I hear, your grace hath sworn out house-keeping : 
'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord, 
And sin to break it : 
But pardon me, I am too sudden bold ; 
To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. 
Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming. 
And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [Gives a paper. 

A/«^r. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. 

Prill. You will the sooner, that I were away ; 
For you'll prove perjur'd, if you make me stay. 

Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once 1 

Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once ] 

Biron. I know you did. 

^"s- How needless was it then 

To ask the question ! 

l^^ron. You must not be so quick. 

R^s. 'Tis 'long of you that spur me with such 
questions. ['twill tire. 

Biron. \our wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 

Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. 

Biron. What time o' day 1 

Ros. The hour that fools should ask. 

Biron. Now fair befall your mask ! 

Ros. Fair fall the face it covers ! 

Biron. And send you many lovers ! 

Ros. Amen, so you be none. 

Biron. Nay, then will I be gone. 

/v("^'. Madam, your father here doth intimate 
The payment of a hundred thousand crowns j 
Being but the one half of an entire sum. 
Disbursed by my father in his wars. 
But say, that he, or we, (as neither have,) 
Receiv'd that sum ; yet there remains unpaid 
A hundred thousand more ; in surety of the which. 
One part of Aquitain is bound to us. 
Although not valued to the money's worth. 
If then the king your father will restore 
But that one half which is unsatisfied. 
We will give up our right in Aquitain, 
And hold fair friendship with his majesty. 
But that, it seems, he little purposeth. 



172 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



For here he dotli demand to have repaid 

An hundred thousand crowns; and not demands, 

On payment of a hundred thousand crowns, 

To have his title live in Aquitain ; 

Wliich we much ratlier had depart withal, 

And have the money by our father lent, 

Than Aquitain so gelded as it is. 

Dear princess, were not his re(iuests so far 

From reason's yielding, your fair self should make 

A yielding, 'gainst some reason, in my breast, 

And go well satisfied to France again. 

Prill. You do the king my father too much wrong, 
And wrong the reputation of your name, 
In so unseeming to confess receipt 
Of that which hath so faithfully been paid. 

King. I do protest, I never heard of it ; 
And, if you prove it, I'll repay it back, 
Or yield up Aquitain. 

Prill. We arrest your word: — 

Boyet, you can produce acquittances, 
For such a sum, from special officers 
Of Charles his father. 

King. Satisfy me so. 

Boi/et. So please your grace, the packet is not come, 
Where that and other specialties are bound ; 
To-morrow you siiall have a sight of them. 

King. It shall suffice me : at which interview, 
All liberal reason I will yield unto. 
Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand. 
As honour, without breach of honour, may 
Make tender of to thy true worthiness : 
You may not come, fair princess, in my gates ; 
But he."e without you shall be so receiv'd. 
As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart. 
Though so denied fair harbour in my house. 
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell : 
To-morrow shall we visit you again. [grace ! 

Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your 

King. Thv own wish wish I thee in every place ! 
[^KieniU KiNC, and his train. 

Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart. 

Ros. 'Pray you, do my commendations ; I would 
be glad to see it. 

Biron. I would, you heard it groan. 

Ros. Is the fool sick ] 

Biron. Sick at heart. 

Ros. Alack, let it blood. 

Biron. Would that do it good? 

Ros. i\Iy physic says, I. 

Biron. Will you prick 't with your eye 1 

Ros, No poynt, with my knife. 

Biron. Now, God save thy life ! 

Ros, And yours from long living ! 

Biron. I cannot slay thanksgiving. [Retiring. 

Dum. Sir, 1 pray you, a word : What lady is that 
same 1 

Boyet. The heir of Alen9on, Rosaline her name. 

Dum, A gallant lady ! Monsieur, fare you well. 

[El it. 

Long. I beseech you a word ; What is she in the 
white ? [light 

Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the 

Lung, Perchance, light in the light ; I desire her 
name. [were a shame. 

Boyet. She hath but one for herself; to desire that, 

Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter ? 

Boyet- Her mother's, I have heard. 

Long God's blessing on your beard ! 

Boyet. Good sir, be not offended : 
She is an heir of Falconbridge. 

Long. Nay, my choler is ended. 
She is a most sweet lady. 



Boyet. Not unlike, sir; that may be. [Exit Long. 
Biron. AVhat's her name, in the cap 1 
Boyet. Katharine, by good hap. 
Biron. Is she wedded, or no ! 

Boyet. To her will, sir, or so. 

Biron. You are welcome, sir ; adieu 
Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you. 
[Eiit BinoN. — Ladies unmask. 

Mar. The last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord ; 
Not a word with him but a jest. 

Boyet. And every jest but a word. 

Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his 
word. [board. 

Boyet. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to 

Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry! 

Boyet. And wherefore not ships 1 

No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. 

Mar. You sheep, and I pasture; Shall that finish 

Boyet. So you grant pasture for me. [the jest? 

[Offering to kiss her. 

Mar. Not so, gentle beast ; 

]\Iy lips are no common, though several they be. 

Boyet. Belonging to whom ? 

Mar. To my fortunes and me. 

Prin Good wits will be jangling: but, gentles, 
The civil war of wits were much better used [agree : 
On Navarre and his book- men ; for here 'tis abused. 

Boi^et. If my observation, (which very seldom lies,) 
By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes, 
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. 

Prin. With what? 

Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, affected. 

Prin. Your reason. 

Boitet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire 
To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire : 
His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed. 
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed : 
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see, 
Did stumble with haste in his eye- sight to be ; 
All senses to that sense did make their repair. 
To feel only looking on fairest of fair : 
Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye. 
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy; [glass'd, 
Who, tend'ring their own worth, from where they were 
Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd. 
His face's own margent did quote such amazes. 
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes: 
I '11 give you Aquitain, and all that is his. 
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss. 

Prin. Come, to our pavilion : Boyet is dispos'd — 

Boijet. But to speak that in words, which his eye 
I only have made a mouth of his eye, [hath disclos'd : 
By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. 

Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st 
skilfully. [of him. 

He is Cupid's grandfather, and earns news 
Then was Venus like her mother ; for her 
father is but grim. 

Boiiet. Do you hear, my mad wenches ? 

Mar. No. 

Boyet, What then, do you see ? 

Ros. Ay, our way to be gone. 

Boyet. You are too hard for me [Exeui-t, 



Mar, 
Ros. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I. — Another part of the same. 
Enter Armado and Moth. 
Arm. Warble, child ; make passionate my sense 
of hearing. 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 



173 



Mot. Concolinel- 



\_Singmg. 

Ann. Sweet air ! — Go, tenderness of years! take 
this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring hiin 
festinately hither ; I must employ him in a letter to 
my love. [brawl l 

Moth. IMasfer, will you win your love with a French 
Ann. How mean'st thou 1 brawling in French ? 
Moth. No, my complete master: but to jig off a 
tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, 
humour it with turning up your eye-lids ; sigh a note, 
and sing a n >te ; sometime through the throat, as if 
you swallowed love with singing love ; sometime 
through the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smel- 
ling love ; with your hat penthouselike, o'er the shop 
of your eyes ; with your arms crossed on your thin 
belly-doublet, like a rabbit on a spit ; or your hands 
in your pocket, like a man after the old painting ; 
and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and 
away: These are complements, these are humours ; 
these betray nice wenches — that would be betrayed 
without these ; and make them men of note, (do you 
note, men !) that most are affected to these. 

Ann. How hast thou purchased this experience ? 
Moth, By my penny of observation. 
Arm. But O,— but O — 
Moth. — the hobby horse is forgot? 
Arm. Callest thou my love, hobby-horse? 
Moth. No, master ; the hobby horse is but a colt, 
and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you 
forgot your love ? 
Arm. Almost I had. 

Moth. Negligent student ! learn her by heart. 
Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy. 
Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three I 
will prove. 

Arm. What wilt thou prove 1 
Moth. A man, if 1 live; and this, by, in, and with- 
out, upon the instant: By heart you love her, because 
your heart cannot come by her : in heart you love her, 
because your heart is in love with her ; and out of 
heart you love her, being out of heart that you can- 
not enjoy her. 

Arm. I am all the.se three. 

Moth. And three times as much more, and yet 

nothing at all. [a letter. 

Arm. Fetch hither the swain ; he must carry me 

Moth. A message well sympathized ; a horse to be 

embassador for an ass ! 

Arm. Ha, ha ! what sayest thou ? 
Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the 
horse, for he is very slow-gaited : But I o'O. 
Arm. The way is but short ; away. 
Moth. As swift as lead, sir. 
Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ? 
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow ? 

Moth. Mjjiinie, honest master; or rather, master, no. 
Arm. I say, lead is slow. 

Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so : 

Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun ? 

Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric ! 
He reputes me a cannon ; and the bullet, that's he : — 
1 shoot thee at the swain. 

Moth. Thump then, and I flee. [Exit. 

Arm. A most acute juvenal ; voluble and free of 
grace ! 
By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face : 
Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. 
My herald is return'd. 

Re-enter Moth and Cost.4rd. 

Moth. A wonder, master ; here 's a Costajd broken 
in a shin 



Arm. 



riddle : 



come. 



Ihy 



Some enigma, some 
l' enroll ; — begin. 
Cost. No egma, no riddle, no I'envoy ; no salve 
in them all, sir : O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain ; 
no renvoi/, no Cenvoy, no salve, sir, but a plantain ! 
Arm, By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy silly 
thou^it, my spleen ; the heaving of my lungs pro- 
vokes me to ridiculous smiling: O, pardon me, my 
stars I Doth the inconsiderate take salve for I' envn^, 
and the word, I'envoy, for a salve? 

Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not I'envoy 

a salve ? [make plain 

Arm. No, page : it is an epilogue or discourse, to 

Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. 

I will example it : 

The fox, the ape, and the humble bee, 
Were still at odds, being but three. 
There's the moral : Now the V envon. 

Moth. 1 will add the I'envoy. say the moral again. 
Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee. 

Were still at odds, being but three : 
Moth. Until the goose came out of door. 

And stay'd the odds by adding four. 
Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow 
with my t' envoy. 

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee. 
Were still at odds, being but three : 
Arm. Until the goose came out of door, 

Staying the odds by adding four. 
Moth. A good /'('/ii'Di/, ending in the goose; Would 
you desire more ? 

Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, 

that's flat ; — 

Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat. — 

To sell a bargain well, is as cunning as fast and loose • 

Let me see a fat I' envoy ; ay, that's a fa> goose. 

Arm. Come hither, come hither: How did this 

argument begin ? 
Moth. By saying that n Costard was broken inashin. 
Then call'd you for the i'envoy. 

Cost. True, and I for a plantain : Tiius came your 
argument in ; 
Then the boy's fat I'envoy, the goose that you bought ; 
And he ended the market. 

Arm. But tell me ; how was there a Costard broken 
in a shin ? 

Motli. I will tell you sensibly. 
Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it. Moth ; I will 
speak that /' envoy. 

I, Costard, running out, that was safely within, 
Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin. 
Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. 
Cost. Till there be more matter in the siiin 
Arm. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee. 
Cost. O, marry me to one Frances; — I smell some 
I'envoy, some goose, in this. 

Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at 
liberty, enfreedoming thy person ; thou wert im- 
mured, restrained, captivated, bound. 

Cost. True, true ; and now you will be my purga- 
tion, and let me loose. 

Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from dur- 
ance ; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing 
but this : Bear this significant to the country maid 
Jaquenetta: there is remuneration; [gii'i"^ him 
money.] for the best ward of mine honour, is, re- 
warding my dependents. Moth, follow. [Exit. 
Moth Like the sequel, I. — Signior Costard, adieu. 
Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh ! my incony 
Jew ! [Exit Moth. 
Now will I look to his remuneration. Remunera- 
tion ! O, that's the Latin word for three farthings : 



174 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



three farthings — remuneration. — What's the price of 
this inkle 1 a pennif : — No, Fit give you a remunera- 
tion : why, it carries it. — Remuneration! — why, it 
is a fairer name than French crown. I will never 
buy and sell out of this word. 

Enter Biron. 

Biron. 0, my good knave Costard ! exceedingly 
well met. 

Cost. Pray you, sir. how much carnation ribbon 
may a man buy for a remuneration 1 

Biron. What is a remuneration 1 

Cost. Marry, sir, half-penny farthing. 

Biron. O, why then, three-farthings-worth of silk. 

Cost. I thank your worship : God be with you ! 

Biron. O, stay, slave ; I must employ thee : 
As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave. 
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat. 

Cost. When would you have it done, sir "{ 

Biron. O, this afternoon. 

Cost. Well, I will do it, sir : Fare you well. 

Biron. O, thou knowest not what it is. 

Cost. I sliall know, sir, when I have done it. 

Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first. 

Cost, I will come to your worship to-morrow 
morning. 

Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, 
slave, it is but this ; — 
The princess comes to hunt here in the park, 
And in her train there is a gentle lady ; [name, 

When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her 
And Rosaline they call her : ask for her ; 
And to her white hand see thou do commend 
This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon ; go. 

[C'lites him moneu- 

Cost. Guerdon, — O sweet guerdon ! better than 
remuneration ; eleven-pence farthing better : jMost 
sweet guerdon ! — 1 willdo it, sir, in print. — Guerdon 
— remuneration. [E,u't. 

Biron. O ! — And I, forsooth, in love ! I, that have 
been love's whip ; 
A very beadle to a humorous sigh ; 
A critic ; nay, a night-watch constable ; 
A domineering pedant o'er the boy. 
Than whom no mortal so magnificent ! 
This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy ; 
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid; 
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, 
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, 
Liesre of all loiterers and malcontente, 
Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces, 
Sole imperator, and great general 
Of trotting paritors, O my little heart ! — 
And I to be a corporal of his field. 
And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop ' 
What till love ! I sue ! 1 seek a wife 1 
A woman, that is like a German clock, 
Still a repairing ; ever out of frame ; 
And nevei going aright, being a watch. 
But being watch'd that it may still go right 1 
Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all ; 
And, among three, to love the worst of all ; 
A whitely wanton with a velvet brow, 
With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes ; 
Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed. 
Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard :■ 
And 1 to sigh for her ! to watch for lier ! 
To pray for her ! Go to ; it is a plague 
That Cupid will impose for my neglect 
Of his almighty dreadful little might. 
Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan ; 
Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. l^Exit. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — Another part of the same. 

EiUer the Phinckss, Rosaline, Maria, Katharink, 
BoYF.T, Lords, Attendants, and v. Forester. 

Vrin. Was that the king, that spurr'd hib horse so 
Against the steep uprising of the hiin [hard 

Boijet. I know not ; but, I think, it was not he. 

Prin. Whoe'er he was, he shew'da mountins; mind. 
Well, lords, to-day we shall have our iespatch ; 
On Saturday we will return to France. -- 
Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush, 
That we must stand and play the murderer in 1 

For. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice j 
A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot. 

Prin. I thank my beauty, 1 am fair that shoot, 
And thereupon thou spcak'st, the fairest shoot. 

For. Pardon me, madam, fori meant not so. 

Prin. What, what? first praise me, and again say, 
O short-liv'd pride ! Not fair"! alack for woe I [no? 

For. Yes, madam, fair. 

Prin. Nay, never paint me now J 

Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. 
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true ; 

[Giving him monei^, 
Fair payment for foul words is more than due. 

For. Nothing but fair is that vviiich you inherit. 

Prin. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit 
O heresy in fair, fit for these days ! 
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. — 
But come, the bow: — Now mercy goes to kill, 
And shooting well is then accounted ill. 
Thus will I save my credit in the shoot : 
Not wounding, pity would not let me do't ; 
If wounding, then it was to shew my skill. 
That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill. 
And, out of question, so it is sometimes ; 
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes -, 
When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part, 
We bend to that the working of the heart : 
As I, for praise alone, now seek to spill 
The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill. 

Bouet. Do not curst wives hold thatself-sovereignty 
Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be 
Lords o'er their lords 1 

Prin. Only for praise : and praise we may afford 
To any lady that subdues a lord. 

Enter Costard. 

Pi-in. Herecomesamember of the common- wealth. 

Cost. God dig-you-den all ! Prayyou, wliich is the 
head lady? 

Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest 
that have no heads. 

Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest ? 

Prin. The thickest, and the tallest. [is truth. 

Cost. The thickest, and the tallest ! it is so; truth 

An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit, 

One of these maids' girdles for your waist should be 

fit. [here. 

Are not you the chief woman 1 you are the thickest 

Prin. What's your will, sir? what's your will? 

Cost. I have a letter from monsieur Biron, to one 
lady Rosaline. [of mine : 

Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter ; he's a good friend 
Stand aside, good bearer. — Boyet, you can carve ; 
Break up this capon. 

Boyet. I am bound to serve. — 

This letter is mistook, it importeth none here; 
It is writ to Jaquenetta. 

Prin. We will read it. I swear : 



ACT IV.— SCENE II. 



175 



Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear. 

Boifet. [Rearfs.] By heaven, that thou art fair is 
most iiifallihle ; true, that thnu art beauteous; truth 
itself, that thou art lovelit : More fairer than fair, beau- 
tiful than beauteous ; truer than truth itself; have com- 
miseration on thtf heroical vassal! The magnanimous 
and most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon theper- 
nicious and indubitute beggar Zenelophon ; and he it 
was that might rightly say, veni, vidi, vici ; which to 
anatomize in the vulgar, (0 base and obscure vulgar !) 
videlicet, he came, saw, and overcame : he came, one; 
saw, two; overcame, three. Who camel the king ; 
Whif did he come? to see ; Why did he see? to over- 
come : To whom came he ? to the beggar ; What saw 
he? the beggar ; Who overcame he? the beggar: The 
conclusion is victory ; On whose side? the king's : the 
captive is enrich' d ; On whose side? the beggar's : The 
catastrophe is a nuptial: On ivhose side? The king's? 
— no, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king ; 
for so stands the comparison : thou the beggar ; for so 
witnesselh thy lowliness. Shall 1 command thy love? 
I mail : Shall I enforce thy love? I could: Shall I en- 
treat thy love? I will. What shalt thou exchange for 
rags ? robes ; For tittles, titles; For thyself, me Thus, 
expecting thij reply, 1 profavemy lips on thy foot, my 
eyes on thii picture, and my heart on thy every part. 
Thine, ill the dearest design of industry, 

Don Adhiano de Akmado. 
Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar 

'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey ; 
Submissive fall his princely feet before. 

And he from forage will incline to play : 
But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then? 
Food for his rage, repasture for liis den. 

Frin. What plume of feathers is he, that indited 

this letter ? [better ? 

What vane ! wliat weather-cock 1 did you ever hear 

Boyet. I am much deceived, but 1 remember the 
style. [while. 

Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it ere- 

Boyet. This Arm ado is a Spaniard, that keeps here 
in court ; 
A phantasm, a INIonarcho, and one that makes sport 
To the prince, and his book-mates. 

Prin. Thou, fellow, a word : 

Who gave thee this letter 1 

Cost. I told you ; my lord. 

Prin. To whom should'st thou give it ? 

Cost. From my lord to my lady. 

Prin. From which lord, to which lady ^ 

Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master of mine ; 
To a lady of France, that he call'd llosaline. [away. 

Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, 
Here, sweet, put up this ; 'twill be thine anotherday. 

[Exit Princess and train. 

Boyet. Who is the suitor! who is the suitor? 

Bos. Shall I teach you to know 1 

Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty. 

/^>.s-. Why, she that bears the bow. 

Finely put off! [marry, 

Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns ; but, if thou 
Hang nie by the neck, if horns that year miscarry. 
Finely put on ! 

Pos. Well then, I am the shooter. 

Boiiet. And who is your deer? 

Pos. If we choose by the horns, yourself : come 
Finely put on, indeed ! — [near. 

Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she 
strikes at the brow. 

Boyet. But she herself is hit lower : Have I hit 
her now ? 

Res. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying. 



that was a man when king Pepin of France was a 
little boy, as touching the hit it? 

Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, that 
was a woman when (|ueen Guinever of Britain was a 
little wencli, as touching the hit it. 

Ros. Thou cumt nut hit it, hit it, hit it, [Singing 

Thou canst not hit it, my good man, 
Boyet, An I cannot, cannot, cannot, 
Jn I cannot, another can. 

\_Exeunt Ros. and Kath, 

Cost. By my troth, most pleasant ! how both did 

fit it"! [did hit it. 

Mar. A mark marvellous well shot : for they botn 

Boyet. A mark ! (), mark but that mark ; A mark. 

' says my lady I 

Let the mark, have a prick in't, to mete at, if it maybe. 

Mar. Wide o' the bow hand ! I'faith your hand is 

out. [hit the clout. 

Cost. Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er 

Boyet. An if my hand be out, then, belike your 

hand is in. [the pin. 

Cost. Then will she get the upshot by cleaving 

Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily, your lips 

grow foul. [lenge her to bowl. 

Cost. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir; chal- 

Boyet, I fear too much rubbing; Good night my 

good owl. [Kienut Boyet iind .Mauia. 

Cost. By my soul, a swain ! a most simple clown! 

Lord, lord ! how the ladies and I have put him down ! 

0' my trotli, most sweet jests ! most incony vulgar 

wit! [were, so fit. 

When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it 

Armathoo' the one side. — O, a most dainty man ! 

To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan I 

To see him kiss his hand ! and how most sweetly a' 

will swear ! — 
And his page o' t' other side, that handful of wit ! 
Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit ! 
Sola, sola ! [Shouting within. 

[Exit CosTAiiD, running. 

SCENE U.—The same. 
Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 

Nath. Very reverent sport, truly ; and done in the 
testimony of a good conscience. 

Hoi. 'fhe deer was, as you know, in sanguis, — 
blood ; ripe as a pomewater, who now hangeth like a 
jewel in the ear of cirto, — the sky, the welkin, the 
heaven ; and anon falleth like a crab, on the face ot 
terra, — the soil, the land, the earth. 

Nath. Truly, master Holofernes, the epithets are 
sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least : But, sir, 
1 assure ye, it was a buck of the first head. 

Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, hand credo. 

Dull. 'Twas not a hand credu ; 'twas a pricket. 

Hoi. Most barbarous intimation ! yet a kinil of in- 
sinuation, as it were, in via, in way, of explication ; 
facere, as it were, replication, or, rather, otitentnre, to 
shew, as it were, his inclination, — after his undress- 
ed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or 
rather unlettered, or, ratherest, unconfirmed fashion, 
— to insert again my hand credo for a deer. 

Dull. I said, the deer was not a hand credo ; 'twas 
a pricket. 

Hoi, Twice sod simplicity, bis coctus ! — O thou 
monster ignorance, how defonned dost thou look ! 

Nath. Sir, he hatii never fed of the dainties that 
are bred in a book ; he hath not eat paper, as it 
were ; he hath not drunk ink : his intellect is not 
replenished ; he is only an animal, only sensible in 
the duller parts ; 



176 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



And such barren plants are set before us, that we 

thankful should be 
(Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts 

that do fructify in us more than he. 
For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, 
or a fool, [a school .' 

So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him in 
But, omiie bene, say 1 ; being of an old father's mind 
Manu can hnwk the weather, that love not the wind. 
Dull. You two are book-men: Can you tell by 
your wit, 
What was a month old at Cain's birth, that 's not 
five weeks old as yet 1 
Hot. Dictynna, good man Dull ; Dictyni»a, good 
man EhiJl. 

Dull. What is Dictynna ? 

Nath. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. 

Hoi. The moon was a month old, when Adam 

was no more ; fscore ■ 

And raught not to five weeks, when he came to five- 
The allusion holds in the exchange. 

Dull. 'Tis true indeed; the collusion holds in the 
exchange. 

Hoi. God comfort thy capacity ! I say, the allu- 
sion holds in the exchange. 

Dull. And I say the pollusion holds in the ex- 
change ; for the moon is never but a month old : 
and 1 say beside, that 'twas a pricket that the prin- 
cess kill'd. 

Hoi. Sir Kathaniel, will you hear an extemporal 
epitaph on the death of the deer ? and, to humour 
the ignorant, I have call'd the deer the princess 
kill'd, a pricket. 

Nath. Perge, good master Holofernes, perge ; so 
it shall please you to abrogate scurrility. 

Hoi. I will something affect the letter; for it 
argues facility. 

The praiseful princess pierc'd and prick'd a pretty 
pleasing pricket ; [with shooting. 

Some say, a sore ; but not a we, till now made sote 
The dogs did yell ; put I to sore then sorel jumps from 
thicket ; 
Or pricket, sore, or else sorel; the people fall a hootino-. 
If sore he sore, then L to sore makes Jiftq sores ; Osore L ! 
Oj one sure I an hundred inake, by adding but one 
more L. 
Kath. A rare talent! 

Dull. If a talent be a claw, look how he claws 
him with a talent. 

Hoi. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple ; 
a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, fio-ures, 
shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, re- 
volutions : these are begot in the ventricle of me- 
mory, nourish'd in the womb of pia mater; and de- 
liver'd upon the mellowing of occasion: But the 
gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am 
thankful for it. 

Kath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you ; and so may 
my parishioners ; for their sons are well tutor'd by 
you, and their daughters profit very greatly under 
you : you are a good member of the commonwealth. 
Hoi. Mfhercle, if their sons be ingenious, they 
shall want no instruction : if their dau'rhters be 
capable, I will put it to them: But, vir^sapit, tjui 
pauca loquitur: a soul feminine saluteth us. 

Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. 



//.'/. Of piercing a hogshead .' a good lustre of 
conceit in a turf of earth ; fire enough for a fiiut, 
pearl enough for a swine : 'tis pretty ; it is well. 

Jaq. Good master parson, be so good as read me 
this lettei ; U was given me by Costard, and sent me 
from Don Armatho : I beseech you, read it. 

Hoi. Fauste, precor gelidd quando pecus omne sub 
umbra 
Kumlnat,— and so forth. Ah, goo«I old Mantuan ! 
1 may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice : 
Vinegia, Vinegia, 



Jaq. God give you good morrow, master person. 

Hoi. Master person,— ^z/asi pers-on. And if one 
should be pierced, which is the one 1 

Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is lik- 
est to a hogshead. 



Chi uon te cede, ei non te pregia. 
Old Blantuan I old Mantuan ! Who understandeth 

thee not, loves thee not. — Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa 

Under pardon, sir, what are the contents ? or, rather, 
as Horace says in his— What, my soul, verses t 

Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned. 

Hoi. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse ; Lege 
domine, 

Nath. If lovemake me forsworn, how shall I swear 

to love 1 
Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed ! 
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove ; 
'1 hose thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers 
bowed. 
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes , 
Where all those pleasures live, that art would 
comprehend : 
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice: 
Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee ' 
commend : 
All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without wonder; 
(Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts 
admire;) 
Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his ureadf-il 
thunder. 
Which, not to anger bent, is music, and sweet fire. 
Celestial, as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong. 
That sir.gs heaven's praise with such an earthly 
tongue ! 
Hal. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss 
the accent : let me supervise the canzonet. Here 
are only numbers ratified ; but, for the elegancy, 
facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovi- 
dius Naso was the man : and why, indeed, Naso ; 
but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy' 
the jerks of invention ? Imitari, is nothing : so 
doth the hound his master, the ape his keener, the 
tired horse his rider, liut damosella virgin,' was 
this directed to you ? 

Jaq. Ay, sir. from one monsieur Biron, one of 
the strange queen's lords. 

Hal. I will overglance the superscript. To the 
snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline. 
I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the 
nomination of the party writing to the person written 
unto : 

Your Ladyship's in all desired employment, BinoN. 
Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries with 
the king ; and here he hath framed a letter to a se- 
quent of the stranger queen's, which, accidentally, 
or by the way of progression, hath miscarried.— 'I'rip 
and go, my sweet ; deliver this paper into the royai 
hand of the king ; it may concern much : Stay not 
thy compliment ; I forgive thy duty ; adieu. 

Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. — Sir, God save 
your life ! 

Cost. Have with thee, my girl. 

[Exeunt Cost, and Jaq. 

Aath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, 

very religiously ; and, as a certain father saith 

I Hoi. Sir, tell nut me of the father, I do fear co- 



\ 










^::^^. 



) 1, c 










LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST 

HoLOFERNES. You find not IV.e apo.^trcphfs, acd so nj':ss the accent. 

Art II'., Scene i 



ACT IV.— SCENE III. 



177 



lourable colours. But, to return to the verses ; 
Did thev please you, sir Nathaniell 

Niith. JMarvelloas well for the pen. 

Hoi. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain 
pupil of mine ; where if, before repast, it shall 
please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, 
on my privilege I have with the parents of the fore- 
said child or pupil, undertake your ben veimto ; 
where 1 will prove those verses to be very unlearned, 
neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention : I 
beseech your society. 

Nath. And thank you too : for society, (saith the 
text,) is the happiness of life. 

Hoi. And, certes, the text most infallibly con- 
cludes it. — Sir, [to Dull.] I do invite you too; 
you shall not say me, nay : paiica verba. Away ; 
the gentles are at their game, and we will to our 
recreation. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Another part of the same. 

Enter Biuon, with a paper. 

Biron. The king he is hunting the deer ; I am 
coursing myself: they have pitch'd a toil ; I am 
toiling in a pitch ; pitch that defiles ; defile ! a foul 
word. Well, Set thee down, sorrow ! for so they 
say, the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool. 
Well proved, wit ! By the Lord, this love is as mad 
as Ajax ■. it kills sheep ; it kills me, I a sheep : 
Well pro\ed again on my side ! I will not love : if 
I do, hang me ; i'faith, I will not. O, but her eye, 
— by this light, but for her eye, I would not love 
her ; yes, foi her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in 
the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, 
I do love ; and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to 
be melancholy ; and here is part of my rhyme, and 
iiere my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my 
sonnets already ; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, 
and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, 
sweetest lady ! By the world, I would not care a pin 
if the other three were in : Here comes one with a 
paper ; God give him grace to groan. 

[Gets up into a tree. 

Ente^ the King, with a paper. 

King. Ah mt ! 

Biro7i. [Aside.l Shot by heaven ! — Proceed, 
sweet Cupid ; thou hast thump'd him with thy bird- 
bolt under the left pap : — I'faith secrets. — 

King. [Beads.^ Soiweet a hiss the golden sun gives not, 

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, 
/4s thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote 

The night of dew that on my cheeks downfows: 
Kor shines the silver moo7i one half so hriglit 

Through the transparent bosom of the deep. 
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light : 

Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep ; 
No drop but as a coach doth carry thee. 

So ridcst thou triumphing in mi/ xooe : 
Do but behold the tears that swell in me. 

And they thy glory through my grief will shew : 
But do not love thvself ; then thou wilt keep 
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. 
queen of queens, how far dost thou excel ! 
No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. — 

How shall she know my griefs 1 I '11 drop the paper ; 
Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here 1 

[Steps aside. 

Enter Longaville, with a paper. 

What, Longaville ! and reading ! listen, ear. 



Biron. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool, ap- 
pear ! [Aside 
Long. Ah me ! I am forsworn. 
Biron. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing 
papers. [Aside. 
King. In love, I hope, sweet fellowship in shame ! 

[Aside. 
Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name 

[Aside. 
Long. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so 1 
Biron. [Aside.] I could put thee in comfort ; not 
by two, that I know : 
Thou mak'st tlie triumviry, the corner cap of society, 
The shape of Love's Tyburn that hangs up simpli- 
city, [move : 
Long. 1 fear, these stubborn lines lack power to 
O sweet Maria, empress of my love ! 
These numbers will I tear and write in prose. 

Biron. [Aside-I 0, rhymes are guards on wanton 
Disfigure not his slop. [Cupid's hose : 

Long. This same shall go. — 

He reads the sonnet. 

Did not the heavenly rhetoric nf thine eye 

(^'Gainst ivhom the world cannot hold argument,) 
Persuade my heart to this false perjury ? 

Vows for thee broke, deserve not punishment. 
A woman I foreswore ; but, I will prove. 

Thou being a goddess, I foreswore not thee: 
My vow was earthlq, thou a heavenlif love; 

Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me. 
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is: 

Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine^ 
Eiharst this vapour vow ; in thee it is : 

If broken then, it is no fault of mine ; 
If by me broke. What fool is not so wise. 
To lose an oath to win a paradise? 

Biron. [Aside.] This is the liver vein, which makes 
flesh a deity : 
A green goose, a goddess : pure, pure idolatry, [way. 
God amend us, God amend ! we are much out o' the 

Enter Dumain, with a paper. 
Long. By whom shall I send this 1 — Company ! 
stay. [Stepping aside. 

Biron. [Aside.] All hid, all hid, an old infant play : 
Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky. 
And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye. 
More sacks to the mill ! O heavens I have my wish ; 
Dumain transform'd : four wood-cocks in a dish ! 
Dum. O most divine Kate ! 

Biron. most prophane coxcomb ! [Aside. 

Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye ! 
Biron. By earth she is but corporal : there you lie. 

[Aside, 
Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted. 
Biron. An amber-coloured raven was well noted. 

[Aside. 
Dum. As upright as the cedar. 
Biron. Stoop, I say ; 

Her shoulder is with child. [Aside. 

Dum. As fair as day. 

Bii'on. Ay, as some days ; but then no sun must 
shine. [Aside. 

Dum. O that I had my wish ! 
Long. And I had mine ! [Aside. 

King. And I mine too, good lord ! [Aside. 

Biron. Amen, so I had mine : Is not that a good 
word ? [Aside 

Dum. I would forget her ; but a fever she 
Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be. 
Biron. A fever in your blood, why, then incision 
M 



170 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Would let her out in saucers ; Sweet misprision ! 

{^Aside. 
Bum. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ. 
Biron, Once more I'll mark how love can vary 

wit. [Aside. 

Dum. On a day, (alack the daij!) 

Love, whose month is ever May, 

Spied a blossom, passing fair, 

Playing in the wanton air : 
i Through the velvet leaves the wind, 

All unseen, 'gan passage Jind ; 

That the lover, sick to death. 

Wished himself the heaven's breath. 

Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow ; 

Air, would I might triumph so! 

But alack, my hand is sworn. 

Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn: 

Vow, alack, for youth unmeet ; 

Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. 

Do not call it sin in me. 

That I am forsworn for thee: 

Thou for whom even Jove would swear, 

Juno but an Ethiop were ; 

And deny himself for Jove, 

Turning mortal for thy love. — 
This will I send ; and something else more plain, 
That shall express my true love's fasting pain. 
O, would the King, Biron, and Longaville, 
Were lovers too ! Ill, to example ill, 
Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note ; 
For none offend, where all alike do dote. 

Long. Dumain, [advancing.] thy love is far from 
That in love's grief desir'st society : [charity, 

You may look pale, but I should blush, I know, 
To be o'erheard, and taken napping so. 

King. Come, sir, [advancing.] you blush ; as his 

your case is such ; 
You chide at him, offending twice as much : 
You do not love Maria ; Longaville 
Did never sonnet for her sake compile ; 
Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart 
His loving bosom, to keep down his heart. 
I have been closely shrouded in this bush, 
And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush. 
I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion ; 
Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion ; 
Ah me ! says one ; O Jove ! the other cries ; 
One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes : 
You would for paradise break faith and troth ; 

[To Long. 
And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath. 

[To Dumain. 
What will Biron say, when that he shall hear 
A faith infring'd, which such a zeal did swear 1 
How will he scorn 1 how will he spend his wit 1 
How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it? 
For all the wealth that ever I did see, 
1 would not have him know so much by me. 

Biron. Now step I forth to wiiip hypocrisy. — 
Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me : 

[Descends from the tree. 
Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove 
These worms for loving, that art most in love ? 
Your eyes do make no coaches ; in your tears. 
There is no certain princess that appears : 
You'll not be perjured, 'tis a hateful thing; 
Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting. 
But are you not asham'd t nay, are you not, 
All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot? 
You found his mote ; the kmg your mote did see ; 
But I a beam do find in each of thee. 
O, what a scene of foolery I have seen, 



Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen ! 

me, with what strict patience have 1 sat. 
To see a king transformed to a gnat ! 

To see great Hercules whipping a gigg, 
And profound Solomon to tune ajigg. 
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys. 
And critic Timon laugh at idle toys ! 
Where lies thy grief, O tell me, good Dumain? 
And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain ? 
And where my liege's 1 all about the breast ; — 
A caudle, ho ! 

King. Too bitter is thy jest. 

Are we betray'd thus to thy over- view ? 

Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you : 
I, that am honest ; I, that hold it sin 
To break the vow I am engaged in ; 

1 am betray'd, by keeping company 

With moon-like men, of strange inconstancy. 
When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme? 
Or groan for Joan ? or spend a minute's time. 
In pruning me f When shall you hear that I 
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, 
A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, 
A leg, a limb ? — 

King. Soft ; Whither away so fast? 

A true man, or a thief, that gallops so? 

Biron. I post from love ; good lover, let me go. 

Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. 

Jaq. God bless the king ! 

King. What present hast thou there » 

Cost. Some certain treason. 

King. What makes treason here ? 

Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. 

King. If it mar nothing neither 

The treason, and you, go in peace away together. 

Jaq. 1 beseech your grace, let this letter be readj 
Our parson misdoubts it; 'twas treason, he said. 

King. Biron, read it over. [Giving him the letter. 
Where hadst thou it ? 

Jaq. Of Costard. 

King. Where hadst thou it ? 

Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. [if 

Aino-. How now ! what is in you? why dost thou tear 

Biron. A toy, my liege, a toy ; your grace needs 
not fear it. [let's hear it. 

Long. It did move him to passion, and therefore 

Duni. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name. 

[Pi'c/cs up the pieces. 

Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, [to Cost arc] 
you were born to do me shame. — 
Guilty, my lord, guilty ; I confess, I confess. 

King. What ? [up the mess ; 

Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make 
He, he, and you, my liege, and I, 
Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. 
O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more. 

Dum. Now the number is even. 

Biron. True, true ; we are foui . — 

Will these turtles be gone ! 

King. Hence, sirs ; away. 

Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors 
stay. [Lieunt Cost, and Jaqufnet 

Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O let us embrace ! 
As true we are, as flesh and blood can be : 
The sea wiU ebb and flow, heaven shew his face ; 

Young blood will not obey an old decree -. 
We cannot cross the cause why we were born ; 
Therefore, of all hands must we be forsworn. 

King. What, did these rent lines shew some love 
of thine? [venly Rosaline, 

Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who sees the hea- 



ACT IV.— SCENE III. 



179 



That, like a rude and savage man of Inde, 

At the first opening of the g.irgeous east, 
Bows not his vassal head ; and, strucken blind. 

Kisses the base ground with obedient breast 1 
What peremptory eagle-sighted eye 
Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, 
I'hat is not blinded by her majesty? 

Kitig. Whatzeal, what fury, hath inspired thee now? 
My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon; 
She, an attending star, scarce seen alight. 

Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron : 
O, but for my love, day would turn to night ! 
Of all complexions the cuH'd sovereignty 

Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek ; 
Where several worthies make one dignity ; 

Where nothing wants, that want itself doth seeis. 
Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues, — ■ 

Fye, painted rhetoric ! O, she needs it not: 
To things of sale a seller's praise belongs ; 

She passes praise ; then praise too short doth blot. 
A wither'd hermit, five score winters worn, 

Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye : 
Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born. 

And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. 
O, 'tis the sun, that maketh all things shine ! 
King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. 
Biron. Is ebony like her ? O wood divine ! 
A wife of such wood were felicity. 
O, who can give an oath ? where is a book ? 

That I may swear, beauty doth beauty lack ; 
If that she learn not of her eye to look : 

No face is fair, that is not full so black. 
King. O paradox ! Black is the badge of hell. 
The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night ; 
And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. 

Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of 
O, if in black my lady's brows be deckt, [light. 

It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair, 
Should ravish doters with a false aspect ; 

And therefore is she born to make black fair. 
Her favour turns the fashion of the days ; 

For native blood is counted painting now; 
And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise. 
Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. 
Dum. To look like her, are chimney-sweepers black. 
Long. And, since her time, are colliers counted 
bright. [crack. 

King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion 
Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light. 
Biron. Your mistresses dare ne\ercome in rain. 
For fear their colours should be wash'd away. 
King. 'Twere good, yours did ; for, sir, to tell you 
I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. [plain, 
Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here. 
King. No devil will fright thee then so much as she. 
Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff' so dear. 
Long. Look, here's thy love : my foot and her 
face see. [Shewing his shoe. 

Biron. O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes. 
Her feet were much too dainty for such tread ! 
Diun. O vile ! then as she goes, what upward lies 
The street should see as she walk'd over head. 
King. But what of this ? Are we not all in love ? 
Biron. O, nothing so sure ; and thereby all forsworn. 
King. Then leave this chat; and, good Rir6n, now 
Our loving lawful, andour faith not torn, [prove 
Dum. Ay, marry, there ;— some flattery for this evil. 
Long. O, some authority how to proceed ; 
Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil. 
Dum. Some salve for perjury. 
Biron. O, 'tis more than need! — 

Have at you then, affection's men at arms : 



Consider, what you first did swear unto ; — 

To fast, — to study, — and to see no woman ; — • 

Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth. 

Say, can you fast ? your stomachs are too young ; 

And abstinence engenders maladies. 

And where that you have vow'd to study, lords, 

In that each of you hath forsworn his book : 

Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look 1 

For when would you, my lord, or you, or you. 

Have found the ground of study's excellence. 

Without the beauty of a woman's face ? 

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive : 

They are the ground, the books, the academes, 

From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire 

Wliy, universal plodding prisons up 

The nimble spirits in the arteries ; 

As motion, and long-during action, tires 

The sinewy vigour of the traveller. 

Now, for not looking on a woman's face, 

You have in that forsworn the use of eyes • 

And study too, the causer of your vow : 

For where is any author in tlie world. 

Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye ? 

Learning is but an adjunct to ourself. 

And where we are, our learning likewise is. 

Then, when ourselves we see in ladies eyes, 

Do we not likewise see our learning there 1 

O, we have made a vow to study, lords ; 

And in that vow we have forsworn our books ; 

For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, 

In leaden contemplation, have found out 

Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes 

Of beauteous tutors have enrich'd you with ? 

Other slow arts entirely keep the brain ; 

And therefore finding barren practisers. 

Scarce shew a harvest of their heavy toil : 

But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, 

Lives not alone immured in the brain ; 

But with the motion of all elements. 

Courses as swift as thought in every power , 

And gives to every power a double power. 

Above their functions and their oflSces. 

It adds a precious seeing to the eye ; 

A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind ; 

A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound. 

When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd ; 

Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible. 

Than are the tender horns of cockled snails ; 

Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste : 

For valour, is not love a Hercules, 

Still climbing trees in the Hesperides ? 

Subtle as sphinx ; as sweet, and musical. 

As bright Apollo's lute, strung with liis hair ; 

And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods 

Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. 

Never durst poet touch a pen to write. 

Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs. 

O, then his lines would ravish savage ears. 

And plant in tyrants mild humility. 

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive; 

They sparkle still the right Promethean fire ; 

They are the books, the arts, tlie academes. 

That shew, contain, and nourish all the world ; 

Else, none at all in ought proves excellent : 

Then fools you were these women to forswear ; 

Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools. 

For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love ; 

Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men ; 

Or for men's sake, the authors of these women ; 

Or women's sake, by whom we men are men • 

Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves. 

Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths • 

M a 



180 



LOVE'S LABOURS LOST. 



It is religion to be thus forsworn : 
For charity itself fulfiUs the law ; 
And who can sever love from charity ? 

King. Saint Cupid, then ! and, soldiers to the field ! 

Biron. Advance your standards, and upon them, 
lords ; 
Pell-mell, down with them ' but be first advis'd, 
In conflict that you get the sun of them. 

Long. Now to plain dealing ; lay these glozes by ; 
Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France ? 

King. And win them too : therefore let us devise 
Some entertainment for them in their tents. [ther ; 

Biron. First, from the park let us conduct them thi- 
Then, homeward, every man attach the hand 
Of his fair mistress : in the afternoon 
We will with some strange pastime solace them, 
Such as the shortness of the time can shape ; 
For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours. 
Fore-run fair Love, strewing her way with flowers. 

King. Away, away ! no time shall be omitted, 
That will be time, and may by us be fitted. 

Biron. AUons! Allons! — Sow'd cockle reap'd no corn; 
And justice always whirls in equal measure : 
Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn; 
If so, our copper buys no better treasure. \_Eieunt. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — Another part of the same. 

Enter Holofernf.s, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 

Hoi. Satis quod sufficit. 

Nath. 1 praise God for you, sir : your reasons at 
dinner have been sharp and sententious ; pleasant 
without scurrility, witty without affection, audacious 
without impudency, learned without opinion, and 
strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam 
day with a companion of the king's, who is intituled, 
nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado. 

Hot. NoDi hominem tanquum te: His humour is 
lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his 
eye ambitious, his gait rnajesticil, and his general 
behaviour vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical. He is 
too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it 
were, too peregrinate, as I may call it. 

Nath. A most singular and choice epithet. 

l^Takes out liis table book. 

Hfll. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity 
finer than the staple of his argument. 1 abhor such 
fanatical fantasms, such insociable and point-devise 
companions ; such rackers of orthography, as to 
speak, dout, fine, when he should say, doubt ; det, 
when he should pronounce debt ; d, e, b, t ; not 
d, e, t : he clepeth a calf, cauf ; half, hauf ; neigh- 
bour, Docnfii?-, nebour, neigh, abbreviated, ne: This 
is abhominable, (which he would call abominable,) 
it insinuateth me of insanie ; Ne intelUgis domine? 
to make frantic, lunatic. 

Nath. Laus Deo bone intelligo. 

Hoi. Bone ? bone, for bene : Priscian a little 

scratch'd ; 'twill serve. 

Enter Armado, Moth, and Costard. 
Nath. Videsne quis venit ? 
Hoi. Video, et gaudeo. 

Arm. Ciiirra ! [To INIotk. 

Hcl. Quare chirra, not sirrah ? 
Arm. Men of peace, well encounter'd. 
Hul. Most military sir, salutation. 
Moth. They have been at a great feast of lan- 
guages, and stolen the scraps [To Costard aside. 
Cost. O they have lived long in the alms-basket 



of words ! I marvel, thy master hath not eaten thee 
for a word ; for thou art not so long by the head as 
honorijicahilitudinitatibus : thou art easier swallowed 
than a flap-dragon. 

Moth. Peace ; the peal begins. 
Arm Monsieur, [to Hol.] are you not letter'd? 
Moth. Yes, yes ; he teaches boys the horn-book ; — 
What is a, b, spelt backward witli a horn on his head ? 
Hol. Ba, -pueritia, with a horn added. 
Moth. Ba, most silly sheep, with a horn: — You 
hear his learning. 

Hol. Quis, quis, thou consonant'! 
Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you repeat 
them ; or the fifth, if I. 

Hol. I will repeat them, a, e, i. — 

Moth. The sheep : the other two concludes it ; o, u. 

Arm.. Now, by the salt wave of the ]Mediterraneum, 

a sweet touch, a quick venew of wit: snip, snap, 

quick and home ; it rejoiceth my intellect : true wit. 

Moth. Ofl'er'd by a child to an old man ; which is 

wit-old. 

Hol. What is the figure 1 what is the figure ? 
Moth. Horns. 

//()/. Thou disputest like an infant: go, whip thy gig. 
Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, and 1 will 
whip about your infamy circum circa ; A gig of a 
cuckold's horn ! 

Cost. An I had but one penny in the world thou 
shouldst have it to buy gingerbread : hold, there is 
the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou 
half-penny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discre- 
tion. O, an the heavens were so pleased, that thou 
wert but my bastard ! what a joyful father wouldst 
thou make me ! Go to; thou hast it ad dunghill, at 
the fingers' ends, as they say. 

Hol. O, I smell false Latin ; dunghill ior ungiiem. 
Arm. Arts-man, praambula ; we will be singled 
from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at 
the charge-house on the top of the mountain? 
Hol. Or, mons, the hill. 

Arm. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain 1 
Hol. I do, sans question. 

Arm. Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure and 
affection, to congratulate the princess at her pavilion, 
in the posteriors of ih\s day ; which the rude multi- 
tude call the afternoon. 

Hol. The posterior of the day. most generous sir, 
is liable, congruent, and measurable for the afternoon: 
the word is well cuU'd, chose ; sweet and apt, I do 
assure you, sir, I do assure. 

Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman ; and my 
familiar, I do assure you, very good friend : — For 
what is inward between us, let it pass : — I do beseech 
thee, remember thy courtesy ; — I beseech thee, ap- 
parel thy head ; — and among other importunate and 
most serious designs, — and of great import indeed, 
too ;^but let that pass : — fori must tell thee, it will 
please his grace, (by the world ) sometime to lean 
upon my poor shoulder ; and with his royal finger, 
thus dally with my excrement, with my mustachio : 
but, sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I re- 
count no fable ; some certain special honours it pleas- 
eth his greatness to impart to Armado, a soldier, a man 
of travel, that hath seen the world : but let that pass. 
— The very all of all is, — but, sweet heart, I do im- 
plore secrecy, — that the king would have me present 
the princess, sweet chuck, with some delightful osten- 
tation, or show, or pageant, or antic, or fire-work. 
Now, understanding that the curate and your sweet 
self, are good at such eruptions, and sudden breaking 
out of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you withal, 
to the end to crave your assistance. 



ACT v.— SCENE II. 



181 



ffi'L Sir, you shall present before her the nine 
worthies. — Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some enter- 
tainment of time, some show in the posterior of this 
day, to be rendered by our assistance, — the king's 
command, and this most gallant, illustrate, and 
learned gentleman, — before the princess ; I say, none 
so fit as to present the nine worthies. 

Nath. Where will you find men worthy enough to 
present them ? 

HdL Joshua, yourself ; myself, or this gallant 
gentleman, Judas Maccabasus ; this swain, because 
of his great limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the 
great ;, the page, Hercules. 

Arm. Pardon, sir, error; he is not quantity enough 
for that worthy's thumb : he is not so big as tne end 
of his club. 

Hd. Shall I have audience 1 he shall present 
Hercules in minority: his enter and eii't shall be 
strangling a snake ; and I will have an apology for 
that purpose. 

Moth. An excellent device ! so, if any of the au- 
dience hiss, you may cry : well done^ Hercules! 7ww 
thou cnisheit the snake ' that is the way to make an 
ofience gracious ; though few have the grace to do it. 

Arm. For the rest of the worthies 1> — 

Hoi. I will play three myself. 

Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman! 

Ann. Shall I tell you a thing 1 

Hoi. We attend. 

Arm. We will have, if this fadge not, an antic. 
[ beseech you, follow. 

HoL Via, goodman Dull ! thou hast spoken no 
word all this while. 

Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir. 

HoL ALlons ! we will employ tliee. 

Dull. I '11 make one in a dance, or so ; or I will 
play on the tabor to the worthies, and let them dance 
the hay. 

Hoi. Most dull, hoaest Dull, to our sport, away. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE 11. — Another fart of the same. Before the 
Princess's Pavilion. 

Enter the Princess, Katharine, Rosaline, 
and Maria. 

Prin. Sweethearts, we shall be rich ere we depart. 
If fairings come thus plentifully in : 
A lady wall'd about with diamonds ! 
Look you, what I have from the loving king. 
' Ros. Madam, came nothing else along with that 1 

Prin. Nothing, but this 1 yes, as much love in rhyme, 
As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper, 
Writ on both sides the leaf, margent and all ; 
That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name. 

lios. That was the way to make his god-head wax ; 
For he hath been five thousand years a boy. 

Kath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. 

Ros. You'll ne'er be friends with him; he kill'd 
your sister. 

Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy ; 
And so she died : had she been liglit like you, 
Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit. 
She might have been a grandam ere she died : 
And so may you ; for a light heart lives long. 

Ros, What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this 
light word ? 

Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark. 

Ros. We need more light to find your meaning out. 

Kath. You'll mar tlie light, by taking it in snuff; 
Therefore, I 11 darkly end the argument. 

Ros. Look, what you do, you do it still i' the dark. 



Kath. So do not you -, for you are a light wench. 

Has. Indeed, I weigh not you ; and therefore light. 

Kath, You weigh me not, — O, that's you care not 
for me. 

Ra^s. Great reason; for, Past cure is still past care. 

Prin. Well bandied both ; a set of wit well play'd. 
But Rosaline, you have a favour too : 
Who sent if! and what is it ! 

Ros. I would, you knew ! 

An if my face were but as fair as yours, 
jNIy favour were as great ; be witness this. 
Nay, I have verses too, I thank Bir<jn : 
The numbers true ; and, were the numb'ring too, 
I were the fairest goddess on the ground : 
I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs. 
O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter ! 

Prin. Any thing like 1 

Ros. Much, in the letters ; nothing in the praise 

Prin. Beauteous as ink ; a good conclusion. 

Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book. 

Ros. 'Ware pencils! How? let me not die your 
My red dominical, my golden letter : [debtor, 

O, that your face were not so full of O's I 

Kath. A pox of that jest! and beshrew all shrows! 

Prin. But what was sent to you from fair Dumain'? 

Kath. Madam, this glove. 

Prin, Did he not send you twain ? 

Kath. Yes, madam ; and moreover, 
Some thousand verses of a faithful lover ; 
A huge translation of hypocrisy. 
Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. 

Mar. This, and these pearls, to me sent Longaville ; 
The letter is too long by half a mile. 

Prin. 1 think no less : Dost thou not wish in heart, 
The chain were longer, and the letter short? 

Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might never part. 

Prin. \Ve are wise girls, to mock our lovers so. 

Ros. Thev are worse fools to purchase mocking so. 
That same Biron I'll torture ere I go. 
O, that I knew he were but in by the week ! 
How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek ; 
And wait the season, and observe the times, 
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes , 
And shajje his service wholly to my behests ; 
And make him proud to make me proud that jests ! 
So potent-like would I o'ersway his state. 
That he should be my fool, and 1 his fate. 

Prin. None are so surely caught, when they are 
catch'd. 
As wit turn'd fool : folly, in wisdom hatch'd. 
Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school ; 
And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. 

Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such excess, 
As gravity's revolt to wantonness. 

Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note, 
As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote ; 
Since all the power thereof it doth apply, 
To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. 

Ent^r BoYET. 

Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. 

Boi/et. O, I am stabb'd with laughter! Where's 

P'ia. Thy news, Boyet ? [her grace ? 

Boijet, Prepare, madam, prepare ! — 

Arm, wenches, arm ! encounters mounted are 
Against your peace : Love doth approach disguis'd, 
Armed in arguments ; you'll be surpris'd : 
Muster your wits ; stand in your own defence ; 
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. 

Prin. Saint Dennis to Saint Cupid! What are they. 
That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say. 

Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sycamore. 



182 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



1 thought to close mine eyes some half an hour : 

When, lo ! to interrupt rny purpos'd rest, 

Totvard that shade I might behold addrest 

The king and his companions : warily 

T stole into a neighbour thicket by, 

And overheard what you shall overhear ; 

That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here. 

Their herald is a pretty knavish page, 

That well by heart hath con'd his embassage ; 

Action, and accent, did they teach him there ; 

Thus must thou speak, and thus thii body bear: 

And ever and anon they made a doubt. 

Presence majestical would put him out ; 

For, quoth the king. An angel shalt thou see ; 

Yet fearnot thou, but speak audaciously. 

The boy reply'd. An angel is not evil ; 

1 should have fear''d her, had shebeen a devil. 

With that al I laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the shoulder; 

Making the bold wag by their praises bolder. 

One rubb'd his elbow, thus ; and Heer'd, and swore, 

A better speech was never spoke before : 

Another with his finger and his thumb, 

Cry'd, Via ! we iciti do 't, come ivhat will come: 

The third he caper'd and cried. All goes well: 

The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell. 

With that, they all did tumble on the ground. 

With such a zealous laughter, so profound, 

That in this spleen ridiculous appears, 

To check their folly, passion's solemn tears. 

Prin. But what, but wliat, come they to visit us? 

Boyet. They do, they do ; and are apparel'd thus, — 
Like Muscovites, or Russians : as I guess, 
Their purpose is, to parle, to court, and dance : 
And every one his love-feat will advance 
Unto his several mistress ; which they'll know 
By favours several, which they did bestow. 

Prin. And will they sol the gallants shall be 
task'd : — 
For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd ; 
And not a man of them shall have the grace, 
Despight of suit, to see a lady's face. — 
Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear ; 
And then the king will court thee for his dear ; 
Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine ; 
So shall Biron take me for Rosaline. — 
And change your favours too ; so shall your loves 
Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes. 

Ros. Come on then ; wear the favours most in sight. 

Kath. But, in this changing, what is your intent? 

Prin. The effect of my intent is, to cross theirs : 
They do it but in mocking merriment ; 
And mock for mock is only my intent. 
Their several counsels they unbosom shall 
To loves mistook ; and so be mock'd withal. 
Upon the next occasion that we meet, 
With visages display 'd to talk and greet. 

Bos. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't"? 

Prin. No ; to the death, we will not move a foot ; 
Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace ; 
But, while 'tis spoke, each tuijn away her face. 

Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's 
heart. 
And quite divorce his memory from his part. 

Prin. Therefore I do it ; and, 1 make no doubt. 
The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out. 
There's no such sport, as sport by sport o'erthrown ; 
To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own : 
So shall we stay, mocking intended game ; 
And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame. 

l^Trumpets sound u'ithin. 

Boyet. The trumpet sounds ; be mask'd, the 
maskers come. [The ladies mask. 



Enter the King, BinoN, Longavili-e, and Dumjiin, 
in Russian habits, and masked; Moth, Musicians, 
and Attendants. 

Moth. Alt hail the richest beauties on the earth/ 

Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taffata. 

Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames, 

[The ladies turn their backs to him. 
That ever turn'd their — backs — to mortal viewi .' 

Biron. Their eyes, villain, their eyes. 

Moth. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views . 
Out— 

Boyet. True ; out, indeed. 

Moth. Out of your favours, heavenly spiritSfVouchsafe 
Not to behold — 

Biron. Once to behold, rogue. 

Moth. Once to behold ivilh your sun-beamed eyei, 
u'it/i your sun-beamed ei^es — 



Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet, 
You were best call it, daughter-beamed eyes. 

Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings me out. 

Biron. Is thisyourperfectnessl be gone, you rogue. 

Ros. What would these strangers ] know their 
minds, Boyet : 
If they do spe^ our language, 'tis our will 
That some plain man recount their purposes r 
Know what they would. 

Boyet. What would you with the princess ? 

Biron. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. 

Ros. What would they, say they ] 

Boyet. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. 

Ros. Why, that they have ; and bid them so be gone 

Boyet. She says, you have it, and you may be gone. 

King. Say to her, we have measur'd many miles, 
To tread a measure with her on this grass. 

Boyet. They say that they have measur'd many a 
To tread a measure with you on this grass. [mile, 

Ros. It is not so : ask them, how many inches 
Is in one mile : if they have measur'd many. 
The measure then of one is easily told. 

Boyet. If, to come hither you have measur'd miles. 
And many miles ; the princess bids you tell. 
How many inches do fill up one mile. 

Biron. Tell her, we measiue them by weary steps. 

Boyet. She hears herself. 

Eos. How many weary steps. 

Of many weary miles you have o'ergone. 
Are number'd in the travel of one mile 1 

Biron. We number nothing that we spend for you ; 
Our duty is so rich, so infinite, 
That we may do it still without accompt. 
Vouchsafe to shew the sunshine of your face. 
That we, like savages, may worship it. 

Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. 

King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do! 
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine. 
(Those clouds remov'd,) upon our watery eyne. 

Uos. O vain petitioner ! beg a greater matter ; 
Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water. 

King. Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe one 
change : 
Thou bid'st me beg ; this begging is not strange. 

Ros. Play, music, then : nay, you must do it soon. 

[Music plays. 
Not yet; — no dance :— thus change I like the moon. 

King. Will you not dance ! How come you thus 
estrang'd 1 [chang'd. 

Ros. You took the moon at full ; but now shea's 

King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. 
The music plays ; vouchsafe some motion to it. 

Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it. 

King. But your legs should do it. 



ACT v.— SCENE II. 



18^ 



Ros, Since you are strangers, and come here by 
chance, 
We'll not be nice : take hands ; — we will not dance. 
King. Why take we hands then 1 
Ros, Only to part friends : — 

Court'sy, sweet hearts ; and so the measure ends. 
King. More measure of this measure ; be not nice. 
Ros. We can afford no more at such a price. 
King. Prize you yourselves ; VVhat buys your cora- 
Ros. Your absence only. [p3-ny ^ 

Ki7ig. That can never be. 

Ros. Then cannot we be bought : and so adieu ; 
Twice to your visor, and half once to you ! 

King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat. 
Ros. In private then. 

King. I am best pleas'd with that. 

[Theti convene apart. 
Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word 

with thee. 
Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar ; there is three. 
Biron. ]M ay then, two treys, (an if you grow so nice,) 
Metheglin, wort, and malmsey; — Well run, dice? 
There 's half a dozen sweets. 

I'rin. Seventh sweet, adieu ! 

Since you can cog, I 'U play no more with you. 
Biron. One word in secret. 
Prin. Let it not be sweet. 

Biron. Thou griev'st my gall. 
Prin. Gain bitter. 

Biron. Therefore meet. 

[T/iei/ converse apart. 
Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a 
Mar. Name it. [word? 

Dum. Fair lady, — 

Mar. Say you so ? Fair lord, — 

Take that for your fair lady. 

Dum. Please it you. 

As much in private, and I '11 bid adieu. 

[Theii converse apart. 
Kath. What, was your visor made without a tongue ? 
Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. 
Kath. O, for your reason ! quickly, sir ; I long. 
Long. You have a double tongue within your mask. 
And would afford my speechless visor half. 

Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman ; — Is not veal a 
Long. A calf, fair lady ? [calf ? 

Kath. No, a fair lord calf. 

Long. Let's part the word. 
Kath. No, I'll not be your half; 

Take all, and wean it ; it may prove an ox. 

Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp 
Will you give horns, chaste lady ? do not so. [mocks ! 
Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. 
Long. One word in private with you, ere I die. 
Kath. Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you cry. 

l^Theij converse apart. 
Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen 
As is the razor's edge invisible. 
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen ; 

Above the sense of sense : so sensible 

Seemeth their conference ; their conceits have wings, 

Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter 

things. [break off. 

Roi. Not one word more, my maids ; break oft", 

Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff". 

King. Farewell, mad wenches ; you have simple 

wits 
[Eieunt King, Lords, Moth, Music, &; Attendants. 
Frin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites. — 
Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at ? 

Boyct. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths 
puA''d out. 



Ros. Well-liking wits they have ; gross, gross; fat 

Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout ! [fat 
Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night'; 

Or ever, but in visors, shew their faces ? 
This pert Bir6n was out of countenance quite. 

Ros. O ! they were all in lamentable cases ! 
The king was weeping-ripe for a good word. 

Prin. Biron did swear himself out of all suit. 

Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword : 
No point, quoth I ; my servant straight was mute. 

Kath. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart; 
And trow you, what he call'd me? 

Prin. Qualm, perhaps. 

Kalh. Yes, in good faith. 

Prin. Go, sickness as thou art : 

Ros. Well, betterwits have worn plain statute-caps. 
But will you hear? the king is my love sworn. 

Prin. And quick Bir6n hath plighted faith to me. 

Kath. And Longaville was for my service born. 

Mar. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree. 

Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear : 
Immediately they will again be here 
In their own shapes ; for it can never be, 
They will digest this harsh indignity. 

Prin. Will they return ? 

Boyet. f hey will, they will, God knows. 

And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows : 
Therefore, change favours ; and, when they repair. 
Blow like sweet roses in this summer air. [stood. 

Prin. How blow? how blow? speak to be under- 

Boyet. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud; 
Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shewn. 
Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown. 

Prin. Avaunt, perplexity ! What shall we do. 
If they return in their own shapes to woo ? 

Ros. Good madam, if by me you '11 be advis'd. 
Let's mock them still, as well known, as disguis'd • 
Let us complain to them what fools were here, 
Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear ; 
And wonder what they were ; and to what end 
Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely penn'd, 
And their rough carriage so ridiculous. 
Should be presented at our tent to us. 

Boyet. Ladies, withdraw : the gallants are at hand. 

Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run over land. 

l^Exeunt Princess, Ros. Kath. and Maria. 

Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, 
in their proper habits. 

King. Fair sir, God save you ! Where is the orin- 
cess ? 

Boyet. Gone to her tent : Please it your majesty, 
Command me any service to her thither ? 

King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word. 

Boyet. 1 will ; and so will she, I know, my lord. 

[Exit. 

Biron. This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas ; 
And utters it again when God doth please : 
He is wit's pedlar ; and retails his wares 
At wakes, and vvassels, meetings, markets, fairs ; 
And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know. 
Have not the grace to grace it with such show. 
This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve ; 
Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve : 
He can carve too, and lisp : Why, this is he. 
That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy ; 
This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice. 
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice 
In honourable terms ; nay, he can sing 
A mean most meanly ; and, in ushering, 
Mend him who can : the ladies call him, sweet; 
The stairs, as he treads on thtm, kiss his feet -. 



184 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



This is the flower that smiles on every one, 
To shew his teeth as white as whales' bone : 
And consciences, that will not die in debt, 
Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet. 

King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart. 
That put Armado's page out of his part ! 

Entei' the Princess, ushered by Boyet ; Rosaline, 
Maria, Katharine, and Attendants. 

Biron. See where it comes! — Behaviour, what 
wert thou, 
Till this man shew'd thee ? and what art thou now? 

King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day ! 

Frill. Fair, in all hail, is foul, as I conceive. 

King. Construe my speeches better, if you may. 

Prin. Then wish me better, I will give you leave. 

King. We came to visit you ; and purpose now 
To lead you to our court : vouchsafe it then. 

Prin. This field shall hold me-, and so hold your 
Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'd men. [vow : 

King. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke ; 
The virtue of your eye must break my oath. 

Prin. You nick-name virtue : vice you should have 
spoke ; 
For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. 
Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure 

As the unsullied lily, I protest, 
A world of torments though I should endure, 

I would not yield to be your house's guest : 
So much I hate a breaking cause to be 
Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity. 

King. O, you have liv'd in desolation here, 
Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame. 

Prin. Not so, my lord, it is not so, I swear ; 
We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game ; 
A mess of Russians left us but of late. 

King. How, madam 1 Russians ? 

Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord ; 

Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state. 

Ros. Madam, speak true: — It is not so, my lord ; 
My lady (to the manner of the days,) 
In courtesy, gives undeserving praise. 
We four, indeed, confronted here with four 
In Russian habit; here they staid an hour. 
And talk'd apace ; and in that hour, my lord. 
They did not bless us with one happy word. 
I dare not call them fools ; but this I think. 
When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink. 

Bivon. This jest is dry to me. — Fair, gentle sweet, 
Your wit makes wise things foolish ; when we greet 
With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye, 
By light we lose light : Your capacity 
Is of that nature, that to your huge store 
Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor. 

Ros. This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye — 

Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty. 

Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong, 
It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. 

Biron. O, I am yours, and all that I possess. 

Ros. All the fool mine 1 

Biron. I cannot give you less. 

Rfls. Which of the visors was it, that you wore 1 

Biron. Where? when? what visor? why demand 
you this ? 

Ros. There, then, that visor ; that superfluous case. 
That bid the worse, and shew'd the better face. 

King. We are descried : they'll mock us now down- 

.T)u7n. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest, [right. 

Pri. Amaz'd, my lord, why looks your highness sad? 

Rus. Help, hold his brows ! he'll swoon 1 Why 
look you pale ? — 
Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. 



Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for per- 

Can any face of brass hold longer out ? [jury. 
Here stand I, lady ; dart thy skill at me ; 

Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout; 
Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance ; 

Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit ; 
And I will wish thee never more to dance. 

Nor never more in Russian habit wait. 

! never will I trust to speeches penn'd. 

Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue ; 
Nor never come in visor to my friend ; 

Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song : 
Tafl^ata phrases, silken tenns precise. 

Three pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation. 
Figures pedantical ; these summer-flies 

Have blown me full of maggot ostentation : 

1 do forswear them : and I here protest, 

By this white glove, (how white the hand, God 
knows !) 
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd 

In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes : 
And, to begin, wench, — so God help me, la ! — 
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw. 

Ros. Sa7is SANS, I pray you. 

Biron. Yet I have a trick 

Of the old rage : — bear with me, I am sick ; 
I '11 leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see ; — 
Write, Lord have mercy on ns, on those three-, 
They are infected, in their hearts it lies ; 
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes ; 
These lords are visited ; you are not free. 
For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. [us. 

Prin. No, they are free, that gave these tokens to 

Biron. Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us. 

Ros. It is not so ; For how can this be true. 
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue ? 

Biron. Peace ; for I will not have to do with you. 

Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. 

Biron. Speak for yourselves, my wit is at an end. 

King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude trans- 
Some fair excuse. [gression. 

Prin, The fairest is confession. 

Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd? 

King. Madam, I was. 

Prin. And were you well advis'd 1 

I was, fair madam 

When you then were here 
What did you whisper in your lady's ear? [her. 

A')H^. That more than all the world I did respect 

Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will 

King. Upon mine honour, no. [reject her, 

Prin. Peace, peace, forbear ; 

Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear. 

A (»g. Despise me, when I break this oath of mine. 

Prin. I will ; and therefore keep it : — Rosaline, 
What did the Russian whisper in your ear ? 

Ros. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear 
As precious eye-sight ; and did value me 
Above this world : adding thereto, moreover. 
That he would wed me, or else die my lover. 

Prin. God give thee joy of him ! the noble lord 
Mosi honourably doth uphold his word. [troth. 

King. What mean you, madam ? by my life, my 
I never swore this lady such an oath. 

Ros. By heaven you did ; and to confirm it plain. 
You gave me this : but take it, sir, again. 

King. My faith, and this, the princess I did §ive ; 
I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve. 

Priri. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear ; 
And lord Bin'm, I thank him, is my dear : — 
What ; will you have me, or your pearl again ? 

Biron. Neither of either ; I remit both twain. — 



King. 
Prin. 



ACT v.— SCENE II. 



185 



I see the trick on't ; — Here was a consent, 

^Knowing aforeliand of our merriment,) 

To dasli it like a Christmas comedy : 

Some carry-tale, some please man, some slight zany. 

Some mumble news, some trencher-knight, some 

Dick,— 
That smiles his cheek in years ; and knows the trick 
To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd, — 
Told our intents before : which once disclos'd. 
The ladies did change favours ; and then we. 
Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she. 
Now, to our perjury to add more terror, 
We are again forsworn : in will, and error. 
Much upon this it is : And might not you, [To Boyet. 
Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue ? 
Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire. 

And laugh upon the apple of her eye 1 
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire, 

Holding a trencher, jesting merrily 1 
You put our page out : Go, you are allow'd ; 
Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud. 
You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye. 
Wounds like a leaden sword. 

Bniiet. Full merrily 

Hath this brave manage, this career, been run. 

Biion. Lo,heis tilting straight! Peace; I have done. 

Enter Costard. 

Welcome, pure wit ! thou partest a fair fray. 

Cost. O Lord, sir, they would know. 
Whether the three worthies shall come in, or no. 

Biron. What, are there but three 1 

Cost. No, sir ; but it is vara fine. 

For every one pursenls three. 

Biron. And three times thrice is nine, [is not so : 

Cost. Not so, sir ; under correction, sir ; I hope, it 
You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir ; we 

know what we know : 
I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir, — ■ 

Biron. Is not nine. 

Cost. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil 
it doth amount. 

Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine. 

Cost. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get 
your living by reckoning, sir. 

Biron. How much is it 1 

Cost. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the 
actors, sir, will shew whereuntil it doth amount : for 
my own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one 
man, — e'en one poor man ; Pompion the great, sir. 

Biron. Art thou one of the worthies 1 

Cost. It pleased them, to think me worthy of 
Pompion the great : for mine own part, I know not 
tJie degree of the worthy ; but I am to stand for him. 

Biron. Go, bid them prepare. 

Cost. We will turn it finely oft', sir ; we will take 
some care. [E-ii't Costard. 

King. Biron, they will shame us, let them not 
approach. [some policy 

Biron. \Ve are shame-proof, my lord : and 'tis 
To have one show worse than the king's and his 

King. I say, they shall not come. [company. 

Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er rule you nowl 
That sport best pleases, that doth least know how : 
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents 
Die in the zeal of them which it presents. 
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth ; 
When great things labouring perish in their birth. 

Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord. 

Enter Armado. 
Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy 



royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. 
[Armado converses with the King, and delivers 
him a paper. 
Prin. Doth this man serve God? 
Biron. Why ask you ? 

Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making. 
Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey-mo- 
narch : for, I protest, the school master is exceeding 
fantastical ; too, too vain ; too, too vain ; But we 
will put it, as they say, to fortuna deila guerra. I 
wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement ! 

l^Ei'it Armado. 
King. Here is like to be a good presence of wor- 
thies : He presents Hector of Troy ; the swain, 
Pompey the Great ; the parish curate, Alexander ; 
Armado's page, Hercules ; the pedant, Judas Ma- 
chabajus. 

And if these four worthies in their first show thrive, 
'J'hese four will change habits, and present the other 
five. 
Biron. There is five in the first show. 
King. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so. 
Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest 
the fool, and the boy : — 

Abate a throw at novum ; and the whole world again. 

Cannot prick out five such, take each one in his vein, 

King, The ship is under sail, and here she comes 

amain. 

[Seats brought for the King, Princess, &jc. 

Pageant of the Nine Worthies. 
Enter Costard arm'd, for Pomvey. 

Cost. I Pompey am, 

Boyet. You lie, you are not he 

Cost. I Pompey am, • 

Boyet. With libbard's head on knee. 

Biron. Well said, old mocker ; I must needs be 
friends with thee. 

Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the big, — 

Dum. The great. 

Cost. It is great, sir ; — Pompey surnam'd the great ; 
That oft infield, with targe and shield, did make my 
foe to sweat : [chance ; 

And travelling along this coast, I here am come by 
And lay mil arms before the legs of this sweet lass of 
France. [done. 

If your ladyship would say, Thanks, Pompey, 1 had 

Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey. 

Cost. 'Tis not so much worth ; but, I hope, I was 
perfect : I made a little fault in, great. 

Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the 
best worthy. 

Enter Nathaniel arm'cZ,/w Alexander. 
Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's 
commander ; ['"& might : 

Bv east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquer- 
Mil 'scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alisander. 
Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not ; for It 
stands too right. [smelling knight. 

Biron, Your nose smells, no, in this, most tender- 
Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd • Proceed, good 
Alexander. [commander ; 

Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's 
Boyet. Most true, 'tis right ; you were so, Alisander. 
Biron. Pompey the great. 

Cost. Your servant, and Costard. [sander. 

Bi7-on. Take away the conqueror, take away Ali- 

Cost. O, sir, [to Natii.] you have overthrown 

Alisander the conqueror ! You will be scraped out 

of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds 

his poll-axe sitting on a close stool, will be given to 



J 86 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



A-jax : he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, 
and afeard to speak ! run away for shaine, Alisander. 
[Nath. retires.] There, an't shall please you ; a fool- 
ish mild man ; an honest man, look you, and soon 
dash'd I He is a marvellous good neighbour, insooth ; 
and a very good bowler : but, for Alisander, alas, 
you see, how 'tis ; — a little o'erparted : — But there 
are worthies a coming will speak their mind in some 
other sort. 

Prill. Stand aside, good Pompey. 

Enter Holoff.rnes arm'd,for Judas jand Moth 
arm' d, for Hercules. 

Hoi. Great Hercules is presented by this imp. 
Whose club killed Cerberus, tliat three-headed cdiaus; 
And, when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp. 

Thus did he stranglt serpe)Us in his manus : 
Quoniam, he seemeth in minority ; 
Ergo, I come with this apology. — 
Keep some stale in thy exit, and vanish. [Exit Moth. 

Hoi. Judas, I am, — 

Dum. A Judas ! 

HoL Not Iscariot, sir. 
Judas I am, ycleped Machnhieiis. 

Dam. Judas Machabreus dipt, is plain Judas. 

Biron. A kissing traitor : — How art thou prov'd 

Hoi. Judas, I am,— [Judas 1 

Dum. The more shame for you, Judas. 

Hoi. What mean you, sir ? 

Boyet. To make Judas hang himself. 

HoL Begin, sir ; you are my elder. [elder. 

Biron. Well foUow'd: Judas was hanged on an 

Hoi. I will not be put out of countenance. 

Biron. Because thou hast no face. 

Hoi. What is this 1 

Boyet. A cittern head. 

Dum. The head of a bodkin. 

Biron, A death's face in a ring. 

Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen. 

Boyet. Tlie pummel of Cajsar's faulchion. 

Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask. 

Biron. St. George's half cheek in a brooch. 

Dum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead. 

Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer : 
And now, forward ; for we have put thee in coun- 
tenance. 

Hoi. You have put me out of countenance. 

Biron. False : we have given thee faces. 

Hoi. But you have out-fac'd them all. 

Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so. 

Boyet. Therefore, as he is, an ass, let him go. 
And so adieu, sweet Jude ! nay, why dost thou stay 1 

Dum. For the latter end of his name. 

Biron. For the ass to the Jude ; — give it him : — 
Jud-as, away. 

Hoi This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. 

Boyet. A light for monsieur Judas : it grows dark, 
he may stumble. [baited ! 

Prin. Alas, poor Machabaaus, how hath he been 

Enter Ahmaho arm'd,J'or Hector. 

Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles ; here comes 
Hector in arms. 

Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, 1 will 
now be merry. 

King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this. 

Boyet. But is this Hector 1 

Dum. I think, Hector was not so clean-timbered. 

Long. His leg is too big for Hector. 

Dum. More calf, certain. 

Boyet. No ; he is best indued in the small. 

Biron. This cannot be Hector. 

Dum. He's a god or a painter ; for he makes faces. 



Arm. The urmipotetit Mars, of lances the almightv, 
Gave Hector a gift, — 

Dum. A gilt nutmeg. 

Biron. A lemon. 

Long. Stuck with cloves. 

Dum. No, cloven. 

Arm. Peace ! 
The armipoient Mars, of lances the almighty. 

Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Uion ; 
A man so breathed, that certain he would fight, yea 

From morn till night, out of his pavilion. 
I am that flower, — 

Dnm. That mint. 

Long. That columbine. 

Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. 

lAV\g. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs 
against Hector. 

Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. 

Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten ; 
sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried : 
when he breath'd, he was a man — But I will forward 
with my device : Sweet royalty, ''to the Princcss.] 
bestow on me the sense of hearing. 

[BinoN whispers Costard. 

Prin. Speak, brave Hector : we are much delighted. 

Arm, I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. 

Boyet. Loves her by the foot. 

Dum. He may no by the yard. 

Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal, — 

Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is 
gone ; she is two Months on her way. 

Ann. \Vhat meanest thou 1 

Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, 
the poor wench is castaway : she's quick ; the child 
brags in her belly already ; 'tis yours. 

Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates ? 
thou shalt die. 

Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd, for Jaque- 
netta that is quick by him ; and hang'd for Pompey 
that is dead by him. 

Dum. Most rare Pompey ! 

Boyet Renowned Pompey I 

lUron. Greater than great, great, great, great 
Pompey ! Pompey the huge ! 

Dum. Hector trembles. 

Biron. Pompey is mov'd : — INIore Ates, more 
Ates ; stir them on ! stir them on ! 

Dum. Hector will challenge him. 

Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's 
belly than will sup a flea. 

Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. 

Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern 
man ; I'll slash ; I'll do it by the sword : — I pray 
you, let me borrow my arms again. 

Dum. Room for the incensed worthies. 

Cost. I '11 do it my shirt. 

Dum. Most resolute Pompey ! 

Moth. Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. 
Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat ? 
What mean you 1 you will lose your reputation. 

Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me ; Iwill 
not combat in my shirt. 

Dum. You may not deny it ; Pompey hath made 
the challenge. 

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. 

Biron. What reason have you for't ? 

Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt ; 
I go woolward for penance 

Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for 
want of linen : since when, I'll be sworn, he wore 
none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's ; and that "a 
wears next his heart, for a favour. 



ACT V.~SCENE II. 



187 



Enter Mercade. 

Mer. God save you, madam ! 

Prin. Welcome, Mercade ; 
But that thou inierrupt'st our merriment. 

Mer. I am sorry, madam ; for the news I bring, 
Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father — 

Prin. Dead for my life. 

Mer. Even so ; my tale is told. 

Biron. Worthies, away ; the scene begins to cloud. 

Arm. For mine own part, 1 breathe free breath : 
I liave seen the day of wrong through the little hole 
of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier. 

{^Exeunt Worthies. 

King. How fares your majesty! 

Prin. Boyet, prepare ; 1 will away to-night. 

King. Madam, not so ; I do beseech you, stay. 

Prin. Prepare, I say. — I thank you, gracious lords. 
For all your fair endeavours ; and entreat. 
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe 
In your rich wisdom, to excuse, or hide, 
The liberal opposition of our spirits : 
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves 
In the converse of breath, your gentleness 
Was guilty of it. — Farewell, worthy lord ! 
A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue : 
Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks 
For my great suit so easily obtain'd. 

King. The extreme parts of time extremely form 
All causes to the purpose of his speed ; 
And often, at his very loose, decides 
That which long process could not arbitrate : 
And though the mourning brow of progeny 
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love. 
The holy suit which fain it would convince ; 
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot. 
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it 
From what it purpos'd ; since to wail friends lost, 
Is not by much so wholesome, profitable. 
As to rejoice at friends but newly found. 

Prin. 1 understand you not ; my griefs are double. 

Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of 
And by these badges understand the king, [grief; — 
For your fair sakes have we neglected time, 
Play'd foul play with our oaths ; your beauty, ladies, 
Hatii much deform'd us, fashioning our humours 
Even to the opposed end of our intents : 
And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous, — 
As love is full of unbefitting strains ; 
All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain ; 
Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye 
Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms. 
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll 
To every varied object in his glance : 
Which party-coated presence of loose love 
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes. 
Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities. 
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults, 
Suggested us to make : Therefore, ladies. 
Our love being yours, the error that love makes 
Is likewise yours : we to ourselves prove false, 
By being once false for ever to be true 
To those that make us both, — fair ladies, you : 
4.nd even that falsehood, in itself a sin. 
Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace. 

Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love ; 
Your favours, the embassadors of love ; 
And in our maiden council, rated them 
At courtship, pleasant jest, and cotirtesy, 
As bombast, and as lining to the time : 
But more devout than this, in our respects, 
Have we not been ; and therefore met your loves 



In their own fashion, like a merriment. 

Dunj. Our letters, madam, shew'd much more than 

Long. So did our looks. [jest. 

Ros. We did not quote them so. 

King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, 
Grant us your loves. 

Prin. A time, methinks, too short 

To make a world without-end bargain in : 
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much. 
Full of dear guiltiness ; and, therefore this, — 
If for my love (as there is no such cause) 
You will do aught, this shall you do for me : 
Your oath I will not trust ; but go with speed 
To some forlorn and naked hermitage. 
Remote from all the pleasures of the world ; 
There stay, until the twelve celestial signs 
Have brought about their annual reckoning : 
If this austere insociable life 
Change not your offer made in heat of blood ; 
If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds, 
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love. 
But that it bear this trial, and last love ; 
Then, at the expiration of the year. 
Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts, 
And, by this virgin palm, now kissing thine, 
I will be thine ; and, till that instant, shut 
My woeful self up in a mourning house ; 
Haining the tears of lamentation, 
For the remembrance of my father's death. 
If this thou do deny, let our hands part ; 
Neither intitled in the other's heart. 

King. If this, or more than this, I would deny. 
To flatter up these powers of mine with rest. 
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye ! 
Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. 

Biron. And what to me, my love 1 and what to me ] 

Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are rank 
You are attaint with faults and perjury ; 
Therefore, if you my favour mean to get, 
A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, 
But seek the weary beds of people sick. 

Bum. But what to me, my love 1 but what to me ? 

Katli. A wife ! — A beard, fair health, and honesty ; 
With three- fold love I wish you all these three. 

Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife"! 

Kath. Not so, my lord ; — a twelvemonth and a day 
I' 11 mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say « 
Come when the king doth to my lady come. 
Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some. 

Dum. I '11 serve thee true and faithfully till then. 

Kath, Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again. 

Long. What says JMaria"! 

Miir. At the twelvemonth's end 

I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. 

Long. I'll stay with patience ; but the time is long, 

M(ir. The liker you ; few taller are so young. 

Biron. Studies my lady 1 mistress, look on me 
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye. 
What humble suit attends thy answer there ; 
Impose some service on me for thy love. 

Ros. Oft have 1 heard of you, my lord Bir6n, 
Before I saw you : and the world's large tongue 
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks; 
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts ; 
Which you on all estates will execute. 
That lie within the mercy of your wit: 
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain ; 
And, therewithal, to win me, if you please, 
(Without the wliich I am not to be won,) 
You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day 
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse 
With groaning wretches ; and your task shall be. 



180 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



With all tlie fierce endeavour of your wit, 
To enforce the pained impotent to smile. 

Bira/i . To move wild laughter in the throat of death ? 
It cannot be ; it is impossible : 
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. 

Ros. Why, that "s the way to choke a gibing spirit. 
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace. 
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools: 
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear 
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue 
Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears, 
Deafd with the clamours of their own dear groans, 
Will hear your idle scorns, continue then. 
And I will have you, and that fault withal ; 
But, if they will not, throw away that spirit, 
And I shall find you empty of that fault. 
Right joyful of your reformation. 

Binm. A twelvemonth? well, befal what will befal, 
I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. 

Prin. Ay, sweet my lord ; and so I take my leave. 

[To the King. 

King. No, madam : we will bring you on your way. 

Birnn. Our wooing doth not end like an old play ; 
Jack hath not Jill : these ladies' courtesy 
Might well have made our sport a comedy. 

King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day, 
And then 'twill end. 

Biron. That's too long for a play 

Enter Abm.\do. 

Attn. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me, — 

Priu. Was not that Hector? 

Dum. The worthy knight of Troy. 

Ariti. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave : 
I am a votary ; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold 
the plough for her sweet love three years. But most 
esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that 
the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the 
owl and tlie cuckoo? it should have followed in the 
end of our show. 

Ki!7g. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. 

Arm. Holla ! approach. 

Enter HoLOFERNEs, Nathaniel, Moth, Costaud, 
and others. 

This side is Hiems, winter ; this Ver, the spring ; the 



one maintain'd by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. 
Ver, begin. 

SONG. 

Spring. I. When daisies pied, aitd 7)ioIets blue, 
And ladij-smocks all silver-white, 
And cuckoo-huds of yellow hue, 

Do paint the meadows with delight, 
The cuckoo then, on every tree, 
Mocks married men,jor thus sings he, 

Cuckoo ; 
Cuckoo, cuckoo, — word of fear, 
Unpieasing to a married ear ! 

II. When shepherds pipe on oaten straws. 

And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks. 
When turtles tread, and rooks and daws. 

And maidens bleach their summer smocks, 
The cuckoo then, on every tree. 
Mocks married men, for thus sings he. 

Cuckoo ; 
Cuckoo, cuckoo, — word of fear, 
Unpieasing to a married ear ! 

Winter. III. When isicles hang by the wall. 

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 
And Tom bears logs into the hall. 

And 7nilk comes frozen home in piiil, 
When blood is nipp'd, and ways befoul. 
Then 7tightly sings the staring owl, 

To-who ; 
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note. 
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot, 

IV. When all aloud the wind doth blow. 

And coughing drowns the parson's saw. 
And birds sit brooding in the snow, 

And Marian's 7iose looks red and raw. 
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl. 
Then nightly sings the staring owl, 

To-who ; 
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, 
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 

Arm. The words of INIercury are harsh after the 
songs of Apollo. You, that way j we, this way. 

[ Exeunt. 



In this play which all the editors have concurred to censure, told they were, to 8 maiden queen. But there are scattered 
and some have rejected as unworthy of our poet, it must be con- i through the whole niatiy sparks ol genius ; nor is there any 
fessed that there are many passages mean, childish, and vulgar; play that ba» more evident marUsof the hand of Shakspeare.— 
and some which ought not to have been exhibited, as we are I JoaNSOX. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



This play was entered at Stationers' Ilall on theCCd of .luly, 
16yB ; but must have been exhibited before that time, as it 
was mentioned by Meres, in the H'it's Treasury, which was 
publislied early in the same year. J he fii st known edition of 
this comedy is the quarto, " printed by J. K. i'or ihonias 
Ileyes, loou." It was most probably written in 1397- Wr. 
Maione places it three years earlier ; but he has no authority 
to support his hypothesis, but a simile of Portia's — 
" Thy music is 
" Kveii as the flourish when true subjects bow 
** To a new crowned monarch." 
This passage he supiwses to refer to the recent coronation of 
Ilenrv the Fourth of Trance, of which a description was pub- 
lished in this country immediately after the event. 



The principal incidents of the plot are taken from a story in 
the I'ecorvue oi SerCiiovanni I'lorentino, a novelist who wrote 
in 137tJ [ 1 he first novel of the fourth day.] The story has 
been publiihed iu En^-lish. 1 he circumstance of the caskets 
is from an old translation of the Gesta Romanorum, first 
Iirinted by Wynkyn de Woide. 

It has been supposed that there was a play on the subject pre. 
vious to this of our author, and on which lie uiiyht have 
grounded his work. I his notion has been suggested by a 
passage in .-itephen Go^so^'s .bV/iyo/u/WiKje, which speaks of 
the Jew shewn at the l^iuU. representing the greediness of 
worldly choosers, and the bloody minds of usurers ;" but 
these words api'Iy with eiiual propriety to the Jea of Marlow, 
and to the <Slnjlock of ^htikipeare. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Duke of Venice. 

Prince of Morocco, ) ., . -n •■ 
■D \ > suitors to Portia. 

Prince of Arragon, S 

Antonio, the Merchant o/" Venice. 

Bassanio, his friend. 

Salanio, Salarino, Gratiano, friends to Antonio 

and Bassanio. 

Lorenzo, m love with Jessica. 

Shylock, a Jew. 

Tubal, a Jew, his friend. 

Launcelot Gobbo, a clown, servant to Shylock. 

Old GoDBO, father to Launcelot. 

Salerio, a messenger from Venice. 

Leonardo, servajit to Bassanio, 

Balthazar, Stephano, servants to Portia. 

Portia, a rich heiress. 
Nerissa, her waitins-maid, 
Jessica, daughter to Shylock. 

Magnifcoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, 
Gaoler, Servants, and other Attendants. 

SCENE, — partly at Venice, and partlu at Belmont, 
the Seat o/" Portia, on the Continent. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.— Venice. A Street. 
Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. 

Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad ; 
It wearies me ; you say, it wearies you ; 
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it. 
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, 
I am to learn ; 

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me. 
That I have much ado to know myself. 

Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean ; 
There, where your argosies with portly sail, — 
Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood. 
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, — 
Do overpeer the petty traifickers. 
That curt'sy to them, do them reverence. 
As they fly by them with their woven wings. 

Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth. 
The better part of my affections would 
Be with my hopes abroad. 1 should be still 
Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind ; 
Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads ; 
And every object, that might make nie fear 
Misfr>rtiine to my ventures, out of doubt. 
Would make me sad. 

Salar. My wind, cooling my broth. 



Would blow me to an ague, when I thought 

What harm a wind too great might do at sea. 

I should not see the sandy hour glass run. 

But I should think of shallows and of fiats ; 

And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand. 

Vailing her high-top lowei than her ribs, 

To kiss her burial. Should I go to church. 

And see the holy edifice of stone. 

And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks'! 

Which touching but my gentle vessel's side, 

Would scatter all her spices on the stream ; 

Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks ; 

And, in a word, but even now worth this, 

And now worth nothing ] Shall I have the thought 

To think on this ; andshall I lack the thought. 

That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me sad? 

But tell not me ; I know Antonio 

Is sad to think upon his merchandize. 

Ant. Believe me, no ; I thank my fortune for it. 
]\Iy ventures are not in one bottom trusted. 
Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate 
Upon the fortune of this present year : 
Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad. 

Salan. Why then you are in love. 

Ant. Fye, fye! 

Salan. Not in love neither"? Then let's say, you 
are sad. 
Because you are not merry : and 'twere as easy 
For you to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry, 
Because you are not sad. Now, by two headed Janus, 
Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time : 
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes. 
And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper : 
And other of such vinegar aspect. 
That they '11 not shew their teeth in way of smile, 
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. 

Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, ayid Gratiano. 

Salan. Herecomes Bassanio, your most noble kins- 
Gratiano, and Lorenzo : Fare you well ; [man. 

We leave you now with better company. 

Salar. I would have staid till I had made you merry. 
If worthier friends had not prevented me. 

Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
I take it, your own business calls on you. 
And you embrace the occasion to depart. 

Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. [Say, when"* 

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh 1 
You grow exceeding strange : Must it be so 1 

Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. 
[E.vcH)U Salarino and Salanio, 

Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found 
Antonio, 
We two will leave you : but, at dinner time, 
I pray you, have in mind wliere we must meet. 



190 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Bass. I will not fail you. 
• Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio ; 
You have too much respect upon the world : 
They lose it, that do buy it with much care. 
Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd. 

Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ; 
A stage, where every man must play a part, 
And mine a sad one. 

Gra. Let me play the Fool : 

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come ; 
And let my liver raliier heat with wine, 
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, 
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster"! 
Sleep when he wakes 1 and creep into the jaundice 
By being peevish 1 I tell thee what, Antonio, — 
1 love thee, and it is my love that speaks ; — 
There are a sort of men, whose visages 
Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond ; 
And do a wilful stillness entertain. 
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion 
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit ; 
As who should say, 1 am Sir Oracle, 
And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark ! 
O, my Antonio, 1 do know of these, 
That therefore only are reputed wise, 
For saying nothing ; who, I am very sure, 
If they should speak, would almost damn those ears. 
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers, fools. 
I '11 tell thee more of this another time : 
But fish not, with this melancholy bait, 
For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion. — 
Come, good Lorenzo :. Fare ye well, a while ; 
1 '11 end my exhortation after dinner. 

Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time 
I must be one of these same dumb wise men. 
For Gratidno never lets me speak. 

Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more. 
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue 
Ant. Farewell : I'll grow a talker for this gear. 
Gra. Thanks, i' faith ; for silence is only com- 
mendable 
In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. 
[Exeunt Gratiano and LouiiNZO. 
Ant. Is that any thing now 1 
Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, 
more than any man in all Venice : His reasons are 
as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; 
you shall seek all day ere you find them; and, when 
you have them, they are not worth tlie search. 

Ant. Well ; tell me now, what lady is this same. 
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, 
That you to-day promis'd to tell me of 1 

Buss. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, 
How much I have disabled mine estate. 
By something shewing a more swelling port 
Than my faint means would grant continuance : 
Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd 
From such a noble rate ; but my chief care 
Is, to come fairly oft' from tlie great debts, 
Wiierein my time, something too prodigal, 
Hath left me gaged: To you, Antonio, 
I owe the most, in money, and in love ; 
And from your love I liave a warranty 
To unburthen all my plots, and purposes. 
How to get clear of all the debts I owe. 

Ant. 1 pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it ; 
And, it It stand, as you yourself still do. 
Within the eye of honour, be assur'd. 
My purse, my person, my extremest means. 
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions, 

Bass. Inray school-days, when I had lost one shaft. 



I shot his fellow of the self-same flight 

The self-same way, with more advised watch. 

To find the other forth ; and by advent'ring both, 

I oft found both : I urge this childish proof. 

Because what follows is pure innocence. 

I owe you much ; and, like a wilful youth. 

That which I owe is lost : but if you please 

To shoot another arrow that self way 

W^hich you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, 

As I will watch the aim, or to find both. 

Or bring your latter hazard back again. 

And thankfully rest debtor for the first. [time, 

Ant. You know me well ; and herein spend but 
To wind about my love with circumstance ; 
And, out of doubt, you do me now more wrong. 
In making question of my uttennost, 
Thafn if you had made waste of all I have: 
Then do but say to me what I should do, 
That in your knowledge may by me be done, 
And I am prest unto it : tiieiefore, speak. 

Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left. 
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word. 
Of wond'rous virtues ; sometimes from her eyes 
1 did receive fair speechless messages : 
Her name is Portia ; nothing undervalued 
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia. 
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth ; 
For the four winds blow in from every coast 
Renowned suitors : and her sunny locks 
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece ; 
Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' strand, 
And many Jasons come in quest of her. 

my Antonio, had I but the means 
To hold a rival place with one of them, 

1 have a mind presages me such thrift. 
That I should questionless be fortunate. 

Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at sea, 
Nor have I money, nor commodity 
To raise a present sum : therefore go forth. 
Try what my credit can in Venice do ; 
That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost, 
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 
Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 
Where money is ; and 1 no question make, 
To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. —Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 

Enter Portia and Nerissa. 

For. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a- 
weary of this great world. 

Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your mise- 
ries were in the same abundance as your good for- 
tunes are : And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick 
that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with 
nothing : It is no mean happiness therefore, to be 
seated in the mean ; superfluity comes sooner by 
white hairs, but competency lives longer. 

Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. 

Ker. They would be better, if well followed. 

Por. If to do were as easy as to know what weie 
good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor 
men's cottages, princes' palaces. It is a good divine 
that follows his own instructions : I can easier teach 
twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the 
twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may 
devise laws for the blood ; but a hot temper leaps 
over a cold decree : such a hare is madness the youth, 
to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. 
But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me 
a husband : — O me, the word choose ! 1 may neither 
choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike ; 



ACT I.— SCENE 111. 



191 



so is the will of a living daughter curb'd by the will 
of a dead father : — Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I 
cannot choose one, nor refuse none ? 

Ner. Your father v/as ever virtuous ; and holy 
men, at their deatli, have good inspirations ; there- 
fore, the lottery, that he hath devised in these three 
chests, of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who 
chooses his meaning, chooses you,) will, no doubt, 
never be chosen by any rightly, but one who you 
shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your 
affection towards any of these princely suitors that 
are already come 1 

For. 1 pray thee overname tliem ; and as thou 
namest them, 1 will describe them ; and according 
to my description, level at my affection. 

JVer. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 

For. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he doth nothing 
but talk of his horse ; and he makes it a great appro- 
priation to his own good parts, that he can shoe him 
himself: I am much afraid, my lady his mother 
played false with a smith. 

Ner. Then, is there the county Palatine. 

For. He doth nothing but frown ; as who should 
say, And if you vnU not have jne, choose: he hears 
merry tales, and smiles not : I fear, he will prove 
the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being 
so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had 
rather be married to a death's head with a bone in 
his mouth, than to elthei of tliese. God defend me 
from these two 1 

Ner. How sav vou by the French lord, Monsieur 
Le Bon ' 

For. God made him, and therefore let him pass 
for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a 
mocker ; But, he ! why, he hath a horse better than 
the Neapolitan's ; a better bad habit of frowning 
than the count Palatine : he is every man in no man : 
if a throstle sing, he falls straight a capering; he will 
fence with his own shadow : if I should marry him, 
I should marry twenty husbands : If he would de- 
spise me, I would forgive him ; for if he love me to 
madness, I shall never requite him. 

Ner. What say you then to Faulconbridge, the 
young baron of England ? 

For. You know, 1 say nothing to him ; for he un- 
derstands not me, nor 1 him : he hatli neither Latin, 
French, nor Italian ; and you will come into the 
court and swear, that I have a poor pennyworth in 
the English. He is a proper man's picture ; But, 
alas ! who can converse with a dumb show 1 How 
oddly he is suited ! I think he bought his doublet 
in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in 
Germany, and his behaviour every where. 

Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his 
neighbour? 

For. 'ITiat he hath a neighbourly charity in him ; 
for he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, 
and swore he would pay him again, when he was 
able : I think, the Frenchman became his surety, 
and sealed under for another. 

Ner. How like you the young German, the duke 
of Saxony's nephew ? 

For. Very vilely in the morning, when he is 
sober ; and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is 
drunk : when he is best, he is a little worse than a 
man ; and when he is worst, he is little better than 
a beast : and the worst fall that ever fell, I hope, I 
shall make shift to go without him. 

Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the 
right casket, you should refuse to perform your fa- 
ther's will, if you should refuse to accept him. 

For. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, 



set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary 
casket : for, if the devil be within, and that tempta- 
tion without, I know he will choose it. I will do 
any thing, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a spunge. 

Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of 
these lords ; they have acquainted me with their de- 
terminations : which is, indeed, to return to their 
home, and to trouble you with no more suit; unless, 
you may be won by some other sort than your fa- 
ther's imposition, depending on the caskets. 

For. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die 
as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the man- 
ner of my father's will : I am glad this parcel of 
wooers are' so reasonable ; for there is not one among 
them but I dote on his very absence, and 1 pray God 
grant them a fair departure. 

Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's 
time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a soldier, that came 
hither in company of the Marquis of Montferrat? 

For. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio ; as I think, so 
was he called. 

Ner. True, madam ; he, of all the men that ever 
my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserving 
a fair lady. 

For. I remember him well ; and I remember him 
worthy of thy praise. — How now ! what news ? 

Entei- a Servant. 

Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, 
to take their leave : and there is a fore-runner come 
from a fifth, the prince of Morocco ; who brings 
word, the prince, his master, will be here to-night. 

For. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good 
heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should 
be glad of his approach : if he have the condition of 
a saint, and the complexion of a devil, 1 had rather 
he should shrive me than wive me. Come, Nerissa. — ■ 
Sirrah, go before. — Whiles we shut the gate upon 
one wooer, another knocks at the door. lExeunt. 

SCENE. III. — Venice. A public Place, 
Enter Bassanio and Shylock. 

Shy. Three thousand ducats, — well. 

Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. 

Shy. For three months, — well. [be bound. 

Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall 

Shy. Antonio shall become bound, — well. 

Bass. INIay you stead mel Will you pleasure me? 
Shall I know your answer? [Antonio bound. 

Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, and 

Buss. Your answer to that. 

Shy. Antonio is a good man. [trary ? 

Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the con- 

Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no ; — my meaning, in say- 
ing he is a good man, is to have you understand me, 
that he is sutHcient : yet his means are in supposition : 
he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the 
Indies; I understand moreover upon the Rialto, he 

hath a third at JMexico, a fourth for England, ■ 

and other ventures he hath,squander'd abroad ; But 
ships are but boards, sailors but men : there be land- 
rats, and water-rats, water-thieves, and land-thieves; 
I mean, pirates ; and then, there is the peril of wa- 
ters, winds, and rocks : The man is, notwithstanding, 
sufficient ; — three thousand ducats ; — I think, I may 
take his bond. 

Bass. Be assured you may. 

Shy. I will be assured, I may; and, that I may 
be assured, I will bethink me : May I speak with 
Antonio? 

Bass. If it please you to dine with us. 



192 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Shy. Yes, to smell pork ; to eat of the habitation 
which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the devil 
into ; I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with 
you, walk with you, and so following : but I will not 
eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. 
What news on the Rialto 1 — Who is he comes here ? 

Enter Antonio. 

Bass. This is signior Antonio. 

Sliy. lAside.] How like a fawning publican helooks! 
I hate him, for he is a Christian : 
But more, for that, in low simplicity, 
He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, 
Even there where merchants most do congregate, 
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, 
Which he calls interest : Cursed be my tribe. 
If I forgive him ! 

Bass. Shylock, do you hear"? 

Shy. I am debating of my present store : 
And, by the near guess of my memory, 
I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
Of full three thousand ducats : What of that 1 
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, 
Will furnish me : but soft ; How many months 
Do you desire "! — Rest you fair, good signior : 

[ To Antonio. 
Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 

Ant. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow. 
By taking, nor by giving of excess, 
Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, 
I'll break a custom : — Is he yet possess'd, 
How much you would "! 

Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 

Ant. And for three months. 

Shy. I had forgot, — three months, you told me so. 

Well then, your bond ; and, let me see, But 

hear you : 
Methought, you said, you neither lend, nor borrow. 
Upon advantage. 

Ant. I do never use it. 

Shy. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's sheep. 
This Jacob from our holy Abraham was 
(As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,) 
The third possessor ; ay, he was the third. 

Ant. And what of him 1 did he take interest"! 

Shy. No, not take interest ; not, as you would say. 
Directly interest: mark what Jacob did. 
When Laban and himself were compromis'd, 
That all the eanlings which were streak'd, and pied, 
Should fall, as Jacob's hire ; the ewes, being rank. 
In the end of autumn turned to the rams : 
And when the work of generation was 
Between these woolly breeders in the act, 
The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands, 
And, in the doing of the deed of kind. 
He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes ; 
Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time 
Fall party-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's. 
This was a way to thrive, and he was blest ; 
And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. 

Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd for ; 
A thing not in his power to bring to pass, 
But sway'd, and fashion'd, by the hand of heaven. 
Was this inserted to make interest good ? 
Or is your gold and silver, ewes and rams 1 

Shy. 1 cannot tell ; I make if breed as fast : — 
But note me, signior. 

Ant. [aside,] IMark you this, Bassanio, 



The devil can cite scripture for his purpose. 
An evil soul, producing holy witness, 
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek ; 
A goodly apple rotten at the heart ; 
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hatli! 

Shy. Three thousand ducats — 'tis a good round sum 
Three months from twelve, then let mo see the rate 

A7it. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you 

Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft. 
In the Rialto you have rated me 
About my monies, and my usances: 
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug 
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe: 
You call me — misbeliever, cut-throat dog, 
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine. 
And all for use of that which is mine own. 
^Vell then, it now appears, you need my help 
Go to then ; you come to me, and you say, 
Shylock, ue would have monies ; You say so ; 
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, 
And foot me, as you spur a stranger cur 
Over your threshold ; monies is your suit. 
What should I say to you ? Should I not say, 
ILith a dog money ? is it possible, 
A cur can lend three thousand ducats? or 
Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, 
With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness, 

Say this, 

Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last: 
i ou spurn d me such a day ; another lime 
You caiCd me — dog; and for these courtesies 
I'll lend you thus much moiies. 

Ant. I am as like to call thee so again. 
To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
As to thy friends; (for when did friendship take 
A breed for barren metal of his friend 1) 
But lend it rather to thine enemy ; 
Who, if he break, thou may'st with better face 
Exact the penalty. 

Shy. Why, look you, how you storm! 

I would be friends with you, and have your love. 
Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with. 
Supply your present wants, and take no doit 
Of usance for my monies, and you'll not hear me . 
This is kind 1 offer. 

Ant. This were kindness. 

Shy. This kindness will I shew : — 

Go with me to a notary, seal me there 
Your single bond ; and, in a merry sport, 
If you repay me not on such a day. 
In such a place, such sum, or sums, as are 
Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit 
Be nominated for an equal pound 
Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 
In what part of your body pleaseth me. 

Ant. Content, in faith ; I'll seal to such a bond, 
And say, there is much kindness in the Jew. 

Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me, 
I'll rather dwell in my necessity. 

Ant. Why, fear not, man ; I will not forfeit it 
Within these two months, that's a month before 
This bond expires, I do expect return 
Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 

Shy. O father Abraham, what these Christians are; 
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect 
The thoughts of others ! Pray you, tell me this ; 
If he should break his day, what should I gain 
By the exaction of tlie forfeiture ? 
A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man. 
Is not so estimable, profitable neither, 
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say, 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



193 



To buy his favour, I extend this friendship ; 

If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 

And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not. 

Aiit. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. 

Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's ; 
Give him direction for this merry bond, 
And 1 will go and purse the ducats straight ; 
See to my house, left in the fearful guard 
Of an unthrifty knave ; and presently 
1 will be with you. [EitC. 

Ant, Hie thee, gentle Jew. 

This Hebrew will turn Christian ; he grows kind. 

Bciis. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind. 

Ant. Come on ; in this there can be no dismay, 
My ships come home a month before the day. 

[_ExeuHt. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 

Flourish of Cornets, Enter the Prince of SIorocco, 
and his Train ; Portia, Nerissa, and other of her 
Attendants, 

Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion, 
IMie shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun, 
To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred. 
Bring nie the fairest creature northward born. 
Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles, 
And let us make incision for your love. 
To prove whose blood is reddest, his, or mine. 
I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine 
Hath fear'd the valiant; by my love, I swear. 
The best-regarded virgins of our clime 
Have lov'd it too : I would not change this hue. 
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. 

Por. In terms of choice 1 am not solely led 
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes : 
Besides, the lottery of my destiny 
Bars me the right of voluntary choosing : 
But, if my father had not scanted me. 
And hedg'd me by his wit, to yield myself 
His wife, who wins me by that means I told you, 
Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair, 
As any comer I have look'd on yet. 
For my aftection. 

Afi"". Even for that I thank you ; 

Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets, 
To try my fortune. By this scimitar, — 
That slew the Sophy, and a Persian prince. 
That won three fields of Sultan Solyman, — 
I would out-stare the sternest eyes that look. 
Out-brave the heart most daring on the earth, 
Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she bear. 
Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey, 
To win thee, lady : But, alas the while ! 
If Hercules and Lichas, play at dice 
Which is the better man, the greater throw 
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand : 
So is Alcides beaten by his page ; 
And so may I, blind fortune leading me. 
Miss that which one unworthier may attain. 
And die with grieving. 

Por. You must take your chance , 

And either not attempt to choose at all. 
Or swear before you choose, — if you choose wrono-. 
Never to speak to lady afterward 
In way of marriage ; therefore be advis'd. 

Mor. Nor will not; come, bring me unto my chance. 

Por. First forward to the temple ; after dinner 



Your hazard shall be made. 

Mor. Good fortune then ! [Cornets. 

Tomakeraebless't,or cursed'st among men. [Eieunt. 

SCENE II.— Venice. A Street. 

Enter Launxelot Gobbo. 

Latin. Certainly my conscience will serve me to 
run from this Jew, my master : The fiend is at mme 
elbow ; and tempts me, saying to me, Gobho, Luunce- 
lot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good 
Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away * 
My conscience says, — no ; take heed, honest Launce- 
tot ; take heed, honest Gobbo ; or as aforesaid, honest 
Launcelot Gobbo ; do not run ; scorn running with thy 
heels : Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack ; 
via! says the fiend; away! says the fiend, _/i)r the 
heavens ; rouse up a brave mi/iii, says the fiend, and 
run. Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck 
of my heart, says very wisely to me, — my honest 
Jrieiid, Launcelot, being an honest man's son, or rather 
an honest woman's son ; — for, indeed, my father did 
something smack, something grow to, he had a kind 
ol taste ; — well, my conscience says, Launcelot, budge 
not ; budge, says the fiend ; budge not, says my con- 
science: Conscience, say I, you counsel well; fiend, 
say I, you counsel well: to be ruled by my conscience, 
I should stay with the Jew my master, who, (God 
bless the mark !) is a kind of devil ; and, to run away 
from the Jew, 1 should be ruled by the fiend, who, 
saving your reverence, is the devil himself: Certainly, 
the Jew is the very devil incarnation : and, in my 
conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard con- 
science, to ofier to counsel me to stay with the Jew : 
The fiend gives the more friendly counsel : I will run, 
fiend ; my heels are at yourcommandment,! will run. 

Enter Old Gobbo, with a basket. 

Gob. Master, young man, you, I pray you ; which 
is the way to master Jew's 1 

Laun. \^Aside.~\ O heavens, this is my true begot- 
ten father ! who, being more than sand-blind, high- 
gravel blind, knows me not: — I will try conclusions 
with him. 

Gob. Master young gentleman, I pray you, which 
is the way to master Jew's ? 

Laun. Turn upon your right hand, at the next turn- 
ing, but, at the next turning of all, on your left; 
marry, at the very next turning, turn of no hand, but 
turn down indirectly to the Jew's house. 

Gob. By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to it. 
Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells 
with him, dwell with him, or no ] 

Laun. Talk you of young master Launcelot 1 — • 
Mark me now ; [aside.'\ now will I raise the waters : 
— Talk you of young master Launcelot? 

Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son : his 
father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding pour 
man, and, God be thanked, well to live. 

Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we 
talk of young master Launcelot. 

Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. 

Laun. But I pray you ergo, old man, ergo, I be- 
seech you ; Talk you of young master Launcelot? 

Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. 

Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot ; talk not of master 
Launcelot, father ; for the young gentleman (accord- 
ing to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, the 
sisters three, and such branches of learning), is, in- 
deed, deceased ; or, as you would say, in plain terms, 
gone to heaven. 

N 



1,94 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Gob. Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very 
staff of my age, my very prop. 

Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a 
staff, or a prop 1- — Do you know me, father ? 

Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gen- 
tleman: but, 1 pray you, tell me, is my boy, ((jod 
rest his soul!) alive or deadl 

Laun. Do ^ou not know me, father? 

Gob. Alack, sir, 1 am sand-blind, I know you not. 

Laun. Is' ay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might 
fail of the knowing me : it is a wise father, that knows 
liis own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news 
of your son: Give me your blessing: truth will come 
to light ; murder cannot be hid long, a man's son 
may ; but, in the end, truth will out. 

Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up ; I am sure, you are 
not Launcelot, my boy. 

Laun. Pray you, let's have nomorefooling about it, 
but give me your blessing ; 1 am Launcelot, your boy 
that was, your son that is, your child that shall be. 

Gob. 1 cannot think, you are my son 

Laun, 1 know not what 1 shall think of that: but 
I am Launcelot, the Jew's man : and, I am sure, 
Margery, your wife, is my mother. 

Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, 
if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and 
blood. Lord worshipp'd might he be ! what a beard 
hast thou got 1 tiiou liast got more hair on thy chin, 
than Dobbin my thill-horse has on liis tail. 

Laun. It should seem then, tliat Dobbin's tail grows 
backward ; 1 am sure he had more hair on his tail, 
than I have on my face, when 1 last saw him. 

Gob. Lord, how art thou changed ! How dost thou 
and thy master agree? I have brought him a present; 
How 'gree you now 1 

Laun. Well, well; but, for mine own part, as I 
have set up my rest to run away, so 1 will not rest 
till I have run some ground : my master's a very Jew ; 
Give him a present! give him a halter: 1 am famish'd 
in his service ; you may tell every finger 1 have with 
my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come ; give me 
your present to one master Bassanio, who, indeed, 
gives rare new liveries ; if 1 serve not him, I will run 
as far as God has any ground. — O rare fortune ! here 
comes the man; — to him, father; fur 1 am a Jew, if 
I serve the Jew any longer. 

Enter Bassanio, «;jt?i Leonardo, and other 
Followers. 

Bass. You may do so : — but let it be so hasted, 
that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the 
clock: See these letters deliver'd ; put the liveries 
to making ; and desire Gratiana to come anon to my 
lodging. [L'lit a Servant. 

Laun. To him, father. 

Gob. God bless your worship! 

Bass. Gramercy ; Would'st thou aught with me 1 

Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy, 

Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man ; 
that would, sir, as my father shall specify, 

Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would 
say, to serve ■ 

Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve 
the Jew, and I have a desire, as my fatlier shall spe- 
cify, 

Gob. His master and he, (saving your worship's 
reverence,) are scarce cater-cousins : 

Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew 
having done me wrong, doth cause rae, as my father, 
being 1 hope an old man, shall frutify unto you, 

Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that 1 would 
bestow upon your worship ; and my suit is, 



Latin. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to my. 
self, as your worship shall know by this honest old 
man ; and, though I say it, tliough old man, yet, poor 
man, my father. 

Bass- One speak for both ; — What would you? 

Laun. Serve you, sir. 

Gob. This is the very defect of the matter, sir. 

Bass. I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy suit: 
Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day. 
And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment. 
To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 
The follower of so poor a gentleman. 

Laun. The old proverb is very well parted between 
my master Shylock and you, sir ; you have the grace 
of God, sir, and he hath enough. [son : — 

Bass. Thou speak'st it well ; Go, father, with thy 
Take leave of thy old master, and inquire 
My lodgingout : — givehim a livery [Toliis Followers. 
More guarded than his fellows' : See it done. 

Laun. Father, in: — I cannot get a service, no; — 
I have ne'er a tongue in my head. — Well ; [looking 
on his palm.'] if any man in Italy have a fairer table, 
which doth offer to swear upon a book — I shall have 
good fortune ; Go to, here's a simple line of life ! 
here's a small trifle of wives : Alas, fifteen wives is 
nothing ; eleven widows, and nine maids, is a simple 
coming in for one man : and then, to 'scape drown- 
ing thrice ; and to be in peril of my life with the edge 
of a feather-bed ; — here are simple 'scapes ! Well, if 
fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear. 
— Father, come ; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the 
twinkling of an eye. 

[Exeunt Lai'ncei.ot and Old Gobbo. 

Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this; 
These things being bought and orderly bestow'd, 
Return in haste, for I do feast to-night 
My best-esteem'd acquaintance: hie thee, go. 

Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein. 

E)iter GnATiANO. 

Gra. Where is your master] 

Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks. [Eiit Leonardo. 

Gra. Signior Bassanio, 

Bass. Gratiano! 

Gra. I have a suit to you. 

Bass. You have obtain'd it. 

Gra. You must not deny me ; I must go with you to 
Belmont. [tiano ; 

Bass. Why, then you must ; — But hear thee, Gra- 
Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice ; — 
Parts, that become thee happily enough, 
And in such eyes as ours appear not faults ; 
But where thou art not known, why, there they shew 
Something too liberal :— pray thee take pain 
To allay with some cold drops of modesty 
Thy skipping spirit ; lest, through thy wild behaviour, 
I be misconstrued in the place 1 go to, 
And lose my hopes. 

Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me : 

If I do not put on a sober habit, 
Talk with respect, and swear but now and then. 
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely ; 
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes 
Thus, with my hat, and sigh, and say, amen; 
Use all the observance of civility. 
Like one well studied in a sad osleut 
To please his grandam, never trust me moie. 

Bais. Well, we shall see your bearing. 

Gra. Nay, buti bar to-night ; you shall not gage me 
By what we do to-night. 

Bass. No, that ■were pity j 

I would entreat you rather to put on 



ACT II.— SCENE V. 



195 



Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends 
Tiiat purpose merriment : 13ut fare you well, 
I have some business. 

Gra. And I must to Lorenzo, and the rest ; 
But WB will visit j'ou at supper- time. [Eieunt. 

SCENE III. — The same. A Room in Shylock's House. 

Enter Jessica and Launcf.lot. 

Jes. I am sorry, thou will leave my father so; 
Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil, 
Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness : 
But fare thee well : there is a ducat for thee. 
And, Launcelot, soon at supper shah thou see 
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest : 
Give him this letter, do it secretly. 
And so farewell : 1 would not have my father 
See me talk with thee. 

Laun. Adieu! — tears exhibit my tongue. — Most 
beautiful Pagan, most sweet Jew! If a Christian do 
not play the knave, and get thee, I am much de- 
ceived : But, adieu ! these foolish drops do somewhat 
drown my manly spirit; adieu! [£.u<. 

Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. 
Alack, what heinous sin is it in me. 
To be asham'd to be my father's child ! 
But though I am a daughter to his blood, 
I am not to his manners : O Lorenzo, 
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife ; 
Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. [Eiit. 

SCENE IV.— ne Same. A Street. 
EiUerGRATiAvo, Lorenzo, Salariko, atid Salanio. 

Loi: Nay, we will slink away in supper-time; 
Disguise us at my lodging, and return 
All in an hour. 

Gra. We have not made good preparation. 

Salar. We have not spoke as yet of torch-bearers. 

Salan. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd ; 
And better, in my mind, not undertook. 

Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock ; we have two hours 
To furnish us ; — 

Enter Launcelot, with a letter. 

Friend Launcelot, what's the newsl 
Laun. An it shall please you to break up this, it 

shall seem to signify. 

Lor. 1 know the hand: in faith, 'tis a fair hand; 

And whiter than the paper it writ on. 

Is the fair hand that writ. 

^'■«' Love-news, in faith. 

Laun. By your leave, sir. 

Lor. Whither goest thou ? 

Laiui. RIarry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to 
sup to-night with my new master the Christian. 

Lor. Hold here, take this;— tell gentle Jessica, 
I will not fail her;— speak it privately ; go.— 
Gentlemen, [Eiit Launcelot. 

Will you prepare you for this masque to-night ? 
I am provided of a torch-bearer. 

Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight. 

Salan. And so will I. 

^'J'"- . _ . Meet me, and Gratiano, 

At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. 

Salar. 'Tis good we do so. 

[Eieiitit Salar. and Salan. 

Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica ? 

Lor. I must needs tell thee all : She hath directed, 
How I shall take her from her father's house • 
What gold, and jewels, she is furnish'd with | 
What page's suit she hath in readiness. 



If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven, 

It will be for his gentle daughter's sake : 

And never dare misfortune cross her foot. 

Unless she do it under this excuse, — 

That she is issue to a faithless Jew. 

Come, go with me ; peruse this, as thou goest: 

Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — The same. Before Shylock's House. 
Enter Shylock and Launcelot. 

Shy. Well, thou shall see, thy eyes shall be thy 
judge, 
Tiie difference of old Shylock and Bassanio : — 
What, Jessica I — thou shall not gormandize. 
As thou hast done with me ;— What, Jessica I— 
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ; — 
Why, Jessica, I say! 

Laun. Why, Jessica ! 

Shti. Who bids thee call 1 I did not bid thee call. 

Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, I could 
do nothing without bidding. 

Enter Jessica. 
Jes. Call you 1 What is your will 1 
Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica ; 
There are my keys :— But wherefore should I go ? 
I ain not bid for love ; they flatter me : 
But yet I '11 go in hate, to feed upon 
The prodigal Christian. — Jessica, my girl, 
Look to my house :— 1 am right loath to go ; 
There is some ill a brewing towards my rest, 
For I did dream of money-bags to-night. 

Laun. I beseech you, sir, go on; my young master 
doth expect your reproach. 
Sliy. So do I his. 

Laun. And they have conspired together, — I will 
not say, you shall see a masque ; but if you do, then 
n was not for nothing that my nose fell a bleeding 
on Black Monday last, at six o'clock i'the morning"^ 
falling out that year on Ash- Wednesday, was four 
year in the afternoon. [sica : 

Shy. What: are there masques 1 Hear you me, Jes- 
Lock up my doors ; and when you hear the drum, 
And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife. 
Clamber not you up to the casements then. 
Nor thrust your head into the public street. 
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces. 
But stop iny house's ears, I mean my casements ; 
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter 
My sober house.— By Jacob's staff, I swear, 
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night : 
But 1 will go.— Go you before me, sirrah ; 
Say, I win come. 

Laun. I will go before, sir. — 

Mistress, look out at window, for all this ; [aside. 
There will come a Christian by. 
Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [Exit Laun. 

Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha ? 
Jes. His words were. Farewell, mistress; nothing 
else. 
^ Shy. The patch is kind enough ; but a huge feeder. 
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
More than the wild cat ; drones hive not v/ith me • 
Therefore I part with him ; and part with him 
To one that I would have him help to waste 
His borrow'd purse.— Well, Jessica, go in; 
Perhaps, 1 will return immediately ; 
Do, as I bid you, 

Shut doors after you : Fast bind, fast find ; 
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit. 

Jes. Farewell ; and if my fortune be not crost, 

I have a father, you a daughter, lost. [Exit 

N Si 



19(3 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



SCENE VI.— The same. 



"Enttr Gratiano and Salaiiino, maiqned. 

Gra. This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo 
Desir'd us to make stand. 

Satar. His hour is almost past. 

Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, 
For lovers ever run before the clock. 

Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly 
To seal love's bonds new made, than they are wont. 
To keep obliged faith unforfeited ! 

Gra. That ever holds : who riseth from a feast, 
With that keen appetite that he sits down 1 
Wiiere is the horse that doth untread again 
His tedious measures with the unbated fire 
That he did pace them first 1 All things that are. 
Are with more spirit chased than enjoy 'd. 
How like a younker, or a prodigal, 
'I'he scarfed bark puts from her native bay, 
Hugg'd ai.d embraced by the strumpet wind ! 
How like the prodigal doth she return ; 
With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails. 
Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind ! 

Enter Lorenzo. 
Salar. Here comes Lorenzo •, — more of this here- 
after. 
Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long 
Not I, but my afl'airs, have made you wait : [abode: 
When you shall please to play the thieves for wives, 
1 '11 watch as long for you then. — Approach ; 
Hel-e dwells my father Jew :— Ho ! who 's within 1 

Enter Jessica, above, in hny's clothes. 

.les. Who are you 7 Tell me, for more certainty. 
Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue. 

Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love. 

Jes. Lorenzo, certain ; and my love, indeed ; 
For who love I so much ! and now who knows. 
But you, Lorenzo, whether 1 am yours? [thou art. 

Lor. Heaven, and thy thoughts, are witness that 

Jes. Here, catch this casket ; it is worth the pains, 
1 am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me, 
i For I am much asham'd of my exchange : 
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see 
The pretty follies that themselves commit ; 
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush 
To see me thus transformed to a boy. 

Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. 

Jes. What, must 1 hold a candle to my shames 1 
They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light. 
Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love ; 
vVnd I should be obscur'd. 

Lor, So are you, sweet. 

Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. 
But come at once ; 

For the close night doth play the run-away, 
And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast. 

Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself 
With some more ducats, and be with you straight. 

[Ei )'(,_/ com above, 
Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew. 
Lor. Beshrew me, but 1 love her heartily : 
For she is wise, if I can judge of her ; 
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true ; 
And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself ; 
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true. 
Shall she be placed in my constant soul. 

Enter Jessica, below. 
What, art thou come ?— On, gentleman, away ; 
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. 

[Exit, with Jessica and Salarino 



Enter Avroyw. 

Ant. Who's there? 

Gra. Signior Antonio? 

Aut. Fye, fye, Gratiano! where are all the rest? 
'Tis nine o'clock : our friends all stay for you : — 
No masque to-night ; the wind is come about, 
Bassanio presently will go aboard : 
I have sent twenty out to seek for you. 

Gra. I am glad on 't ; I desire no more delight, 
Than to be under sail, and gone to-night, [Eieunt, 



Belmont. 



SCENE VIL 
A Room in Portia's House, 



Flourish of Cornets. Eriter VomiA, with the Pri^ci 
or Morocco, and both their Trains. 

For. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover 
The several caskets to this noble prince : — 
Now make your choice. 

Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears : — 
Who chooseth me, shall gain what manii meyi desire. 
The second, silver, which this promise carries ; — 
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves. 
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt ; — 
Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath. 
How shall I know if I do choose the right ? 

For. The one of them contains my picture, prince; 
If you choose that, then I am yours withal. 

Mor. Some god direct my judgment ! Let me sec, 
I will survey the inscriptions back again : 
What says this leaden casket ? 
Who chooseth me, mmt give and hazard all he hath. 
Must give — For what? for lead? hazard for lead? 
This casket threatens : Men, that hazard all, 
Do it in hope of fair advantages : 
A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross ; 
I '11 then nor give, nor hazard, aught for lead. 
What says the silver, with her virgin hue? 
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he desei'ves. 
As much as he deserves ? — Pause there, Morocco, 
And weigh thy value with an even hand : 
If thou be'st rated by thy estimation. 
Thou dost deserve enough ; and yet enough 
May not extend so far as to the lady ; 
And yet to be afeard of my deserving. 
Were but a weak disabling of myself. 
As much as I deserve! — Why, that's the lady ; 
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes. 
In graces, and in qualities of breeding; 
But more than these, in love I do deserve. 
What if I stray 'd no further, but chose here • — 
Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold : 
Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire. 
Why, that's the lady : all the world desires her : 
From the four corners of the earth they come, 
To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. 
The Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds 
Of wide Arabia, are as through-fares now. 
For princes to come view fair Portia : 
The wat'ry kingdom, whose ambitious head 
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar 
To stop the foreign spirits ; but they come. 
As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia. 
One of these three contains her heavenly picture. 
Is 't like, that lead contains her ? 'Twere damnation, 
To think so base a thought : it were too gross 
To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. 
Or shall I think, in silver she's immur'd. 
Being ten times undervalued to try'd gold ? 
O sinful thought ! Never so rich a gem 
Was set in worse than gold. They have in England 



ACT n.— SCENE IX. 



197 



A coin, t!»at bears the figure of an ang-el 
Stamped in gold ; but that's insculp'd upon ; 
But here an ang-el in a golden bed 
Lies all within — Deliver me the key ; 
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may ! 

Por. There, tal:e it, prince, and if my form lie there. 
Then I am yours. [He luilocks the golden cajiket. 

Mar. O hell! what have we here \ 
A carrion death, within whose empty ej'e 
There is a written scroll ! 1 '11 read the writinc. 

Ail that glisters is jwf gold. 
Often have you heard that told: 
Maitii a man his life hath sold. 
But mif outside to behold : 
Gilded tombs do worms infold. 
Had ifou been as wtie as bold. 
Young iu limbs, in judgment old. 
Your answer had not been inscroCd: 
Fare you well; your suit is cold. 

Cold, indeed ; and labour lost : 

Then, farewell, heat; snd, welcome, frost- 
Portia, adieu ! 1 have too griev'd a heart 
I'o take a tedious leave : thus losers part. [KitV. 
Por. A gentle riddance • Draw the curtains, 



go; — 

Let all of his compleKion choose me so. [Eieunt. 

SCENE VIIL-V^eaice. A Street. 

Enter Salabino aiid Salanio, 

Saiar. Wiiy man, I saw Bassanio under sail ; 
With him is Gratiano gone along ; 
And in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not. 

Saiaii. 'i'he villain Jew with outcries rais'd the duke; 
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. 

Salar. He Came too late, the ship was under sail: 
But there the duke was given to understand, 
'i'hat in a gondola were seen together 
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica ; 
Besides, Antonio certify 'd the duke. 
They were not with Bassanio in his ship. 

Salan. I never heard a passion so confus'd. 
So strange, outrageous, and so variable. 
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets : 
Mil daughter ! — O my ducats !~0 wy daughter f 
Fled with a Chriitiau ? — U my christian durat:i !^ 
Juitieei the law! viy ducals and my daughter ! 
A sealed bag, (wo sealid bags ij' ducuts, 
Oj double ducats, stoC u from me by mtf danshter! 
Andjeireit; two stouL's, two rich and precious stones, 
Stol'n by my daughter! Justice! find the "irl ! 
She hath the stones upon her, and the ducais I 

Saiar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him, 
Crying,— his stones, his daughter, and his ducats. 
Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day, 
Or he shall pay for this- 

Satar.^ Marry, well remember 'd; 

I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday ; 
Who told me, — in the narrow seas, that part 
I'he French and English, there miscarried 
A vessel of our country, richly fraught : 
I thought upon Antonio, when he told me ; 
And wish'd in silence, that it were not his. 

Salun. You were best to tell Antonio what you hear • 
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve hmi. 

Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. 
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part : 
Bassanio told him, he would make some speed 
Of his return ; he answered— />.> not so, 
Slubber not buniness for my sake, Hassunio. 
But stay the very riping of the time ; 



And for the Jew's bond, which he hath of me. 

Let It not enter in your mind of love: 

lie merry ; and employ your chiefest thoughts 

To courtship, and such fair oslents of love 

As shall conveniently become qou there : 

And even there, his eye being big with tears. 

Turning his face, he put his hand behind him. 

And with aft'ection wondrous sensible 

He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted. 

Salan. I think, he only loves the world for him. 
I pray thee, let us go, and find him out. 
And quicken his embraced heaviness 
With some delight or other. 

Salar. Do we so. lExeunt. 

SCENE IX. — Belmont. — A liMin in Portia's House 
EtUer Nerissa, with a Servant. 
Ker. Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtaia 
The prince of Arra^jon hath ta'en his oath, [straight, 
And comes to his election presently. 

Flourish of Comets. Enter the Privce of Arragov, 
PoitriA, and their Trains. 



Por. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince; 
If you choose that wherein I am coiitain'd. 
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd ; 
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord, 
You must be gone from hence innnediately. 

Ar. I am enjoined by oaih to observe three things; 
First, never to unfold to any one 
Which casket 'twas 1 chose; next, if I fail 
Of the right casket, never in my life 
To woo a maid in way of marriage ; lastly. 
If I do fail in fortune of my choice, 
Immediately to leave you and be gone. 

Por. ']'o these injunctions every one doth swear. 
That comes to hazard for my woiihless self. 

Ar. And so have 1 address'd me : Fortune now 
To my heart's hope !— Gold, silver, and base lead. 
Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath • 
You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard. 

What says the golden chest? ha! let me see : 

U ho chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire. 
What many men dasire.- That many may be meant 
By the fool multitude, that choose by show. 
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach ; 
Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet. 
Builds in the weather on the outward wall. 
Even in the force and road of casualty. 
1 will not choose what many men desire. 
Because I will not jump with common spirits. 
And rank me with the barbarous multitudes. 
VVhy, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house; 
Tell me once more what title thou dost bear : ' 
Who choo.^eth me. shail get as much as he deserves' 
And well said too ; For who shall go about 
To cozen fortune, and be honourable 
Without the stamp of merit I Let none presume 
To wear an undeserved dignity. 
O, that estates, degrees, and offices, 
Uere not deriv'd corruptly ! and that clear honour 
Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer ! 
How many then should cover, that stand bare ! 
Mow many be commanded, that command ? 
How much low peasantry would then be glean'd 
From the true seed of honour? and how much honour 
Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times. 
To be new varnish'd ? Well, but to my choice: 
Who chooseth me, shall, get as much as he deserves: 
I will assume desert ;— Give me a key for this. 
And instantly unlock iny fortunes here. 



1.98 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Pifr. Too long a pause for that which you find 
there. 

Ar. What's here 1 the portrait of a blinking idiot. 
Presenting me a schedule! I will read it. 
How much unlike art thou to Portia? 
How much unlike my hopes and my deseiTings ? 
Who chooseth me, shall have as much as he deserves. 
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head ? 
Is that my prize 1 are my deserts no better ? 

Por. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices, 
And of opposed natures. 

Ar. What is here 1 

The fire s<'rcn times tried this ; 
Seven times tried ihut jiidgrneiit is. 
That did never choose ami.is : 
Some there he, that shadows hist ; 
Such have imt a shadow's bliss: 
There befools alive, 1 wis. 
Silver d o'er; and fo was this. 
Take what wife yon will to bed, 
I will eier be your h^ad : 
So begone, sir, you are sped. 

Still more fool I shall appear 

By the time I linger here : 

With one fool's head I came to woo. 

But I go away with two. — 

Sweet, adieu ! I'll keep my oath. 

Patiently to bear my wroth 

[Eieiint AnRAOON and Train. 
Por. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. 

these deliberate fools ! when ti>ey do choose. 
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. 

her. The ancient saying is no heresy ; 
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny. 
Pi>r. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Where is my lady ? 

Por. Here ; what would my lord ? 

Se'v. Madam, there is alighted at your gate 
A young Venetian, one that comes before 
'I'o signify the approacliing of his lord : 
From whom he bringeth sensible regreets ; 
To wit, besides commends, and courteous breiilh, 
Gifts of rich value ; yet I have not seen 
So likely an ambassador of love : 
A day in April never came so sweet, 

1 o shew how costly summer was at hand, 
As this fore spurrer comes before his lord. 

Pii)-. No more, I pray thee ; I am half afeard. 
Thou wilt say anon, he is some kin to thee. 
Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him. — 
Come, come, Nerissa; for I long to see 
Quick Cupid's post, that comes so mannerly. 

Ner. Bassanio, lord love, if thy will it be ! 

[Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I.— Venice. A Street. 
Enter Salanio and Salauino. 

Salan. Now, what news on the Rial to ? 

Salar. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd, that 
Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wreck'd on the 
narrow seas ; the Goodwins, I think they call the 
place ; a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the 
carcases of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, 
if my gossip report be an honest woman of her word. 

Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that, 



as ever knapp'd ginger, oi made her neighbours be- 
lieve she wept for the death of a third husband- But 
it is true, — without any slips of proliixlty, or cross- 
ing the plain high-way of talk, — that the good An- 
tonio, the honest Antonio, O that I had a title 

good enough to keep his name company ! — 

Salar. Come, the full stop. 

Salan. Ha, — what say'st thou ? — Why the end is, 
he hath lost a ship. 

Salar. I would it might prove the end of his losses! 

Salan. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil 
cross my prayer ; for here he comes in the likeness 
of a Jew. — 

Enter Shylocs. 

How now, Shylock ? what news among the mer- 
chants ? 

Shi/. You knew, none so well, none so well as 
you, of my daughter's flight. 

Salar. That 's certain ; I, for my part, knew the 
tailor that made the wings she flew withal. 

Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the 
bird was fledg'd ; and then it is the complexion of 
them all to leave the dam. 

Shij. She is damn'd for it. 

Salar. That's certain, if the devil may be her judge. 

Shii. My own flesh and blootl to rebel ! 

Salan. Out upon it, old carrion ! rebels it at these 
years ? 

Shi/. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. 

Salar. Tliere is more difference between thy flesh 
and hers, than between jet and ivory ; more between 
your bloods, tlian there is between red wine and 
rhenish : But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio 
have had any loss at sea or no ] 

Shy. There 1 have another bad match : a bank- 
rupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce shew his head on 
the Kialto ; — a beggar, that used to come so smug 
upon the mart ; let him look to his bond : he was 
wont to call me usurer ; — let him look to his bond ! 
he was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy ! 
— let him look to his bond. 

Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not 
take his flesh ; What's that good for? 

Shy. To bait fish withal : if it will feed nothing 
else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, 
and hindered me of half a million ; laughed at my 
losses, mocked at my gains, scorsed my nation, 
thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated 
mine enemies ; and what's his reason 1 I am a Jew : 
Hath not a Jew eyes ! hath not a Jew hands, organs, 
dimensions, senses, aflections, passions ? fed with 
the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject 
to the same diseases, healed by the same means, 
warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, 
as a Christian is t if you prick us, do we not bleed ? 
if you tickle us, do we not laugh "! if you poison us, 
do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not 
revenge ? if we are like you in the rest, we will re- 
semble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what 
is his humility? revenge; If a Christian wrong a 
Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian ex- 
ample ? why, revenge. 'I'he villany you teach me, 
I will execute ; and it shall gn hard, but I will bette.- 
the instruction. 

Enter a .Servant. 

Serv. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his 
house, and desires to speak with you both. 

Salar. We have beeu up and down to seek bim. 

Enter Tubal. 
Salan. Here comes another of the tribe ; a third 



ACT III.— SCENE II. 



19i) 



cannot be matched, unless the devil himself turn 
Jew. lEieunt Salan. Sai.ar. a)iii Servant. 

Shy. How now, Tubal, what news from Genoa? 
hast thou found my daughter 1 

Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but 
cannot find her. 

67n/. Why there, there, there, there ! a diamond 
gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort ! 
Tlie curse never fell upon our nation till now ! I 
never felt it till now : — two thousand ducats in that ; 
and other precious, precious jewels. — I would my 
daughter were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her 
ear ! 'would she were hears'd at my foot, and the 
ducats in her coffin ! No news of them ? — Why, so : 
— and I know not what's spent in the search : Why, 
thou loss upon loss I the thief gone with so much, 
and so much to find the thief; and no satisfaction, 
no revenge : nor no ill luck stirring, but what lights 
o' my shoulders ; no sighs, but o' my breathing ; no 
tears, but o' my shedding. 

Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too ; Antonio, 
as 1 heard in Genoa, — 

Shif. What, what, whatl ill luck, ill luck? 

Tub. — hath an argosy cast away, coming from 
Tripolis. 

Shy. I thank God, I thank God : — Is it true ? is 
it true 1 

Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped 
the wreck. 

Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal ; — Good news, 
good news : ha! ha! — Where! in Genoa? 

Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, 
one night, fourscore ducats I 



Shij. Thou stick'st a dagger in me; 



-I shall 



never see my gold again : Fourscore ducats at a sit- 
ting ! fourscore ducats ! 

Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors in 
my company to Venice, tliat swear he cannot choose 
but break. 

Shy. I am very glad of it : I '11 plague him ; I '11 
torture him ; I am glad of it. 

Tub. One of them shewed me a ring, that he had 
of your daughter for a monkey. 

Shy. Out upon her ! Thou torturest me, Tubal : 
it was my turquoise ; I had it of Leah, when I was 
a bachelor : I would not have given it for a wilder- 
ness of monkeys. 

Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. 

Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true : Go, Tu- 
bal, fee me an officer, bespeak him a fortnight before : 
I will have the heart of him, if he forfeit ; for were 
he out of Venice, I can make what merchandize I 
will : Go, go. Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue ; 
go, good Tubal ; at our synagogue, Tubal. [ Exeunt. 



Belmont. 



SCENE II. 
A Room in Portia's/fouse. 



Enter Bassakto, Portia, Ghatiano, Nerissa, and 
Attendants. The caskets are set out. 

Pur. I pray you, tarry; pause a day or two, 
Before you hazard ; for, in choosing wrong, 
I lose your company ; therefore, forbear a while : 
There's something tells me, (but it is not love,) 
I would not lose you ; and you know yourself, 
Hate counsels not in such a quality : 
But lest you should not understand me well, 
(And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,) 
I would detain you here some month or two. 
Before you venture for me. I could teach you. 
How to choose right, but tlien I am forsworn ; 
So will I never be : so may you miss me ; 



But if you do, you '11 make me wish a sin. 
That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes, 
They have o'er-look'd me, and divided me ; 

One half of me is yours, the other half yours, . 

Mine own, I would say ; but if mine, then yours. 
And so all yours : O ! these naughty times 
Put bars between the owners and their rights ; 
And so, though yours, not yours. — Prove it so, 
Let fortune go to hell for it, — not I. 
I speak too long ; but 'tis to peize the time ; 
To eke it, and to draw it out in length, 
To stay you from election. 

Bass. Let me choose ; 

For, as I am, I live upon the rack. 

For. Upon the rack, Bassanio ? then confess 
What treason there is mingled with your love. 

Bass. None, but that ugly treason of mistrust. 
Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love • 
There may as well be amity and life 
'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. 

For. Ay, but I fear, you speak upon the rack, 
Where men enforced do speak any thing. 

Bass. Promise me life, and I '11 confess the truth. 

For. Well then, confess, and live. 

Bass. Confess, and love. 

Had been the very sum of my confession : 

happy torment, when my torturer 
Doth teach me answers for deliverance ! 
But let me to my fortune and the caskets. 

Por. Away then : I am lock'd in one of them ; 
If you do love me, you will find me out.— 
Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof. — 
Let music sound, while he doth make his choice ; 
Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end. 
Fading in music : that the comparison 
May stand more projrer, my eye shall be the stream , 
And wat'ry death-bed for him : He may win ; 
And what is music then ? then music is 
Even as the flourish when true subjects bow 
To a new-crowned monarch : such it is. 
As are those dulcet sounds in break of day. 
That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear, 
And summon him to marriage. Now he goes. 
With no less presence, but with much more love, 
Than young Alcides, when he did redeem 
The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy 
To the sea-monster : I stand for sacrifice. 
The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives. 
With bleared visages, come forth to view 
The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules ! 
Live thou, I live : — With much mucii more dismay 

1 view the fight, than thou that mak'st the fray. 

Music, whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets 
to himself. 

SONG. 1. Tell me where is fancy bred, 

Or in the heart, or in the head? 
How begot, how nourished 1 

Reply. ^. It is engendered in the eyes, 

With gazing fed ; and fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies: 

Let ns all ring fancy's knell ; 
I'll begin it, T)ing, doiig, bell. 

All. ^^"gi dong, bell. 

Base. — So may the outward shows be least tiiera- 
The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. [selves; 
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt. 
But, being season'd with a gracious voice. 
Obscures the show of evil ? In religion. 
What damned error, but some sober brow 
Will bless it. and approve it witli a text. 



200 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Hiding the grossness with fair ornament ? 
There is no vice so simple, but assumes 
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. 
How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false 
As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins 
The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars ; 
Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk 1 
And these assume but valour's excrement, 
To render them redoubted. Look on beauty, 
And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight ; 
AVhich therein works a miracle m nature, 
JNIaking them lightest that wear most of it : 
So are those crisped snaky golden locks. 
Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, 
Upon supposed fairness, often known 
To be the dowry of a second head. 
The scull that bred them, in the sepulchre. 
Thus ornament is but the guiled shore 
To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf 
Veiling an Indian beauty ; in a word. 
The seeming truth which cunning times put on 
To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold. 
Hard food for Alidas, I will none of thee : 
Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 
'Tween man and man : but thou, thou meagre lead. 
Which rather threat'nest, than doth promise aught, 
'I'hy plainness moves me more than eloquence. 
And here choose I ; Joy be the consequence ! 
Per. How all the other passions fleet to air. 
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair, 
And shudd'ring fear and green-ey'd jealousy. 

love, be moderate, allay thy ecstacy. 

In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess ; 

1 feel too much thy blessing, make it less, 
For fear I surfeit ! 

Bass. What find I here? [Openiug the leaden casket. 
Fair Portia's counterfeit? What demi-god 
Hath come so near creation ? Move these eyes? 
Or, whether, riding on the balls of mine, 
Seem they in motion ? Here are sever'd lips, 
Parted with sugar breath ; so sweet a bar 
Sliould sunder such sweet friends: Here in her hairs 
'i'he painter plays the spider ; and hath woven 
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men. 
Faster than gnats in cobwebs : But her eyes, — 
How could he see to do them ? having made one, 
Methinks, it should have power to steal both his, 
x\nd leave itself unfurnish'd : Yet look, how far 
The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow 
In underprizing it, so far this shadow 
Doth limp behind the substance. — Here's the scroll, 
The continent and summary of my fortune. 

You that choose iiot bu the view, 
Chance us fair, and choose as true! 
Since this fortune J'd Us to you. 
Be content, and seek no new. 
If you be well pleas' d with this, 
And hold your fortune for your bliss. 
Turn you where ynxir lady is. 
And claim her with a loving kiss. 

A gentle scroll ; — Fair lady, by your leave : 

I come by note, to give and to receive. [A'issin^ her. 

Like one of two contending in a prize. 

That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes, 

Hearing applause, and universal shout. 

Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt 

Whether those peals of praise be his or no ; 

So thrice fair lady, stand I, even so ; 

As doubtful whether what I see be true. 

Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you. 

Por. You see me, lord Bassanio, where I stand. 



Such as I am : though, for myself alone, 

I would not be ambitious in my wish. 

To wish myself much better ; yet, for you, 

1 would be trebled twenty times myself; 

A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times 

More rich ; 

That only to stand high on your account, 

I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, 

F^xceed account : but the full sum of me 

Is sum of something ; which, to term in gross, 

Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd : 

Happy in this, she is not yet so old 

But she may learn ; and happier than this, 

She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 

Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit 

Commits itself to yours to be directed. 

As from her lord, her governor, her king. 

Myself, and what is mine, to you, and yours 

Is now converted : but now I was the lord 

Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, 

Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now. 

This house, these servants, and this same myself. 

Are yours, my lord ; I give them with this ring ; 

Which when you part from, lose, or give away. 

Let it presage the ruin of your love. 

And be my vantage to exclaim on you. 

Bass. iNIadam, you have bereft me of all words. 
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins : 
And there is such confusion in my powers. 
As, after some oration fairly spoke 
By a beloved prince, there doth appear 
Among the buzzing pleased multitude ; 
Where every something, being blent together. 
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, 
Hxpress'd, and not express'd : But when this ring 
Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence j 
O, then be bold to say, Bassanio's dead. 

Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time. 
That have stood by, and seen our wishes prosper. 
To cry, good joy ; Good joy, my lord and lady ! 

Gra. My lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady, 
I wish you all the joy that you can wish ; 
For I am sure, you can wish none from me: 
And, when your honours mean to solemnize 
The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you. 
Even at that time I may be married too. 

Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife 

Gra. I thank your lordship ; you have got me one 
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours : 
You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid ; 
You lov'd, I lov'd ; for intermission 
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
Your fortune stood upon the caskets there ; 
And so did mine too, as the matter falls- 
For wooing here, until I sweat again ; 
And swearing, till ray very roof was dry 
With oaths of love ; at last, — if promise last, — • 
I got a promise of this fair one here. 
To have her love, provided that your fortune 
Achiev'd her mistress. 

Pi)r. Is this true, Nerissa? 

Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. 

Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith ? 

Gra. Yes, faith, ray lord. [marriage. 

Bass. Our feast shall be much honour'd in yoar 

Gra. We'll play with them, the first boy for a 
thousand ducats. 

Ner. What, and stake down ? 

Gra. No ; we shall ne'er win at that sport, aad 

stake down. 

But who comes here ? Lorenzo, and his infidel? 
What, and my old Venetian friend, Salerio ? 



ACT III.— SCENE III. 



201 



Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salehio. 

Bass. Lorenzo, and Salerio, welcome hither ; 
If tliat the youth of my new interest here 
Have power to bid you welcome : — By your leave, 
I bid my very friends and countrymen, 
Sweet Portia, welcome. 

For. So do I, my lord ; 

They are entirely welcome. 

Lor. I thank your honour : — For my part, my lord. 
My purpose was not to have seen you here j 
15ut meeting with Salerio by the way. 
He did entreat me, past all saying nay, 
To come with him along. 

Side. I did, my lord. 

And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio 
Commends him to you. [Gives Bassanio a letter. 

Bass. Ere 1 ope his letter, 

I pray you tell me how my good friend doth. 

Sale. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind ; 
Nor well, unless in mind : his letter there 
Will shew you his estate. 

Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon' stranger ; bid her welcome. 
Your hand, Salerio ; What's the news from Venice ? 
How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio 1 
1 know, he will be glad of our success ; 
We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece, [lost ! 

Sale. 'Would you had won the fleece that he hath 

Pi)?-. There are some shrewd contents in yon' same 
That steal the colour from Bassanio's cheek ; [paper, 
Some dear friend dead ; else nothing in the world 
Could turn so much the constitution 
Of any constant man. What, worse and worse 1 — 
A'ith leave, Bassanio ; I am half yourself. 
And I must freely have the half of any thing 
That this same paper brings you. 

Bass. O sweet Portia, 

Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words, 
That ever blotted paper '. Gentle lady. 
When I did first impart my love to you, 
[ freely told you, all the wealth 1 had 
Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman ; 
And then 1 told you true : and yet, dear lady. 
Rating myself at nothing, you shall see 
How much I was a braggart : When I told you 
My state was nothing, 1 should then have told you 
That I was worse than notning ; for, indeed, 
I have engag'd myself to a dear friend, 
Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy. 
To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady ; 
The paper as the body of my friend, 
And every word in it a gaping wound. 
Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio 1 
Have all his ventures fail'd ? What not one hit? 
From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, 
From Lisbon, Barbary, and India ; 
And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch 
Of merchant-marring rocks ] 

Sale. Not one, my lord. 

Besides, it should appear, that if he had 
The present money to discharge the Jew, 
He would not take it : Never did I know 
A creature, that did bear the shape of man. 
So keen and greedy to confound a man : 
He plies the duke at morning, and at night ; 
And doth impeach the freedom of the state. 
If they deny him justice : twenty merchants, 
The duke himself, and the magnificoes 
Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him ; 
But none can drive him from the envious plea 
Of forfeiture, of justic©, and his bond. 

Jes. When 1 was with him, I have heard him swear, 



To Tubal, and to Chus, his countrymen. 
That he would rather have Antonio's flesh, 
'J'liau twenty times the value of the sum 
That he did owe him ; and I know, my lord. 
If law, authority, and power deny not. 
It will go hard with poor Antonio. 

Por. Is it your dear friend, that is thus in trouble? 

Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man. 
The best condition'd and unwearied spirit 
In doing courtesies ; and one in whom 
The ancient Roman honour more appears, 
Than any that draws breath in Italy. 

Por. What sum owes he the Jew? 

Bass, For me, three thousand ducats. 

Por. What, no more? 

Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond ; 
Double six thousand, and then treble that. 
Before a friend of this description 
Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault. 
First, go with me to church, and call me wife: 
And then away to Venice to your friend ; 
For never shall you lie by Portia's side 
With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold 
To pay the petty debt twenty times over ; 
When it is paid, bring your true friend along : 
My maid Nerissa, and myself, mean time. 
Will live as maids and widows. Come, away; 
For you shall hence upon your wedding-day : 
Bid your friends welcome, shew a merry cheer : 
Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. 
But let me hear the letter of your friend. 

Buss. [Reads.] Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all 
miscarried, mi/ creditors grow cruel, mil estate is very 
low, mil bond *o the Jew is forfeit ; and since, in flay- 
ing it, it is impossible I should live, all debts are cleared 
between you and I, if I might but see you at my death : 
notwithstanding, use your pleasure : if your love do 
7iot persuade you to come, let nut my letter. 

Por. O love, despatch all business, and be gone. 

Bass. Since I have your good leave to go away, 
I will make haste ; but, till I come again. 
No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay, 

No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Venice. A Street. 
Enter Shvlock, Salanio, Antonio, and Gaoler. 

Shy. Gaoler, look to him ; Tell not me of mercy ; 

This is the fool that lent out money gratis ; — 
Gaoler, look to him. 

Ant. Hear me yet, good Shylock 

Shij. I'll have my bond; speak not against my bond 

I have sworn an oath, that I will have my bond : 
Thou call'dst me dog, before thou had'st a cause : 
But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs : 

The duke shall grant me justice. — 1 do wonder. 
Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond 
To come abroad with him at his request. 

Ant. I pray thee, hear me speak. 

Shy. I '11 have my bond ; I will not hear thee speak 
I '11 have my bond ; and therefore speak no more. 
I '11 not be made a soft and dull-ey'd fool. 
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield 
To Christian intercessors. Follow not ; 
I 'II have no speaking ; I will have my bond. 

[Exit SllYLOCI.. 

Salan. It is the most impenetrable cur. 
That ever kept with men. 

Ant. Let him alone ; 

I '11 follow him no more with bootless prayers. 
He seeks my life ; his reason well I know ; 

I I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures 



202 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Many that have at times made moan to me ; 
Therefore he hates me. 

Satan. I am sure, the duke 

Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. 

Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of law ; 
For the commodity that strangers have 
With us in Venice, if it be denied. 
Will much impeach the justice of the state; 
Since that the trade and profit of the city 
Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go : 
These griefs and losses have so 'bated me, 
That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh 

Tomorrow to my bloody creditor. 

W'ell, gaoler, on : — Pray God, Bassanio come 

To see me pay his debt, and then 1 care not ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 

Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, .Tessica, 
and Balthazar. 

Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your presence, 
You have a noble and a true conceit 
Of god-like amity; which appears most strongly 
In bearing thus the absence of your lord. 
But, if you knew to whom you shew this honour, 
How true a gentleman you send relief. 
How dear a lover of my lord your husband, 
I know, you would be prouder of the work, 
Than customary bounty can enforce you. 

Por. I never did repent for doing good, 
Nor shall not now : for in companions 
That do converse and waste the time together. 
Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love, 
There must be needs a like proportion 
Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit ; 
Which makes me think that this Antonio, 
Being the bosom lover of my lord. 
Must needs be like my lord: If it be so, 
How little is the cost I have bestow'd. 
In purchasing the semblance of my soul 
From out the state of hellish cruelty ? 
This comes too near the praising of myself ; 
Therefore, no more of it : hear other things. — 
Lorenzo, I commit into your hands 
The husbandry and manage of my house. 
Until my lord's return : for mine own part, t 
I have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow. 
To live in prayer and contemplation. 
Only attended by Nerissa here. 
Until her husband and my lord's return: 
There is a monastery two miles off. 
And there we will abide. I do desire you. 
Not to deny this imposition ; 
The which my love, and some necessity. 
Now lays upon you. 

Lor. Madam, with all my heart, 

I shall obey you in all fair commands. 

Por. My people do already know my mind. 
And will acknowledge you and Jessica 
In place of lord Jiassanio and myself. 
So fare you well, till we shall meet again. 

Lor. Fair thoughts, and happy hours, attend on you! 

Jes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. 

Par. 1 thank you for your wish, and am well pleas 'd 
To wish it back on you : fare you well, Jessica. — 

[Exeunt Jessica and Lohenzo. 
Now, Balthazar, 

As 1 have ever found thee honest, true. 
So let me find tliee still : Take this same letter. 
And use thou all the endeavour of a man, 
In speed to Padua ; see thou render this 
Into my cousin's hand, doctor Beilario ; 



And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee, 
Brino- them, I pray thee, with imagin'd speed 
Unto the tranect, to the common ferry 
Which trades to Venice : — waste no time in words, 
But get thee gone ; I shall be there before thee. 

Balth. Madam, I go with all convenient speed. 

[Exit. 

Por. Come on, Nerissa ; I have work in hand. 
That you yet know not of : we'll see our husbands, 
Before they think of us. 

Ner. Shall they see us 1 

Por. They shall, Nerissa ; but in such a habit. 
That they shall think we are accomplished 
With what we lack. I'll hold thee any wager. 
When we are both accouter'd like young men, 
I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two. 
And wear my dagger with the biaver grace ; 
And speak, between the change of man and boy. 
With a reed voice ; and turn two mincing steps 
Into a manly stride ; and speak of frays. 
Like a fine bragging youth . and tell quaint lies. 
How honoural)le ladies sought my love. 
Which 1 denying, they fell sick and died ; 
I could not do with all : then I'll repent. 
And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them . 
And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell. 
That men should swear, I have discontinued school 
Above a twelvemonth : — I iiave within my mind 
A thousand raw tricks of these i>ragging Jacks, 
Which I will practise. 

Ner. Why, shall we turn to men'' 

Por. Fye ! what a question's that, 
If thou wert near a lewd interpreter ? 
But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device 
When I am in my coach, which stays for us 
At the park gate ; and therefore hasle away. 
For we must measure twenty miles to day. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— The same. A Garden. 
£/j(er Launcelot and Jessica. 

Lann. Yes, truly ; — for, look you, the sins of the 
father are to be laid upon the children ; tiierefoie, 
I promise you, I fear you. I was always jdain with 
you, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter: 
Therefore, be of good cheer ; for, truly, I think, 
you are damn'd. There is but one hope in it that 
can do you any good ; and that is but a kind of 
bastard hope neither. 

Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee 1 

Lann. jNIarry, you may partly hope that your father 
got you not, that you are not tiie Jew's daughter. 

Jes. That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed ; 
so the sins of my motiier should be visited upon me. 

Lann, Truly then 1 fear you are damned both by 
father and mother : thus when 1 shun Scylla, your 
father, I fall into Ciiarybdis, your mother; well, 
you are gone both ways. 

Jes. I shall be saved by my husband ; ho hath 
made me a Christian. 

Laun. Truly, tiie more to blame he: we were 
Christians enough before ; e'en as many as could 
well live, one by another : This making of Chris- 
tians will raise the price of hogs ; if we grow all to 
be pork-eaters, we siiall not shortly nave a rasher on 
the coals for money. 

Enter Lorenzo. 

J<>s. I '11 tell my husband, Launcelot, what you 
say ; here he comes. 

Lor. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Laun- 
celot, if you thus get my wife into corners. 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



W:i 



Jes. Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo ; Launee- 
lot and I are out : he tells me Hatly, there is no 
mercy for me in heaven, because 1 am a Jew's 
daughter : and he says, you are no good member of 
the commonwealth , for, in converting Jews to 
Christians, you raise the price of pork. 

Lor. I shall answer that better to the common- 
wealth, than you can the getting up of the negro's 
belly ; the Moor is with child by you, Launcelot. 

Laun. It is much, that the Moor should be more 
than reason : but if she be less than an honest wo- 
man, she is, indeed, more than I took her for. 

].or. How every fool can play upon the word ! 
I think, the best grace of wit will shortly turn into 
silence ; and discourse grow commendable in none 
only but parrots. — Go in, sirrah ; bid them prepare 
for dinner. 

l.auii. That is done, sir, they have all stomachs. 

Lor. Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are you ! 
then bid them prepare dinner. 

Laun. That is done, too, sir : only, cover is the 
word. 

Lor. Will you cover then, sir. 

Laun. Not so, sir, neither ; I know my duty. 

Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion ! Wilt 
tiiuu shew the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? 
I piay thee, understand a plain man in his plain 
moaning ; go to thy fellows ; bid them cover the 
table, serve in the meat, and we will come in to 
dinner. 

Laun. For the table, sir, it shall be served in ; 
for the meat, sir, it shall be covered ; for your com- 
ing in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and 
conceits shall govern. [Exit Launcelot. 

Lnr. O dear discretion, how his words are suited! 
The fool hath planted in his memory 
An army of good words ; And 1 do know 
A many fools, that stand in better place, 
Gainish'd like him, that for a tricksy word 
Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica? 
And now, good sweet, say thy opinion, 
How dost thou like the lord Bassanio's wife? 

Jes. Past all expressing : It is very meet. 
The lord Bassanio live an upright life ; 
For, having such a blessing in his lady, 
He finds the joys of hedven here on earth ; 
And, if on eaiih he do not mean it, it 
Is reason he should never come to heaven. 
Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match. 
And on the wager lay two earthly women. 
And Portia one, there must be something else 
Pawn'd with the other ; for the poor rude world 
Hath not her fellow. 

Lor. Even such a husband 

Hast thou of me, as she is for a wife. 

Jes. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. 

Lor. 1 will anon ; first, let us go to dinner. 

Jes. Nay, let me praise you, while 1 have a stomach. 

Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk ; 
Then, howsoe'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things 
L shall digest it. 

les. Well, I'll set you forth. \_Eieunt. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — Venice. A Court of Justice. 

Killer the Duke, the Magnificoes ; Antonio, Bassa- 
nio, Gratiano, Salarino, Salanio, and others. 

Dukfi. What, is Antonio here ? 
Ant. Ready, so please your grace. 



Duke. I am sorry for thee ; thou art come to an- 
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch [swer 

Uncapable of pity, void and empty 
From any dram of mercy. 

Ant. I have heard, 

Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify 
His rigorous course ; but since he stands obdurate, 
And that no lawful means can carry me 
Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose 
IMy patience to his fury ; and am arm'd 
To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, 
'The very tyranny and rage of his. 

Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. 

Salan. He 's ready at the door : he comes, my lord. 

Enter Shylock. 

Dvke. Make room, and let him stand before our 
Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, [face. — 
That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice 
To the last hour of act ; and then, 'tis thought. 
Thou 'It shew thy mercy and remorse, more strange 
Than is thy strange apparent cruelty : 
And where thou now exact'st the penalty, 
(Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,) 
Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture. 
But touch'd with human gentleness and love, 
Forgive a moiety of the principal ; 
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses 
'J'hat have of late so huddled on his back. 
Enough to press a royal merchant down, 
And pluck commiseration of his state 
From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint. 
From stubborn Turks, and Tartars, never train'd 
To offices of tender courtesy. 
We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. 

Shu. I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose ; 
And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn. 
To have the due and forfeit of my bond : 
If you deny it, let the danger light 
Upon your charter, and your city's freedom. 
You '11 ask me, why I rather choose to have 
A weight of carrion fle.^h, than to receive 
Three thousand ducats: I'll not answer that • 
But, say, it is my humour ; Is it answer'd ? 
What if my house be troubled with a rat. 
And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats 
To have it ban'd 1 What, are you answer'd yet ? 
Some men there are, love not a gaping pig ; 
Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat; 
And others, when the bagpipe sings i' the nose. 
Cannot contain their urine ; for affection. 
Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood 
Of what it likes, or loaths: Now, for your answer, 
As there is no firm reason to be render'd, 
Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ; 
Why he, a harmless necessary cat ; 
Why he, a swollen bagpipe ; but of force 
Must yield to such inevitable shame, 
As to offend, himself being offended ; 
So can 1 give no reason, nor I will not, 
iVlore than a lodg'd hate, and a certain loathing, 
I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 
A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd? 

Bass, This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, 
To excuse the current of thy cruelty. 

Shq. I am not bound to please thee with my answer. 

Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love? 

■SVit/. Hates any man the thing he would not kill? 

Bass. Every ofl'ence is not a hate at first, [twice? 

Shy. What, would'st thou have a serpent sting thee 

Ant. 1 pray you, think you question with the Jew .' 
You may as well go stand upon the beach. 



204 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



And bid the main flood bate bis usual beight ; 
You may as well use question with the wolf, 
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ; 
You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
To wag their high tops, and to make no noise, 
When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven ; 
You may as well do any thing most hard. 
As seek to soften that (than which what's harder?) 
His Jewish heart : — Therefore, 1 do beseech you, 
Make no more offers, use no furtlier means, 
But, with all brief and plain conveniency, 
Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. 

Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 

Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats. 
Were in six parts, and ever part a ducat, 
I would not draw them, I would have my bond. 

Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring 
none ? 

Shy. WhatjudgmentshallIdread,doingnowrong 1 
You have among you many a purclias'd slave. 
Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and mules. 
You use in abject and in slavish parts. 
Because you bought them : — Shall I say to you, 
I^et them be free, marry them to your heirs "! 
^Vhy sweat they under burdens ? let their beds 
Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates 
Be season'd with such viands 1 You will answer, 
The slaves are ours : — So do I answer you ; 
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, 
Is dearly bought, 'tis mine, and 1 will have it: 
If you deny me, fye upon your law ! 
There is no force in the decrees of Venice : 
I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have if? 

Duke. Upon my power, I may dismiss this court, 
Unless Bellario, a learned doctor. 
Whom I have sent for to determine this, 
Come here to-day. 

SaLir. My lord, here stays without 

A messenger with letters from the doctor, 
New come from Padua. 

Duke. Bring us the letters ; call the messenger. 

Bass. Good cheer, Antonio .! What, man ! cou- 
rage yet ! 
The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all. 
Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. 

Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock, 
Meetest for death ; the weakest kind of fruit 
Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me : 
You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio, 
Than to live still, and write mine epitaph. 

Enter Nerissa, dressed like a lawyer^s clerk. 

Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario ? 

Ner. From both, my lord : Bellario greets your 
grace. [Presents a li^tter. 

Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestlyl 

Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there, 

Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, 
Thou mak'st thy knife keen : but no metal can. 
No, not tlie hangman's axe, bear half the keenness 
Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee 1 

Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. 

Gra. O, be thou damn'd, inexorable dog! 
And for thy life let justice be accus'd. 
Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith. 
To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
That souls of animals infuse themselves 
Into the trunks of men : thy currish spirit 
Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter. 
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet. 
And, whilst thou lay'sl in thy unhallow'd dam, 
lafus'd itself in thee; for thy desires 



Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous. 

Shy. Till thou can'st rail the seal from off my bond, 
Thou but oflend'st thy lungs to speak so loud : 
Repair thy wit, good youth ; or it will fall 
To cureless ruin, I stand here for law. 

Duke. This letter from Bellario doth connnend 
A young and learned doctor to our court : — 
Where is he 1 

Ner. He attendeth here hard by. 

To know your answer, whether you '11 admit him. 

Duke. With all my heart: — some three or foui 
of you. 
Go give him courteous conduct to this place. — 
Meantime, the court shall hear Bellario's letter. 

[Clerk reads.^ Your grace shall understand, that, 
at the receipt of your letter, I am very sick: but in the 
instatit that your messenger came, in loving visitation 
was with me a young doctor of Rome, his name is Bal- 
thasar : I acquainted him with the cause in controversy 
between the Jew and Antonio the merchant: we turned 
o'er many books together : he isjnrnish'd with mil opi- 
nion; ichich, hettcr'd with hisown learning, {the great- 
ness whereof I cannot enough commend,) comes with 
him, at tny importunity, to fill up your grace's request 
in my stead. 1 beseech you, let his lack of years be no 
impediment to let him lack a reverend estimation ; for 
I never knew so young a body with so old a head. I 
leave him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall 
better publish his commendation. 

Duke. You hear the learned Bellario, what he 
And here, 1 take it, is the doctor come. — [writes: 

Enter Poutia, dressed like a doctor of laws. 

Give me your hand : Came you from old Bellario 1 

Por. I did, my lord. 

Duke. You are welcome : take your place. 

Are you acquainted with the difference 
That holds this present question in the court? 

Por. I am informed throughly of the cause. 
Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew ? 

Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth? 

Por. Is your name Shylock ? 

Shy. Shylock is my name. 

Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow ; 
Yet in such a rule, that the Venetian law 
Cannot impugn you, as you do proceed. — 
You stand within his danger, do you not? 

[To Antonio. 

Ant. Ay, so he says. 

Por. Do you confess the bond? 

Ant. I do. 

Por. Tlien must the Jew be merciful. 

Shy. On what compulsion must 1 ? tell me that. 

Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd ; 
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless'd ; 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown ; 
His sceptre shews the force of temporal power. 
The attribute to awe and majesty. 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
But mercy is above this scepter'd sway, 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings. 
It is an attribute to God himself; 
And earthly power doth then shew likest God's 
When mercy seasonsjustice. Tlierefore, Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this — 
'J'hat in the course of justice, none of us 
Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ; 
And that same prayer doth leacii us all to render 




MERCHANT OF VENICE 



BA8S4.NIO Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly? 
Shylock. To cut the forfeiture frona that bankrupt there. 

An /»'.. Setne ). 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



205 



The deeds of mercy I have spoke thus much, 
To mitigate the justice of thy plea; 
Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice 
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. 

Shy. jMy deeds upon my head ! I crave the law. 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

Por. Is he not able to discharge the money? 

Bass. Yes, here 1 tender it for him in the court; 
Yea, thrice the sum : if that will not suffice, 
I will bg bound to pay it ten times o'er, 
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart: 
If this will not suffice, it must appear 
That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you, 
Wrest once the law to your authority : 
To do a great right do a little wrong ; 
And curb this cruel devil of his will. 

Por. It must not be ; there is no power in Venice 
Can alter a decree established : 
'Twill be recorded for a precedent ; 
And many an error, by the same example, 
W'ill rush into the state : it cannot be. 

Sill). A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel ! 
O wise young judge, how do I honour thee ! 

Por, 1 pray you, let me look upon the bond. 

Shij. Here it is most reverend doctor, here it is. 

Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money oH'er'd thee. 

Shii. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven: 
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul 1 
No, not for Venice. 

Por. W^hy, this bond is forfeit ; 

And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut oft" 
Nearest the merchant's heart : — Be merciful ; 
Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond. 

iVfi/. When it is paid according to the tenour. — 
It doth appear, you are a worthy judge ; 
You know the law, your exposition 
Hath been most sound : I charge you by the law, 
\Vhereof you are a well-deserving pillar, 
Proceed to judgment : by my soul I swear, 
There is no power in the tongue of man 
To alter me : I stay here on my bond. 

Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court 
To give the judgment. 

For. Why then, thus it is. 

You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 

Shy. O noble judge ! O excellent young man ! 

Por. For the intent and purpose of the law 
Hath full relation to the penalty. 
Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 

Shif. 'Tis very true : O wise and upright judge ! 
How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 

Por. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. 

67(1/. Ay, his breast : 

So says the bond ; — Doth it not, noble judge !^ 
Nearest his heart, those are the very words. 

Por. It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh 
The flesh ? 

Shy. I have them ready. [charge, 

Por, Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your 
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed do death. 

Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond 1 

Por, It is not so express'd ; But what of that ? 
'Twere good you do so much for charity. 

Shi). I cannot find it ; 'tis not in the bond. 

Por. Come, merchant, have you any thing to say 1 

Ant But little ; I am arm'd, and well prepar'd. — 
Give me your hand, Bassanio ; fare you well ! 
Grieve not that 1 am fallen to this for you ; 
For herein fortune shews herself more kind 
Than is her custom : it is still her use, 
To let the wretched man out-live his wealth. 



To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow. 
An age of poverty ; from which lingering penance 
Of such a misery dotii she cut me off. 
'' Commend me to your honourable wife : 
Tell her the process of Antonio's end. 
Say, how I loved you, speak me fair in death ; 
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge, 
Whether Bassanio had not once a love. 
Repent not you that you shall lose your friends 
And he repents not that he pays your debt ; 
For, if the .lew do cut but deep enough, 
I '11 pay it instantly with all my heart. 

Bass. Antonio, 1 am married to a wife, 
Which is as dear to me as life itself ; 
But life itself, my wife, and all the world. 
Are not with me esteem'd above thy life ; 
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
Here to this devil, to deliver you. 

Por. Your wife would give you little thanks for that 
If she were by, to hear you make the offer. 

Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest 1 love ; 
I would she were in heaven, so she could 
Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. 

Ker. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back ; 
The wish would make else an unquiet house. 

Shif. These be the Christian husbands: I have a 
'Would, any of the stock of Barrabas [daughter ; 
Had been her husband, rather than a Christian ! 

[Aside, 
We trifle time ; I pray thee, pursue sentence. 

Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine ; 
The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 

Shy. Most rightful judge ! 

Por. And you must cut this flesh from oft'his breast ; 
The law allows it, and the court awards it. 

Shy. Most learned judge ! — A sentence ; come, 
prepare. 

Por. Tarry a little ; — there is something else. — 
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood ; 
The words expressly are a pound of flesh : 
Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh ; 
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
Unto the state of Venice. 

Gra. O upright judge! — Mark, Jew ;—0 learned 

Shy. Is that the law ] [judge ! 

P^n•. Thyself shall see the actt 

For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd. 
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st. 

Gra. O learned judge ! — Mark, Jew ;— a learned 
judge 1 

Shy, I take this offer then, — pay the bond thrice, 
And let the Christian go. 

Bass. Here is the money. 

.For. Soft; 
The Jew shall have all justice; — soft; — no haste; — 
He shall have nothing but the penalty. 

Gra. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge! 

Por. Therefore, prepare thee to cut oft' the flesh. 
Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more. 
But just a pound of flesh : if thou tak'st moie, 
Or less, than a just pound, — be it but so much 
As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance. 
Or the division of the twentieth part 
Of one poor scruple : nay, if the scale do turn 
But in the estimation of a hair, — • 
Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate 

Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew ! 
Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 

Por. Why doth the Jew pause 1 take thy forfeiture. 

Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. 



20G 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Bass. I have it ready for thee ; here it is. 

For, He haih refus'd it in the open court ; 
He shall have merely justice, and his bond. 

Gra. A Daniel, still say I ; a second Daniel ! — 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 

Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal 1 

For. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, 
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 

Shii. Why then the devil give him good of itl 
I'll stay no longer question. 

For. Tarry, Jew ; 

The law hath yet another hold on you. 
It is enacted in the laws of Venice, — 
If it be prov'd against an alien. 
That by direct, or indirect attempts, 
He seek the life of any citizen, 
'['he party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive, 
Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half 
Comes to the privy coffer of the state ; 
And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st : 
For it ap])ears by manifest proceeding. 
That, indirectly, and directly too. 
Thou hast contriv'd against the very life 
Of the defendant ; and thou hast incurr'd 
The danger formerly by me rehears'd. 
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. 

Gra. Beg that thou niay'st have leave to hang thy- 
And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the stale, [self: 
Thou hast not left the value of a cord ; 
Therefore, thou must be hang'd at the state's charge. 

Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of our 
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it : [spirit, 
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's ; 
I'he other half comes to the general state. 
Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. 

For. Ay, for the state ; not for Antonio. * 

Shu- Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that : 
You take my house, when you do take tlie prop 
That doth sustain my house ; you take my life, 
When you do take the means whereby 1 live. 

For. What mercy can you render him, Antonio? 

Gra. A halter gratis ; nothing else; for God's sake. 

Ant. So please my lord the duke, and all the court. 
To quit the fine for one half of his goods ; 
1 am content, so he will let me have 
The other half in use, — to render it. 
Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
That lately stole his daughter ; 
Two things provided more, — That for this favour. 
He presently become a Christian ; 
The otlier, that he do record a gift. 
Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd, 
Unto his son Lorenzo, and his daughter. 

Duke He shall do this ; or else 1 do recant 
The pardon, that I late pronounced here. 

For, Art thou contented, Jew, what dost thou say 1 

Sliif. I am content. 

For. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 

67(1/. I pray you give me leave to go from hence : 
I am not well ; send the deed after me. 
And 1 will sign it. 

Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. [fathers ; 

Gra. In christening, thou shalt have two god- 
Had I been judge, thou should'st have had ten more. 
To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. 

[Exit Shyiock. 
Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. 
For. 1 humbly do desire your grace of pardon ; 
I must away this night toward Padua. 
And it is meet, I presently set forth. 



Duke. I am sorry, that your leisure serves you not 
Antonio, gratify this gentleman ; 
For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. 

[Exeunt Duke, Magnificoes, ami Train. 

Bass. Most worthy gentleman, 1 and my friend. 
Have by your wisdom been tliis day aCijuitted 
Of grievous penalties ; in lieu whereof. 
Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, 
W'e freely cope your courteous pains withal. 

Ant. And stand indebted, over and abo^^e, 
In love and service to you evermore. 

For. He is well paid that is well satisfied: 
And I, delivering you, am satisfied. 
And therein do account myself well paid ; 
My mind was never yet more mercenary. 
I pray you, know me, when we meet again ; 
I wish you well, and so I take my leave. 

Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further ; 
Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute. 
Not as a fee : grant me two tilings, I pray you. 
Not to deny me, and to pardon me. 

For. You press me far, and therefore I will yield. 
Give me your gloves, I '11 wear them for your sake ; 
And, for your love, I '1! take this ring from you : — 
Do no! draw back your hand ; I'll take no more ; 
And you in love shall not deny me this. 

Bass. This ring, good sir, — alas, it is a trifle ; 
I will not shame myself to give you this. 

For. I will have nothing else but only this ; 
And now, methinks, I have a mind to it. 

Bass. There's more depends on this than on the 
The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, [value. 
And find it out by proclamation ; 
Only for this, I pray you pardon me. 

For. I see, sir, you are liberal in oflTers : 
You taught me first to beg ; and now, me'hinks. 
You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd. 

Buss. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife. 
And, when she put it on, she made me vow. 
That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it. 

For, That 'scuse serves many men to save their 
And if your wife be not a mad woman, [gifl'S- 

And know how well I have deserv'd this ring. 
She would not hold out enemy for ever. 
For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you ! 

[Eieunt PoHTiA a;i(f Nerissa. 

Ant. My lord Bassanio, let him have the ring ; 
Let his deservings, and my love withal. 
Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment. 

Bass. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him. 
Give him the ringf ; and brins him, if thou can'st. 
Unto Antonio's house : — away, make haste. 

[Eiit Gratiano. 
Come, you and I will thither presently ; 
And in the morning early will we both 
Fly toward Belmont : Come, Antonio. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IL— The same. A Street. 

Enter Portia and Nerissa. 

For. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this 
.\nd let him sign it ; we'll away to night, [deed. 
And be a day before our husbands home : 
This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. 

Enter Gratiano. 

Gra. Fair sir, you are well overtaken : 
My lord Bassanio, upon more advice. 
Hath sent you here this ring ; and doth entreat 
Your company at dinner. 

^'"•. That cannot be : 

This ring I do accept most thankfully, 



ACT v.— SCENE 1. 



207 



And so, I pray you, tell him : Fuitheiniore, 
I pray you, shew my youth old Shy lock's house. 

Gra. That will I do. 

Net: Sir, I would speak, with you : — 

I '11 see if I can get my husband's ring, [To Pohtia. 
Which I did make him swear to keep for ever. 

Par, Thou may'st, 1 warrant ; We shall have old 
swearing, 
That they did give the rings away to men ; 
But we'll outface them, and outswear them too. 
Away, make haste ; thou know'st where 1 will tarry. 

A'er. Come, good sir, will you shew me to this 
house 1 [EieuHt. 



ACT V. 

SCKNE I — Belmont. Avenue to Portia's House. 
Enter Lorenzo and Jessica. 

Lor. The moon shines bright : — In such a night 
as this. 
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, 
And they did make no noise ; in such a night, 
Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls. 
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, 
Where Cressid lay that night. 

Jes. In such a night, 

Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew ; 
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself, 
And ran dismay 'd away. 

Lor. In such a night, 

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand 
Upon the wild sea-banks, and wav'd her love 
To come again to Carthage. 

Jes. In such a night, 

Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs 
That did renew old ^'Eson. 

Lor. In such a night. 

Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew : 
And with an unthrift love did run from Venice, 
As far as Belmont. 

Jes. In such a night. 

Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well ; 
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith. 
And ne'er a true one. 

Lor, And in such a night, 

•Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew. 
Slander her love, and he forgave it her. 

Jes. I would out-night you, did no body come : 
But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. 

Enter Stephano. 
Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night 1 
Steph. A friend. [you, friend 1 

Lor. A friend 1 what friend ? your name, I pray 
Steph. Stephano is my name ; and I bring word. 
My mistress will before the break of day 
Be here at Belmont ; she doth stray about 
By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays 
For happy wedlock hours. 
Lor. Who comes with herl 

Steph. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid. 
[ pray you, is my master yet return'dl 

Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from him. — 
But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, 
And ceremoniously let us prepare 
Some welcome for the mistress of the house. 

Enter Launcelot. 

Laun. Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola, sola ! 
Lor. Who calls ! 



Laun. Sola ! did you see master Lorenzo, and mis- 
tress Lorenzo ? sola, sola ! 

I^or. Leave hollaing, man ; here. 

Laun. Sola ! where ] where 1 

Lor, Here. 

Laun. Tell him, there's a post come from my mas- 
ter, with his horn full of good news; my master will 
be here ere morning. [Esit. 

Lor, Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their 
coming. 
And yet no matter ; — WHiy should we go in f 
P.Iy friend Stephano, signify, I pray you. 
Within the house, your mistress is at hand : 
And bring your music forth into the air. — [Exit Ste. 
How sweet the moon-light sleeps upon this bank ' 
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 
Creep in our ears ; soft stillness, and the night. 
Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
Sit, Jessica : Look how the floor of lieaven 
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold ; 
There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st 
But in his motion like an angel sings. 
Still quiring to the youngey'd cherubins : 
Such harmony is in immortal souls ; 
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.- 

Enter Musicians. 

Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn ; 
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, 
And draw her home with music. 

Jes. I am never merry, when I hear sweet music. 

[Music, 

Lor. The reason is your spirits are attentive ; 
For do but note a wild and wanton herd, 
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, 
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, 
Which is the hot condition of their blood ; 
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound. 
Or any air of music touch their ears, 
Vou shall perceive them make a mutual stand, 
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze. 
By the sweet power of music : Therefore, the poet 
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods ; 
Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage. 
But music for tlie time doth change his nature : 
The man that hath no music in himself. 
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; 
The motions of his spirit are dull as night, 
And his afiections dark as Erebus : 
Let no such man be trusted. — Mark the music. 

Enter Portia and Nerissa, at a distance. 

Por. That light we see, is burning in my haU. 
How far that little candle throws his beams ! 
So shines a good deed in a naughty world, [candle. 

Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the 

Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less : 
A substitute shines brightly as a king. 
Until a ki[ig be by ; and then his state 
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook 
Into the main of waters. Music ! haik ! 

Ner, It is your music, madam, of the house. 

Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect ; 
Methinks, it sounds much sweeter than by da^. 

Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. 

Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, 
When neither is attended ; and, I think. 
The nightingale, if she should sing by day, 
^^'hen every goose is cackling, would be thought 
No better a musician than the wren. 



208 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



How many things by season season'd are 
To their right praise, and true perfection ! — 
Peace, hoa 1 the moon sleeps with Kndymion, 
And would not be awak'd ! [ Music ceases. 

Lor. That is the voice. 

Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. [cuckoo, 

For. He knows me as the blind man knows the 
By the bad voice. 

Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. 

For. We have been praying for our husbands* 
welfare. 
Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. 
Are they return 'd ! 

Lor. Madam, they are not yet ; 

But there is come a messenger before. 
To signify their coming. 

Por. Go in, Nerissa, 

Give order to my servants, that they take 
No note at all of our being absent hence ; — 
Nor you, Lorenzo ; — Jessica, nor you. 

[^A tucket sounds. 

Lor. Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet : 
We are no tell-tales, madam ; fear you not. 

Por. This night, methinks, is but the daylight sick. 
It looks a little paler ; 'tis a day, 
Such as the day is when the sun is hid. 

Enter Bassanio, Axtonio, Gratiano, 
and their Followers, 

Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, 
If you would walk in absence of the sun. 

Por. Let me give light, but let me not be light ; 
For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, 
And never be Bassanio so for me ; 
But God sort all ! — You are welcome home, my lord. 

Bass. I thank you, madam : give welcome to my 
This is the man, this is Antonio, [friend. — 

To whom I am so infinitely bound. 

For. Vou should in all sense be much bound to him. 
For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. 

Ant. No more than I am well accjuitted of. 

Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house : 
It must appear in other ways than words. 
Therefore, 1 scant this breathing courtesy. 

[Ghatiano and Nerissa seem to talk apart, 

Gra. By yonder moon, I swear you do me wrong ; 
in faith, 1 gave it to the judge's clerk : 
Would he were gelt that had it, for my part. 
Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. 

Por. A quanel, ho, already? what's the matter? 

Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring 
That she did give me ; whose posy was 
For all the world, like cutler's poetry 
Upon a knife. Love me, and leave me not. 

^ Ner. What talk you of the posy, or the value l 
You swore to me, when I did give it you, 
That you would wear it till your hour of death ; 
And that it should lie with you in your grave : 
Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths. 
You should have been respective, and have kept it. 
Gave it a judge's clerk !— but well I know. 
The clerk will ne'er wear hair on his face, that had it. 

Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. 

Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man, 

Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, — 
A kind of boy ; a little scrubbed boy. 
No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk ; 
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee ; 
I could not fur my heart deny it him. 

For. ^'ou were lo blame, 1 must be plain with you. 
To part so slightly with your wife's first gift ; 
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger, 



And riveted so with faith unto your flesh. 
I gave my love a ring, and made him swear 
Never to part with it; and here he stands ; 
I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it 
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth 
That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano. 
You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief ; 
An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it. 

Bass, Why, I were best to cut my left hand off. 
And swear, I lost the ring defending it. [Aside. 

Gra. Rly lord liassanio gave his ring away 
Unto the judge that begg'd it, and, indeed, 
Deserv'd it too ; and then the boy, his clerk. 
That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine : 
And neither man, nor master, would take aught 
But the two rings. 

P'""- VVhat ring gave you, my lord? 

Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me. 

Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault, 
I would deny it ; but you see, my finger 
Hath not the ring upon it, it is gone. 

For. Even so void is your false heart of truth. 
By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed 
Until I see the ring. 

Ner. Nor I in yours. 

Till I again see mine. 

Bass. Sweet Portia, 

If you did know to whom I gave the ring, 
If you did know for whom I gave the ring. 
And would conceive for what I gave the ring. 
And how unwillingly I left the ring. 
When naught would be accepted but the ring, 
You would abate the strength of your displeasure. 

Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring, 
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring. 
Or your own honour to contain the rino-. 
You would not then have parted with the ring. 
What man is there so much unreasonable, 
If you had pleas'd to have defended it 
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty 
To urge the thing held as a ceremony ? 
Nerissa teaches me what to believe ; 
I'll die for't, but some woman had the ring. 

Bass, No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul. 
No woman had it, but a civil doctor. 
Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me. 
And begg'd the ring ; the which I did deny him, 
And sufter'd him to go displeas'd away ; 
Even he that had held up the very life 
Of my dear friend- \\'hat should I say, sweet lady 
I was enforc'd to send it after him ; 
I was beset with shame and courtesy : 
My honour would not let ingratitude 
So much besmear it : Pardon me, good lady ; 
For by these blessed candles of the night. 
Had you been there, 1 think, you would have begg'd 
The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. 

Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house : 
Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd, 
And that which you did swear to keep for me, 
I will become as liberal as you ; 
I'll not deny him any thing I have. 
No, not my body, nor my husband's bed ; 
Know him I shall, 1 am well sure of it : 
Lie not a night from home ; watch me, like Argus : 
If you do not, if I be left alone. 
Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own, 
I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow. 

AW. And I his clerk ; therefore be well advis'd. 
How you do leave me to mine own protection. 

Gra. Well, do you so : let not me take him then; 
For, if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



209 



Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. 

Por. Sir, grieve not you ; you are welcome not- 
withstanding, 

Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong ; 
And, in the hearing of these many friends, 
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, 
Wherein 1 see myself, 

Por. Mark you but that ! 

In both my eyes he doubly sees himself: 
In each eye one : — swear by your double self, 
And there's an oath of credit. 

Bass, Nay, but hear nie : 

Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear, 
I never more will break an oath with thee. 

Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth ; 
Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, 

\^To Portia. 
Had quite miscarried : I dare be bound again. 
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord 
AVill never more break faith advisedly. 

Pi>r. Then you shall be his surety : Give him this ; 
And bid him keep it better than the other. 

Ant. Here, lord Bassanio ; swear to keep this ring. 

Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor ! 

Por. I had it of him : pardon me, Bassanio ; 
For by this ring the doctor lay with me. 

Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano ; 
For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk. 
In lieu of this, last night did lie with me. 

Gra. Why, this is like the mending of high-ways 
In summer, where the ways are fair enough : 
What ! are we cuckolds, ere we have deserv'd it 1 

Por. Speak not so grossly. — You are all amaz'd : 
Here is a letter, read it at your leisure ; 
It comes from Padua, from Bellario : 
There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor ; 
Nerissa there, her clerk : Lorenzo here 
Shall witness, I set forth as soon as you. 
And but even now return'd ; I have not yet 



Enter d my house. — Antonio, you are welcome ; 
And I have better news in store for you, 
Than you expect: uuseal this letter soon ; 
There you shall find, three of your argosies 
Are richly come to harbour suddenly : 
You shall not know by what strange accident 
I chanced on this letter. 

Ant. I am dumb. 

Bass. Were you the doctor, and 1 knew you not? 

Gra. Were you the clerk, that is to make me 
cuckold ! 

Ner. Ay ; but the clerk that never means to do it, 
Unless he live until he be a man. 

Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow, 
When I am absent, then lie witli my wife. 

Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life, and living; 
For here 1 read for certain, that my ships 
Are safely come to road. 

Por. How now, Lorenzo 1 

My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. 

Ner. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee. — 
There do 1 give to you, and Jessica, 
From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift. 
After his death, of all he dies possess'dof. 

Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way 
Of starved people. 

For. It is almost morning, 

And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied 
Of these events at full : Let us go in ; 
And charge us there upon intergatories, 
And we will answer all things faithfully. 

Gra, Let it be so; The first intergatory. 
That my Nerissa shall be sworn on, is. 
Whether till the next night she had rather stay ; 
Or go to bed now, being two hours to-day : 
But were the day come, I should wish it dark, 
That I were couching with the doctor's clerk. 
Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing 
So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. \_Exeunt. 



* Of The Merchant of Venice the style is even and 
easy, with few peculiarities of diction, or anomalies of con- 
struction. The comic part raises laughter, and the serious 
fixes expectation. The probability of either one or the other 
story cannot be maintained. The union of two actions in one 



event is in this drama eminently happy. Dryden was much 

E leased with his own address in connecting the two plots of 
is iivaniili Friar, which yet, 1 believe, the critic will find ex- 
celled by this play— J0H>S0N. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



Though thisexquisite comedy appears to have been first pub- 
lished in the player's edition of our author's worlcs in 162."}, 
it must have been written before the year 1600; as at the 
beginning of the second volume of the entries at Stationers' 
Hall, two leaves of irregular prohibitions, notes, &c. are 
placed, in which As you like it is mentioned. An entry of the 
4th of August, 1600, contains a caveat relu'ive to three of our 
author's plays, the present comedy, Henry the Fifth, and 
Much ado about Nothing. — With respect to the other two 

f^lays, the caveat was soon taken off, and they were both pub- 
ished within the month. As you like it may have been 



printed at the same time, but no copy of such an edrtioii has 
been discovered. 

The plot of the play was taken from Lodge's Rosalyjid, or i'«- 
phue's Golden Ligacye, 4to. 1590. And Shakspeare has fol- 
lowed the novel more exactly than is his general custom when 
he is indebted to such worthless originals. He has sketched 
some of his principal characters, and borrowed a few expres- 
sions from It. His imitations, &c. however, are in general 
too insignificant to merit transcription. 

It should be observed, that the characters of Jaques, the Cloan 
and Audrey, are entirely of the poet's own formation. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Duke, aving in exile. 

Frederick, brother to the Duke, and usurper of his 

dominions. 
Amiens, Jaques, Lords attending on the Duke in his 

banishment. 
Le Beau, a courtier attending upon Frederick. 
Charles, his w7-estler. 

Oliver, Jaques, Orlando, sons of Sir Rowland de 
Adam, Dennis, servants to Oliver. [Bois. 

Touchstone, a clown. 
Sir Oliver Martext, a vicar. 



CoRiN, SiLVius, shepherds. 

William, a country fellow, in love with Audrey. 

A Person representing Hymen. 

Rosalind, daughter to the banished Duke. 
Celia, daughter to Frederick. 
PiiEiiE, a shephei'dess. 
Audrey, o country wench. 

Lords belonging to the two Duhes ; Pages, Foresters, 
and other Attendants. 

The SCENE lies, frst, near Oliver's House ; after- 
toards, partly in the Usui-per's Court, and partly in 
the Forest o/ Arden. 

O 



210 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — An Orchard, near Oliver's House. 

Enter Orlando, and Adam. 

Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fa- 
shion bequeathed me : By will, but a poor thousand 
crowns : and, as thou say'st, charged my brother, on 
his blessing, to breed me well : and there begins my 
sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and 
report speaks goldenly of his profit : for my part, he 
keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more pro- 
perly, stays me here at home unkept : For call you 
tiiat keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs 
not from the stalling of an ox ? His horses are bred 
better ; for, besides that they are fair with their feed- 
ing, they are taught their manage, and to that end 
riders dearly hired : but I, his brother, gain nothing 
under him but growth ; for the which his animals on 
his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Be- 
sides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the 
something that nature gave me, his countenance 
seems to take from me : he lets me feed with his hinds, 
bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in 
him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This 
is it, Adam, that grieves me ; and the spirit of my 
father, which I think is within uie, begins to mutiny 
against this servitude : I will no longer endure it, 
though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. 

Enter Oliver. 

Adam Yonder comes my master, your brother. 

Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how 
he will shake me up. 

Oli. Now, sir ! wliat make you here ? 

OrL Nothing : I am not taught to make any thino-. 

Oli. What mar you then, sir? 

OrL Rlarry, sir, I am helping you to mar that 
which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, 
with idleness. 

Oli. Marry, sir, be better employ'd, and be naught 
awhile. 

Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with 
them 1 What prodigal portion have I spent, that I 
should come to such penury t 

ali. Know you where you are, sir? 

Orl. 0, sir, very well : here in your orchard. 

Oli. Know you before whom, sir ? 

Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. I 
know, you are my eldest brother ; and, in the gentle 
condition of blood, you should so know me : The 
courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you ; 
are the first-born ; but the same tradition takes not 
away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt 
us : I have as much of my father in me, as you ; al- 
beit, I confess, your coming before me is nearer to 
his reverence. 

Oli. What, boy ! 

Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young 
in this. 

Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? 

Orl. I am no villain: I am the youngest son of sir ' 
Rowland de Bois : he was my father ; and he is 
tliriceavillain, that says, such a father begot villains : ' 
Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand 
from thy throat, till this other had pulled out thy 
tongue for saying so : thou hast railed on thyself. 

Adam. Sweet masters, be patient; foi your father's 
remembrance, be at accord. 

Oli. Let me go, I say. 

OrL I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. 
My father charged you in his will to give me good 



education : you have trained me like a peasant, ob- 
scuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qua- 
lities : the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and 
I will no longer endure it : therefore allow me such 
exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the 
poor allottery my father left me by testament ; with 
that I will go buy my fortunes. 

Oli. And what wilt tiiou do? beg, when that is 
spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be trou- 
bled with you : you shall have some part of your will : 
I pray you, leave me. 

Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes me 
for iny good. 

Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. 

Adam. Is old dog my reward? Most true, I have 
lost my teeth in youi service. — God be with my old 
master ! he would not have spoke such a word. 

[E.ieunt Orlando arid Adam. 

Oli. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I 
will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand 
crowns neither. Holla, Dennis ! 

Enter Dennis. 

Den, Calls your worship ? 

Oli. Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to 
speak with me. 

Den. So please you he is here at the door, and 
importunes access to you. 

Oli. Call him in. [Exit Dennis.]— 'Twill be a 
good way ; and to-morrow the wrestling is. 

Enter Charles. 

Cha. Good morrow to your worship. 

Oli. Good monsieur Charles ! — what's the new 
news at the new court ? 

Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old 
news : that is, the old duke is banished by his younger 
brother the new duke ; and three or four loving lords 
have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, 
whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke ; 
therefore he gives them good leave to wander. 

Oli. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, 
be banished with her father ? 

Cha. O, no ; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, 
so loves her, — being ever from their cradles bred to- 
gether, — that she would have followed her exile, or 
have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and 
no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter ; 
and never two ladies loved as they do. 

on. Where will the old duke live ? 

Cha. They say, he is already in the forest of Arden, 
and a many merry men with him ; and there they live 
like the old Robin Hood of England : they say many 
young gentlemen flock to him every day ; and fleet the 
time carelessly, as they did m the golden world. 

Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new 
duke? 

Cha, Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you 
with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to under- 
stand, that your younger brother, Orlando, hath a 
disposition to come in disguis'd against me to try a 
fall : To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit ; and 
he that escapes me without some broken limb, shall 
acquit him well. Your brotlier is but young and ten- 
der; and, for your love, 1 would be loath to foil him, 
as I must, for my own honour, if he come in : therefore, 
out of my love to you, 1 came hither to acquaint you 
withal ; that either you might stay him from his in- 
tendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run 
into ; in that it is a thing of his own search, and al- 
together against my will. 

Oli. Charles, I thank thee, for thy love to me, 



ACT I.— SCENE II. 



211 



which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I 
had myself notice of m^' brother's purpose herein, and 
have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him 
from it ; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles, 
— it is the stubbornest young fellow of France ; full 
of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good 
parts, a secret and vilianous contriver against me his 
natural brother ; therefore use thy discretion ; I had 
as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger : And 
thou wert best look to't ; for if thou dost him any 
slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself 
on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, en- 
trap thee by some treacherous device, and never leave 
thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means 
or other; for, I assure lliee, and almost with tears I 
speak it, there is not one so young and so vilianous 
this day living. I speak but brotherly of him ; but 
should I anatomise him to thee as he is, I must blush 
and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder. 

Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you : If 
he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: If 
ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize 
more : And so, God keep your worship I [Exit. 

OIL Farewell, good Cliarles. — Now will I stir this 
gamester : I hope, I shall see an end of him ; for my 
soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than 
he. Yet he's gentle ; never school'd, and yet learned ; 
full of noble device ; of all sorts enchantingly be- 
loved ; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the 
world, and especially of my own people, who best 
know him, that I am altogether misprised : but it 
shall not be so long ; this wrestler shall clear all : 
nothing remains, but that I kindle the boy thither, 
which now I'll go about. [Exit. 

SCENE II.— A Lawn before the Duke's Palace. 

Enter Rosalind and Celia. 

Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. 

Ros. Dear Celia, I shew more mirth than 1 am 
mistress of ; and would you yet I were merrier? Un- 
less you could teach me to forget a banished father, 
you must not learn me how to remember any extra- 
ordinary pleasure. 

Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the full 
weight that I love thee : if my uncle, thy banished 
father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, 
so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught 
my love to take thy father for mine ; so wouldst thou, 
if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously tem- 
per'd as mine is to thee. 

Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my es- 
tate, to rejoice in yours. 

Cel. You know, my father hath no child but I, nor 
none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies, thou 
shalt be his heir : for what he hath taken away from 
thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affec- 
tion ; by mine honour, I will ; and when I break that 
oath, let me turn monster ; therefore, my sweet Rose, 
my dear Rose, be merry. 

Ros. From henceforth, I will, coz, and devise 
sports ; let me see ; What think you of falling in love "! 

Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal : 
but love no man io good earnest ; nor no further in 
sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou 
may'st in honovir come off" again. 

Ros. What shall be our sport then? 

Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife. For- 
tune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth 
be bestowed equally. 

Rijs. I would we could do so ; for her benefits 



are mightily misplaced : and the bountiful blind wo- 
man doth most mistake in her gifts to women. 

Cel. 'Tis true : for those, that she makes fair, she 
scarce makes honest ; and those, that she makes ho- 
nest, she makes very ill-favour'dly. 

Ros. Nay ; now thou goest from fortune's office to 
nature's : fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in 
the lineaments of nature. 

Enter TournsTOVE. 

Cel. No : When nature hath made a fair creature, 
may she not by fortune fall into the fire? — Though 
nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not 
fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument ? 

Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature ; 
when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off of 
nature's wit. 

Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work nei- 
ther, but nature's ; who, perceiving our natural wits 
too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this 
natural for our whetstone : for always the dulness of 
the fool is the whetstone of his wits. — How now, 
wit ? whither wander you ? 

Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your 
father. 

Cel. Were you made the messenger 1 

Touch. No, by mine honour ; but I was bid to 
come for you. 

Ros. Where lea.'ned you that oath, fool ? 

Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his 
honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his 
honour the mustard was naught : now, I '11 stand to 
it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was 
good : and yet was not the knight forsworn. 

Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of 
your knowledge ? 

Ros. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom. 

Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke your 
chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. 

Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. 

Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were . 
but if you swear by that that is not, you are not for- 
sworn : no more was this knight, swearing by his 
honour, for he never had any ; or if he had, he had 
sworn it away, before ever he saw those pancakes or 
that mustard. 

CeL Pr'ythee, who is 't that thou mean'st ? 

Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. 

Cel. My father's love is enough to honour him. 
Enough ! speak no more of him : you '11 be whip'd 
for taxation, one of these days. 

Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak 
wisely, what wise men do foolishly. 

Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true : for since the 
little wit, that fools have, was silenced, the little fool- 
ery, that wise men have, makes a great show. Here 
comes Monsieur Le Beau. 

Enter Le Beau. 

Ros. With his mouth full of news. 

Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed 
their young. 

Ri)s. Then shall we be ne\vs-cramm'd. 

Cel. All the better ; we shall be the more mar- 
ketable. Bon jour, JMonsieur Le Beau: What's the 
news ? 

Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good 
sport. 

Cel. Sport ? of what colour ? 

Le Beau. What colour, madam? How shall I an- 
swer you ? 

Ros. As wit and fortune will. 

Touch. Or as the destinies decree. 
O i 



212 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



Cel. Well said ; that was laid on with a trowel. 

Touch. Nay, if 1 keep not my rank, 

lios. Thou losest thy old smell. 

Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies : I would have told 
you ofgood wrestling, which you have lost the sight of. 

l^os. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. 

Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it 
please your ladyships, you may see the end ; for the 
best is yet to do ; and here, where you are, they are 
coming to perform it. 

Cel. Well, — the beginning, that is dead and buried. 

Le Beau. There comes an old man, and his three 
sons, 

CeL I could match this beginning, with an old tale. 

Le Beuu. Three proper young men, of excellent 
growth and presence ; 

Ros. With bills on their necks, — Be it known unto 
all men by these ■presents, 

Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with 
Charles, the duke's wrestler ; which Cliarles in a mo- 
ment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, and 
there is little hope of life in him : so he served the se- 
cond, and so the third : Yonder they lie ; the poor old 
man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them, 
that all the beholders take his part with weeping. 

Ros. Alas ! 

Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the 
ladies have lost? 

Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. 

Touch. Thus men may grow wiser everyday ! it is 
the first time that ever 1 heard, breaking of ribs was 
sport for ladies. 

Cel. Or I, I promise thee. 

Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken 
mus'o in his sides ? is there yet another dotes upon 
rib-breaking ? — Shall we see this wrestling, cousin ? 

Le Beau. You must, if you stay here : for here is 
the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are 
ready to perform it. 

Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming : Let us now 
stay and see it. 

Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Or- 
lando, Charles, and Attendants. 

DukeF. Come on ; since the youth will not be. 
entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. 

Ros. Is yonder the man 1 

Le Beau. Even he, madam. 

Cel. Alas, he is too young : yet he looks success- 
fully. 

Duke F. How now, daughter, and cousin 1 are you 
crept hither to see the wrestling 1 

Ros- Ay, my liege : so please you give us leave. 

Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can 
tell you, there is such odds in the men : In pity of 
the challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him, 
but he will not be entreated : Speak to him, ladies ; 
see if you can move him. 

CeL Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. 

DukeF. Do so; I'll not be by. [Duke F. goes apart. 

Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princesses 
call for you. 

Orl, i attend them, with all respect and duty. 

Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles 
the wrestler 1 

Orl. No, fair princess ; he is the general chal- 
lenger : 1 come but in, as others do, to try with him 
the strength of my youth. 

Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold 
for your years ; You have seen cruel proof of this 
man's strength : if you saw yourself with your eyes, 
or knew yourself (vith your judgment, the fear of your 



adventure would counsel yo to a more equal enter- 
prise. We pray you, for yoi r own sake, to embrace 
your own safety, and give over tiiis attempt. 

Ros. Do, young sir ; your reputation shall not 
therefore be misprised: mc will make it our suit to 
the duke, that the wrestling might not go forward. 

Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard 
thoughts : wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny 
so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your 
fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with me to my trial : 
wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that 
was never gracious ; if killed, but one dead that is 
willing to be so : I shall do my friends no wrong, for 
I have none to lament me : the world no injury, for 
in it I have nothing ; only in the world I hll up a 
place, which may be better supplied when I have 
made it empty. 

Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it 
were with you. 

Cel. And mine to eke out hers. 

Rns. Fare you well. Pray heaven, I be deceived 
in you ! 

Cel. Your heart's desires be with you. 

Cha. Come, where is this young gallant, that is 
so desirous to lie with his mother earth 1 

Orl, Ready, sir ; but his will hath in it a more 
modest working. 

Duke F. You shall try but one fall. 

Cha. No, I warrant your grace ; you shall not en- 
treat him to a second, that have so mightily persuad- 
ed him from a first. 

Orl You mean to mock me after ; you should not 
have mocked me before : but come your ways. 

Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man ! 

Cel. I would 1 were invisible, to catch the strong 
fellow by the leg. [Charles and Orlando wrestle. 

Ros, O excellent young man ! 

Cel, If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell 
who should down. [Charles is thrown. Shout, 

Duke F. No more, no more. 

Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace ; I am not yet 
well breathed. 

Duke F. How dost thou, Charles ? 

Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. 

l>uke F. Bear him away. [CiiASLES is home mit.l 
What is thy name, young man 1 

Orl. Orlando, my liege ; the youngest son of sir 
Rowland de Bois. 

Duke F. I would, thou hadst been son to some naan 
The world esteem'd thy father honourable, [e^e. 
But I did find him still mine enemy : 
Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed, 
Hadst thou descended from another house. 
But fare thee well ; thou art a gallant youth ; 
I would, thou hadst told me of another father. 

[Exeunt Duke Fiied. T-ruin, and Le Beau. 

Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this? 

Orl. I am more proud to be sir Rowland's son, 
His youngest son; — and would not change that 
To be adopted heir to Frederick. [calling 

Ros. My father lov'd sir Rowlaad as his soul, 
And all the world was of my father's mind : 
Had I before known this young man his son, 
I should have given him tears unto entreaties, 
Ere he should thus have ventur'd. 

Ce!, Gentle cousin. 

Let us go thank him, and encourage him : 
]My faiher's rough and envious disposition 
Sticks ine at heart. — Sir, you have well deserv'd ' 
If you do keep your promises in love. 
But justly, as you have exceeded promise, 
Your mistress shall be happy 



ACT I.— SCENE Iir. 



213 



Ros. Gentleman, [^Giving him a chain from her neck. 
Wear this for me ; one out of suits witli fortune ; 
That could give more, but that her iiand lacks mearfs. — 
Shall we go, cot? 

Cel. Ay : — Fare you well, fair gentleman. 

Orl. Can I not say, I thank you ? My better parts 
Are ail thrown down ; and that which here stands up, 
Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. [tunes: 

Ros. He calls us back : My pride fell with my for- 
I '11 ask him what he v/ould : — Did you call, sir 1 — 
Sir, you have wrestled well, and overtiirown 
More than your enemies. 

Cel. Will you go, coz'! 

Ros. Have with you : — Fare you well. 

[Exetint Rosalind and Celia. 

Ori. What passion hangs these weights upon my 
tongue ? 
I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. 

Re-enter Le Beau, 

poor Orlando ! thou art overthrown : 

Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee. 

Le Beciu. Good sir, 1 do in friendship counsel you 
To leave this place : Albeit you have deserv'd 
High commendation, true applause, and love ; 
Yet such is now the duke's condition, 
That he misconstrues all that you have done. 
The duke is humorous ; what he is, indeed, 
More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of. 

Orl. I thank you, sir : and, pray you, tell me this ; 
Which of the two was daughter of the duke 
That here was at the wrestling 1 [manners ; 

Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by 
But yet, indeed, the smaller is his daughter : 
The other is daughter to the banish'd duke. 
And here detain'd by her usurping uncle. 
To keep his daughter company ; whose loves 
Are dearer than tlie natural bond of sisters, 
But I can tell you, that of late this duke 
Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece ; 
Grounded upon no other argument, 
But that the people praise her for her virtues. 
And pity her for her good father's sake ; 
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady 
Will suddenly break forth. — Sir, fare you well ! 
Hereafter in a better world than this, 

1 shall desire more love and knowledge of you. 

Orl. I rest much bounden to you : fare you well ! 

\_Exit Le Beau. 
Thus must I from the smoke iiito the smother ; 
From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother : — 
But heavenly Rosalind ! \_Exit. 

SCENE III. — A Room in Me Palace. 
Enter Celia and Rosalind. 

Cel. Why, cousin ; why, Rosalind ; — Cupid have 
mercy ; — Not a word ! 

Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. 

Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away 
upon curs, throw some of them at me ; come, lame 
me with reasons. 

Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up ; when 
the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other 
mad without any. 

Cel. But is all this for your father ? 

Ros. No, some of it for my child's father : O, how 
full of briars is this working-day world ! 

Cel- They are but burs, cousin, thrown lupon thee 
in holiday foolery ; if we walk not in the trodden 
paths, our very petticoats will catch them. 

Ros. 1 could sliake them off my coat ; these burs 
are in m\ heart 



CeL Hem them away. 

Ros. 1 would try ; if 1 could cry hem, and have him 

Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. 

Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler 
than myself. 

Cel. O, a good wish upon you ! you will try in 
time, in despite of a fall. — But turning these jests 
out of service, let us talk in good earnest : Is it pos- 
sible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong 
a liking with old sir Rowland's youngest son 1 

Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly. 

CeL Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love 
his son dearly ? By this kind of chase, T should hate 
him, for my father hated his father dearly ; yet I 
hate not Orlando. 

Ros. No 'faith, hate him not, for my sake. 

Cel. Why should I not 1 doth he not deserve well ^ 

R<ts. Let me love him for that ; and do you love 
him, because I do : Look, here comes the duke. 

CeL With his eyes full of anger. 

Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords. ' 

Duke F, aiistress, despatch you with your safest 
And get you from our court. [haste, 

Ros. Me uHclel 

Duke F. You, cousin • 

Within these ten days if thou be'st found 
So near our public court as twenty miles, 
Thou diest for it. 

Ros. I do beseech your grace. 

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me : 
If with myself I hold intelligence. 
Or have acquaintance with mine own desires; 
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic, 
(As 1 do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle. 
Never so much as in a thought unborn. 
Did I offend your highness. 

Duke F. Thus do all traitors; 

If their purgation did consist in words. 
They are as innocent as grace itself : — 
Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not. 

Ros.Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor . 
Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends, [enough. 

Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's 

Ros. So was I, when your highness took his duke- 
So was I, when your highness banish'd him : [dom; 
Treason is not inherited, my lord : 
Or, if we did derive it from our friends. 
What's that to me ! my father was no traitor : 
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much. 
To think my poverty is treacherous. 

Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. 

Duke F. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake. 
Else had she with her father rang'd. along. 

Cel. I dill not then entreat to have her stay, 
It was your pleasure, and your own remorse ; 
I was too young that time to value her. 
But now 1 know her ; if she be a traitor. 
Why so am I : we still have slept together; 
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together ; 
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans. 
Still we went coupled, and inseparable. 

Duke F. She is too subtle for thee ; and her smooth- 
Her very silence, and her patience, [ness. 

Speak to the people, and tliey pity her. 
Tliou art a fool : she robs thee of thy name ; 
And thou wilt shew more bright, and seem more vir^,^- 
When she is gone : then open not thy lips ; [ous. 
Firm and irrevocable is my doom 
Which I have pass'd upon her ; she is banish'd. 

CeL Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege- 
I cannot live out of her company. 



214 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



Duke F. You are a fool : — You, niece, provide your- 
If you out-st;iy the time, upon mine honour, [self; 
And in the greatness of my word, you die. 

[Eieunt Ui'KE Fhedluick and Lords. 

Cel. O my poor Rosalind : whither wilt thou go ? 
Wilt thou change fathers ? I will give thee mine. 
1 charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am. 

Ros. I have more cause. 

Cel. Thou hast not, cousin, 

Pr'ythce, be cheerful : know'st thou not, the duke 
Hath banish'd me hi:, daughter ? 

lios. That he hath not. 

Cel. No? hath not ■? Rosalind lacks then the love 
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one : 
Shall we be sunder 'd ] shall we part, sweet girl ? 
No ; let my father seek another heir. 
Therefore devise with me, how we may fly, 
Whither to go, and what to bear with us : 
And do not seek to take your change upon you. 
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out ; 
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale. 
Say what thou canst, I '11 go along with thee. 

Itns. Why, whither shall we go? 

Cel. To seek my uncle. 

lios. Alas, what danger will it be to us. 
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far? 
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. 

Cel. 1 '11 put myself in poor and mean attire. 
And with a kind of umber smirch my face ; 
The like do you ; so shall we pass along, 
And never stir assailants. 

lios. W^ere it not better, 

Because that I am more than common tall, 
That I did suit me all points like a man ? 
A gallant curtleax upon my thigh, 
A boar-spear in my hand ; and (in my heart 
Lie there what hidden woman's tear- there will,) 
We'll have a swashing and a maitial outside ; 
As many otlier mannish cowards have. 
That flo outface it with their semblances. 

Cel. \Miat shall 1 call thee when thou art a man ? 

Ros I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page, 
And therefore, look you, call me, Ganymede. < 
But what will you be call'd ? 

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state : 
Xo longer Celia, but Aliena. 

Ros. But, cousin, what if wc assay 'd to steal 
The clownish fool out of your father's court ? 
Would he not be a comfort to our travel ? 

Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me ; 
Leave me alone to woo him : Let's away. 
And get our jewels and our wealth together ; 
Devise the fittest time, and safest way 
To hide us from pursuit that will be made 
After my flight : Now go we in content. 
To liberty, and not to banishment. [Eieunt. 



ACT 11. 

SCENE I.— The Forest o/Arden. 

Enter Di;ke Senior, Amiens, and other Lords, in 

the dress of Foresters. 
Duke S, Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, 
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 
Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods 
More free from peril than the envious court? 
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 
The seasons' difference ; as, tlie icy fang, 
And cliuriish chiding of the winter's wind ; 
Which wlien it bites and blows upon my body, 
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — 



This is no flattery : these are counsellors 
That feelingly persuade me what 1 am. 
Sweet are the uses of adversity ; 
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
Wears yet a precious jewel in his bead ; 

! And this our life, exempt from public haunt, 

I Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 

' Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. 

' Ami. I would not change it: Happy is your grace. 

I That can translate the stubbornness of fortune 

I Into so quiet and so sweet a style. 

! Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison? 
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, — 

j Being native burghers of this desert city, — 
Should, in their own confines, with forked heads 
Have their round haunches gor'd. 

1 Lord. Indeed, my lord, 

The melancholy Jaques grieves at that ; 
And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp 
Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. 
To-day, my loid of Amiens, and myself, 
Did steal behind him, as he lay along 
Under an oak whose antique root peeps out 
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood 
To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, 
That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt, 
Did come to languish ; and, indeed, my lord, 
The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans. 
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat 
Almost to bursting ; and the big round tears 
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose 
In piteous chase : and thus the hairy fool. 
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook. 
Augmenting it with tears. 

Duke S. But what said Jaques? 

Did he not moralize this spectacle ? 

1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand simiiies. 
First, for his weeping in the needless stream ; 
Foor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament 
As worldlings do, giving t/ii/ sum of more 
To that tL'hich had too much : Then being alone. 
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends ; 
'Tis right, quoth he ; this misery doth part 
The Jinx of com-pany : Anon, a careless herd. 
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, 
And never stays to greet him ; Ay, quoth Jaques, 
Sweep on, you fit and greasy citizens; 
'Tis just the fashion : ]Vherefore do you look 
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there ? 
Thus most invectively he pierceth through 
The body of the country, city, court, 
Yea, and of this our life : swearing that we 
Are mere usuipers, tyrants, and what's worse. 
To fright the animals, and to kill them up. 
In their assign 'd and native dwelling place, [tion? 
Duke S. And did you leave him in this contempla- 
<; Lord. Wedid, my lord, weeping, and commenting 
Upon the sobbing deer. 

Duke S. Shew me the place ; 

I love to cope him in these sullen fits. 
For then he's full of matter. 

;2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE 11.—^ Room in the Palace. 
Enter Duke FnEDERicx, Lords, and Attendants. 

Duke F. Can it be possible, that no man saw them 1 
It cannot be : some villains of my court 
Are of consent and sufl'erance in this. 

1 Lord. 1 cannot hear of any that did see her. 
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber. 



ACT II.— SCENE IV. 



215 



Saw her a-be<l ; and, in the morning early, 
Ihey found the bed uutreasur'd of their mistress. 

'i Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, atwhom so oft 
Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. 
Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman, 
Confesses, that she secretly o'erheard 
Your daughter and her cousin much commend 
The parts and graces of the wrestler 
That did but lately foil the sinewy Cha^rles ; 
And she believes, wherever tiiey are gone, 
That youth is surely in their company. 

Duke F. Send to his brother ; fetch that gallant 
If he be absent, bring his brother to me, [hither ; 
I'll make iiim find him : do this suddenly ; 
And let not search and inquisition quail 
To bring again these foolish runaways. \^Eieuiit. 

SCENE III.— B?/<ire Oliver's House. 

Enter Orlando arid Adam, meeting, 

OH. Who's there? [master, 

Adam. What ! my young master? — O, my gentle 
0, my sweet master, you memory 
Of old sir Rowland ! why, what make you here ? 
Why are you virtuous ? Why do people love you ? 
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant? 
Why would you be so fond to overcome 
The bony priser of the humorous duke ? 
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. 
Know you not, master, to some kind of men 
Their graces serve them but as enemies ? 
No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master. 
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 
O, what a world is this, when what is comely 
Envenoms him that bears it ! 

OH. Why, what's the matter ? 

Adam. O unhappy youth. 

Come not within these doors ; within this roof 
The enemy of all your graces lives : 
Your brother — (no, no brother ; yet the son — 
Yet not the son ; I will not call him son — 
Of him I was about to call his father,) — 
Hath heard your praises ; and this night he means 
To burn the lodging where you used to lie, 
And you within it: if he fail of that. 
He will have other means to cut you off; 
I overheard him, and his practices. 
This is no place, this house is but a butchery ; 
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. 

Or/. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? 

Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. 

Orl. What, wouidst tliou have me go and beg my 
Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce [food ! 
A thievish living on the common road ? 
This I must do, or know not what to do : 
Yet this I will not do, do how I can ; 
I rather will subject me to the malice 
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother. 

Adam. Butdo not so ; I have five hundred crowns, 
The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, 
Which I did store to be my foster-nurse. 
When service should in my old limbs lie lame. 
And unregarded age in corners thrown ; 
Take that : and He that doth the ravens feed, 
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow. 
Be comfort to my age I Here is the gold ; 
Ail this I give you : Let me be your servant ; 
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty : 
For in my youth I never did apply 
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood ; 
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo 
I'he means of weakness and debility ; 



Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, 
Frosty, but kindly : let me go with you ; 
I'll do the service of a younger man 
In all your business and necessities. 

OvL. O good old man ; how well in thee appears 
The constant service of the antique world, 
When service sweat for duty, not for meed! 
Thou art not for the fashion of tiiese times, 
Where none will sweat, but for promotion ; 
And having that, do choke their service up 
Even with the having : it is not so with thee. 
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree, 
That cannot so much as a blossom yield, 
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry : 
But come thy ways, we'll go along together; 
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent. 
We'll light upon some settled low content. 

Adam. Master, go on ; and 1 will follow thee, 
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. — 
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore 
Here lived I, but now live here no more. 
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek ; 
But at fourscore, it is too late a week : 
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better. 
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. 

[^Exeunt. 

SCENE lY.—The Forest of Arden. 

Enter Rosalind in boy's clothes, Cet^ia drest like a 
Shepherdess, and Touchstone. 

Ros. O Jupiter ! how weary are my spirits ! 

Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were 
not weary. 

Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's 
apparel, and to cry like a woman: but I must com- 
fort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose -ought to 
shew itself courageous to petticoat : therefore, cou- 
rage, good Aliena. 

Cel. I pray you, bear with me ; I can go no further. 

Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, 
than bear you : yet I should bear no cross, if I did 
bear you ; for, 1 think, you have no money in your 
purse. 

Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. 

Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden : the more fool I ; 
when I was at home, I was in a better place ; but 
travellers must be content. 

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone: — Look you, 
who comes here ; a young man, and an old, in so- 
lemn talk. 

Enter Corin and Sjlvius. 

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still. 

6(7. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! 

Cor. I partly guess ; for I have iov'd ere now. 

Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess ; 
Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover 
As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow : 
But if thy love were ever like to mine, 
(As sure I think did never man love so,) 
How many actions most ridiculous 
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy ? 

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. 

Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily: 
If thou remember'st not the slightest folly 
That ever love did make thee run into. 
Thou hast not Iov'd: 
O, if thou hast not sat as I do now. 
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, 
Thou hast not Iov'd : 
Or if thou hast not broke from company, 
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me. 



216 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



Thou hast not lov'd : Phebe, Phebe, Phebe ! 

[Exit SiLVlUS. 

Rps. Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of thy wound, 
I have by hard adventure found mine own. 

Touch. And I mine: I remember, when I was in 
love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him 
lake that for coming anight to Jane Smile : and I 
remember the kissing of her batlet, and the cow's 
dugs that her pretty chop'd hands had milk'd : and 
I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her ; 
from whom I took two cods, and, giving her them 
again, said with weeping tears. Wear these for mu 
sake. We, that are true lovers, run into strange 
capers ; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all na- 
ture in love mortal in folly. 

Ros. Thou speak'st wiser, than thou art 'ware of. 

Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own 
wit, till I break my shins against it. 

Ros. Jove ! Jove ! this shepherd's passion 

Is much upon thy fashion. [with me. 

Touch. And mine ; but it grows something stale 

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man. 
If he for gold will give us any food ; 
I faint almost to death. 

Touch, Holla : you, clown ! 

Ros. Peace, fool ; he's not thy kinsman. 

Cor. Who calls 1 

Touch. Your betters, sir. 

Cor. Else are they very wretched. 

Ros. Peace, I say: — 

Good even to you, friend. 

Cor, And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. 

Ros. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold. 
Can in this desert place buy entertainment, 
Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed : 
Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd, 
And faints for succour. 

Cor. Fair sir, I pity her. 

And wish for her sake, more than for mine own. 
My fortunes were more able to relieve her : 
But I am shepherd to another man. 
And do not sheer the fleeces that I graze ; 
My master is of churlish disposition. 
And little recks to find the way to heaven 
By doing deeds of hospitality : 
Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed. 
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now. 
By reason of his absence, there is nothing 
That you will feed on ; but what is, come see. 
And in my voice most welcome shall you be. [ture ? 

Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pas 

Cor. That young swain that you saw here but ere- 
That little cares for buying any thing. [while, 

Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, 
Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, 
And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. 

Ce/. And we will mend thy wages: I like this place. 
And willingly could waste my time in it. 

Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold: 
Go with me ; if you like, upon report. 
The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, 
I will your very faithful feeder be. 
And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— The same. 
Enter Ami£NS, Jaques, and others, 

SONG. 

Ami, Under the greenwood tree. 
Who loves to lie with me, 
And twif his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat. 



Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 

Here shall he see 

No enemtf. 
But winter and rough weather. 

Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more. 

Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur 
Jaques. 

Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. I can 
suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks 
eggs : More, I pr'ythee, more. 

Ami. My voice is ragged ; 1 know, I cannot please 
you. 

Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire 
you to sing : Come, more ; another stanza ; Call you 
them stanzas ? 

Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques. 

Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names ; they owe 
me nothing : Will you sing 1 

Ami. More at your request, than to please myself. 

Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll 
thank you : but that they call compliment, is like 
the encounter of two dog-apes ; and when a man 
thanks me heartily, methinks, I have given him a 
penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. 
Come, sing ; and you that will not, hold your 
tongues. 

Ami. Well, I '11 end the song. — Sirs, cover the 
while ; the duke will drink under this tree : he hatb 
been all this day to look you. 

Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. 
He is too disputable for my company : I think of as 
many matters as he ; but I give heaven thanks, and 
make no boast of them. Come, warble, come. 

SONG. 

Who doth ambition shun, [All together here. 
And loves to live V the sun. 
Seeking the food he ■^ats. 
And pleased with what he gets. 
Come hither, come hithe", come hither , 
Here shall he see 
No enemy. 
But winter and rough weather. 

Jaq. I '11 give you a veise to this note, that I made 
yesterday in despite of my invention. 
Ami. And I '11 sing it. 
Jag. Thus it goes : 

If it do come to pass, 
That any man turn ass. 
Leaving his wealth and ease, 
A stubborn will to please, 
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdarne ; 
Here shall he see. 
Gross fools as he. 
An if he will come to me. 

Ami. What's that ducdame 7 

Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a 
circle. I '11 go sleep if 1 can ; if I cannot, I'll rail 
against all the first-born of Egypt. 

Ami. And I '11 go seek the duke ; his banquet is 
prepar'd. [Eaeujit severalli). 

SCENE VI.— T^ie same. 
Enter Orlando and Adam. 

Adarn. Dear master, I can go no further , O, I 
die for food ! Here lie I down, and measure out my 
grave. Farewell, kind master. 

Orl. Why, how now, Adam ! no greater heart in 
thee 1 Live a little ; comfort a little ; cheer thyself a 
little : If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, 1 



ACT II.— SCENE VII. 



•217 



will either be f jod for it, or bring it for food to thee 
Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For 
my sake, be comfortable ; hold death awhile at the 
arm's end : I will here be with thee presently ; and 
if I bring thee not something to eat, I'll give thee 
leave to die : but if thou diest before I come, thou 
art a mocker of my labour. Well said ! thou look'st 
cheerily : and I'll be with thee quickly. — Yet thou 
liest in the bleak air: Come, I will bear thee to some 
shelter ; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, 
if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good 
Adam ! [^Eieuut. 

SCENE VIL— The same. A Table set out. 
Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Lords, and others. 

DukeS. I think he be transform'd into a. beast ; 
For 1 can no where find him like a man. 

1 Lord. ]\Iy lord, he is but even now gone hence; 
Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 

DukeS. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, 
We shall have shortly discord in the splieies : — 
Go, seek him ; tell him I would speak wit/i him. 

Enter Jaques. 

1 Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach. 

Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur ! what a life is 
this, 
That your poor friends must woo your company f 
What ! you look merrily. 

Jaq. A fool, a fool ! 1 met a fool i' the forest, 

A motley fool ; — a miserable world ! — 

As I do live by food, I met a fool ; 

Who laid him down and bask'd him in tlie sun. 

And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms. 

In good set terms, — and yet a motley fool. 

Good-morrow, fool, quoth I : No, sir, quoth he. 

Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune : 

And then he drew a dial from his poke : 

And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 

Says, very wisely. It is ten o'clock : 

Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world wags : 

'Tis but an hour ago, since it ivas nine ; 

And after an hour more, 'twill be eleven ; 

And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe. 

And ihen,from hour to hour, we rot and rot. 

And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear 

The motley fool thus moral on the time. 

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer. 

That fools should be so deep contemplative ; 

And I did laugh, sans intermission. 

An hour by his dial. - O noble fool ! 

A worthy fool ! Motley's the only wear. 

Duke S. What fool is this ? 

Jaq. worthy fool! — One that hath been a cour- 
And say, if ladies be but young, and fair, [tier; 
They have the gift to know it: and in his brain, — 
Which is as dry as the remainder bisket 
After a voyage, — he hath strange places cramm'd 
With observation, the which he vents 
In mangled forms : — O, that I were a fool ! 
[ am ambitious for a motley coat. 

Duke S. Thou shalt have one. 

Jaq. It is my only suit ; 

Provided, tliat you weed your better judgments 
Of all opinion that grows rank in them. 
That I am wise. I must have liberty 
Withal, as large a charter as the wind. 
To blow on whom I please ; for so fools have : 
And they that are most galled with my folly. 
They most must laugh : And why, sir, must they so t 
The why is plain as way to parish church : 



He, that a fool doth very wisely hit, 

Doth very foolishly, although he smart, 

Not to seem senseless of the bob : if not, 

The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd 

Even by the squandering glances of the fool. 

Invest me in my motley ; give me leave 

To speak my mind, and I will through and through 

Cleanse the foul body of the infected world. 

If they will patiently receive my medicine. [do. 

Duke S. Fye on thee ! I can tell what thou wouldsl 

Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do, but good ? 

Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin? 
For thou thyself hast been a libertine. 
As sensual as the brutish sting itself ; 
And all the embossed sores, and headed evils. 
That thou with licence of free foot hast caught, 
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. 

Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride. 
That can therein tax any private party '^ 
Doth it not How as hugely as the sea. 
Till that the very very means do ebb ] 
What woman in the city do I name. 
When that I say. The city-woman bears 
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders '' 
Who can come in, and say, that I mean her. 
When such a one as she, such is her neighbour? 
Or what is he of basest function, 
That says, his bravery is not on my cost, 
(Thinking that I mean him,) but therein suits 
His folly to the mettle of iny speech ! 
There then ; How, what then? Let ine see wherein 
My tongue hath wrong'd him : if it do him right. 
Then he hath wrong'd himself ; if he be free. 
Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies, 
Unclaim'd of any man. — But who comes here' 

Enter Orlando, with his siuord drawn. 

Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. 

Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet. 

Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. 

Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of 1 

Duke S. Art thou thusbolden'd, man, by thy dis- 
Or else a rude despiser of good manners, [tress ; 
That in civility thou seem'st so empty 1 

Orl. You touch'd my vein at first ; the thorny point 
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show 
Of smooth civility : yet am I inland bred. 
And know some nurture : But forbear, 1 say ; 
He dies that touches any of this fruit, 
Till I and my affairs are answered. 

Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, 
I must die. [shall force 

Duke S. What would you have ? Your gentleness 
More than your force move us to gentleness. 

()/■/. I almost die for food, and let me have it. 

Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our 
table. 

Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you 
I thought, that all things had been savage here ; 
And therefore put I on the countenance 
Of stern commandment : But whate'er you are. 
That in this desert inaccessible. 
Under the shade of melancholy boughs. 
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; 
If ever you have look'd on better days ; 
If ever been where bells have knoU'd to church ; 
If ever sat at any good man's feast; 
If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear. 
And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied ; 
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be •. 
In the which hope. I blush, and hide my sword 

Duke S. True is it that we have seen better days ; 



218 



AS YOU LIKE IT. / 



And have with holy bell been knoU'd to church ; 
And sat at good men's feasts : and wip'd our eyes 
Of drops tliat sacred pity hath engender'd : 
And therefore sit you down in gentleness, 
And take upon command what help we have, 
That to your wanting may be ministred. 

Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while, 
Whiles, like a doe, 1 go to find my fawn, 
And give it food. There is an old poor man. 
Who after me hath many a weary step 
Limp'd in pure love ; till he be first suflic'd, — 
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age, and hunger, — 
I will not touch a bit. 

Duke S. Go find him out, 

And we will nothing waste till you return. 

Orl. I thank ye ; and be bless'd for your good 
comfort! [Exit. 

Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy ; 
This wide and universal theatre 
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene 
Wherein we play in. 

Jaq. All the world's a stage, 

And all the men and women merely players : 
1 hey have their exits, and their entrances ; 
And one man in his time plays many parts. 
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, 
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms ; 
And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel. 
And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school : And then the lover ; 
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 
Made to his mistress' eye-brow : Then a soldier: 
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard. 
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
Seeking the bubble reputation 

Even in the cannon's mouth : And then, the justice ; 
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd, 
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut. 
Full of wise saws and modern instances. 
And so he plays his part: Tlie sixth age shifts 
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon ; 
With spectacles on nose, and po\ich on side ; 
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide 
For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice. 
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound : Last scene of all, 
That ends this strange eventful history, 
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion , 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. 

Re-enter Orlando, with Adam. 

Duhe S. Welcome : Set down your venerable bur- 
And let him feed. [den, 

Orl. I thank you most tor him. 

Adam. So had you need ; 
I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 

DukeS. Welcome, fall to ; I will not trouble you 
As yet, to question you about your fortunes : — 
Give us some music ; and, good cousin, sing. 

Amiens sings. 

SONG. 

1. Blow, 'tlow, thflu winter wind, 
Thou art not so unkind 

As man's ingratitude ; 
Thy tooth is not so keen, 
Because thou art not seen. 
Although thy breath he rude. 
Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! unto the green hollu : 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly : 
Then, heigh, ho, the holly! 
This life ii most jolly. 



II. Frieeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
Tkou dost not bite so nigh 

■As benefits forgot: 
Though thou the waters warp, 
Thif sting is not so sharp 
As friend remembered not. 
Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! &c. 

Duke S. If that you were the good sir Rowland's 
As you have whisper'd faithfully, you were ; [son, — 
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness 
Most truly limn'd, and living in your face, — 
Be truly welcome hither : I am the duke. 
That lov'd your father : The residue of your fortune, 
Go to my cave and tell me. — Good old man, 
Thou art right welcome as thy master is ; 
Support him by the arm. — Give me your hand, 
And let nid all your fortunes understand. \_Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I.— ^ Room in the Palace. 

Enter Duke Frederick, Oliver, Lords, 
aiul Attendants. 

Duke F. Not see him since 1 Sir, sir, that cannot be . 
But were I not the better part made mercy, 
I should not seek an absent argument 
Of my revenge, thou present : But look to it ; 
Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is : 
Seek him with candle : bring him dead or living. 
Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more 
To seek a living in our territory. 
I'hy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine, 
Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands ; 
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth. 
Of what we think against thee. 

Oli. O, that your highness knew my heart in this ! 
I never lov'd my brother in my life. 

Duke F. More villain thou. — Well, push him out 
And let my officers of sucii a nature [of doors ; 

Make an extent upon his house and lands : 
Do this expediently, and turn him going. [Ejsujit. 

SCENE 11.— The Forest. 

Enter Orlando, with a paper, 

Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love : 

And thou, thrice crowned queen of night, survey 
Witli thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above. 

Thy huntress' mime, that ray full life dotli sway. 
O Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books. 

And in their barks my thoughts 1 '11 character ; -; 
That every eye, which in this forest looks. 

Shall see tliy virtue witness'd every where. 
Run, run, Orlando ; carve, on every tree, 
The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. [Exit. 

Enter Corin and Touchstone. 

Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, mas- 
ter Touchstone 1 

Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a 
good life ; but in resjiect that it is a shepherd's life, 
it is naught. In res])ect that it is solitary, 1 like it 
very well ; but in respect that it is private, it is a 
very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it 
pleaseth me well ; but in respect it is not in the 
court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, 
it fits my humour well ; but as there is no more 



ACT III. -SCENE 11. 



'219 



plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast 
any philosophy in thee, shepherd 1 

Cor. Ko more, but that I know, the more one 
sickens, the worse at ease lie is ; and that he that 
wants money, means, and content, is without three 
good friends : — That the property of rain is to wet, 
and fire to burn : That good pasture makes fat 
sheep ; and that a great cause of the night, is lack 
of the sun : That he, that hath learned no wit by 
nature nor art, may comjjlain of good breeding, or 
comes of a very dull kindred. 

Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast 
ever in court, shepherd ! 

Cor, No, truly. 

Touch. Then thou art damn'd. 

Cor. Nay, I hope, — 

Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd ; like an ill-roasted 
egg, all on one side. 

Cor. For not being at court 1 Your reason. 

Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou 
never saw'st good manners ; if thou never saw'st 
good manners, then thy manners must be wicked ; 
and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation : Thou 
art in a parlous state, shepherd. 

Cor. Not a whit. Touchstone : those, that are good 
manners at the court, are as ridiculous in the coun- 
try, as the behaviour of the country, is most mock- 
able at the court. You toid me, you salute not at 
the court, but you kiss your hands ; that courtesy 
would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. 

Touch. Instance, briefly ; come, instance. 

Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes ; and 
their fells, you know, are greasy. 

Touch. Why, do not your courtiers hands sweat 7 
and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as 
the sweat of a man ? Shallow, shallow : A better 
instance, I say ; come. 

Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. 

Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shal- 
low, again : A more sounder instance, come. 

Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the sur- 
gery of our sheep ; And would you have us kiss tar ! 
The courtier's hands are perfum'd with civet. 

Touch, Most shallow man ! Thou worms-meat, in 
respect of a good piece of flesh : Indeed. — Learn of 
the wise, and perpend : Civet is of a baser birth than 
tar; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the in- 
stance, shepherd. 

Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me ; I '11 rest. 

Touch. Wilt thou rest damn'd 1 God help thee, 
shallow man ! God make incision in thee ! thou art 
raw. 

Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer ; I earn that I eat, 
get that 1 wear ; owe no man hate, envy no man's 
happiness ; glad of other men's good, content with 
my harm : and the greatest of my pride is, to see my 
ewes graze, and my lambs suck. 

Touch. That is another simple sin in you ; to 
bring the ewes and the rams together, and to off'er 
to get your living by the copulation of cattle : to be 
bawd to a bell-wether ; and to betray a she-lamb of 
a twelvemonth, to a crooked paled, old cuckoidy 
ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'st 
not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no 
siiepherds ; I cannot see else how thou shouldst 
'scape. 

Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my 
new mistress's brotlier. 

Futer Rosalind, tcading a paper. 

llos. From the east to westeT^ Ind, 
No Jewel is like Rosuliud, 



Her worth, being mounted on the wind^ 
Through all the world bears Rosalind. 
All the pictures, fairest lind, 
Are but black to Rosalind. 
Let no face be kept in mind. 
But the fair of Rosalind, 

Touch. I '11 rhyme you so, eight years together ; 
dinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours e.xcepted: 
it is the right butter woman's rank to market. 

Ros, Out, fool ! 

Touch. For a taste : 

If a hart do lack a hind. 

Let him seek out Rosalind. 

If the cut will after kiud, 

So, be sure, will Rosalind, 

Winter garments must be lin'd. 

So mu.^t slender Rosalind. 

They that reap, must sheaf and bind ; 

Then to cart with Rosalirid. 

Sueetest nut hath sourest rind. 

Such a nut is Rosalind. 

He that sweetest rose will find. 

Must find love's prick, and Rosalind, 

This is the very false gallop of verses ; Why do you 
infect yourself with them ? 

Ros. Peace, you dull fool : I found them on a tree. 

Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. 

Ros. I '11 graff it with you, and then I shall grafT 
it with a medlar : then it will be the earliest fruit in 
the country : for you will be rotten e'er you be half 
ripe, and that 's (he right virtue of the medlar. 

Touch. You have said; but whether wisely or no, 
let the forest judge. 

Enter Cei.ia, reading a paper, 

Ros. Peace ! 
Here comes my sister, reading ; stand aside. 

Cel. ir/ii/ should this desert silent be? 

For it is unpeopled ? No ; 
Tongues I'll haug on eiiery tree. 

That shall civil sayings shew : 
Some, how brief the life of man 

Runs his erring pilgrimage , 
That the stretching of a span 

Buckles in his sum oj age. 
Some, of violated vows 

'Twixt the souls oJ' friend and friend: 
But upon the fairest boughs. 

Or at every sentence' end, 
Will I Rosalinda write: 

Teaching all that read to know 
The quintessence of every sprite 

Heaven v:ould in little shew. 
Therefore heaven nature charg'd 

That one body should hefiU'd 
With all graces wide enlarg'd : 

Nature presently distill'd 
Helen's cheek, but not her heart ; 

Cleopatra's majesty ; 
Atulanta's better part ; 

Sad Lucretia's modeity. 
Thus Rosalind of many parts 

Bi) heavenlq synod was dcvis'd, 
Of many faces, eyes, and hearts 
" To have the touches dearest priz'd. 
Heaven would that she these gifts should have, 
And I to Live and die her slave. 
Ros. O most gentle Jupiter ! — what tedious ho- 
mily of love have you wearied your parishioners 
withal, and never cry'd, Have patience, good people I 



220 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



Cel. How now ! back friends ; — Shepherd, go off 
a little : — Go with him, sirrah. 

Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honour- 
able retreat ; tiiough not with bag and baggage, yet 
with scrip and scrippage. 

[Eieunt CouiN and Touchstone. 

Cel. Didst thou hear these verses ? 

Ros. O, yes, 1 heard them all, and more too ; for 
some of them had in them more feet thaa the verses 
would bear. 

Cel. That's no matter ; the feet might bear the verses. 

Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not 
bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood 
lamely in the verse. 

Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondering how 
thy name should be hang'd and carved upon these 
trees ] 

Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the won- 
der, before you came ; for look here what I found on 
a palm-tree : I was never so be-rhymed since Pytha- 
goras' time, that I was an Irish rat, wtiich 1 can 
hardly remember. 

Cel. Trow you, who hath done this ] 

Ros. Is it a man t 

Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his 
neck: Change you colour 1 

Ros. I pr'ythee, who 1 

Cel. lord, lord ! it is a hard matter for friends 
to meet; but mountains may be removed with earth- 
quakes, and so encounter. 

Ros. Nay, but who is it 1 

Cel. Is it possible 1 

Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary 
vehemence, tell me who it is 1 

Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful 
wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that 
out of all whooping ! 

Ros. Good my complexion ! dost thou think, though 
I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and 
hose in my disposition 1 One inch of delay more is a 
South-sea-off discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is 
it 1 quickly, and speak apace : I would thou couldst 
stammer, that thou might'st pour this concealed man 
out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow- 
mouth'd bottle ; either too much at once, or none at 
all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that 
1 may drink thy tidings. 

Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. 

Ros. Is he of God's making? What manner of 
man 1 Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a 
beard 1 

Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. 

Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will 
be thankful : let me stay the growth of his beard, if 
thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. 

Cel. It is young Orlando ; that tripp'd up the 
wrestler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant. 

Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking ; speak sad 
brow, and true maid. 

Cel. I 'faith, coz, 'tis he. 

Ros. Orlando 1 

Cel. Orlando. 

Ros. Alas the day ! what shall I do with my dou- 
blet and hose ! — What did he when thou saw'st iiim ? 
What said he"! How look'd he 1 Wherein went he? 
What makes he here 1 Did he a^k for me 1 Where 
remains he ? How parted he with thee 1 and when 
shalt thou see him again ? Answer me in one word. 

Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth 
first : 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's 
size : To say, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more 
than to answer in a catechiim 



Ros. But doth he know that I am in this forest, 
and in man's apparell Looks he as freshly as he did 
the day he wrestled 1 

Cel. It is as easy to count atomies, as to resolve 
the propositions of a lover : — but take a taste of my 
finding him, and relish it with a good observance. I 
found him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn. 

Ros. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it 
drops forth such fruit. 

Cel. Give me audience, good madam. 

Ros. Proceed. 

Cel. There lay he, stretch'd along, like a wounded 
knight. 

Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well 
becomes the ground. 

Cel. Cry, holla ! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee : it cur- 
vets very unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a 
hunter. 

Ros. O ominous ! he comes to kill my heart. 

Cel. I would sing my song without a burden : thou 
bring'st me out of tune. 

Ros. Do you not know I am a woman 1 when I 
think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. 

Enter Orlando and Jaqi'es. 

Cel. You bring me out : — Soft ! comes he not here ! 

Ros. 'Tis he ; slink by, and note him. 

[Celia and Rosalind retire. 

Jjq. I thank you for your company ; but, good 
faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. 

Orl. And so had I ; but yet, for fashion sake, I 
thank you too for your society. 

Jaq. God be with you ; let's meet as little as we 
can. 

Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. 

Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing 
love- songs in their barks. 

Orl. 1 pray you, mar no more of my verses with 
reading them ill-favouredly. 

Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name 1 

Orl, Yes, just. 

Jaq. I do not like her name. 

Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when 
she was christen'd. 

Jaq. What stature is she of? 

0)7, Just as high as my heart. 

Jaq. You are full of pretty answers : Have you 
not been acquainted with goldsmith's wives, and 
conn'd them out of rings ? 

Orl. N ot so ; but I answer you right painted cloth, 
from whence you have studied your questions. 

Jaq. You have a nimble wit; 1 think it is made 
of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with nie ? 
and we two will rail against our mistress tlie world, 
and all our misery. 

Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but 
myself; against whom I know most faults. 

Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love. 

0)7. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best 
virtue. I am weary of you. 

Jaq. By my troth, 1 was seeking for a fool, when 
I found you. 

Orl. He is drown'd in the brook ; look but in, and 
you shall see him. 

Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure. 

0)7. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cypher. 

Jaq. I '11 tany no longer with you ; farewell, good 
signior love. 

Orl. I am glad of your departure ; adieu, good 
monsieur melancholy. 

lExit Jaqufs. — Cel. and Ros. come forward. 

Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and 



ACT III.- -SCENE III. 



221 



unaer that habit play the knave with him. — Do you 
hear, forester ? 

Orl. Very well ; what would you 1 

Bos. I pray you, what is 't a clock 1 

Orl. You should ask me, what time o'day ; there's 
no clock in the forest. 

Kos. Then there 's no true lover in the forest ; else 
sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would 
detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock. 

Orl. And why not the swift foot of time ? had not 
that been as proper "! 

Ros. By no means, sir : Time travels in divers 
paces with divers persons: I'll tell you who time 
ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gal- 
lops withal, and who he stands still withal. 

0/7. I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal ? 

Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, be- 
tween the contract of her marriage, and the day it is 
solemnized ; if the interim be but a se'nnight, time's 
pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven years. 

Orl. Who ambles time withal ' 

Ross. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich 
man that hath not the gout: for the one sleeps easily, 
because he cannot study ; and the other lives mer- 
rily, because he feels no pain : the one lacking the 
burden of lean and wasteful learning ; the other know- 
ing no burden of heavy tedious penury: These time 
ambles withal. 

0)7. Who doth he gallop withal ? 

Ros. With a thief to the gallows : for though he 
go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too 
soon there. 

Orl. Who stays it still withal 1 

Ros. With lawyers in the vacation : for they sleep 
between term and term, and then they perceive not 
how time moves. 

0/7. WMiere dwell you, pretty youth? 

Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister ; here in the 
skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. 

Orl. Are you a native of this place 1 

Ros. As the coney, that you see dwell where she 
is kindled. 

Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could 
purchase in so removed a dwelling. 

Ros. I have been told so of many : but, indeed, an 
old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who 
was in his youth an in-land man ; one that knew 
courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have 
heard him read many lectures against it ; and I thank 
God, I am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many 
giddy offences as he hath generally tax'd their whole 
sex withal. 

0)7. Can you remember any of the principal evils 
that he laid to the charge of women 1 

Ros. There were none principal ; they were all like 
one another, as half-pence are : every one fault seem- 
ing monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it. 

Orl. I pr'ythee, recount some of them. 

Ros. No ; I will not cast away my physic, but on 
those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, 
that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind 
on their barks ; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and 
elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name 
of Rosalind : if I could meet that fancy-monger, I 
would give him some good counsel, for he seems to 
have the quotidian of love upon him. 

0)7. I am he that is so love-shaked ; I pray you, 
tell me your remedv. 

Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you : 
he taught me how to know a man in love ; in which 
cage of rushes, I am sure you are not prisoner. 

0(7. \^'hat were his marks! 



Ros. A lean cheek ; which you have not : a blue 
eye, and sunken ; which you have not : an unques- 
tionable spirit ; which you have not : a beard neg- 
lected ; which you have not : but 1 pardon you for 
that ; for, simply, your having in beard is a younger 
brother's revenue : — Then your hose should be un- 
garter'd, your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve unbut- 
toned, your shoe untied, and every thing about you 
demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are 
no such man ; you are rather point device in your 
accoutrements ; as loving yourself, than seeming the 
lover of any other. 

0)7. Fair youth, I would I could make thee be- 
lieve I love. 

Ros. Me believe it ? you may as soon make her 
that you love believe it ; which, I warrant, she is 
apter to do, tlian to confess she does ; that is one of 
the points in the wliich women still give the lie to 
their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he 
that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind 
is, so admired 1 

Orl. 1 swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of 
Rosalind, I am tiiat he, that unfortunate he. 

Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes 
speak? 

0/7. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how 
much. 

Ros. Love is merely a madness ; and, I tell you, 
deserves as well a dark house and a whip, as madmen 
do : and the reason why they are not so punished 
and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that the 
whippers are in love too : Yet I profess curing it by 
counsel. 

0)7. Did you ever cure any so ? 

Ros. Yes, one; and in this manner. Ho was to 
imagine me his love, his mistress ; and I set him 
every day to woo me : At which time would I, being 
but a moonish youth, grieve, be elleminate, change- 
able, longing, and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, 
shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles ; for 
every passion something, and for no passion truly 
any thing, as boys and women are for the most part 
cattle of this colour : would now like him, now loath 
him ; then entertain him, then forswear him ; now 
weep for him, then spit at him ; that I drave my 
suitor from his mad humour of love, to a living hu- 
mour of madness ; which was, to forswear the full 
stream of tiie world, and to live in a nook merely 
monastic : And thus I cured him ; and this way will 
1 take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound 
sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of 
love in't. 

0)7. I would not be cured, youth. 

Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me 
Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and woo me. 

0)7. Now, by the faith of my love, I will ; tell me 
where it is, 

Ros. Go with me to it, and I '11 shew it you : and, 
by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you 
live : Will you go ? 

Orl. With all my heart, good youth. 

Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind : — Come, 
sister, will you go ? [Exeunt. 

SCENE in. — E)i(er Touchstone and Audrey ; 
Jaquks at a distcince, observing them. 

Touch. Come apace, good Audrey ; I will fetch up 
your goats, Audrey : And how, Audrey ! am 1 the 
man yet ? Doth my simple feature content you ? 

Aud. Your featuies ! Lord warrant us ! what 
features ? 

Timch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the 



r . 



•222 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the 
Goths. 

Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited ! worse than Jove 
in a thatch'd house ! [Aside. 

Touch. When a man's verses cannot be understood, 
nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward 
child, understanding, it strikes a man more dead than 
a great reckoning in a little room: — Truly, I would 
the gods had made thee poetical. 

And. I do not know what poetical is: Is it honest 
in deed, and word 1 Is it a true thing 1 

Touch. No, truly ; for the truest poetry is the most 
feigning ; and lovers are given to poetry ; and what 
Ihey swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, they do 
feign. 

Aud. Do you wish then, that the gods had made 
me poetical 1 

Touch. I do, truly, for thou swear'st to me, thou 
art honest ; now, if thou wert a poet, I might have 
some hope thou didst feign. 

Aud. Would you not have me honest 1 

Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd : 
for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a 



\^Aude. 
and therefore I pray 



sauce to sugar. 

Jaq. A material fool ! 

And. W^ell, I am not fair 
the gods make me honest. 

Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul 
slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish. 

Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I 
am foul. 

Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness ! 
sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may 
be, I will marry thee, and to that end, I have been 
\\\i\i sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next vil- 
lage ; who hath promised to meet me in this place of 
the forest, and to couple us. 

Jaq. I would fain see this meeting. [Aside. 

Aud. Well, the gods give us joy ! 

Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fear- 
ful heart, stagger in this attempt ; for here we have 
no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. 
But what though 1 Courage ! As horns are odious, 
they are necessary. It is said, — Many a man knows 
no end of his goods : right: many a man has good 
horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the 
dowry of his wife ; 'tis none of his own getting.. 

Horns? Even so: Poor men alonel No, no; 

the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. 
Is the single man therefore blessed ! No : as a wall'd 
town is more worthier than a village, so is the fore- 
head of a married man more honourable than the bare 
brow of a bachelor : and by how much defence is 
better than no skill, by so much is a horn more pre- 
cious than to want. 

Enter Sir Oliver Mah-text. 

Here comes sir Oliver : — Sir Oliver Mar-text, you 
are well met: Will you despatch us here under this 
tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel ? 

Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman 1 

Touch. I will not take her on the gift of any man. 

Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage 
is not lawful. 

Juq. [Discovering himself .^ Proceed, proceed; I'll 
give her. 

Touch. Good even, good master What ye call't : 
How do you, sir] You are very well met: God'ild 
yo<i for your last company : 1 am very glad to see 
you : — Even a toy in hand here, sir: — Nay; pray, 
be cover'd. 

Juq. Will you be married, motley 1 



Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his 
curb, and the faulcou her bells, so man hath his de- 
sires ; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be 
nibbling. 

Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, 
be married under a bush, like a beggar ; Get you to 
church, and have a good priest that can tell you what 
marriage is : tliis fellow will but join you together 
as they joip wainscot : then one of you will prove a 
shrunk panriel, and, like green timber, warp, warp. 

Touch. 1 am not in the mind but I were better to 
be married of him than of another : for he is not like 
to marry me well ; and not being well married, it will 
be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife. 

[Aside. 

Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. 

Touch. Come, sweet Audrey ; 
We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. 
Farewell, good master Oliver.' 

Not — O sweet Oliver, 
O brave Oliver, 
Leave me not behi' thee ; 
But — Wind away. 
Begone I say, 
I will not to wedding wi' thee. 

[Eieunt Jaques, Touchstone, and AunnEV. 

Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter ; ne'er a fantastical knave 

of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— T^e same. Before a Cottage. 
Enter Rosalind and Celia. 

Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep. 

Cel. Do, I pry' thee; but yet have the grace to 
consider, that tears do not become a man. 

Ros. But have I not cause to weep ? 

Cel. As good cause as one would desire ; therefore 
weep. 

Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. 

Cel, Something browner than Judas's : marry, his 
kisses are Judas's own children. 

Ros. V faith, his hair is of a good colour. 

Cel. An excellent colour : your chesnut was ever 
the only colour. 

Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as tlie 
touch of holy bread. 

Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: 
a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more reli- 
giously ; the very ice of chastity is in them. 

Ros. But why did he swear he would come this 
morning, and comes not ? 

Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. 

Ros. Do you think so ? 

Cel. Yes : I thii.k he is not a pick-purse, nor a 
horse-stealer; but for his verity in love, I do think him 
as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a worm-eaten nut. 

Ilos. Not true in love ? 

Cel. \'es, when he is in ; but, I think he is not in. 

Rns. Y'ou have heard him swear downright he was. 

Cel. Was is not is : besides the oath of a lover is 
no stronger than the word of a tapster ; they are both 
the confirmers of false reckonings : He attends here 
in the forest on the duke your father. 

Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much 
question with him : He asked me, of what parentage 
I was ; I told him, of as good as he ; so he laugh 'd 
and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when 
there is such a man as Orlando? 

Cel. O, that's a brave man ! he writes brave verses, 
speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks 
them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his 
lover ; as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on 






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V 



i^j' 



H I t 



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ToooHSTONE Nay ; pray, be covered. 

Jci 111., Scene .1 



ACT III.— SCENE V. 



22:3 



one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose : but all's 
brave, that youth mounts, and tolly guides : — Who 
comes here 1 

Enter Corin. 

Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft enquired 
After the shepherd that complain'd of love ; 
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf. 
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess 
That was his mistress. 

Cel. Well, and what of him 1 

Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd. 
Between the pale complexion of trjie love, 
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, 
Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, 
If you will mark it. 

Ros. 0, come let us remove : 

The sight of lovers feedeth those in love : — 
Bring us unto this sight, and you shall say 
I '11 prove a busy actor in their play. [Exeunt. 

SCENE Y.— Another part of the Forest. 

Enter Sii.vius and Phebe. 

Sil, Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me ; do not, Phebe : 
Say, that you love me not ; but say not so 
In bitterness : The common executioner. 
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes 
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck, [hard. 
But first begs pardon ; VVill you sterner be 
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops ? 

Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin, at a distance. 

Phe. I would not be thy executioner ; 
1 fly thee, for I would not injure thee. 
Thou tell'stme, there is murder in mine eye : 
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, 
That eyes, — that are the frail'st and softest things. 
Who shut their coward gates on atomies, — 
Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers ! 
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart ; 
And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee ; 
Now counterfeit to swoon ; why, now fall down ; 
Or, if thou can'st not, O, foi shame, for shame, 
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. 
Now shew the wound mine eye hath made in thee : 
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains 
Some scar of it ; lean but upon a rush. 
The cicatrice and capable impressure 
rhy palm some moment keeps: but now mine eyes, 
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not ; 
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes 
That can do hurt. 

Sil. O dear Phebe, 

If ever, (as that ever may be near,) 
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy. 
Then shall you know the wounds invisible 
That love's keen arrows make. 

Phe. But, till that time 

Come not thou near me : and, when that time comes, 
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not ; 
As, till that time, I shall not pity thee. 

Ros. And why, I pray you 1 [Advancing'] Who 
might be your mother. 
That you insult, exult, and all at once, 
Over the wretched? What though you have more 
(As, by my faith, I see no more in you [beauty, 
Than without candle may go dark to bed,) 
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless 1 
V\ hy, what means this ? Why do you look on inel 
I see no more in you, than in the ordinary 
Of nature's sale-work: — Od's my little life ! 
I think, she means to tangle my eyes too : — 



No, 'faith, proua mistress, hope not after it ; 
'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair. 
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream. 
That can entame my spirits to your worship. — 
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, 
Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rami 
\ ou are a thousand times a properer man, 
Than she a woman : 'Tis such fools as you. 
That make the world full of ill-favour'd children • 
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her ; 
And out of you she sees herself more proper, 
Than any of her lineaments can shew her ; — 
But, mistress, know yourself, down on your knees, 
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love : 
For I must tell you friendly in your ear, — 
Sell what you can ; you are not for all markets : 
Cry the man mercy ; love him ; take his offer : 
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. 
So, take her to thee, shepherd ; — fare you well. 

Phe. Sweet youth, 1 pray you chide a year together ; 
I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. 

Ros. He's fallen in love with her foulness, and 
she '11 fall in love with my anger : If it be so, as fast 
as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce 
her with bitter words. — Why look you so upon me? 

Phe. For no ill will I bear you. 

Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me. 
For I am falser than vows made in wine : 
Besides, I like you not: If you will know my house, 
'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by : — 
Will you go, sister 1 — Shepherd, ply ftr hard : — 
Come, sister : — Shepherdess, look on him better. 
And be not proud ; though all the world could see, 
None could be so abus'd in sight as he. 
Come to our flock. 

[E.ieunt Rosalind, Celia, and ConiN. 

Phe. Dead shepherd ! now I find thy saw of might ; 
Who ever lov'd, that lov\l not at Jirst siglit? • 

Sil. Sweet Phebe, — 

Phe. Ha ! what say'st thou, Silvius 1 

Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. 

Phe. Why, 1 am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. 

Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be ; 
If you do sorrow at my grief in love. 
By giving love, your sorrow and my grief 
Were both extermin'd. 

Phe. Thou hast my love ; is not that neighbourly 1 

Sil. I would have you. 

Phe. Why, that were covetousness. 

Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee ; 
And yet it is not, that I bear thee love : 
But since that thou canst talk of love so well. 
Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, 
I will endure ; and I '11 employ thee too : 
But do not look for further recompense. 
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. 

Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love. 
And 1 in such a poverty of grace. 
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop 
To glean the broken ears after the man 
That the main harvest reaps : loose now and then 
A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon, [while? 

Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere 

5//. Not very well, but I have met him oft; 
And he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds, 
That the old carlot once was master of. 

Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him : 
'Tis but a peevish boy : — yet he talks well ; — 
But what care I for words? yet words do well. 
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear ; 
It is a pretty youth : — not very pretty : — 
But sure he 's proud ; and yet his pride becomes him 



224 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



He'll make a proper man : The best thing in him 

Is his complexion ; and faster than his tongue 

Did make oft'ence, his eye did heal it up. 

He is not tall ; yet for his years he's tall : 

His leg is but so so ; and yet 'tis well : 

There was a pretty redness in his lip , 

A little riper and more lusty red ; 

Than that mix'd in his cheek ; 'twas just the difference 

Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. 

There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him 

In parcels as I did, would have gone near 

To fall in love with him : but, for my part, 

I love him not, nor hate him not ; and yet 

I have more cause to hate him than to love him : 

For what had he to do to chide at me 1 

He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black ; 

And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me ; 

I marvel, why I answer'd not again : 

But that's all one ; omittance is no quittance. 

I'll write to him a very taunting letter, 

And thou shall bear it ; Wilt thou, Silvius? 

iS(7. Phebe, with all my heart. 

Phe. 1 '11 write it straight ; 

The matter's in my head, and in my heart : 
I will be bitter with him, and passing short: 
Go writh me, Silvius. [Eiettnc. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— The same. 
Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques. 

Jaq. I pr'ytliee, pretty youth, let me be better 
acquainted with thee. 

Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow. 

Jaq. I am so ; I do love it better than laughing. 

Ros. Those, that are in extremity of either, are 
abominable fellows ; and betray themselves to every 
modern censure, worse than drunkards. 

Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. 

Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. 

Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which 
is emulation ; nor the musician's, which is fantastical ; 
nor the courtier's, which is proud ; nor the soldier's, 
which is ambitious ; nor the lawyer's, which is po- 
litic ; nor the lady's, which is nice ; nor the lover's, 
which is all these : but it is a melancholy of mine 
own, compounded of many simples, extracted from 
many objects : and, indeed, the sundry contempla- 
tion of my travels, in which my often rumination 
wraps me, is a most humorous sadness. 

Ros. A traveller ! By my faith, you have great 
reason to be sad : I fear you have sold your own 
lands, to see other men's ; then, to have seen much, 
and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor 
hands. 

Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. 

Enter Orlando. 

Ros. And your experience makes you sad : I had 
rather have a fool to make me merry, than experi- 
ence to make me sad ; and to travel for it too. 

Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind ! 

Jaq. Nay then, God be wi'you, an you talk in 
blank verse. 

Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look, you 
lisp, and wear strange suits ; disable all the benefits 
of your own country: be out of love with your na- 
tivity, and almost chide God for making you that 
countenance you are ; or 1 will scarce think you have 



swam m a gondola. [Exit Jaques.] — Why, how now, 
Orlando ! where have you been all this while ? You 
a lover ! — An you serve me such another trick, 
never come in my sight more. 

Orl. JMy fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of 
my promise. 

Ros. Break an hour's promise in love 1 He that 
will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break 
but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the 
affairs of love, it may be said of him, that Cupid hath 
clapp'd him o' the shoulder, but 1 warrant him 
heart-whole. 

Orl. Pardon, me, dear Rosalind. 

Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in 
my sight ; I had as lief be woo'd of a snail. 

Orl. Of a snail ? 

Ros. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly, 
he carries his house on his head ; a better jointure, 
I think, than you can make a woman : Besides, he 
brings his destiny with him. 

Orl. What's that ? 

Ros. Why, horns ; which such as you are fain to 
be beholden to your wives for: but he comes armed 
in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife. 

Orl. Virtue is no horn maker ; and my Rosalind 
is virtuous. 

Ros. And I am your Rosalind. 

Cel. It pleases him to call you so ; but he hath a 
Rosalind of a better leer than you. 

Ros. Come, woo me, woo me ; for now I am in a 
holiday humour, and like enough to consent : — What 
would you say to me now, an I were your very very 
Rosalind ? 

Orl. I would kiss before I spoke. 

Ros. Nay, you were better speak first ; and when 
you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might 
take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they 
are out, they will spit; and for lovers, lacking (God 
warn us ! ) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. 

Orl. How if the kiss be denied 1 

Ros. Then she puts you to intreaty, and there 
begins new matter. 

Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved 
mistress 1 

Ros. IMarry, that should you, if I were your mis- 
tress ; or I should think my honesty ranker than my 
wit. 

Orl. What, of my suit ? 

Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your 
suit. Am not I your Rosalind? 

Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I 
would be talking of her. 

Ros. Well, in her person, I say — I will not have 
you. 

Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die. 

Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world 
is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time 
there was not any man died in his own person, vide- 
licet, in a love cause. Troilus had his brains dashed 
out with a Grecian club ; yet he did what he could 
to die before ; and he is one of the patterns of love. 
Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, 
though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for 
a hot midsummer night ; for, good youth, he went 
but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and, being 
taken with the cramp, was drowned ; and the foolish 
chroniclers of that age found it was — Hero of Sestos. 
But these are all lies ; men have died from time to 
time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love. 

Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this 
mind ; for, I protest, her frown might kill me. 

Res. By this hand, it will not kill a fly: But 



ACT IV.— SCENE III. 



22o 



come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more com- 
ing-on disposition ; and ask me what you will, I will 
grant it. 

Oil. Then love me, Rosalind. 

Bos. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, 
and all. 

Oil. And wilt thou have me ? 

Ros. Ay, and twenty such. 

Orl. What say'st thou ] 

Ros. Are you not good 1 

OH. I hope so. 

Ilos. Why then, can one desire too much of a good 
thing? — Come, sister, you shall be the priest, and 
marry us. — Give me your hand, Orlando : — What 
do you say, sister 1 

Orl. Pray thee, marrj us. 

Cel. I cannot say the words. 

Ros. You must begin, WiUyou, Oiinndn, — 

Cel. Go to: Will you, Orlando, have to wife 

<his Rosalind 1 

Orl. 1 will. 

Ros. Ay, but when ? 

Orl. Why now; as fast as she can marry us. 

Ros. Then you must say, — 1 take thee, Rosalind, 
for wife. 

Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. 

Ros. I might ask you for your commission ; but, 
— I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband ; There 
a girl goes before the priest ; and, certainly, a wo- 
man's thought runs before her actions. 

Orl. So do all thoughts ; they are winged. 

Ros. Now tell me, how long you would have her, 
after you have possessed her. 

Orl. For ever, and a day. 

Ros. Say a day, without the ever : No, no, Or- 
lando ; men are April when they woo, December 
when they wed : maids are May when they are maids, 
but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be 
more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon 
over his hen ; more clamorous than a parrot against 
rain ; more new-fangled than an ape ; more giddy 
in my desires than a monkey : I will weep for no- 
thing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that 
when you are disposed to be merry ; I will laugh 
like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep. 

Orl. But will my Rosalind do so ] 

Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. 

Orl. O, but she is wise. 

Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this : 
the wiser, the waywarder : Make the doors upon a 
woman's wit, and it will out at the casement ; shut 
that, and 'twill out at the key-hole ; stop that, 'twill 
fly with the smoke out at the chimney. 

Orl. A man that had a wife \vith such a wit, he 
might say, — Wit, whither aitt? 

Ros. Nay, j'ou might keep that check for it, till you 
met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. 

Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that 1 

Ros. Marry, to say, — she came to seek you there. 
Y%u shall never take her without her answer, unless 
you take her without her tongue. O, that woman 
that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, 
let her never nurse her child herself, for she will 
breed it like a fool. 

Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave 
thee. 

Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. 

Orl. 1 must attend the duke at dinner ; by two 
o'clock I will be with thee again. 

Itos. Ay, go your ways, go your ways ; — I knew 
what you would prove ; my friends told me as much, 
and 1 thought no less : — that flattering tongue of 



yours won me : 'tis but one cast away, and so, — 
come, death. — Two o'clock is your hour? 

Orl, Ay, sweet Rosalind. 

Ros, By my troth, and in good earnest, and so 
God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not 
dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise, or 
come one minute behind your hour, I will think you 
the most pathetical break-promise, and the most 
hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call 
Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band 
of the unfaithful : therefore beware my censure, and 
keep your promise. 

Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert 
indeed my Rosalind : So, adieu. 

Ros, Well, time is the old justice that examines 
all such offenders, and let time try : Adieu ! 

• [Exit OULANDO. 

Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your 
love-prate : we must have your doublet and "hose 
plucked over your head, and shew the world what 
the bird hath done to her own uest. 

Ros. coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that 
thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in 
love I But it cannot be sounded ; my aflection hath 
an unknown bottom like the bay of Portugal. 

Cel. Or, rather, bottomless ; that as fast as you 
pour aflection in, it runs out. 

Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that 
was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born 
of madness ; that blind rascally boy, that abuses 
every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him 
be judge, how deep I am in love : — I '11 tell thee, 
Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando : 
I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. 

Cel. And I'll sleep. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Another part of the Forest. 
Enter Jaques and Lords, in the habit of Foresters, 

Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer 1 

1 Lord, Sir, it was I. 

Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman 
conqueror ; and it would do well to set the deer's 
horns upon his head, for a branch of victory : — 
— Have you no song, forester, for this purpose I 

2 Lord. Yes, sir. 

Jaq, Sing it ; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so 
it make noise enough. 

SONG. 

1. What shall he have, that kill'd the deer? 

2. His leather skin, and horns to wear. 

1. Then sing him home : 
Take thou no scorn, to ivear the horn : < 7'"' ''''-'' ^''^i' 

T. . ^? .1 { liear this bur- 

It was a crest ere thou wast horn. ( den. 

1. Thy father's father wore it ; 

2. A7i'd thy father bore it: 

All. The horn, the horn, the lusty horn. 

Is not a thing to laugh to scorn, [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— T/,e Forest, 
Filter Rosalind and Celia. 

Ros. Ilowsayyou now? Isitnotpast two o'clock ? 
And here much Orlando ! 

Cel. I warrant you, with pure love, and troubled 
brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone 
forth — to sleep : — Look, who comes here. 

Enter Silvius. 
Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth ; 
IMy gentle Phebe bid me give you this : 

[Giving a letter. 



226 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



] know not the contents ; but, as I guess, 
By the stern brow, and waspish action 
Which she did use as she was writing of it, 
It bears an angry tenor ; pardon me, 
I am but as a guiltless messenger. 

Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter, 
And play the swaggerer ; bear this, bear all : 
She says, I am not fair ; that I lack manners ; 
She calls me proud ; and, that she could not love me 
Were man as rare as Phoenix ; Od's my will ! 
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt : 
Why writes she so to me 1 — Well, shepherd, well, 
This is a lelter of your own device. 

Sil. No, 1 protest, I know not the contents ; 
Phebe did write it. 

7?()s. Come, come, you are a fool, 

And turn'd into the extremity of love. 
I saw her hand : she has a leathern hand, 
A freestone-colour'd hand ; I verily did think 
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands ; 
She has a huswife's hand : but that's no matter ; 
I say, she never did invent this letter : 
This is a man's invention, and his hand. 

■S'i7. Sure, it is hers. 

Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style, 
A style for challengers ; why she defies me. 
Like Turk to Christian : woman's gentle brain 
Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention. 
Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect 
Than in their countenance : — Will you hear the letter ? 

Sit. So please you, for I never heard it yet ; 
Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. 

Ros. She Phebes me : mark how the tyrant writes. 

Art thou god to shepherd ttirn'd, [Retids. 

That a maiden's heart hath burn'dl 

Can a woman rail thus ? 
SiL. Call you this railing ? 

Ros. Why, thy godhead laid apart, 

Wurrst thou with a woman's heart ? 

Did you ever hear such railing ? — 

Whiles the eye of man did woo me. 
Thai could do no vengeance to me. — 

Meaning me a beast. — • 

If the scorn of your bright eyne 
Have potcer to raise such love in mine, 
Alack, in me what strange effect 
Would they icork in mild aspect 7 
Whiles you chid me, I did love ; 
How then might your prayers move ? 
He, that brings this love to thee. 
Little knows this love in me: 
And by him seal up thy mind ? 
Whether that thy youth and kind 
Will the faithful offer take 
Of me, and all that lean make ; 
Or else by him my love deny. 
And then I 'II study how to die. 

Sil. Call you this chiding? 

Cel. Alas, poor shepherd ! 

Ros. Do you pity him 1 no, he deserves no pity. — 
Wilt thou love such a woman ? — What, to make thee 
an instrument, and play false strains upon thee ! 
not to be endured ! — Well, go your way to her, (for 
I see, love hath made thee a tame snake,) and say 
this to her ; — That if she love me, I charge her to 
lore thee : if she will not, I will never have her, 
unless thou entreat for her. — If you be a true lover, 
hence, and not a word ; for here comes more com- 
pany. [Exit SiLvius. 



Enter Oliver. 

OH. Good-morrow, fair ones : Pray yon, if yon 
Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands [know 
A sheep-cote, fenc'd about with olive trees ? 

Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour bot- 
The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream, [torn, 
Left on your right hand, brings you to the place: 
But at this hour the house doth keep itself. 
There's none within. 

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, 
Then I should know you by description ; 
Such garments, and such years : The boy is fair. 
Of female favour, and bestows himself 
Like a ripe sister: but the woman low. 
And browner than her brother. Are not you 
The owner of the house I did inquire for ? 

Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we die. 

Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both : 
And to that youth he calls his Rosalind, 
He sends this bloody napkin ; Are you he? 

jRo.« I am : what must we understand by this? 

Oli. Some of my shame ; if you will know of me 
What man I am, and how, and why, and where 
This handkerchief was stain'd. 

Cel. I pray you, tell it. 

Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from yoa, 
He left a promise to return again 
Within an hour ; and, pacing through the forest. 
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
Lo, what befel ! he threw his eye aside. 
And, mark, what object did present itself! 
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age, 
And high top bald with dry antiquity, 
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, 
Lay sleeping on his back : about his neck 
A green and gilded snake had wreath 'd itself, 
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'*} 
The opening of his mouth ; but suddenly 
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself. 
And with indented glides did slip away 
Into a bush : under which bush's shade 
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry. 
Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like watch, 
when that the sleeping man should stir ; for 'tis 
The royal disposition of that beast, 
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead : 
This seen, Orlando did approach the man. 
And found it was his brother, his elder brother. 

Cel. O , I have heard him speak of that same brother ; 
And he did render him the most unnatural 
That liv'd 'mongst men. 

Oli. And well he might so do, 

For well I know he was unnatural. 

Ros. But, to Orlando ; — Did he leave him there, 
Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? 

Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so 
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, 
And nature, stronger than his just occasion. 
Made him give battle to the lioness. 
Who quickly fell before him ; in which hurtling 
From miserable slumber I awak'd. 

Cel. Are you his brother ? 

Ros. Was it you he rescued 1 

Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him ? 

Oli. 'Twas I ; but 'tis not I : I do not shame 
To tell you what I was, since my conversion 
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 

Ros. But, for the bloody napkin ? — 

Oli. By, and by. 

When from the first to last, betwixt us two. 
Tears our recountments had most kindly batli'd. 



ACT v.— SCENE II. 



227 



As, how I came into that desert place ; 

In brief, he led me to the gentle duke. 
Who gave me fresh array, and entertainment. 
Committing me unto my brother's love ; 
Who led me instantly unto his cave, 
There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm 
The lioness had torn some flesh away. 
Which all tins while had bled ; and now he fainted. 
And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rosalind. 
Brief, I recover'd him ; bound up his wound ; 
And, after some small space, being strong at heart, 
He sent me hither, stranger as I am. 
To tell this story, that you might excuse 
His broken promise, and to give this napkin, 
Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth 
I'hat he in sport doth call his Rosalind. 
Cel.. Why, how now, Ganymede 1 sweet Gany- 
mede I [RoSALlNo/aJjitJ. 

OIL Many will swoon when they do look on blood. 

Cel. There is more in it: — Cousin — Ganymede ! 

Oli. Look, he recovers. 

Rps, I would, I were at home. 

Cel. We '11 lead you thither : — 
I pray you, will you take him by the arm 1 

Oli. Be of good cheer, youth; — You a man? — 
Vou lack a man's heart. 

Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sir, a body would 
think this was well counterfeited : I pray you, tell 
your brother how well I counterfeited. — Heigh ho ! — 

Olu This was not counterfeit ; there is too great 
testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion 
of earnest. 

Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. 

Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit 
to be a man. 

Ros. So I do: but i'faith I should have been a 
woman by right. 

Cel. Come, you look paler and paler ; pray you, 
draw homewards : — Good sir, go with us. 

Oli. That will I, for I must bear answer back 
How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. 

Ros. I shall devise something : But, I pray you, 
commend my counterfeiting to him. — Will you go l 

[_Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

SCENE I The same. 

Enter Touchstone and Auduey. 

Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey ; patience, 
gentle Audrey. 

Attd. 'Faith, the priest was good enough, for all 
the old gentleman's saying. 

Touch. A most wicked sir Oliver, Audrey, a most 
vile Mar-text. But, Audrey, there is a youth here 
in the forest lays claim to you. 

And. Ay, I know who 'tis ; he hath no interest in ' 
me in the world : heie comes the man you mean. 

Enter William. 

Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown : 
By my troth, we that have good wits, have much to 
answer for ; we shall be flouting ; we cannot hold. 

Will. Good even, Audrey. 

Aud. God ye good even, William. 

Wilt. And good even to you, sir. 

Touch. Good even, gentle friend : Cover thy head, 
cover thy head ; nay, pr'ythee, be covered. How 
old are you, friend ? 

Will. Five and twenty, sir. 

Touch, A ripe age : is thy name William ? 



Will. William, sir. 

Touch. A fair name: Wast born i' the forest here 1 

Will. Ay, sir, I thank God. 

Touch. Thank God ; — a good answer ; Art rich 1 

Will. 'Faith, sir, so, so. 

Touch. So, so, is good, very good, very excellent 
good : — and yet it is not ; it is but so so. Art thou 
wise? 

Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. 

Touch. Why, thou say'stwell. I do now remem- 
ber a saying ; Thefool doth think he is wise, but the 
wise man knows himself to he a fool. The heathen phi- 
losopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would 
open his lips when he put it into his mouth ; mean- 
ing thereby, that grapes were made to eat, and lips 
to open. You do love this maid ? 

Will. I do, sir. 

Touch. Give me your hand : Art thou learned ! 

Will. No, sir. 

Touch. Then learn this of me; To have, is to have: 
For it is a figure in rhetoric, that drink, being poured 
out ofa cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty 
the other : For all your writers do consent, that ipse 
is he ; now vou are not ipse, for I am he. 

Will. Which he, sir. 

Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman : 
Therefore, you clown, abandon, — which is in the 
vulgar, leave, — the society, — which in the boorish 
is company, — of this female, — which in the common 
is, — woman, which together is, abandon the society 
of this female ; or clown, thou perishest ; or, to thy 
better understanding, diest ; to wit, I kill thee, make 
thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty 
into bondage : I will deal in poison with thee, or in 
bastinado, or in steel ; I will bandy with thee in fac- 
tion ; I will o'er-run thee with policy ; I will kill 
thee a hundred and fifty ways ; therefore tremble, 
and depart. 

Aud. Do, good William. 

Will. God rest you merry, sir. [E.tif. 

Enter Corin. 

Cor. Our master and mistress seek you ; come, 
away, away. 

Touch. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey ; — I attend, 1 
attend. [Eaeuut. 

SCENE II.— r/ie same. 
Enter Orlando and Oliver. 

Orl. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintance 
you should like her ? that, but seeing, you should 
love her ? and, loving, woo 1 and, wooing, she should 
grant? and will you persever to enjoy her? 

OH. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, 
the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sud- 
den wooing, nor her sudden consenting ; but say 
with me, I love Aliena ; say, with her, that she loves 
me ; consent with both, that we may enjoy each 
other ; it shall be to your good ; for my father's 
house, and all the revenue that was old sir Rowland's, 
will I estate upon you, and here live and die a 
shepherd. 

Enter Rosalind. 

Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding be 
to-morrow: thitherwill I invite the duke, and all his 
contented followers: Go you, and prepare Aliena : 
for, look you, here comes my Rosalind. 

Ros. God save you, brother. 

OH. And you, fair sister. 

Ros. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves mu to 
see thee wear thy heart in a scarf, 

Orl. It is my arm. 

r a 



228 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



Hos. I thought, thy heart had been wounded with 
the claws of a lion. 

Oi-l. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. 

Hos. Did your brother tell you how 1 counterfeit- 
ed to swoon, when he shew'dme your handkerchief? 

Url, Ay, and greater wonders tiian that. 

Ros. O, I know where you are : — Nay, 'tis true : 
there was never any thing so sudden, but the fight of 
two rams, and Csesar's thrasonical brag of — I came, 
saw, and overcame . For your brother and my sister 
no sooner met, but they looked ; no sooner looked, 
but they loved ; no sooner loved, but they sighed ; 
no sooner sighed, but they asked one another the 
reason ; no sooner knew the reason, but they sought 
the remedy : and in these degrees have they made a 
pair of stairs to marriage, which they will climb in- 
continent, or else be incontinent before marriage : 
they are in the very wrath of love, and they will to- 
gether ; clubs cannot part them. 

Orl. They shall be married to-morrow ; and I will 
bid the duke to the nuptial. But O, how bitter a 
thing it is to look into happiness through another 
man's eyes ! By so much tne more shall I to-morrow 
be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I 
shall think my brother happy, in having what he 
wishes for. 

Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your 
turn for Rosalind 1 

Oil. I can live no longer by thinking. 

Ros. I will weary you no longer then with idle 
talking. Know of me then (for now I speak to some 
purpose,) that I know you are a gentleman of good 
conceit : I speak not this, that you should bear a 
good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, I say, I 
know you are ; neither do I labour for a greater es- 
teem than may in some little measure draw a belief 
from you, to do yourself good, and not to grace me. 
Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange 
things: I have, since I was three years old, con- 
versed with a magician, most profound in this art, 
and not yet damnable. If you do love Rosalind 
so near the heart as your gesture cries it out, when 
your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her: — 
I know into what straits of fortune she is driven ; 
and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not incon- 
venient to you, to set her before your eyes to-morrow, 
human as she is, and without any danger. 

Oil. Speakest thou in sober meanings "! 

Ros. By my life, I do ; which I tender dearly, 
though I say I am a magician : Therefore, put you 
in your best array, bid your friends ; for if you will 
be married to-morrow, you shall ; and to Rosalind, 
if you will. 

Enter Silvius and Piiebe. 

Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. 

Phe. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness, 
To shew the letter that I writ to you. 

Ros. I care not, if I have : it is my study. 
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you: 
You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd ; 
Look upon him, love him ; he worships you. 

Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. 

Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears ; — 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phe. And I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And I for Rosalind. 

Ros. And I for no woman. 

Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service ;~ 
And so am 1 for Phebe. 

Phe. And 1 for Ganypiede. 

Orl. And I for Rosalind. 



Rns. And I for no woman. 

Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy. 
All made of passion, and all made of wishes ; 
All adoration, duty, and observance, 
All humbleness, all patience, and impatience. 
All purity, all trial, all observance ; 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phe. And so am I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. 

Ros. And so am I for no woman. 

Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to love 
you ? [To Rosalind. 

Sil, If this be so, why blame you me to love you ? 

[To Phehe. 

Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ? 

Ros, Who do you speak to, why blame you me to 
love you ? 

Orl. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. 

Ros, Pray you, no more of this ; 'tis like the howl- 
ing of Irish wolves against the moon. — I will help 
you, [to SiLviiis] if 1 can : — I would love you, [to 
Phebe] if I could. — To-morrow meet me all toge- 
ther. — I will marry you, [to Phebe] if ever I marry 
woman, and I'll be married to-morrow : — I will sa- 
tisfy you, [to Orlando] if ever I satisfied man, and 
you shall be married to-morrow : — I will content 
you, [to SiLvius] if what pleases you contents you, 
and you shall be married to-morrow. — As you [to 
Orlando] love Rosalind, meet ; — as you [to Silvius] 
love Phebe, meet; And as I love no woman, I'll 
meet. — So, fare you well ; I have left you commands. 

Sil. I'll not fail, if I live. 

Phe. Nor I. 

Orl, Nor I. [Exeunt 

SCENE III.— ne same. 
Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 

Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey ; to- 
morrow will we be married. 

Aud. I do desire it with all my heart: and I hope 
it is no dishonest desire, to desire to be a woman of 
the world. Here comes two of the banished duke's 
pages. 

Enter tivo Pages. 

1 Page. "Well met, honest gentleman. 

Touch. By my troth, well met : Come, sit, sitj 
and a song. 

2 Page. We are for you : sit i'the middle. 

1 Page. Shall we clap into't roundly, without 
hawking, or spitting, or saying we are hoarse ; which 
are the only prologues to a bad voice ! 

2 Page. ] 'faith, i'faith ; and both in a tune, like 
two gypsies on a horse. 

SONG. 

I. It iras a lover and his lass. 

With a hey, and a ho, and" a hey notiino, 
That o'er the green cornfield did pass 

hi the spring time, the only pretty rank time. 
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding : 
Sweet lovers love the spring. 

II. Between the acres of the rye. 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
These pretty country folks would lie, 
In spring time, 6cc, 

III. This carol they began that hour. 

With a hey, atid a ho, and a hey nonino. 
How that a life was but a flower 
In spring time, (Sfc. 



ACT v.— SCENE IV. 



229 



IV. And ffttfvefore take the present time. 

With a he\i, and a ho, and a hey nonino ; 
For love is crnwued with the prime 
In spring time, iSfc. 

Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was 
no greater matter ia the ditty, yet the note was very 
untimeable. 

1 Page. You are deceived, sir ; we kept time, we 
lost not our time. 

Totich. By my troth, yes ; I count it but time lost 
to hear such a foolish song. God be with you: and 
God mend your voices ! Come, Audrey. \_Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Another Part of the Forest. 

Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, 
Or iVER, and Celia. 

Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy 
Can do all this that he hath promised 1 

Orl. 1 sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not ; 
As those thai fear they hope, ana know they fear. 

Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phebe. 

Ros. Patience once more, whiles oui compact is 

urg'd: 

You say, if I bring in }'our Rosalind, [^TotJieDuKE, 
You will bestow her on Orlando here ? [with her. 

Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give 

Ros. And you say you will have her, when 1 bring 
her'! [To Orlando. 

Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. 

Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if 1 be willing ] 

[To Phebe. 

Phe. That will I, should Idle the hour after. 

Ros. But, if you do refuse to marry me, 
You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd ! 

Phe. So is the bargain. 

Ros. You say, that you'll have Phehe, if she will? 

[To Silvius. 

Sil. Though to have her and death were both one 
thing. 

Ros. I have promis'd to make all this matter even. 
Keep you your word, O duke, to give yourdaughter ; — 
You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter : — 
Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me ; 
Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd : — 
Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her. 
If she refuse me : — and from hence I go. 
To make these doubts all even. [Exeunt Ros. 6; Cel. 

Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd-boy 
Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. 

Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him, 
Methought he was a brother to yourdaughter : 
But, my good lord, this boy is forest-bora ; 
And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments 
Of many desperate studies by his uncle. 
Whom he reports to be a great magician, 
Obscured in the circle of this forest. 

Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 

Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and 
these couples are coming to the ark ! Heie comes a 
pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are 
called fools. 

Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all ! 

Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome ; This is the 
motley-minded gentleman, that I have so often met 
in the forest : he hath been a courtier he swears. 

Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to 
my purgation. I have trod a measure ; I have flat- 
tered a lady ; T have been politic with my friend, 
smooth with mine enemy ; I have undone three tai- 



lors ; I have had four quarrels, and like to have 
fought one. 

Jaq. And how was that ta'en up 1 

Touch. 'Faiih, we met, and found the quarrel was 
upon the seventh cause. 

Jaq. How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this 

Duke S. I like him very well. [fellow. 

Touch. God'ild you, sir ; I desire you of the like. 
I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country 
copulatives, to swear, and to forswear : according as 
marriage binds, and blood breaks : — A poor virgin, 
sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own ; a pooi 
humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else 
will : Rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a 
poor-house ; as your pearl, in your foul oyster. 

Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and sententious. 

Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such 
dulcet diseases. 

Jaq. But for the seventh cause ; how did you find 
the quarrel on the seventh cause ? 

Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed ; — Bear 
your body more seeming, Audrey : — as thus, sir. I 
did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard ; he 
sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, 
he was in the mind it was : This is called the Retort 
courteous. If I sent him word again, it was not well 
cut, he would send me word, he cut it to please him- 
self: This is called the Quip modest. If again, it was 
not well cut, he disabled my judgment : This is call'd 
the lieplii churlish. If again, it was not well cut, he 
would answer, I spake not true : This is called the 
Reproof valiant. If again, it was not well cut, he 
would say I lie : This is call'd the Countercheck quar- 
relsome : and so to the Lie circumstantial, and the Lie 
direct. 

Jaq. And how oft did you say, his beard was not 
well cut? 

Touch. I durst go no further than the Lie circum- 
stantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie direct; and 
so we measured swords, and parted. 

Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees 
of the lie ? 

Touch. 0, sir, we quarrel in print, by the book: as 
you have books for good manners : I will name you 
the degrees. The first, the Retort courteous ; the se- 
cond, the Quip modest ; the third, the Reply churlish ; 
the fourth, the Reproof valiant ; the fifth, the Coun- 
tercheck quarrelsome ; the si-xth, the Lie with circum- 
stance ; the seventh, the Lie direct. All these you 
may avoid, but the lie direct ; and you may avoid 
that too, with an //'. I knew when seven justices could 
not take up a quarrel ; but when the parties were 
met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as, 
If }iou said so, then I said so ; And they shook hands, 
and swore brothers. Your //'is the only peace-makerj 
much virtue in If. 

Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he 's as 
good at any thing, and yet a fool. 

Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and 
under the presentation of that, he shoots his wit. 

Enter Hvmen, leading Rosalind ia ivoman's 
clothes ; and Celia. 

Still Music. 
Hym. Then is there mirth in heaven. 
When earthlit things nunle eien 

Atone together. 
Good duke, receive thu daughter. 
Hymen from heaven brought her. 

Yea , brought iier hither; 
That tftoit mighfst join her hand with his. 
Whose heart within her bosom is. 



230 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



Ros. To you I give myself, for I am yours. 

[To DlTKE S. 

To you I give myself, for I am yours. [To Orl. 

Duke i>. If there be truth in sight, you are my 

daughter. 
Orl, If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosa- 
Phe. If sight and shape be true, [lind. 

Why then, — my love adieu ! 

Ros. I'll have no father, it you be not he : — 

[7'o DukeS. 
I'll have no husband, if you be not he: — [Ti>OnL. 
Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. [_Tu Phe. 
Hym. Peace, ho ! I bar confusion : 
'Tis I must make conclusion 

Of these most strange events : 
Here 's eight that must take hands. 
To join in Hymen's bands, 
If truth holds true contents. 
You and you no cross shall part : 

[To Orlando and Rosalind. 
You and you are heart in heart : 

[To Oliver and Celia. 
You [to Pheee] to his love must accord. 
Or have a woman to your lord : — 
You and you are sure together, 

[To Touchstone and Audrey. 
As the winter to foul weather. 
Whiles a wedlock hymn we sing. 
Feed yourselves with questioning ; 
That reason wonder may diminish, 
How thus we met, and these things finish. 

SONG. 

Wedding is great Juno's crown ; 

blessed bond of board and bed! 
'Tis Humen ■peoples everxi town ; 

High wedlock then be honoured : 
Honour, high honour and renown. 
To Hymen, god of every town! 

Duhe S. O my dear niece, welcome art thou to me ; 
Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. 

Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine ; 
Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. [To Silv. 

Enter Jaques de Bois. 

Jnq. de B. Let me have audience for a word or two ; 
I am the second son of old sir Rowland, 
That bring these tidings to this fair assembly : — 
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day 
Men of great worth resorted to this forest, 
Address'd a mighty power ; which were on foot. 
In his own conduct, purposely to take 
His brother here, and put him to the sword : 
And to the skirts of this wild wood he came ; 
Where, meeting with an old religious man. 
After some question with him, was converted 
Both from his enterprize, and from the world : 
His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brotlier. 
And all their lands restor'd to them again 
That were with him exil'd : This to be true, 
I do engage my life. 



Duhe S. Welcome, young man , 

Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding : 
To one, his lands with-held : and to the other, 
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. 
First, in this forest, let us do those ends 
That here were well begun, and well begot : 
And after, every of this happy number, 
That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us. 
Shall share the good of our returned fortune. 
According to the measure of their states. 
Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity. 
And fall into our rustic revelry : — 
Play, music — and you brides and bridegrooms all, 
With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. 

Jaq. Sir, by your patience ; if I heard you rightly, 
The duke hath put on a religious life. 
And thrown into neglect the pompous court? 

Jaq. de B. He hath. 

Jaq. To him will I : out of these convertites 
There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. — 
You to your former lionour I bequeath ; [To Duse S. 
Your patience, and your virtue, well deserves it : — 
You [to Orlando] to a love, that your true faith doth 

merit : — 
You [to Oliver] to your land, and love, and great 

allies : — 
You [to SiLvius] to a long and well deserved bed : — 
And you [<o Touchstone] to wrangling; for thy lov- 
ing voyage 
Is but for two months victual'd: — So to your plea- 
I am for other tlian for dancing measures. [sures ; 

Dii'i-e 5. Stay, Jaques, stay. 

Jaq. To see no pastime, 1 : what you would have 
I '11 stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [Eiit. 

Duke S. Proceed, proceed : wewill begin these rites. 
And we do trust they'll end, in true delights. [Adance. 

EPILOGUE. 

Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epi- 
logue : but it is not more unhandsome, than to see 
the lord the prologue. If it be true, that good wine 
needs no bush, 'tis tnie, that a good play needs no epi- 
logue : Yet to good wine they do use good bushes ; 
and good plays prove the better by tl>e help of good 
epilogues. What a case am 1 in then, that am nei- 
ther a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate with you 
in the behalf of a good play? I am not furnished 
like a beggar, therefore to beg will no\ become me : 
my way is, to conjure you ; anl I '11 begin with the 
women. I charge you, O women, for the love you 
bear to men, to like as much of this play as please 
them : and so I charge you, O men, for tlie love you 
bear to women, (as 1 perceive by your simpering, 
none of you hate them,) that between you and the 
women, the play may please. If I were a woman, 
I would kiss as many of you as had beards thaJ 
pleased me, complexions that liked me, and breaths 
that I defied not ; and, I am sure, as many as have 
good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, will, 
for my kind offer, when 1 make curt'sy, bid me fare- 
well. [Eseuttt. 



Of this play the fable is wild and pleasing. 1 know not how 
the ladies will approve the facility with wiiich both liosaliud 
and Celia gave away their hearts. To Celia much may be for- 
given for the heroism of her friendship Ihe character of 
Jaques is natural and well preserved. Ihe comic dialogue is 
very spriKhtly, with less mixture of low bufloonery than in 
some other plays; and the graver part is elegant and harmo- 
nious, l^.y hastening to the end of this work, .Shaksptare sap 
pressed the dialogue between the usurper anil the hermit, and 
lost an opportunity of exhibiting a moral lesson in which he 
□light have found matter worthy of his highest powers.— .1 oh N- 
SON. The taste of the poet is here, as in many other instances, 
to be preferred lo that of the critic— Though Shakspeare has 



shewn great judgment in substituting the conversion of I'rede- 
rick in the place of his death, which is the fate allotted him m 
Lodge's novel, nothing could have been more out ») keeping 
with the tone and colour of the play, than the representation of 
such an event. It was a circumstance to be related and not 
performed. A scene of so severe a character, as that between 
the guilty duke and the aged hermit must neces.sarily have been, 
cmld have no appropriate place in this tale of luve and mirth, 
and wit and idleness In a work, like the present, calculated 
to unfatigue the mind and delight the imagination by a succes- 
sion of pleasing incidents, every thing of a sad or soleoin na- 
ture is with admirable propriety omitted, or ouly ctirsariiy 
elanced at. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



Of this play there is no edition earlier than the first folio. 
Mr. JM alone supposes it to have been written in the year 
1606; but the many passages of rhyme scattered through the 
play seem to speak it an earlier production. Meres, in 1598, 
mentioned a play of our author's called. Love's Labour 
H'arme, an appellation which very accurately applies to this, 
but to no other of his plays; and its date may be perhaps 
assigned a, year or two earlier. 



The title All's Well that ends Well, is one of Camden's pro 
verbial sentences. 

The story was originally taken from Boccacio, but came im- 
mediately to Shakspeare from Painter's Giletta of Narbon, 
in the first vol. of the Palace of Pleasure, 4to. 1566, p. 88. 
To the novel, however, Shakspeare is only indebted for a few 
leading circumstances in the graver parts of the piece. The 
comic business appears to be entirely of his own formation. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

King of t rance. 

Duke of FLonENCE. 

Bertram, Count o^' Rousillon. 

Lafeu, an old lord. 

Parolles, a follower of Bertram. 

Several young French Lords, that serve with Bertram 

in the Florentine u-ar. 
Steward, CLnun, servants to the Countess of ^ousiWon. 
A Page. 

Countess of Rousillon, mother to Bertram. 
Helena, a geittlewoman ])rotected bti the Couniess. 
An old Widow of Floreace. 
Diana, daughter to li.e Widow. 

• J ' > neighbours and friends to the Widow. 

Lords, attending on the King ; Officers, Soldiers, S^c. 
French and Florentine. 

SCENE, — partly iu France, and partly in Tuscany, 



king 



lan- 



this 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — Rousillon. A Room in the 
Countess's Palace. 

Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, 
Helena, atid Lafeu, in mourning. 

Count. In delivering my son from me, I bury a 
second husband. 

Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my fa- 
ther's death anew : but I must attend his majesty's 
command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in 
subjection. 

Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, madam ; 
— you, sir, a father : He that so generally is at all tunes 
good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you ; whose 
worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, rather 
than lack it where there is such abundance. 

Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amend- 
ment? 

Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam ; 
under whose practices he hath persecuted time with 
hope ; and finds no other advantage in the process 
out only the losing of hope by time. 

Count. This young gentlewoman had a father, 
(O, that had ! how sad a passage 'tis ! ) whose skill 
was almost as great as his honesty ; had it stretched 
so far, would have made nature immortal, and death 
should have play for lack of work. 'Would, for the 
king's sake, he were living ! I think it would be the 
death of the king's disease. 

Laf, How called you the man you speak of, madam 1 
Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and 
It was his great right to be so : Gerard de Narbon- 



Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam; the king 
very lately spoke of him, admiringly, and mourn- 
ingly : he was skilful enough to have lived still, if 
knowledge could be set up against mortality. 

Ber. What is it, my good lord, the 
guishes of ^ 

Laf. A fistula, my lord. 

Ber. I heard not of it before. 

Laf. I would it were not notorious. — Was 
gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon 1 

Count. His sole child, my lord ; and bequeathed 
to my overlooking. 1 have those hopes of her good, 
that her education promises ; her dispositions she 
inherits, which make fair gifts fairer ; for where an 
unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there com- 
mendations go with pity, they are virtues and traitors 
too ; in her they are the better for their simpleness ; 
she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness. 

Laf, Your commendations, madam, get from her 
tears. 

Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her 
praise in. The remembrance of her father never ap- 
proaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sorrows 
takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of 
this, Helena, go to, no more ; lest it be rather thought 
you affect a sorrow, than to have. 

Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too. 

Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, 
excessive grief the enemy to the living. 

Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the ex- 
cess makes it soon mortal. 

Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. 

Laf How understand we that 1 [father 

Count. Be thou blest, Bertram ! and succeed thy 
In manners, as in shape ! thy blood, and virtue. 
Contend for empire in thee ; and thy goodness 
Share with thy birth-right ! Love all, trust a few, 
Do wrong to none : be able for thine enemy 
Rather in power than use ; and keep thy friend 
Under thy own life's key : be check'd for silence, 
But never tax'd for speech. W^hat heaven more will, 
That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down, 
Fall on thy head ! Farewell. — My lord, 
'Tis an unseasoa'd courtier ; good my lord. 
Advise him. 

Laf. He cannot want the best 

That shall attend his love. 

Count. Heaven bless him ! — Farewell, Bertram. 

[Exit Countess. 

Ber. The best wishes, that can be forged in your 
thoughts, [to Helena.] be servants to you ! Be com- 
fortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much 
of her, 

Laf, Farewell, pretty lady : You must hold the ere- 
dit of your father. [Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu. 

Hel. O, were thatal' ! — I think not on my father; 
And these great tears grace his remembrance more 
Than those I shed for him. What was he like] 



232 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



I nave forgot him : my imagination 
Carries no favour in it, but Bertram's. 
I am undone ; theie is no living, none, 
If Bertram be away. It were all one. 
That I should love a bright particular star. 
And think to wed it, he is so above me : 
In his bright radiance and collateral light 
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. 
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself : 
The hind that would be mated by the lion. 
Must die for love. 'Twas pity, though a plague, 
To see him every hour ; to sit and draw 
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, 
In our heart's table ; heart, too capable 
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour : 
But now he 's gone, and my idolatrous fancy 
Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here 1 

Elites- Parolles. 

One that goes with him : I love him for his sake ; 

And yet I know him a notorious liar. 

Think him a great way fool, solely a coward ; 

Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him. 

That they take place, when virtue's steely bones 

Look bleak in the cold wind : withal, full oft we see 

Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. 

Par. Save you, fair queen. 

lieL And you, monarch. 

Par. No. 

Hel. And no. 

Par, Are you meditating on virginity 1 

Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you ; 
let me ask you a question : Man is enemy to vir- 
ginity ; how may we barricade it against him \ 

Par. Keep him out. 

Hel. But he assails ; and our virginity, though 
valiant in the defence, yet is weak : unfold to us some 
warlike resistance. 

Par. There is none ; man, sitting down before 
you, will undermine you, will blow you up. 

Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers, 
and blowers up ! — Is there no military policy, how 
virgins might blow up men 1 

Par. Virginity, being blown down, man will 
quicklier be blown up : marry, in blcwing him down 
again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose 
your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth of 
nature, to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is 
rational increase ; and there was never virgin got, 
till virginity was first lost. That, you were made of, is 
metal to make virgins. Virginity, by being once lost, 
may be ten times found ; by being ever kept, it is 
ever lost : 'tis too cold a companion ; away with it. 

Hel. I will stand for't a little, though therefore I 
die a virgin. 

Par. There 's little can be said in 't ; 'tis against 
the rule of nature. To speak on the part of vir- 
ginity, is to accuse your mothers ; which is most in- 
fallible disobedience. He, that hangs himself, is a 
virgin : virginity murders itself ; and should be 
buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a 
desperate ofl'endress against nature. Virginity breeds 
mites, much like a cheese ; consumes itself to the very 
paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. 
Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of 
self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. 
Keep it not ; you cannot choose but lose by 't: Out 
with't: within ten years it will make itself ten, 
which is a goodly increase ; and the principal itself 
not much the worse : Away with 't. 

Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own 
liking ] 



Par. Let me see : Marry, ill, to like him that ne'er 
it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with 
lying ; the longer kept, the less worth : off with 't, 
while 'tis vendible : answer the time of request. 
Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of 
fashion ; richly suited, but unsuitable ; just like the 
brooch and tooth pick, which weai- not now : Your 
date is better in your pie and your porridge, than in 
your cheek : And your virginity, your old virginity, 
is like one of our I'rench wither'd pears ; it looks ill, 
it eats dryly ; marry, 'tis a wither'd pear ; it was 
formerly better ; marry, yet, 'tis a wither'd pear : 
Will you any thing with it? 

Hel. Not my virginity yet. 
There shall your master have a thousand loves, 
A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, 
A phoenix, captain, and an enemy, 
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, 
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear; 
His humble ambition, proud humility. 
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, 
His laith, his sweet disaster ; with a world 
Of petty, fond, adoptious Christendoms, 

That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he 

I know not what he shall : — God send him well ! — 
The court's a learning place; — and he is one — 

Par. What one, i'faith 1 

Hel. That I wash well. — 'Tis pity 

Par. What's pity 1 

Hel. That wishing well had not a body in 't. 
Which might be felt : that we, the poorer born, 
Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes. 
Might with efi'ects of them follow our friends, 
And shew what we alone must think ; w hich never 
Returns us thanks. 

Enter a Page. 

Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. 

[Eiit Page. 

Par. Little Helen, farewell : if I can remember 
thee, I will think of thee at court. 

Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a 
charitable star. 

Par. Under Mars, I. 

Hel. I especially think, under Mars. 

Par. Why under Mars 1 

Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you 
must needs be born under Mars. 

Par. When he was predominant. 

Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. 

Par. Why think you so ] 

Hel. You go so much backward, when you fight. 

Par. That's for advantage. 

Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the 
safety : But the composition, that your valour and 
fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I 
like the wear well. 

Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer 
thee acutely : 1 will return perfect courtier ; in the 
which, my instruction shall seiTe to naturalise thee, 
so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and 
understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else 
thou die=t in thine unthankfulness, and tliine igno- 
rance makes thee away : farewell. When thou hasl 
leisure, say thy prayers ; when thou hast none, re- 
member thy friends : get thee a good husband, and 
use him as he us^es thee : so farewell. [Lxtt. 

Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie. 
Which we ascribe to heaven : the fated sky 
Gives us free scope ; only, doth backward pull 
Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. 
What power is it, which mounts my love so high ; 



ACT I.— SCENE III. 



233 



That makes me see, and cannot feed mine cyel 

The mightiest space in fortune nature brings 

To join like likes, and kiss like native things. 

Impossible be strange attempts, to those 

That weigh their pains in sense ; and do suppose, 

What hath been cannot be: Who ever strove 

To shew her merit, that did miss her love t 

The king's disease — my project may deceive me. 

But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — Paris. A Boom in the King's Palace. 

Flourish of cornets. 'Enter the King of France, 
with letters ; Lords and others attending. 

King. The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears ; 
Have fought with equal fortune, and continue 
A braving war. 

1 Lord. So 'tis reported, sir. 

King. Nay, 'tis most credible ; we here receive it 
A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, 
With caution, that the Florentine will move us 
For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest friend 
Prejudicates the business ; and would seem 
To have us make denial. 

1 Lord. His love and wisdom, 

Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead 
For amplest credence. 

King. He hath arm'd our answer, 

And Florence is denied before he comes : 
Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see 
The Tuscan service, freely have they leave 
To stand on either part. 

!2 Lord. It may well serve 

A nursery to our gentry, who are sick 
For breathing and exploit. 

King. What's he comes here 1 

Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 

1 Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, 
Young Bertram. 

King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; 

Frank nature, rather curious than in haste. 
Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts 
May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. 

Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. 

King. I would I had that corporal soundness now. 
As when thy father, and myself, in friendship 
First try'd our soldiership ! He did look far 
Into the service of the time, and was 
Discipled of the bravest : he lasted long ; 
But on us both did haggish age steal on. 
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me 
To talk of your good father : In his youth 
He had the wit, which I can well observe 
To-day in our young lords ; but they may jest, 
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted. 
Ere they can hide their levity in honour. 
So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness 
Were in his pride or sharpness ; if they were. 
His equal had awak'd them ; and his honour, 
Clock to itself, knew the true minute wiien 
Exception bid him speak, and, at this time. 
His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him 
He us'd as creatures of another place ; 
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks. 
Making thcin proud of his humility, 
In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man 
Might be a copy to these younger times ; 
Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now, 
But goers backward, 

7ier. His good remembrance, sir 

Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb • 



So in approof lives not his epitaph. 

As in your royal speech. [ways say. 

King. 'Would, I were with him ? He would al- 
(Methinks, 1 hear him now : his plausive words 
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them. 

To grow there, and to bear,) — Let me not tii'e, 

Thus his good melancholy oft began. 

On the catastrophe and heel of pastime. 

When it was out, — let me not live, quoth he. 

After mil Jlame lacks oil, to be the snnff 

Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses 

All hut new tilings disdain ; whose judgments are 

Mere fathers of their garments ; whose constancies 

Expire before their fashions : This he wish'd : 

I, after him, do after him wish too. 
Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home, 
I quickly were dissolved from my hive, 
I'o give some labourers room. 

2 Lord. You are lov'd, sir ; 

They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. 

King. lfillap!ace,Iknow't — How longis't, count. 
Since the physician at your father's died i 
He was much fam'd. 

Ber. Some six months since, my lord. 

King. If he were living, I would try him yet ; — 
Lend me an arm ; — the rest have worn me out 
With several applications: — nature ami sickness 
Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count ; 
IMy son's no dearer. 

Ber. Thank your majesty. [^Exeunt, Flourish. 

SCENE III. 

Rousillon. — A Boom in the Countess's Palace. 
Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown. 

Count. I will now hear : what say you of this 
gentlewoman 1 

Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your 
content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my 
past endeavours : for then we wound our modesty, 
and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when 
of ourselves we publish them. 

Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, 
sirrah : The complaints, I have heard of you, I do 
not all believe ; 'tis my slowness, that 1 do not: for, 
I know, you lack not folly to commit them, and nave 
ability enough to make such knaveries yours. 

Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am 
fellow. 

Count. Well, sir. 

Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor; 
though many of the rich are damned : But, if 1 may 
have your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel 
the woman and 1 will do as we may. 

Cou}it. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? 

Clo, I do beg your good-will in this case. 

Count. In what case? 

Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is no 
heritage : and, I think, I shall never have the bless- 
ing of God, till I have issue of my body; for, they 
say, beams are blessings. 

Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. 

Clo. ]My poor body, madam, requires it: I am 
driven on by the flesh ; and he must needs go, that 
the devil drives. 

Count. Is this all your worship's reason ? 

Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such 
as they are. 

Count. JMay the world know them ? 

Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as 
you and all flesh and blood are ; and, indeed. I do 
marry, that I may repent. 



. am a poor 



234 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



Coinit. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. 

Clo. I am out of friends, madam ; and I hope to 
have friends for my wife's sake. 

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. 

Clo. You are shallow, madam ; e'en great friends ; 
for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am 
a- weary of. He, that ears my land, spares my team, 
and gives me leave to inn the crop : If I be his cuck- 
old, he's my drudge : He, that comforts my wife, is 
the cherisher of my flesh and blood ; he, that che- 
rishes my flesh and blood, loves my flesli and blood ; 
he, that loves my flesh and blood, is my friend ; ergo, 
he that kisses my wife, is my friend. If men could 
be contented to be what they are, there were no fear 
in marriage : for young Charbon the puritan, and old 
Poysam the papist, howsoe'er their hearts are severed 
in religion, their heads are both one, they may j oil 
horns together, like any deer i'the herd. 

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and ca- 
lumnious knave "! 

Clo. A prophet I, madam ; and I speak the truth 
the next way : 

For I the ballad will repeat. 

Which men full true shall find ; 

Your Marriage comes hii destiny, 
Your cuckoo sings by kind. 

Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more 
anon. 

Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen 
come to you ; of her I am to speak. 

Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would 
speak with her ; Helen I mean. 

Clo. Was this fair face the cause, ({tioih she, \Sutging. 

Why the Grecians sacked Troy, 
Fond done, done fond. 

Was this kiufr Priam's joy. 
With that she siglied as she stood. 
With that she sighed as she stood. 

And gave this sentence then ; 
Among nine bud if one he good. 
Among nine had if one be good. 

There's yet one good in ten. 

Count. What, one good in ten 1 you corrupt the 
song, sirrah. 

Clo. One good woman in ten, madam 1 which is a 
purifying o'the song : 'Would God would serve the 
world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the 
ty the- woman, if I were the parson : One in ten, quoth 
a'! an we might have a good woman born but for every 
blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the 
lottery well ; a man may draw his heart out, ere he 
pluck one. 

Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I com- 
mand you 1 

Clo. That man should be at woman's command, 
and yet no hurt done : — Though honesty be no puri- 
tan, yet it will do no hurt ; it will wear the surplice 
of humility over the black gown of a big heart. — 1 
am going, forsooth ; the business is for Helen to 
come hi'iier. [Eait Clown. 

Coh-it, Well, now. 

Sti'v . I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman 
entirely. 

Count. Faith, I do : her father bequeathed her to 
me ; and she herself, without other advantage, may 
lawfully make title to as much love as she finds : 
there is more owing her, than is paid ; and more shall 
be paid her, than she'll demand. 

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than, 
I tliink, she ivished me : alone she was, and did com- 



municate to herself, her own words to her own ears; 
she thougiit, I dare vow for her, they touched not any 
.stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son : 
Fortune she said, was no goddess, that had put such 
difference betwixt their two estates ; Love, no god, 
that would not extend his might, only where qualities 
were level ; Diana, no queen of virgins, that would 
suffer her poor knight to be surprised without rescue, 
in the first assault, or ransom afterward : This she 
delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er 
I heard virgin exclaim in : which I held my duty, 
speedily to acquaint you withal ; sithence, in the loss 
that may happen, itconcernsyou somethingtoknowit. 
Count. You have discharged this honestly; keep 
it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this 
before, which hung so tottering in tlie balance, that 
I could neither believe, nor misdoubt : Pray you, 
leave me : stall this in your bosom, and I thank you 
for your honest care : I will speak with you further 
anon. [Exit Steward. 

Enter Helena. 

Count. Even so it was with me, when I was young : 
If we are nature's, these are ours ; this thorn 
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong : 

Our blood to us, this to our blood is born ; 
It is the show and seal of nature's truth. 
Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth : 
By our remembrances of days foregone. 
Such were our faults ; — or then we thought them none. 
Her eye is sick on 't ; I observe her now. 

Hel. What is your pleasure, madam 1 

Count, You know, Helen, 

I am a mother to you. 

Hel. Mine honourable mistress. 

Count. Nay, a mother , 

Why not a mother 1 When I said, a mother, 
Methought you saw a serpent : What 's in mother, 
That you start at itl I say, 1 am your mother ; 
And put you in the catalogue of those 
That were enwombed mine : 'Tis often seen, 
Adoption strives with nature ; and choice breeds 
A native slip to us from foreign seeds : 
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, 
Yet I express to you a mother's care : — 
God's mercy, maiden ! does it curd thy blood, 
To say, I am thy mother ? What's the matter, 
That this distemper'd messenger of wet, 
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye 1 
Why"! that you are my daughter 1 

Hel. That 1 am not. 

Count. I say, I am your mother. 

Hel. Pardon, madam j 

The count Rousillon cannot be my brother : 
1 am from humble, he from honour'd name ; 
No note upon my parents, his all noble : 
My master, my dear lord he is : and I 
His servant live, and will his vassal die : 
He must not be my brother. 

Count, Nor I your mothei ? 

Hel. You are my mother, madam; 'Would you were 
(So that my lord, your son, were not my brother,) 
Indeed, my mother ! — or were you both our mothers, 
I care no more for, than I do for heaven. 
So I were not his sister : Can 't no other. 
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? [law ; 

Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in- 
God shield, you mean it not ! daughter, and mother. 
So strive upon your pulse . What, pale again 1 
My fear hath catch'd your fondness : Now I see 
I'he mysterj' of your loneliness, and find 
Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross. 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



235 



Vou love my son ; invention is ashain'd, 

Against the proclamation of thy passion, 

To say, thou dost not : therefore tell me true ; 

But tell me then, 'tis so : — for, look, thy cheeks 

Confess it, one to the other ; and thine eyes 

See it so grossly shewn in thy behaviours. 

That in their kind they speak it : only sin 

And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue. 

That truth should be suspected : Speak, is 't so 1 

If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue ; 

If it be not, forswear't : howe'er, I charge thee. 

As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, 

To tell me truly. 

Hel. Good madam, pardon me! 

Count. Do you love my son ! 

Hel. Your pardon, noble mistres-j ! 

Count. Love you my son ? 

Hel. Do not you love him, madam 1 

Count. Go not about ; my love hath in't a bond, 
Whereof the world takes note : come, come, disclose 
The state of your affection ; for your passions 
Have to the full appeach'd. 

Hel. Then, I confess 

Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, 
That before you, and next unto high heaven, 
I love your son : — 

My friends were poor, but honest ; so 's my love : 
Be not offended ; for it hurts not him. 
That he is lov'd of me : I follow him not 
}5y any token of presumptuous suit ; 
i\or would I have him, till I do deserve him ; 
Yet never know how that desert should be. 
I know I love in vain, strive against hope ; 
Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve, 
I still pour in the waters of my love. 
And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, 
Religious in mine error, I adore 
The sun, that looks upon his worshipper. 
But know of him no more. My dearest madam, 
l^et not your hate encounter with my love, 
For loving where you do : but, if yourself, 
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth. 
Did ever, in so true a fiame of liking. 
Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian 
Was both herself and love ; (3 then, give pity 
To her, wliose state is such, that cannot clioose 
But lend and give, where she is sure to lose ; 
That seeks not to find thai her search implies, 
But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies. 

Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly. 
To go to Paris i 

Hel. Madam, I had. 

Count. Wherefore 1 tell true. 

Hel. I will tell truth ; by grace itself, I swear. 
You know, my father left me some prescriptions 
Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading. 
And manifest experience, had collected 
For general sovereignty ; and that he will'd me 
In heedfuUest reservation to bestow tiiem. 
As notes, whose faculties inclusive were. 
More than they were in note : amongst the rest, 
There is a remedy, approv'd, set down. 
To cure the desperate languishes, whereof 
The king is render'd lost. 

Count. This was your motive 

For Paris, was it? speak. 

Hel. My lord your son made me to think of this ; 
Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king. 
Had, from the conversation of my thoughts. 
Haply, been absent then. 

Count. But think you, Helen, 

If you should tender your supposed aid, 



He would receive it ? He and his physicians 
Are of a mind ; he, that they cannot help him. 
They, that they cannot help : How shall they credit 
A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, 
Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off 
The danger to itself 1 

Hel. There's something hints, 

More than my father's skill, which was the gieatest 
Of his profession, that his good receipt 
Shall for my legacy be sanctified [nour 

By the luckiest stars in heaven : and, would your ho- 
But give me leave to try success, I'd venture 
The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure. 
By such a day, and hour. 

Count, Dost thou belie V 't ? 

Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly. [love. 

Count. VVhy, Helen, thou slialt have my leave, and 
Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings 
To those of mine in court ; I'll stay at home, 
And pray God's blessing into thy attempt: 
Be gone to-morrow ; and be sure of this. 
What 1 can help thee to, thou shall not miss. 

\_Exeunt. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. 
Flourish. Enter King, ivith young Lords, tukinir 

leave for the Vlomnline war ; Beutram, Pakoi.les, 

and Attendants. 

King. Farewell, young lords, these warlike prin- 
ciples [well :^ 
Do not throw from you : — and you, mv lord, fare- 
Share the advice betwixt you ; if both gain all, 
The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received. 
And is enough for both. 

1 Lord, It is our hope, sir. 
After well enter'd soldiers, to return 

And find your grace in health. 

King. No, no, it cannot be ; and yet my heart 
Will not confess he owes the malady 
That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords ; 
Whether 1 live or die, be you the sons 
Of worthy Frenchmen : let higher Italy 
(Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall 
Of the last monarchy,) see, that you come 
Not to woo honour, but to wed it ; when 
The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek. 
That fame may cry you loud : I say, farewell, fjesty ! 

2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your nia- 
King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them ; 

They say, our French lack language to deny. 
If they demand ; beware of being captives. 
Before you serve. 

Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. 

King. Farewell. — Come hither to me. 

[The King retires to a couch. 

1 Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay behind 
Par. 'Tis not his fault; the spark [us ! 

2 Lord. O, 'tis brave wars ! 
Par. Most admirable ; I have seen those wars. 
Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with, 

Too young, and the ne.xt year, and 'tis too earlij. 

Par. An thy mind stand to it, boy, steal away 
bravely. 

Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock. 
Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry. 
Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn. 
But one to dance with ! By heaven, I'll steal away. 

1 Lord, There's honour in the theft. 



2a(j 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



Par, Commit it, count. 

2 Lord I am your accessary ; and so farewell. 
Bcr. I giuw to you, and our parting is a tortured 
body. 

1 Lord. Farewell, captain. 

2 Lord. Sweet monsieur Parolles! 

Far. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. 
Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals : — 
You shall find in the regiment of the Spinii, one 
captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, 
here on his sinister cheek ; it was this very sword 
intrench'd it : say to him, I live ; and observe his 
reports for me. 

2 Lord. We shall, noble captain. 

Par. Mars dote on you for his novices ! [^Exeunt 
Lords.] What will you do ? 

Ber. Stay ; the king \^Seeiiig him rise. 

Fur. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble 
lords ; you have restrained yourself witiiin the list of 
too cold an adieu ; be more expressive to them : for 
they wear themselves in the cap of the time, there, 
do nmster true gait, eat, speak, and move under the 
influence of the most received star ; and though the 
devil lead the measure, such are to be followed : 
after tliem, and take a more dilated farewell. 

Ber. And 1 will do so. 

Pur. Worthy fellows ; and like to prove most 
smewy sword-men. [Exeunt Bertram ofid Parolles. 

Enter La feu. 

Laf. Pardon, my lord, [kneeling.] forme and for 

King, ni fee thee to stand up. [my tidings. 

Lnf. Then here's a man 

Stands, that has brought his pardon. I would, you 
Had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy; and 
That, at my bidding, you could so stand up. 

King. 1 would 1 had ; so I had broke tbv pate, 
And ask'd thee inercy for't. 

Laf. Good faith, across ; 

But, my good lord, 'tis thus ; Will you be cured 
Of your infirmity 1 

King. No. 

Laf. O, will you eat 

No grapes, my royal fox 1 yes, but you will, 
My noble grapes, an if my royal fox 
Could reach them : I have seen a medicine. 
That's able to breathe life into a stone ; 
Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary. 
With spritely fire and motion ; whose simple touch 
Is powerful to araise king Pepin, nay, 
To give Great Charlemain a pen in his hand 
And write to her a love-line. 

King. What her is this ! 

Laf. Why , doctor she ; My lord, there'sone arriv'd. 
If you will see her, — now, by my faith and honour, 
If seriously 1 may convey my thoughts 
In this my ligiit deliverance, 1 have spoke 
With one, that, in her sex, her years, profession, 
Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more 
Than I dare blame my weakness : Will you see her 
(For that is her demand) and know her business'! 
That done, laugh well at me. 

King. Now, good Lafeu, 

Bring in the admiration ; that we with ihee 
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine. 
By wondering how thou took'st it. 

Laf. Nay. I'll fit you, 

And not be all day neither. [Eiit Lafeu. 

King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. 

Re-enter Lafeu, uith Helena. 
Laf. Nay, come your ways. 
Kin^. 'Jhis haste hath wings indeed. 



Laf. Nay, come your ways ; 
This is his majesty, say your mind to him : 
A traitor you do look like ; but such traitors 
His majesty seldom fears : I am Cressid's uncle. 
That dare leave two together : fare you well- [Exit 

King. Now, fair one, does your business follow usT 

Hel. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was 
My father ; in what he did profess, well found. 

King. I knew him. [him ; 

Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards 
Knowing him, is enough. On his bed of death 
Many receipts he gave me ; chiefly one. 
Which, as the dearest issue of his practice, 
And of his old experience the only darling, 
He bade me store up, as a triple eye, 
Safer than mine own two, more dear ; I have so • 
And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd 
With that malignant cause wherein the honour 
Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, 
I come to tender it, and my appliance, 
W'ith all bound humbleness. 

King. We thank you, maiden ; 

But may not be so credulous of cure, — 
When our most learned doctors leave us ; and 
The congregated college have concluded 
That labouring art can never ransom nature 
From her inaidable estate, — I say we must not 
So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope. 
To prostitute our past-cure malady 
To empirics ; or to dissever so 
Our great self and our credit, to esteem 
A senseless help, when help past sense we deem, 

Hel. My duty then shall pay me for my pains • 
I will no more enforce mine office on you ; 
Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts 
A modest one, to bear me back again. 

King, I raiiiiotgive thee less, to be call'd grateful : 
Thou thought'st to help me ; and such thanks 1 give. 
As one near death to those that wish him live : 
But, what at full I know, thou know'st no part ; 
I knowing all my peril, thou no art. 

Hel. What I can do, can do no hurt to try. 
Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy : 
He that of greatest works is finisher, 
Oft does them by the weakest minister : 
So holy writ in babes hath judgment shewn. 
When judges have been babes. Great floods have fiown 
From simple sources ; and great seas have dried, 
When miracles have by the greatest been denied. 
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there 
Where most it promises ; and oft it hits, 
Where hope is coldest, and despair most sits. 

King. I must not hear thee ; fare thee well, kind 
Thy pains, not us'd, must by thyself be paid : [maid: 
Profl'ers, not took, reap thanks for their reward. 

Hel. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd : 
It is not so with him that all things knows. 
As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows : 
But most it is presumption in us, when 
The help of heaven we count the act of men. 
Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent : 
Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. 
I am not an impostor, that proclaim 
Myself against the level of mine aim ; 
But know 1 think, and think 1 know most sure, 
' My art is not past power, nor you past cure. 

King. Art tliou so confident ? Within what space 
I Hop'st thou my cure ? 

I Hel. The greatest grace lending grace, 

I Ere twice the horses of the sun .shall bring 
' Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring ; 
; Ere twice in murk and occidental damp 



ACT II.— SCENE III. 



237 



Mo'st Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp ; 
Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass 
Hath told the thievish minutes liow they pass ; 
What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly. 
Health shall live free, and sickness freely die. 

King. Upon thy certainty and confidence, 
What dar'st thou venture ^ 

Hel. Tax of impudence, — 

A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame, — 
Traduc'd by odious ballads ; my maiden's name 
Sear'd otherwise ; nay, worst of worst extended, 
With vilest torture let my life be ended. 

Ki'ig. Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth 
His powerful sound, within an organ weak: [speak; 
And what impossibility would slay 
In common sense, sense saves another way. 
Thy life is dear ; for all, that life can rate 
Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate ; 
Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue, all 
That happiness and prime can happy call : 
Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate 
Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate. 
Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try ; 
That ministers thine own death, if 1 die. 

Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property 
Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die ; 
And well deserv'd: Not helping, death's my fee ; 
But, if I help, what do you promise me ? 

Kino, Blake thy demand. 

Hel. But will you make it even 1 

King. Ay, by my sceptre, and my hopes of heaven. 

Hel. Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly hand, 
What husband in thy power 1 will command ; 
Exempted be from me the arrogance 
To choose from forth the royal blood of France ; 
My low and humble name to propagate 
With any branch or image of thy state : 
But such a one, thy vassal, whom 1 know 
Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. 

King. Here is my hand ; the premises observ'd, 
Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd; 
So make the choice of thy own time, for 1, 
Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely. 
More should I question thee, and more I must ; 
Though, more to know, could not be more to trust; 
From whence thou cam'st, how tended on, — But rest 
Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest. — 
Give me some help here, ho ! — If thou proceed 
As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed. 

l_Flohyish. Exeunt. 

SCENE II. 

Rousillon. — A Room in tlie Countess's Palace. 

Enter Countess and Clown. 

Count. Come on, sir ; I shall now put you to the 
height of your breeding. 

CIl>. I will sliew myself highly fed, and lowly 
taught : I know my business is but to tlie court. 

Count. To the court! why, what place make you 
special, when you put off that with such contempt? 
But to the court ! 

Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any 
manners, he may easily put it off at court: he that 
cannot make a leg, put off 's cap, kiss his hand, and 
say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; 
and, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were not 
for the court : but, for me, I have an answer will serve 
all men. 

Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer, that fits 
all questions. 

Clo. It is like a barber's chair ; that fits all but- 



tocks ; the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the 
brawn- buttock, or any buttock. 

Count- Will your answer serve fit to all questions ? 
I Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an at- 
torney, as your French crown for your taffata punk, 
I as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for 
Shrove-Tuesdiiy, a morris for May-day, as the nail to 
his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean 
to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's 
mouth ; nay, as the pudding to his skin. 

Count. Have you, 1 say, aa answer of such fitness 
for all questions ? 

Cln. From below your duke, to beneath your con- 
stable, it will fit any question. 

Count, It must be an answer of most monstrous 
size, that must fit all demands. 

Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the 
learned should speak truth of it : here it is, and all 
that belongs to 't : Ask me, if 1 am a courtier : it shall 
do you no harm to learn. 

Count. To be young again, if we could: I will be 
a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your 
answer. 1 pray you, sir, are you a courtier? 

Clo. O Lord, sir, There's a simple putting 

off; — more, more, a hundred of them. 

Count. Sir, 1 am a poor friend of yours, that loves 
you. 

Clo. O Lord, sir, — Thick, thick, spare not me. 

Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely 
meat. 

Clo. O Lord, sir, — Nay, put me to 't, I warrant you. 

Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. 

Clo. O Lord, sir, — spare not me. 

Count. Doyou cry, () Lord, sn-, at your whipping, 
and spare not me? Indeed, your Lord, sir, is very 
se<iuent to your whip])ing ; you would answer very 
well to a wliipping, if you were but bound to't. 

('lo. 1 ne'er liad worse luck in my life, in mj' — 
Lord, sir: 1 see, things may serve long, but not 
serve ever. 

Count. I play the noble housewife with the time, 
to entertain it so merrily with a fool 

Clo. O Lord, sir, — \Vliy, there 't serves well again. 

Count. An end, sir to your business: Give Ilelen 
And urge her to a present answer back : [tiiis. 

Commend me to my kinsmen, and my son ; 
This is not much. 

Clo. Not much commendation to them. 

Count. Not much employment for you : You under- 
stand me? 

Clo. Most fruitfully ; I am there before my legs. 

Count. Haste you again. [Ejeiiiit severally. 

SCENE III. 

Paris. — A Room in tlie King's Palace. 

Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Pakolles. 

Laf. They say, miracles are past ; and we have our 
philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar 
things, supernatuj-al and causeless. Hence is it, 
that we make trifles of terrors ; ensconcing ourselves 
into seeming knowledge, when we should submit 
ourselves to an unknown fear. 

Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, that 
hath shot out in our latter times. 

Ber. And so 'tis. 

Laf. To be relinquish'd of the artists, . 

Pur. So I say; both of Galen and Paracelsus. 

Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fellows, — 

Par. Right, so I say. 

Lnf. That gave him out incurable. — 

Par. Why, there 'tis ; so say I too. 



'238 



ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



Laf. Not to be helped, — 

Par. Right : as 'twere a man assured of an — 

Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death. 

Far. Just, you say well ; so would I have said. 

Laf. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. 

Par. It is, indeed: if you will have it in shewing, 
you shall read it in, What do you call there?—' 

Laf. A shewing of a heavenly effect in an earthly 
actor. 

Par. That's it I would have said, the very same. 

Laf. Why, your dolphin is not lustier : fore me I 
speak in respect 

Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the 
brief and the tedious of it ; and he is of a most faci- 
norous spirit, that will not acknowledge it to be the— 

Laf. Very hand of heaven. 

Var. Ay, so I say. 

Laf. In a most weak 

Par. And debile minister, great power, great tran- 
scendence : which should, indeed, give us a further 
use to be made, than alone the recovery of the kin"^, 
as to be ° 

Laf. Generally thankful. 

Enter King, Helena, and Attendants. 

Par^ I would have said it ; you say well. Here 
comes the king. 

Laf Lustick, as the Dutchman says : I '11 like a 
maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head : 
Why, he's able to lead her a coranto. 

Par. Mart du Viiiaigre ! Is not this Helen 1 

Laf 'Fore God, I think so. 

King. Go, call before me all the lords in court. — 

[ E.iit an Attendant. 
Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side ; 
And with this healthful hand, whose banjsh'd sense 
Thou hast repealed, a second time receive 
The confirmation of my promis'd gift, 
Which but attends thy naming. 

Enter several Lords. 
Fair maid, send forth thine eye : this youthful parcel 
Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing. 
O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice 
I have to use : thy frank election make ; 
Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake. 
^ liel. To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress 
Fall, when love please ! — marry, to each, but one ! 

Laf I'd give bay Curtal, and his furniture, 
My mouth no more were broken than these boys', 
And writ as little beard. 

^i'lg- Peruse them well : 

Not one of those, but had a noble father. 

Hel. Gentlemen, 
Heaven hath, through me, restor'd the king to health. 

AH. We understand it, and thank heaven for you. 

Hel. I am a simple maid ; and therein wealthiest, 

That, I protest, I simply am a maid : 

Please it your majesty, I have done already : 
The blushes in my cheeks, thus whisper me, 
We blush, that thou should'st choose ; but, be refused. 
Let the white death sit on thy cheekfor ever ; 
We'll ne'er come there again. 

King. Make choice ; and, see. 

Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me. 

Hel. Now Dian, from thy altar do I fly ; 
And to imperial Love, that god most high. 
Do my sighs stream. — Sir, will you hear my suit ? 

I Lord. And grant it. 

•f^f'' Thanks, sir ; all the rest is mute. 

Laf. I had rather be in this choice, than throw 
ames-ace for my life. 

Hel. 'J'he honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, 



Before I speak, too threateningly replies : 
Love make your fortunes twenty times above 
Her that so wisiies, and her humble love ' 

2 Lord. No better, if you please. 

Hel. My wish receivej 

Which great love grant ! and so I take my leave. 

Laf. Do all they deny her ? An they were sons of 
mine, I'd have them whipped ; or I would send them 
to the Turk, to make eunuchs of. rtake • 

^ Hel. Be not afraid [to a Lord J that I your hand should 
I'll never do you wrong for your own sake : 
Blessing upon your vows ! and in your bed 
Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed ! 

Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have 
her : sure,^ they are bastards to the English ; the 
French ne'er got them. 

Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too good, 
To make yourself a son out of my blood. 

4 Lord. Fair one, I think not so. 

Laf. There's one grape yet,— I am sure thy father 
drank wine.— But if thou be'st not an ass, I am a 
youth of fourteen ; I have known thee already. 

Hel. I dare not say I take you ; [tn Bertram. J but I 
Me and my service, ever whilst I live, [crive 

Into your guiding power.— 'J'his is the man. [wife. 

King. Why then, young Bertram, take her, she's thy 

Ber. My wife, my liege ? I shall beseech your high- 
In such a business give me leave to use [ness. 

The help of mine own eyes. 

^*''"fi-; know'st thou not, Bertram, 

What she has done for me ? 

■S'"''- Yes, my good lord ; 

But never hope to know why I should marry her. 

King. Thou know'st she has rais'd me from my 
sickly bed. 

Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down 
Must answer for your raising ? I know her well • 
She had her breeding at my father's charge : 
A poor physician's daughter my wife !— Disdain 
Rather corrupt me ever ! 

King. 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which 
I can build up. Strange is it, that our bloods. 
Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together. 
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off' 
In differences so mighty : If she be 
All that is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st 
A poor physician's daughter,) thou dislik'st 
Of virtue for the name : but do not so : 
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed 
The place is dignified by the doer's deed : 
Where great additions swell, and virtue none, 
It is a dropsied honour: good alone 
Is good without a name ; vileness is so : 
The property by what it is should go, 
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; 
In these to nature she's immediate heir ; 
And these breed honour : that is honour's scorn, 
Which challenges itself as honour's born. 
And is not like the sire : Honours best thrive, 
When rather from our acts we them derive 
Than our fore-goers : the mere word 's a slave^, 
Debauch'd on every tomb ; on every grave, 
A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb. 
Where dust, and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb 
Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said ? 
If thou canst like this creature as a maid, 
I can create the rest : virtue, and she, 
Is her own dower ; honour, and wealth, from me. 

Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do'U 

Ain^.Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou should'st strive 
to choose. 

Hel. That you are well restor'd, my lord , I am glad ; 



ACT II.— SCENE III. 



23i) 



Let the rest go. 

King. My honour's at the stake ; which to defeat, 
I must produce my power : Here, take her hand. 
Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift. 
That dost in vile ir.isprision shackle up 
My love, and her desert ; that canst not dream, 
We, poising us in her defective scale, 
Shall weigh thee to the beam ; that wilt not know, 
It is in us to plant thine honour, where 
We please to have it grow: Check thy contempt : 
Obey our will, which travels in thy good: 
Believe not thy disdain, but presently 
Do thine own fortunes that obedient riglit. 
Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims ; 
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever, 
Into the staggers, and the careless lapse 
Of youth and ignorance ; both my revenge and hate, 
Loosing upon thee in the name of justice. 
Without all terms of pity : Speak! thine answer I 

Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord ; for 1 submit 
My fancy to your eyes: When 1 consider. 
What great creation, and what dole of honour. 
Flies where you bid it, 1 find, that she, which late 
\Vas in my nobler thouglits most base, is now 
The praised of the king ; who, so ennobled, 
Is, as 'twere, born so. 

King, Take her by the hand, 

And tell her, she is thine : to v\ horn 1 promise 
A counterpoise ; if not to thy estate, 
A balance more replete. 

Ber. I take her hand. 

King. Good fortune, and the favour of the kinar, 
Smile upon this coutiact ; whose ceremony 
Shall seem expedient on the new-born brief. 
And be perform'd to-night : the solemn feast 
Shall more attend upon the coming space, 
Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her, 
Thy love s to me religious ; else, does err. 

[Exeunt King, Ber. Hel. Lords, <!()• Attendants. 

LaJ'. Do you hear, monsieur t a word with you. 

Par. Your pleasure, sir? 

Laf. Your lord and master did well to make his 
recantation. 

i'ar. Recantation ? — I\Iy lord t my master 1 

Laf, Ay ; Is it not a language, 1 speak? 

Par. A most harsh one ; and not to be understood 
without bloody succeeding. My master 1 

Laf'. Are you companion to the count Rousillon "! 

Par. To any count ; to all counts ; to what is man. 

LaJ'. To what is count's man ; count's master is 
of another style. 

Par. You are too old, sir ; let it satisfy you, you 
are too old. 

Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write nian ; to 
■which title age cannot bring thee. 

Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. 

Laf. 1 did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a 
pretty wise fellow ; thou didst make tolerable vent 
of thy travel ; it might pass : yet the scarfs, and the 
bannerets, about thee, did manifoldly dissuade me 
from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. 
I have now found thee ; when 1 lose thee again, I 
care not : yet art thou good for nothing but taking 
up ; and that thou art scarce worth. 

Pur. Iladst thou not the privilege of antiquity 
upon thee, 

Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest 
thou hasten thy trial ; — which if— Lord have mercy 
on thee for a hen ! So, my good window of lattice, 
fare thee well ; thy casement I need not open, for I 
look through thee. Give me thy hand. 

Pay, My lord, you give me mostegregious indignity. 



Laf. Ay, willi all my heart ; and thou art worthy 
of it. 

Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it. 

Laf, Yes, good faith, every dram of it : and I will 
not bate thee a scruple. 

Par. Well, I shall be wiser. 

Laf. E'en as soon as tiiou canst, for thou hast to 
pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st 
bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shall find what 
it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to 
hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my know- 
ledge ; that I may say in the default, he is a man I 
know. 

Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable 
vexation. 

Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my 
poor doing eternal : for doing I am past ; as I will by 
thee, in what motion age will give me leave. [Exit. 

Par. Well, thou hast a son siiall take this disgrace 
off me ; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord ! — Well, I 
I must be patient ; there is no fettering of authority. 
I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any 
convenience, an he were double and double a lord. 
I'll have no more pity of his age, than I would have 
of— I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again. 

Re-enter Lafeu. 

Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master 's married, there's 
: news for you ; you have a new mistress. 

Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to 
I make some icservation of your wrongs : He is my 
good lord : whom I serve above, is my master. 

Laf. Who! God] 

Par. Ay, sir. 

Laf. 'I'he devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost 
thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion 1 dost make 
hose of thy sleeves ? do other servants so 1 Thou 
wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. 
By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, 
I 'd beat thee : methinks, thou art a general offence, 
and every man should beat thee. I think, thou wast 
created for men to breathe themselves upon thee. 

Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, niy lord. 

Laf Go to, sir ; you were beaten in Italy for 
picking a kernel out of a pomegranate ; you are a 
vagabond, and no true traveller : you are more saucy 
with lords, and honourable personages, than the he- 
raldry of your birth and virtue gives you commission. 
You are not worth another word, else 1 'd call you 
knave. I leave you. [Exit. 

Enter BEnxRAM. 

Par. Good, very good ; it is so then. — Good, very 
good ; let it be concealed a while. 

Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares forever! 

Par. What is the matter, sweet heart ] 

Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, 
I will not bed her. 

Par. What? what, sweet heart ? 

Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me : — 
I '11 to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. 

Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits 
The tread of a man's foot: to the wars ! 

Ber. There's letters from my mother; what the 
I know not yet. [import is, 

Par. Ay, that would be known : To the wars, my 
boy, to the wars ! 
He wears his lionour in a box unseen, 
That hugs his kicksy-wicksy here at home ; 
Spending his manly marrow in her arms. 
Which should sustain tiie bound and high curvet 
Of Mars's fiery steed : To other regions ! 



240 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



France is a stable ; we, that dwell m't, jades ; 
Therefore to the war ! 

Ber. It shall be so ; I '11 send her to my house, 
Aciiuaint mv mother with my hate to her. 
And wherefore 1 am fled ; write to tlie king 
That which I durst not speak : His present gift 
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields, 
Where noble fellows strike : War is no strife 
To the dark house, and the detested wife. 

Pur. Will this capricio hold in thee, art sure ? 

Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. 
I '11 send her straight away : To-morrow 
I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. 

I'ar. Why, these balls bound ; there 's noise in it. 
'lis hard ; 
A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd : 
Therefore away, and leave her bravely ; go : 
Tlie king has done you wrong : but, hush ! tis so. 

l^Exeiint. 

SCENE IV. — The same. Another Room in the same. 
Enter Helena aiid Clown. 

Hel. My mother greets me kindly : Is she well ■? 

Clo. She is not well ; but yet she has her health : 
she's very merry ; but yet she is not well : but thanks 
be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i'the 
world ; but yet she is not well. 

Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that 
she 's not very well 1 

Clo. Truly, she 's very well, indeed, but for two 
things. 

Hel. What two things t 

Clo. One, that she 's not in heaven ; whither God 
send her quickly ! the other, that she 's in earth, from 
whence G od send her quickly ! 

Enter Parolles. 

Par, Bless you, my fortunate lady ! 

Hel. I hope, sir, 1 have your good will to have 
mine own good fortunes. 

Par. You had my prayers to lead them on : and 
to keep them on, have them still. — 0, my knave ! 
How does my old lady 1 

Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her 
money, I would she did as you say. 

Par. Why, I say nothing. 

Clo. Many, you are the wiser man ; for many a 
man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing : To 
say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to 
have nothing, is to be a great part of your title ; which 
is within a very little of nothing. 

Par. Away, thou'rt a knave. 

Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave 
thou art a knave ; that is, before me thou art a knave : 
this had been truth, sir. 

Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool. I have found thee. 

Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir 1 or were you 
taught to find me 1 The search, sir, was profitable ; 
and much fool may you find in you, even to t!ie 
world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter. 

Par. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. — 
Madam, my lord will go away to-night : 
A very serious business calls on him. 
The great prerogative and rite of love, [ledge ; 

Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknow- 
But puts it off by a compell'd restraint ; 
Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets, 
Which they distil now in the curbed time, 
To make the coming hour o'er-flow with joy, 
And pleasure drown the brim. 

jifl^ What's his will elsel 



Par. That you will take your instant leave o' the 
king, 
And make this haste as your own good proceeding, 
Strengthen'd with what apology you think 
May make it probable need. 

Hel. What more commands he'? 

Par. That, having this obtain'd, you presently 
Attend his further pleasure. 

Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will. 

Par. I shall report it so. 

Hel. I pray you. — Come, sirrah. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Another Room in the same. 
Enter Lafeu and Bertram. 

Laf. But, I hope, your lordship thinks not him a 
soldier. 

-Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. 

Laf. You have it from his own deliverance. 

Ber. And by other warranted testimony. 

Laf. Then my dial goes not true ; I took this lark 
for a bunting. 

Ber, 1 do assure you, my lord, he is very great in 
knowledge, and accordingly valiant. 

Laf. I have then sinned against his experience, and 
transgressed against his valour ; and my state that 
way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart 
to repent. Here he comes ; I pray you, make us 
friends, I will pursue the amity. 

Enter Paroixes. 

Par. These things shall be done, sir. [To Ber. 

Laf. Pray you, sir, who's his tailor? 

Par. Sir ? 

Laf. O, I know him well : Ay, sir ; he, sir, is a 
good workman, a very good tailor. 

Ber. Is she gone to the king ? \^Aside to Parolles. 

Par. She is. 

Ber. Will she away to-night l 

Par. As you'll have her. 

Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure. 
Given order for our horses ; and to-night, 
When I should take possession of the bride, — 
And, ere I do begin, 

Laf. A good traveller is something at the latter 
end of a dinner ; but one that lies three-thirds, and 
uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, 
should be once heard, and thrice beaten. — God save 
you, captain. 

Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord and 
you, monsieur ? 

Par. 1 know not how I have deserved to run into 
my lord's displeasure. 

Laf. You have made shift to run into 't, boots and 
spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard; 
and out of it you '11 run again, rather than sufi'er ques- 
tion for your residence. 

Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my lord. 

Laf. And shall do so ever, though I took him to 
his prayers. Fare you well, my lord ; and believe 
this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut ; 
the soul of this man is his clothes : trust him not in 
matter of heavy consequence ; I have kept of them 
tame, and know their natures. — Farewell, monsieur: 
1 have spoken better of you, than you have or will 
deserve at my hand ; but we must do good against 
evil. [Exit. 

Par. An idle lord, I swear. 

Ber. 1 think so. 

Par. Why, do you not know him? 

Ber. Yes, I do know him well ; and common speech 
Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog" 




ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 



Bertram. Away, and for our flight 

PAR01.I.E8 



Bravely, coragio ! 

Jil II, Scent 6. 



ACT IlL— SCENE II. 



241 



Enter Helena. 

Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, 
Spoke with the king, and have procur'd his leave 
For present parting ; only, he desires 
Some private speech with you. 

Ber. I shall obey his will. 

You must not marvel, Helen, at my course. 
Which holds not colour with the time, nor does 
The ministration and required office 
On my particular : prepar'd I was not 
For such a business ; therefore am I found 
So much unsettled : This drives me to entreat you, 
That presently you take your way for home ; 
And rather muse, than ask, why I entreat you : 
For my respects are better than they seem ; 
And my appointments have in them a need, 
Greater than shews itself, at the first view. 
To you that know them not. This to my mother : 

[Givhig a ieltc, 
'Twill be two days ere I shall see you ; so 
I leave you to your wisdom. 

Hel. Sir, I can nothing say, 

But that I am your most obedient servant. 

Ber. Come, come, no more of that. 

Hel. And ever shall 

With true observance seek to eke out that, 
Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd 
I'o equal ray great fortune 

Ber. Let that go : 

My haste is very great : Farewell ; hie home. 

Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon. 

Ber. Well, what would you sayl 

Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe ; 
Nor dare I say, 'tis mine ; and yet it is ; 
But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal 
What law does vouch mine own. 

Ber. What would you have 1 

Hel. Something ; and scarce so much : — nothing, 
indeed. — [yes ; — 

1 would not tell you what I would : my lord — 'faith. 
Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss. 

Ber. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. 

Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. 

Ber. Wher.e are my other men, monsieur? — Fare- 
v/ell. [E.T!t Helena. 

Go thou toward home ; where I will never come. 
Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum : — 
Away, and for our flight. 

Pur. Bravely, coragio ! ]_Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — Florence. A Room in the Duke's Palace, 

Flourish. Enter the Dtke of Flouence, attended ; 
two French Lords, and others. 

Duke. So that, from point to point, now have you 
The fundamental reasons of this war ; [heard 

Whose great decision hath much blood let forth. 
And more thirsts after. * 

1 Lord. Holy seems the quarrel 
Upon your grace's part ; black and fearful 

On the opposer. [France 

Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin 
Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom 
Against our borrowing prayers. 

2 Lord. Good my lord, 
The reasons of our state I cannot yield, 

I'ut like a common and an outward man, 
That the great figure of a council frames 



By self-unable motion : therefore aare not 
Say what I think of it ; since I have fo\ind 
Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail 
As often as 1 guess'd. 

Duke. Be it his pleasure. 

'■2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our nature 
That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day. 
Come here for physic. 

Duke. Welcome shall they be ; 

And all the honours that can fly from us. 
Shall on them settle. You know your places well ; 
When better fall, for your avails they fell : 
To-morrow to the field. IFlourish. Exeunt 

SCENE II. 
Rousillon. — A Boom in the Countess's Palace. 

Enter Countess and Clown. 

Count. It hath happened all as I would have had 
it, save, that he comes not along with her. 

Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a 
very melancholy man. 

Count. By what observance, I pray you 1 

Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing j 
mend the ruff, and sing ; ask questions, and sing ; 
pick his teeth, and sing : I know a man that had this 
trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a song. 

Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he 
means to come. [Opening a letter. 

Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court ; 
our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing 
like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court : the 
brains of my Cupid's knocked out ; and I begin to 
love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach. 

Count. What have we here? 

Clo. E'en that you have there. [Exit. 

Count. [Reads.] I hace sent you a daughter-in-law : 
she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have 
wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the not 
eternal. You shall hear, I am run away; know it, 
before the 'report come. If there be breadth enough in 
the world, 1 ivill hold a long distance. My duty to you. 

Your unfortunate son, Bertraji. ' 

This is not well, rash and unbridled boy. 
To fly the favours of so good a king ; 
To pluck his indignation on thy head, 
By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous 
For the contempt of empire. 

Re-enter Clown. 

Clo. madam, yonder is heavy news within, be- 
tween two soldiers and my young lady. 

Count. What is tlie matter"! 

Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some 
comfort ; your son will not be killed so soon as I 
thought he would. 

Count. Why should he be kill'd ? 

Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear 
he does : the danger is in standing to't ; that's the 
loss of men, though it be the getting of children. 
Here they come, will tell you more : for my part, I 
only hear, your son was run away. [Exit Clown. 

Enter Helena and two Gentlemen. 

1 Gen. Save you, good madam. 

Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 

2 Gen. Do not say so. [men, — 
Count, 'i'hink upon patience. — 'Pray you, gentle- 

I have felt so many quirks of joy, and grief. 
That the first face of neither, on the start. 
Can woman me unto't : — Where is my son, I pray you ? 
2 Gent. ]\Iadara, he's gone to serve the duke of 
Florence : 

Q 



242 



ALL'S WELL THAI ENDS WELL. 



We met him thitherward ; from thence we came, 
And, after some despatch in hand at court. 
Thither we bend again. [port. 

Hel. Look on his letter, madam ; here's my pass- 
\ lieuds.^W lien thmi cavst get the ring njion my finger , 
uhicli never shall come off, and sliew me a child be- 
gotten of thy body , that I am father to, then call me 
liusband : but in such a then / write a never. 
This is a dreadful sentence. 

Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen ? 

1 Gen. Ay, madam ; 
And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains. 

dnnt. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer ; 
If thou engrossest all the giiefs are thine, 
Thou robb'st me of a moiety : He was my son ; 
But I do wash his name out of my blood, 
And thou art all my child. — Towards Florence is he 1 

t Gen. Ay, madam. 

Count. And to be a soldier? 

2 Gen. Such is his noble purpose : and, believ't, 
The duke will lay upon him all the honour 

That good convenience claims. 

Count. Return you thither? 

1 Gen. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. 

Hel. [Reads.] Tilt I have no wife, I have nothing in 
'Tis bitter. [France. 

Count. Find you that there 1 

Hel. Ay, madam. 

1 Ge7i. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, 
His heart was not consenting to. [which 

Count. Nothing inFrance, until he have no wife I 
There's nothing here, that is too good for him, 
But only she ; and she deserves a lord, 
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon. 
And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with him? 

1 Gen. A servant only, and a gentleman 
Which I have some time known. 

Count. ParoUes, was't not ? 

1 Gen. Ay, my good lady, he. 

Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wicked- 
My son corrupts a well-derived nature [ness. 

With his inducement. 

1 Gen. Indeed, good lady, 
The fellow has a deal of that, too much. 
Which holds iiim much to have. 

Count. You are welcome, gentlemen, 
I will entreat you, when you see my son, 
To tell him that his sword can never win 
The honour that he loses : more I'll entreat you ' 
Written to bear along. 

2 Gen. We serve you, madam, 
In that and all your worthiest affairs. 

Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. 
Will you draw near ? [Ex. Countess &; Gentlemen. 

Hei. Till 1 have nowife, I have nothing in France. 
Nothing in France, until he has no wife ! 
Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France, 
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord ! is't I 
That chase thee from thy country, and expose 
Those tender limbs of thine to the event 
Of the none sparing war ? and is it I 
That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou 
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark 
Of smoky muskets? you leaden messengers, 
That ride upon the violent speed of fire. 
Fly with false aim ; move the still-piercing aii. 
That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord ! 
Whoever shoots at him, I set him there ; 
Whoever charges on his forward breast, 
I am the caitifl'. that do hold him to it ; 
And, though I kill him not, I am the cause 
His death was so effected : better 'twere 



I met the ravin lion when he roar'd 

With sharp constraint of hunger ; better twere 

That all the miseries, which nature owes, 

Were mine at once : No, come thou home, Rousillon, 

Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, 

As oft it loses all ; I will be gone : 

ftly being here it is, that holds thee hence : 

Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although 

The air of paradise did fan the house. 

And angels offic'd all : 1 will be gone ; 

That pitiful rumour may report my flight, 

To consolate thine ear. Come, night ; end, day ! 

For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. [Exit. 

SCENE III. — Florence. Before the Duke's Palace. 

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Flohence, Bertram, 
Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and others. 

Duke. The general of our horse thou art ; and we, 
Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence. 
Upon thy promising fortune. 

Ber. Sir, it is 

A charge too heavy for my strength : but yet 
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake, 
To the extreme edge of hazard. 

Duke. Then go thou forth ; 

And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm. 
As thy auspicious mistress ! 

Ber. This very day, 

Great Mars, I put myself into thy file : 
Make me but like my thoughts ; and I shall prove 
A lover of thy drum, hater of love. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. 

Rousillon. — A Room in the Countess's Palace. 

Enter Countess and Steward. 

Count. Alas ! and would you take the letter of her 1 
Might you not know, she would do as she has done. 
By sending me a letter ? Read it again. 
Stew. / am St. Jaqves' pilgrim, thithe^ gone : 

Ambitious love hath so in me offended. 
That barefoot jnod I the cold ground upon, 

With sainted vow my faults to have amended. 
Write, ivrite, that, from the bloody course of icai 

Mil dearest master, your dear sonviay hie ; 
Bless him at home in peace, rvhilst I from far, 

His name luith zeaUmsfervour sanctify : 
His taken labours bid him me forgive ; 

I, his despiteful Juno, sent himforth 
From courtly J riends, with camping foes to live, 

]Vhere death and danger dog the heels oj' worth : 
He is too good and fair for death and me; 
Whom I myself embrace, to set him free, 

Cimri.Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words! 
Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, 
As lettmg her pass so ; had I spoke with her, 
I could have well diverted her intents, 
Which thus she hath prevented. 

Stew, Pardon me, madam : 

If I had given you this at over-night, 
She might have been o'erta'en ; and yet she writes, 
Pursuit would be but vain. 

Count. What angel shall 

Bless this unworthy husband ? he cannot thrive, 
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear, 
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath 
Of greatest justice. — Write, write, Rinaldo, 
To this unworthy husband of his wife : 
Let every word weigh hea^'y of her worth. 
That he does weigh too light : my greatest grief. 
Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. 



ACT JII.—SCENE VI. 



213 



Despatch the most convenient messenger : — 
When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone, 
He will return ; and hope I may, that she, 
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again. 
Led hither by pure love : which of them both 
Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense 
To make distinction : — Provide this messenger : — 
My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak ; 
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. 

SCENE v.— Without the Walls 0/ Florence. 
A tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow o/" Florence, 

Diana, Violenta, Mariana, and other Citizens. 

Wid. Nay, come ; for if they do approach the 
city, we shall lose all the sight. 

Dia. They say, the French count has done most 
honourable service. 

IVid. It is reported that he has taken their great- 
est commander ; and thatwith his own hand he slew 
the duke's brother. We have lost our labour : tliey 
are gone a contrary way : hark ! you may know by 
their trumpets. 

Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice our- 
selves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed 
of this French earl : the honour of a maid is her name ; 
and no legacy is so rich as honesty. 

Wid. 1 have told my neighbour, how you iiave 
been solicited by a gentleman his companion. 

Mar. I know that knave ; hang him ! one Pa- 
rolles : a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for 
the young earl, — Beware of them, Diana ; their pro- 
mises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these en- 
gines of lust, are not the things they go under : many 
a maid hath been seduced by them , and the misery 
is, example, that so terrible shews in the wreck of 
maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, 
but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten 
them. I hope I need not to advise you further ; but, 
I hope, your own grace will keep you where you are, 
though there were no further danger known, but the 
modesty which is so lost. 

Dia. You shall not need to fear me. 

Enter Helena in the dress of a pilgrim. 

Wid. I hope so. Look, here comes a pilgrim: 

I know she will lie at my house : thither they send 

one another ; I'll question her. — 

God save you, pilgrim ! Whither are you bound ? 

Hel. To Saint Jaques le grand. 
Where do the palmers lodge, 1 do beseech you ? 

Wid. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. 

Hel. Is this the way t 

Wid. Ay, marry, is it. — Hark you ! 

[A inaich afar off. 
They come this way : — If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, 
But till the troops come by, 
I will conduct you where you shall bo lodg'd ; 
The rather, for, I think, 1 know your hostess 
As ample as myself. 

Hel. Is it yourself ? 

Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim. 

Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. 

Wid. You came, I think, from France ? 

Hel. I did so. 

Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours. 
That has done worthy service. 

Hel. His name, T pray you. 

Dia. The count Rousillon ; Know you such a one ? 

Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him : 
His face I know not. 

Dia. Whatsoe'er he is. 



He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, 
As 'tis reported, for the king had married Lim 
Against his liking : Think you it is so 1 

Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth ; I know his lady. 

Dia. There is a gentleman, that serves the count. 
Reports but coarsely of her. 

Hel. What's his name ? 

Dia. Monsieur ParoUes. 

Hel. O, I believe with him, 

In argument of praise, or to the worth 
Of the great count himself, she is too mean 
To have her name repeated ; all her deserving 
Is a reserved honesty, and that 
I have not heard examin'd. 

Did. Alas, poor lady! 

'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife 
Of a detesting lord. 

Wid. A right good creature : wheresoe'er she is. 
Her heart weighs sadly : this young maid might do her 
A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. 

Hel. How do you trtean "* 

May be, the amorous count solicits her 
In the unlawful purpose. 

Wid. He does, indeed; 

And brokes with all that can in such a suit 
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid : 
But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard 
In honestest defence. 

Enter, loith drum and colours, a party of the Floren- 
tine army, Bertham, and Parolles. 

Mar. The gods forbid else ! 

Wid. So, now they come : — 

That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son ; 
That, Escalus. 

Hei. Which is the Frenchman l 

Dta. He ; 

That with the plume : 'tis a most gallant fellow ; 
I would, he lov'd his wife : if he were honester, 
He were much goodlier : — Is't not a handsome gentle- 
He/. I like him well. [man? 

Dia. 'Tis pity he is not honest : Yond's that same 
knave, 
That leads him to these places ; were I his lady, 
I 'd poison that vile rascal. 

Hel. Which is he ? 

Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs : Why is he 
melancholy? 

Hel. Perchance he 's hurt i' the battle. 

Par. Lose our drum ! well. 

Mar. He 's shrewdly vexed at something ; Look, 
he has spied us. 

Wid. Marry, hang you ! 

Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! 

[Exeunt Ber. Par. Officers, and Soldiers. 

Wid. The troop is past: Come, pilgrim, I will bring 
Where you shall host : of enjoin'd penitents [you 
There 's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound, 
Already at my house. 

Hel. I humbly thank you : 

Please it this matron, and this gentle maid, 
To eat with us to-night, the charge and tiiankmg, 
Shall be for me ; and, to requite you further, 
1 will bestow some precepts on this virgin, 
Worthy the note. 

Both. We '11 take your offer kindly. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — Camp before Florence. 
Enter Bertram, and the two French Lords. 

1 Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him lo "t ; let him 
have his way. 

Q2 



244 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



2 Lord. If your lordship find him not a hilding, 
hold me no more in your respect. 

1 Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble. 

lier. Do you think, I am so far deceived in him ? 

1 Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct 
Tcnovvledge, without any malice, but to speak of him 
as my kinsman, he 's a most notable coward, an in- 
finite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, 
the owner of no one good quality worthy your lord- 
sliip's entertainment. 

2 Lord. It weie fit you knew him; lest, reposing 
too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might, 
at some great and trusty business, in a main danger, 
fail you. 

Ber. I would, I knew in what particular action to 
try him. 

iJ Lord. None better than to let him fetch off his 
drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake 
to do. 

1 Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will sud- 
denly surprize him ; such I will have, whom I am 
sure, he knows not from the enemy : we will bind 
and hood-wink him so, that he shall suppose no other 
but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversa- 
ries, when we bring him to our tents : Be but your 
lordship present at his examination : if he do not, 
for the promise of his life, and in the highest com- 
pulsion of base fear, offer to betray you, and deliver 
all the intelligence in his power against you, and 
that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, 
never trust my judg:nent in any thing. 

2 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch 
his drum ; he says, he has a stratagem for "t : when 
your lordship sees the bottom of his success in 't, 
and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will 
be melted, if you give him not John Drum's enter- 
tainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here 
he comes. 

Enter PAiioLLrs. 

1 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the 
humour of his design : let him fetch oft' liis drum in 
any hand. 

Ber. How now, monsieur? this drum sticks sorely 
in your disposition. 

2 Lord. A pox on't, let it go ; 'tis but a drum. 
Par. But a drum ! Is 't but a drum"! A drum so 

lost ! —There was an excellent command ! to charge 
in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend 
our own soldiers. 

2 Lord. That was not to be blamed in the com- 
mand of the service ; it was a disaster of war that 
Cffisar himself could not have prevented, if he had 
been there to command. 

Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc- 
cess : some dishonour we had in the loss of that 
drum ; but it is not to be recovered. 

Par. It might have been recovered. 

Ber. It might, but it is not now. 

Par. It is to be recovered : but that the merit of 
service is seldom attributed to the true and exact per- 
former, I would have that drum or another, orhicjacet. 

Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to 't, monsieur, 
if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this 
instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be 
magnanimous in the enterprize, and go on ; I will 
grace the attempt fot a worthy exploit: if you speed 
well in it, the duke shall both speak of it, and extend 
to you what further becomes his greatness, even to 
the utmost syllable of your worthiness. 

Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. 

Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. 

Par. I'll about it this evening : and I will presently 



pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my cer- 
tainty, put myself into my mortal preparation, and, 
by midnight, look to hear further from me. 

Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace, you are 
gone about it ? 

Par. I know not what the success will be, my 
lord ; but the attempt I vow. 

Ber. I know thou art valiant ; and to the possibility 
of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell. 

Par. I love not many words. [Eiit. 

1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water. — Is not 
this a strange fellow, my lord 1 that so confidently 
seems to undertake this business, which he knows is 
not to be done ; damns himself to do, and dares better 
be damned than to do 't. 

2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we do . 
certain it is, that he will steal himself into a man's 
favour, and, for a week, escape a great deal of disco- 
veries ; but when you find him out, you have him 
ever after. 

Ber. Why, do you think, he will make no deed at all 
of this, that so seriously he does address himself unto '.' 

1 Lord. None in the world ; but return with an in- 
vention, and clap upon you two or three probable lies : 
but we have almost embossed him, you shall see his 
fall to-night : for, indeed, he is not for your lord- 
ship's respect. 

2 Lord. We '11 make you some sport with the fox, 
ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old 
lord Lafeu : when his disguise and he is parted, tell 
me what a sprat you shall find him ; which you shall 
see this very night. 

1 Lord. I must go look my twigs ; he shall be caught. 
Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me. 

1 Lffi'd. As 't please your lordship : I'll leave you. 

[Kiit. 
Ber. Now will Head you to the house, and shew you 
The lass I spoke of. 

2 Lord. But, you say, she 's honest. 
Ber. That's all the fault: 1 spoke with her but once 

And found her wondrous cold ; but I sent to her. 
By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind, 
Tokens and letters which she did re-send ; 
And this is all I have done : She's a fair creature ; 
Will you go see her 1 

2 Lord. With all my heart, my lord. [Eieitiu. 

SCENE VII. 

Florence. — A Room in the W'idow's House. 

Enter Helena and Widow. 

Hel, If you misdoubt me that I am not she, 
I know not how I shall assure you further, 
But 1 shall lose the grounds I work upon. 

Wid. Though my estate be fallen, 1 was well born. 
Nothing acquainted with these businesses ; 
And would not put my reputation now 
In any staining act. 

Hel. Nor would I wish you. 

First, give me trust, the count he is my husband ; 
And, what to your sworn counsel I have spoken, 
Is so, from word to word ; and then you cannot. 
By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, 
Err in bestowing it. 

Wid. I should believe you ; 

For you have shew'd me that, whicli well approves 
You are great in fortune. 

HeL Take this purse of gold, 

And let me buy your friendly help thus far. 
Which I will over pay, and pay again, [daughter, 
When I have found it. The count he wooes your 
Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, 



ACT IV.— SCENE I, 



24.3 



Resolves to carry her ; let her, in fine, consent, 
As we '11 direct her how 'tis best to bear it, 
Now his important blood will nought deny 
That she '11 demand : A ring the county wears, 
That downward hath succeeded in his house, 
From son to son, some four or five descents 
Since the first fatlier wore it : this ring he holds 
In most rich choice ; yet, in his idle fire. 
To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, 
Howe'er repented after. 

Wid. ' Now I see 

The bottom of your purpose. 

Hel. You see it lawful then: It is no more. 
But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, 
Desires this ring ; appoints him an encounter ; 
In fine, delivers me to fill the time. 
Herself most chastely absent ; afler this. 
To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns 
To what is past already. 

Wid. I have yielded : 

instruct my daughter how she shall persever. 
That time and place, with this deceit so lawful. 
May prove colierent. Every night he comes 
With musics of all sorts, and songs compos'd 
To her unworthiness : It nothing steads us, 
To chide him from our eaves ; for he persists. 
As if his life iay on 't. 

Hel. Why then, to-night 

Let us assay our plot ; which, if it speed. 
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed 
And lawful meaning in a lawful act ; 
Where both not sin, and jet a sinful fact : 
But let 's about it. lEieunt. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— Without the Florentine Camp. 
Enter JirU Lord, with Jive or six Soldiers in ambush. 

1 Lcvd. He can come no other way but by this 
hedge' corner : When you sally upon him, speak what 
terrible language you will ; though you understand it 
not yourseives, no matter ; for we must not seem to 
understand him ; unless some one among us, whom 
we must produce for an interpreter. 

1 Sold. Good captain, let me be the interpreter. 

1 Lord. Art not acquainted with him 1 knows he 
not thy voice ^ 

1 Sold. No, sir, I warrant you 

1 Lord. But what linsy-wooisy hast thou to speak 
to us again I 

1 Sold. Even such as you speak to me. 

1 Lord. He must think us some band of strangers 
i' the adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a 
smack of all neighbouring languages ; therefore we 
must every one l>e a man of his own fancy, not to 
know what we speak to one another ; so we seem to 
know, is to know straight our purpose : chough's Ian- | 
guage, gabble enough, and good enough. As for ' 
you, interpreter, you must seem very politic But | 
couch, ho ! here he comes ; to beguile two hours In 
a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges. 

Filter Pauolles. 

Par. Ten o'clock : within these three liours 'twill 
be time enough to go home. What shall I sav I have 
done ? It must be a very plausible invention tiiat 
carries it : They begin to smoke me : and disgraces 
have of late knocked too often at my door. 1 find, my 
tongue is too fool-hardy; but my heart hath the fear 



of Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring the 
reports of my tongue. 

1 Lord, i'his is the first truth that e'er thine own 
tongue was guilty of. [A.'siile. 

Par. What the devil should move me to undertake 
the recovery of this drum ; being not ignorant of the 
impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose ? I 
must give myself some hurts, and say, I got them in 
exploit: Yet slight ones will not carry it : They will 
suy. Came you ort' with so little? and great ones t dare 
not give Wherefore ? what's the instance ? Tongue, 
I must put you into a butter-woman's mouth, and buy 
another of Bajazet'smule, if you prattle me into these 
perils. 

1 Lord. Is it possible, he should know what he is, 
and be that he is 1 [Aside. 

Par. I would the cutting of my garments would 
serve the turn; or the breaking of my Spanish sword. 

1 Lord. We cannot afford you so. [Aside. 

Par. Or the baring of ray beard; and to say, it 
was in stratagem. 

I Lord. 'Twould not do. [.4si.de. 

Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say, I was 
stripped. 

i Lord. Hardly serve. [Aside. 

Par. Though 1 swore I leaped from the window of 
the citadel 

1 Lord. How deep ! [Aside. 

Par. Thirty fathom. 

1 Lord. Three great oaths would scarce make that 
be believed. [Aside. 

Par. I would, I had any drum of the enemy's ; I 
would swear, I recovered it. 

1 Lord. You shall hear one anon. [Aside. 

Par. A drum now of tiie enemy's ! [Alarum intkin. 

1 Lord. Throca mcvousns, car^o, carsro, cacj 



rgo. 



'■{,"•• 



All. Cargo, cargo, lilliauda par corlio, cargo. 

Par. O! ransom, ransom: — Do not hide mine 
syes. [They seize him and blindfold him. 

1 Sold. Boskos thromiddo boskos. 

Par. I know you are the Muskos' regiment. 
And I shall lose my life for want of language : 
If there be here German, or Dane, low Duteh, 
Italian, or French, let him speak to me, 
I will discover that which shall undo 
The Florentine. 

1 Sold. BosJvDs vauvado : 

I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue: — 

Kereltjhonto : Sir, 

Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards 
Are at thy bosom. 

Par. Oh ! 

1 Sold. . , _ , O, pray, pray, pray. 

Maiika revania aulche. 

1 Lord. Oscorbi dtdchos voUvorca. 

1 Sold. The general is content to spare thee yet ; 
And, hood-wink'd as thou art, will lead thee on 
To gather from tiiee : haply, thou may'st inform 
Something to save thy life. 

l'»i: O, let me live, 

And ail the secrets of our camp Til siiew. 
Their force, their purposes : nay, I'll speak that 
Which you will wonder at. 

1 Sold. But wilt thou faithfully '. 

Par. If I do not, damn me. 

^ S"^<1- Acordo liiita. 

Come on, thou art granted space. 

[E.u(, iiith P. \U0LLt.s guarded. 

iLord. Go, tell the count Kousillon, and my bro- 
ther. 
We have caught the woodcock, and will keep hira 
Till we do hear fioui them. [muffled 



240 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



2 Sold. Captain, I will. 

1 Lnrd. He will betray us all unto ourselves ; — 
Inform 'em that. 

ii Sold. So I will, sir. 

1 Lord. Till then, I'll keep him dark, and safely 
lock'd. [Exeunt. 



Florence.- 



SCENE II. 

-A Jionm in the Widow's House. 



Enter Bertkam and Diana. 

Ber. They told me that your name was Fontibell. 

Dia. No, my good lord, Diana. 

Ber. Titled godiless ; 

And worth it with addition ! But, fair soul. 
In your fine h \.me hath love no quality ? 
If the quick fire of youth light not your mind. 
You are no maiden, but a monument : 
When you are dead, you should be such a one 
As you are now, for you are cold and stern ; 
And now you should be as your motber was. 
When your sweet self was got. 

Dia. She then was honest. 

Ber. So should you be. 

Dia. No : 

My mother did but duty ; such, my lord. 
As you owe to your wife. 

Ber. No more of that ! 

I pr'ythee, do not strive against my vows : 
I was compell'd to her ; but I love thee 
By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever 
Do thee all rights of service. 

_Dia. Ay, so you serve us. 

Till we serve you : but when you have our roses. 
You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves. 
And mock us with our bareness 

Ber. How have I sworn ? 

Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths, that make the truth ; 
But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true. 
What is not holy, that we swear not by. 
But take the Highest to witness : Then pray you, tell 
If I should swear by Jove's great attributes, [me, 
I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths. 
When 1 did love you ill ! this has no holding, 
To swear by him whom I protest to love. 
That I will work against him : Therefore, your oaths 
Are words, and poor conditions ; but unseal'd ; 
At least, in my opinion. 

Ber. Change it, change it ; 

Be not so holy-cruel : love is holy ; 
And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts. 
That you do charge men with : Stand no more off. 
But give thyself unto my sick desires. 
Who then recover : say, thou art mine, and ever 
My love, as it begins, shall so persever. 

Dia. I see, that men make hopes, in such affairs. 
That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. 

Ber. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power 
To give it from me. 

Din. Will you not, my lord 1 

Ber. It is an honour 'longing to our house, 
Bequeathed down from many ancestors ; 
Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world 
In me to lose. 

Dia. Mine honour's such a ring : 

My chastity's the jewel of our house. 
Bequeathed down from many ancestors ; 
Which were the greatest obloquy i'the world 
In me to lose : Thus your own proper wisdom 
Brings in the champion honour on my part, 
Against vour vain assault. 

Ber. Here, take my- ring: 



My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine, 
And I'll be bid by thee. [window; 

Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my chamber 
I'll order take, my mother shall not hear. 
Now will I charge you in the band of truth, 
When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed. 
Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me : 
My reasons are most strong ; and you shall know them ; 
When back again this ring shall be deliver'd: 
And on your finger, in the night, I'll put 
Another ring ; that, what in time proceeds, 
May token to the future our past deeds. 
Adieu, till then; then, fail not: You have won 
A wife of me, though there my hope be done. 

Ber. A heaven on earth 1 have won, by wooing 
thee. [El it. 

Dia. For which live long to thank both heaven and 
You may so in the end.— — [me ' 

My mother told me just how he would woo. 
As if she sat in his heart ; she says, all men 
Have the like oaths : he had sworn to marry me. 
When his wife's dead ; therefore I'll lie with him. 
When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid. 
Marry that will, I'll live and die a maid : 
Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin 
To cozen him, that would unjustly win. [Exit. 

SCENE III.— 77ie Florentine Camp. 

Enter the two French Lords, and two or three 
Soldiers. 

1 Lnrd. You have not given him his mother's letter 1 

2 Lord. I have deliver'd it an hour since ; there 
is something in 't that stings his nature ; for, on the 
reading it, he changeil almost into another man. 

1 Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon him, 
for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a lady. 

2 Lord. Especially he hath incurred the everlast- 
ing displeasure of the king, who had even turned his 
bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a 
thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you. 

1 Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and 
I am the grave of it. 

2 Lord. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman 
here in Florence, of a most chaste renown ; and this 
night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour : 
he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks 
himself made in the unchaste composition. 

t Lord. Now, God delay our rebellion; as we are 
ourselves, what things are we ! 

2 Lord. Merely our own traitors. And as in the 
common course of all treasons, we still see them re- 
veal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends; 
so he, that in this action contrives against his own 
nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself. 

1 Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us, to be 
trumpeters of our unlawful intents ? We shall not 
then have his company to-night ? 

2 Lord. Not till after midnight ; for he is dieted 
to his hour. 

1 Lord. That approaches apace : I would gladly 
have him see bis company anatomized ; that he might 
take a measure of his own judgments, wherein so 
curiously he had set this counterfeit. 

2 Lord. We will not meddle with him till he come ; 
for his presence must be the whip of the other. 

1 Lord. In the mean time, what hear you of these 
wars? 

2 J^ord. I hear there is an overture of peace. 

1 Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. 

2 Lord. What will count Rousillon do then ? will 
he travel higher, or return again into France? 



ACT IV.— SCENE III. 



247 



1 Lnrd. I perceive, by this demand, you are not 
altogether of his council. 

2 Lord. Let It be forbid, sir ! so should I be a 
great deal of his act. 

1 Lord. Sir, his wife, some two months since, fled 
from his house : her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint 
Jaques le grand ; which holy undertaking, with most 
austere sanctimony, she accomplished : and, there 
residing, the tenderness of her nature became as a 
prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last 
breath, and now she sings in heaven. 

1i Lord. How is this justified 1 

1 Lord. The stronger part of it by her own letters ; 
which makes her story true, even to the point of her 
death : her death itself, which could not be her office 
to say, is come, was faithfully confirmed by the rector 
of the place. 

2 Lord. Hath the count all this intelligence ? 

1 Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, 
point from point, to the full arming of the verity. 

2 Lord. I am heartily sorry, that he'll be glad of this. 

1 I^rd. How mightily, sometimes, we make us 
comforts of our losses ! 

2 Lord. And how mightily, some other times, we 

. . . 

drown our gain in tears ! The great dignity, that his 

valour hath here acquired for him, shall at home be 

encountered with a shame as ample. 

1 Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, 
good and ill together : our virtues would be proud, if 
our faults whipped them not ; and our crimes would 
despair, if they were not cherish'd by our virtues. — 

Enter a Servant. 
How now 1 where's your master 1 

Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom 
he hath taken a solemn leave ; his lordship will next 
morning for France. The duke hath offered him let- 
ters of commendations to the king. 

2 Lord. They shall be no more than needful there, 
if they were more than they can commend. 

Enter Bertram. 

1 Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the king's 
tartness. Here's his lordship now. How now, my 
lord, is't not after midnight? 

Ber. I have to-night dispatched sixteen businesses, 
a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success : 
I have conge'd with the duke, done my adieu with 
his nearest ; buried a wife, mourned for her ; writ 
to my lady mother, I am returning ; entertained my 
convoy ; and, between these main parcels of despatch, 
effected many nicer deeds ; the last was the greatest, 
but that I have not ended yet. 

2 Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, and 
this morning your departure hence, it requires haste 
of your lordship. 

Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing 
to hear of it hereafter: But shall we have this dia- 
logue between the fool and the soldier? Come, 

bring forth this counterfeit module ; he has deceived 
me, like a double-meaning prophesier. 

2 Lord. Bring him forth : [Eieunt Soldiers.] he 
has sat in the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. 

Ber. No matter ; his heels have deserved it, in 
usurping his spurs so long. How does he carry himself ? 

1 Lord. I have told your lordship already ; the 
stocks carry him. But to answer you as you would 
be understood; he weeps like a wench that had shed 
her milk : he hath confessed himself to Morgan, 
whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his 
remembrance, to this very instant disaster of his set- 
ting i'the stocks : And what think you he hath con- 
fessed ] 



Ber. Nothing of me, has hel 

2 Lord. His confession is taken, and it shall be 
read to his face : if your lordship be in't, as I believe 
you are, you must have the patience to hear it. 

Re-enter Soldiers, with Parollfs. 

Ber. A plague upon him ! muffled ! he can say 
nothing of me ; hush ! hush ! 

1 Lord. Hoodman comes 1 Porto tartarossa, 

1 Sold. He calls for the tortures ; What will you 
say without 'em ? 

Par. I will confesswhati know without constraint; 
if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more. 

1 Sold. Bosko chimurcho. 

2 Lord. Boblibiudo chicurmurco. 

1 Sold. You are a merciful general : — Our general 
bids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a note. 

Par. And truly, as I hope to live. 

1 Sold. First demand of him how many Iwrse the 
duke is strong. What say you to that 1 

Par. Five or six thousand ; but very weak and 
unserviceable : the troops are all scattered, and the 
commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation 
and credit, and as 1 hope to live. 

1 Sold. Shall I set down your answer so 1 

Par. Do ; I'll take the sacrament on't, how and 
which way you will. 

Ber. All's one to him. What a past-saving slave 
is this ! 

1 Lord. You are deceived, my lord ; this is monsieur 
Parolles, the gallant militarist, (that was his own 
phrase,) that had the whole theoric of war in the knot 
of his scarf, and the practice in the chape of his dagger. 

2 Loi-d. I will never trust a man again, for keep- 
ing his sword clean ; nor believe he can have every 
thing in him, by wearing his apparel neatly. 

1 Sold. Well, that's set down. 

Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said, — I will say 
true, — or thereabouts, set down, — for I'll speak trutii. 

1 Lord. He's very near the truth in this. 

Ber. But I con him no thanks for't, in the nature 
he delivers it. 

Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say. 

1 Sold. Well, that's set down. 

Par. 1 humbly thank you, sir : a truth's a truth, 
the rogues are marvellous poor. 

1 Sold. Demand of him, of ivhat strength they are 
afoot. What say you to that ? 

Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present 
hour, I will tell true. Let me see : Spurio a hundred 
and fifty, Sebastian so many, Corambus so many, 
Jaques so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, and 
Gratii, two hundred fifty each : mine own company, 
Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and fifty 
each : so that the muster-file, rotten and sound, upon 
my life, amounts not to fiftee-n thousand poll ; half 
of which dare not shake the snow from off their cas- 
socks, lest they shake themselves to pieces. 

Ber. What shall be done to him 1 

1 Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. De- 
mand of him my conditions, and what credit I have 
with the duke. 

1 Sold. Well, that's set down. You shall demand 
of him, whether one Captain Dumain lie i'the camp, a 
Frenchman ; what his reputation is with the duke, what 
his valour, honesty, and expertness in wars; or whether 
he thinks, it were not possible, with well-weighing sums 
of gold, to corrupt him to a revolt. What say you to 
this ? what do you know of it 1 

Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the particu- 
lar of the intergatories : Demand them singly. 

1 Sold. Do you know this captain Dumain ? 



•248 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



Par. I know him : he was a botcher's 'prentice in 
Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the 
sherifTs fool with child ; a dumb innocent, that could 
not say him, nay. [Diimain lifts up his hand in anger. 

Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands ; though 
I know, his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. 

1 Sold. Well, is this captain in the duke of Flo- 
rence's camp"! 

Par. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. 

1 Lnrd. Nay, look not so upon me ; we shall hear 
of your lordship anon. 

1 Sold. What is his reputation with the duke 1 

Par. The duke knows him for no other but a poor 
officer of mine ; and writ to me this other day, to turn 
him out o' the band : 1 think, I have his letter in 
my pocket. 

1 Sold. Marry, we'll search. 

Par. In good sadness, I do not know ; either it is 
there, or it is upon a file, with the duke's other let- 
ters, in my tent. 

1 Sold. Here 'tis ; here's a paper. Shall I read it 
to you 1 

Par. I do not know, if it be it, or no. 

Ber. Our interpreter does it well. 

1 Lord. Excellently. 

1 Sold. Dian. The count's a fool, and full of gold, — 

Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an 
advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Di- 
ana, to take heed of the allurement of one count 
llousillon, a foolish idle boy, but, for all that, very 
ruttish : I pray you, sir, put it up again. 

1 Sold. Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour. 

Par. ISIy meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in 
the behalf of the maid : for 1 knew the young count to 
be a dangerous and lascivious boy ; who is a whale 
to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds. 

Ber. Damnable, both sides rogue ! 

1 Sold. When he swears oaths, hid him drop gold, and 

After he scores, he never paijs the score : [take it ; 
Half won, is rnatch well made ; match, and well make it ; 

He ne'er pays after debts, take it before ; 
And say, a soldier, Dian, told thee this, 
Men are to mell xvith, boys are not to kiss: 
For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it, 
Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. 

Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear, Paroli-es. 

Ber. He shall be whipped through the army, with 
this rhyme in his forehead. 

'i Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the ma- 
nifold linguist, and the armipotent soldier. 

Ber. I could endure any thing before but a cat, 
and now he's a cat to me. 

1 Sold. I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we 
shall be fain to hang you. 

Par. My life, sir, in any case : not that I am afraid to 
die; but that, my oftencesbeingmany, I would repent 
out the remainder of nature : let me live, sir, in a 
dungeon, i'the stocks, or anywhere, so I may live. 

1 Sold. We'll see what may be done, so you confess 
freely ; therefore, once more to this captain Dumain : 
You have answered to his reputation with the duke, 
and to his valour: What is his honesty? 

Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister ; 
for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus. He 
professes not keeping of oaths ; in breaking them, he 
is stronger than Hercules He will lie, sir, with such 
volubility, that you would think truth were a fool : 
drunkenness is his best virtue : for he will be swine- 
drunk ; and in his sleep he does little harm, save to 
his bed-clothes about him ; but they know his con- 
ditions, and lay him in straw. I have but little more 



to say, sir, of his honesty: he has every thing that 
an honest man should not have ; what an honest maa 
should have, he has nothing. 

1 Lord. I begin to love him for this. 

Ber. For this description of thine honesty? A pox 
upon him for me, he is more and more a cat. 

1 Sold. What say you to his expertness in war! 

Par. Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the 
English tragedians, — to belie him, I will not, — and 
more of his soldiership I know not ; except, in that 
country, he liad the honour to be the officer at a place 
there call'd Wile-end, to instruct for the doubling of 
files : 1 would do the man what honour I can, but of 
this I am not certain. 

1 Lord. He hath out-villained villany so far, that 
the rarity redeems him. 

Ber. A pox on him ! he's a cat still. 

1 Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, I 
need not ask you, if gold will corrupt him to revolt. 

Par. Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee sim- 
ple of his salvation, the inheritance of it ; and cut 
the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual suc- 
cession for it perpetually. 

1 Sold. What's his brother, the other captain Du- 
main ? 

'2 Lord. Why does he ask him of me ? 

1 Sold. What's he? 

Par. E'en a crow of the same nest ; not altogether 
so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great 
deal in evil. He excels his brother for a coward, 
yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is : In 
a retreat he out-runs any lackey ; marry, in coming 
on he has the cramp. 

1 Sold. If your life be saved, vnll you undertake 
to betray the Florentine? 

Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, count Rou- 
sillon. 

1 Sold. I'll whisper with the general, and know his 
pleasure. 

Par. I'll no more drumming ; a plague of all 
drums ! Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile 
the supposition of that lascivious young boy the count, 
have I run into this danger: Yet, who would have sus- 
pected an ambush where I was taken? [Aside. 

1 Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but you must die : 
the general says, you, that have so traitorously dis- 
covered the secrets of your army, and made such pes- 
tiferous reports of men very nobly held, can serve 
the world for no honest use ; therefore you must die. 
Come, headsman, off with his head. 

Par. O Lord, sir ; letrae live, or letme see my death ! 

1 Sold. Tiiat shall you, and take your leave of all 
your friends. [Unmujfiing him. 
So, look about you ; Know you any here ? 

Ber. Good morrow, noble captain. 

2 Lord. God bless you, captain Parolles. 
1 Lord. God save you, noble captain. 

9. Lord. Captain, what greeting will you to my lord 
Lafeu ? I am for France. 

1 Lord. Good captain, will you give me a copy of 
the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the count 
Kousillon ? an 1 were not a very coward, I'd compel 
itofyou ; but fare you well. [Eienot Bep.t. Lords, &c. 

1 Sold. You are undone, captain : all but your 
scarf, that has a knot on't yet. 

Par. Who cannot be crushed with a plot? 

1 Sold. If you could find out a country where but 
women were tliat had received so much shame, you 
might begin an impudent nation. Fare you well, sir; 
I am for France too ; we shall speak of you there. [Exit. 

Par. Yet am I thankful : if my heart were great,, 
'Twould burst at this : Captain, I'll be no more; 



ACT IV.— SCENE V. 



249 



' But I will eat and diink, and sleep as soft 
As captain shall, simply the thing I ain 
Shall make me live. Who knows liimself a braggart 
Let him fear this ; for it will come to pass, 
That every braggart shall be found an ass. 
Rust, sword ! cool, blushes ! and, ParoUes, live J 
Safest in shame ! being fool'd by foolery thrive ' J- 
There's place, and means, for every man alive. ) 
I'll after them. [Exit. 

SCENE IV 

Florence. — A room in the Widow's House. 

Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana. 

Hel, That you may well perceive 1 have not wrong'd 
One of the greatest in the Christian world [you. 

Shall be my surety, 'fore whose tlirone, 'tis needful, 
Ere I can perfect my intents, to kneel : 
Time was, 1 did him a desired office. 
Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude 
Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth. 
And answer, thanks : I duly am inform'd 
His grace is at JMarseilles; to which place 
We have convenient convoy. You must know, 
I am supposed dead : the army breaking, 
My husband hies him home ; where, heaven aiding. 
And by the leave of my good lord the king. 
We'll be, before our welcome. 

]Vid. Gentle madam, 

You never had a servant, to whose trust 
Your business was more welcome. 

Hel. Nor your mistress. 

Ever a friend, whose thoughts more truly labour 
To recompense your love ; doubt not but heaven 
Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower. 
As it hath fated her to be my motive 
And helper to a husband. But, O strange men ! 
That can such sweet use make of what they hate. 
When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts 
Defiles the pitchy night ! so lust doth play 
With what it loths, for that which is away : 

But more of this hereafter: You, Diana, 

Under my poor instructions yet must suffer 
Something in my behalf. 

Dia. Let death and honesty 

Go Avith youi impositions, I am yours 
Upon your will to suffer. 

Hel. Yet, I pray you, • 

But with the word, the time will bring on summer, 
When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns. 
And be as sweet as sharp. We must away ; 
Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us : 
All's well that ends well : still the fine's the crown ; 
Whate'erthe course, the end is the renown. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. 

Rousillon.— ^ room in the Countess's Palace. 
Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown. 

Laf. No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt- 
taffata fellow there ; whose villanous saffron would 
have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a 
nation in his colour : your daughter-in-law had been 
alive at this hour ; and your son here at home more 
advanced by the king, than by that red-tailed humble- 
bee 1 speak of. 

Count. I would, 1 had not known him ! it was the 
death of the most virtuous gentlewoman, that ever 
nature had praise for creating ; if she had partaken of 
my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, 
I could not have owed her a more rooted love. 

Laf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady : we 



may pick a thousand salads, ere we light on such an- 
other herb. 

Cto. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of 
the salad, or, ratlier the herb of grace. 

Lnf. They are not salad-herbs, you knave, they are 
nose herbs. 

Clo. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir, I have not 
much skill in grass. 

Laf. Whether dost thou profess thyself ; a knave 
or a fool ! 

Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave 
at a man's. 

Luf. Your distinction 1 

Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do 
his service. 

Lri/'. So you were a knave at his service, indeed. 

Clo. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to 
do her service. 

Laf. I will subscribe for thee ; thou art both knave 
and tool. 

Clo. At your service. 

Laf. No, no, no. 

Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve 
as great a prince as you are. 

Laf. Who's that? a Frenchman? 

Clo. Faith, sir, he has an Engli.ih name ; tut his 
phisnomy is more hotter in France, than there. 

Laf. What prince is tliat? 

Clo. The black prince, sir, alias, the prince of dark- 
ness ; alias, the devil. 

Laf. Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee 
not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest 
of; serve him still 

Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved 
a great fire ; and the master I speak of, ever keeps a 
good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the world, 
let his nobility remain in his court. I am for the 
house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too 
little for pomp to enter : some, that humble them- 
selves, may ; but the many will be too chill and ten- 
der ; and they "11 be for the flowery way, that leads 
to the broad gate, and the great fire. 

Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be a- weary of thee ; 
and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall 
out with thee. Go thy ways ; let my horses be well 
looked to, without any tricks. 

Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall 
be jades' tricks; which are their own right by the 
law of nature. [Exit, 

Laf. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy. 

Count. So he is. jNIy lord, that's gone, made liim- 
self much sport out of him : by his authority he re- 
mains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauci- 
ness ; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs where 
he will. 

Laf. I like him well ; 'tis not amiss : and I was 
about to tell you. Since I heard of the good lady's 
death, and that iny lord your son was upon his return 
home, 1 moved tlie king my master, to speak in the 
behalf of my daughter ; which in the minority of them 
both, his majesty,out of a self-gracious remembrance, 
did first propose: his highness hath promised me to 
do it : and, to stop up the displeasure he hath con- 
ceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. 
How does your ladyship like it? 

Count. With very much content, my lord, and I 
wish it happily effected. 

Laf. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of 
as able body as when he numbered thirty ; he will 
be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in 
such intelligence hath seldom failed. 

Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him 



250 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



ere I die. I have letters, that my son will be here 
to-night : I shall beseech your lordship, to remain 
with me till they meet together. 

Lnf. Madam, I was thinking, with what manners 
I might safely be admitted. 

Count. You need but plead your honourable pri- 
vilege. 

Lnf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter ; 
but, I thank my God, it holds yet. 

Re-Ente^ Clown. 

Clo, O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a 
patch of velvet on's face ; whether there be a scar 
under it, or no, the velvet knows ; but 'tis a goodly 
patch of velvet : his left cheek is a cheek of two pile 
and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. 

Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good 
livery of honour ; so, belike, is that. 

Clo. But it is your carbonadoed face 

Laf. Let us go see your son, 1 pray you ; I long 
to talk with the young noble soldier. 

Clo. 'Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate 
fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the 
head, and nod at every man. \_Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I.— Marseilles. A Street. 

Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, with two 
Attendants. 
HeL But this exceeding posting, day and night, 
Must wear your spirits low : we cannot help it ; 
But since you have made the days and nights as one, 
To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, 
Be bold, you do so grow in my requital, 
is nothing can unroot you. In happy time ; • 

Enter a gintle Astringer. 
This man may help me to his majesty's ear, 
If he would spend his power. — God save you, sir. 

Gent. And you. 

Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. 

Gent. I have been sometimes there. 

HeL I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen 
From the report that goes upon your goodness ; 
And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions. 
Which lay nice manners by, I put you to 
The use of your own virtues, for the which 
I shall continue thankful. 

Gent. What 's your will 1 

Hel. That it will please you 
To give this poor petition to the king ; 
And aid me with that store of power you have. 
To come into liis presence. 

Gent. The king's not here. 

Hel. Not here, sir 1 

Gent. Not, indeed : 

He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste 
Than is his use. 

Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains ! 

Hel. All's well that ends well ; yet ; 
Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit. — 
I do beseech you, whither is he gone 1 

Gent. iNIarry, as 1 take it, to Rousillon ; 
Whither 1 am going. 

Hel. I do beseech you, sir, 

Since you are like to see the king before me. 
Commend this paper to his gracious hand ; 
Which I presume, shall render you no blame, 
But rather make you thank your pains for it : 
I will come after you, with what good speed 



Our means will make us means. 

Gent. This I '11 do for you. 

Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, 
Whate'er falls more.— We must to horse again ; — 
Go, go, provide. [Eieurtt. 

SCENE IL— Rousillon. The inner Court of the 
Countess's Palace. 

Enter Clown and Parolees. 

Par. Good monsieur Lavatch, give mylordLafeu 
this letter : I have ere now, sir, been better known to 
you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes ; 
but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's moat, and 
smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. 

Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, 
if it smell so strong as thou speakest of : I will hence- 
forth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Pr'ylhee, 
allow tiie wind. 

Par. Nay, you need not stop your nose, sir ; I 
spake but by a metaphor. 

Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will 
stop my nose ; or against any man's metaphor. 
Pry'thee, get thee further. 

Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. 

Clo. Fob, pr'ythee, stand away ; A paper from 
fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman ! Look, 
here he cbmes himself. 

Enter Lafeu. 

Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat 
(but not a musk-cat, ) that has fallen into the unclean 
fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is mud- 
died withal : Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may ; 
for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, 
rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my smiles of 
comfort, and leave him to your lordship. [Eiit Clown. 

Par. JMy lord, I am a man whom fortune hatli 
cruelly scratched. 

Laf. And what would you have me to do? 'tis 
too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you 
played the knave with fortune, that she should sciatch 
you, who of herself is a good lady, and would nol 
have knaves thrive long under her! There 's a (juart 
d' ecu for you : Let the justices make you and for- 
tune friends ; I am for other business. 

Par. I beseech your honour, to hear me one sin- 
gle word. 

Laf. You beg a single penny more : come, you 
shall ha't ; save your word. 

Par. I\Iy name, my good lord, is Parolles. 

Laf. You beg more than one word then. — Cox' my 
passion ! give ive your hand ! How does your drum! 

Par. O my good lord, you were the first that found me. 

LaJ. Was I, in sooth 1 and I was the first that lost 
thee. 

Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some 
grace, for you did bring me out. 

Laf. Out upon thee, knave ! dost thou put upon 
me at once both the office of G od and the devil ? one 
brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. 
[Trumpets soutid.] The king's coming, I know by 
his trumpets. — Sirrah, inquire further after me ; I 
had talk of you last night : though you are a fool 
and a knave, you shall eat ; go to, follow. 

Par. 1 praise God for you. \^Eieunt. 

SCENE in. 

The same. — A Room in the Countess's Palace. 

Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, Lords, 
Gentlemen, Guards, <5fc. 
King. We lost a jewel of her ; and our esteem 
Was made much poorer by it ■ but your son. 



ACT v.— SCENE III. 



251 



As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know 
Her estimation home. 

Count. 'Tis past, my liege : , 

And I beseech your majesty to make it 
Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth •, 
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, 
O'erbears if, and burns on. 

King. My honour'd lady, 

I have forgiven and forgotten all ; 
Though my revenges were high bent upon him. 
And watch'd the time to shoot. 

Laf. This I must say, 

But first I beg my pardon, — The young lord 
Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady, 
Offence of mighty note ; but to himself 
The greatest wrong of all : he lost a wife. 
Whose beauty did astonish the survey 
Of richest eyes ; whose words all ears took captive; 
Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to serve, 
Humbly call'd mistress. 

King. Praising what is lost, [hither ; 

Makes the remembrance dear. W'ell, call him 

We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill 
All repetition : — Let him not ask our pardon ; 
The nature of his great offence is dead. 
And deeper than oblivion do we bury 
The incensing relics of it : let him approach 
A stranger, no offender ; and inform him. 
So 'tis our will he should. 

Gent. I shall, my liege. [Exit Gentleman. 

King. What says he to your daughter"! have you 
spoke 1 

Laf. All that he is hath reference to your highness. 

King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters 
That set him high in fame. [sent me. 

Enter Bertram. 

Laf. He looks well on't. 

King. I am not a day of season. 
For thou may'st see a sun-shine and a hail 
In me at once : But to the brightest beams 
Distracted clouds give way ; so stand thou forth. 
The time is fair again. 

Ber. My high-repeiied blames. 

Dear sovereign, pardon to me. 

King. All is whole ; 

Not one word more of the consumed time. 
Let 's take the instant by the forward top ; 
For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees 
The inaudible and noiseless foot of time 
Steals ere we can effect them : You remember 
The daughter of tliis lord 1 

Ber, Admiringly, my liege : at first 
I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart 
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue : 
Where the impression of mine eye infixing, 
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me. 
Which warp'd the line of every other favour ; 
Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stol'n ; 
Extended or contracted all proportions, 
To a most hideous object : Thence it came, 
That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself. 
Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye 
The dust that did offend it. 

King. Well excus'd : 

That thou didst love her, strikes some scoies away 
From the great compt : But love, that comes too late. 
Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried. 
To the great sender turns a sour offence. 
Crying, That 's good that's gone : our rash faults 
Make trivial price of serious things we have. 
Not knowing them, until we know tlieir grave: 
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, 



Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust; 
Our own love waking cries to see what 's done. 
While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. 
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. 
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin : 
The main consents are had ; and here we'll stay. 
To see our widower's second marriage day. 

Count. Which better than the first, O dear heaven 
Or, ere they meet in me, O nature, cease ! [bless! 

Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name 
Must be digested, give a favour from you. 
To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter. 
That she may quickly come. — By my old beard. 
And every hair that 's on 't, Helen, that 's dead. 
Was a sweet creature ; such a ring as this. 
The last that e'er 1 took her leave at court, 
I saw upon her finger. 

Ber. Hers it was not. 

King. Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, 
While I was speaking, oft was fastened to it. — 
This ring was mine ; and, when I gave it Helen, 
I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood 
Necessitied to help, that by this token 
I would relieve her : Had you that craft, to reave her 
Of what should stead her most ] 

Ber. My gracious sovereign 

Howe'er it pleases you to take it so. 
The ring was never hers. 

Count. Son, on my life, 

I have seen her wear it ; and she reckon'd it 
At her life's rate. 

Laf. I am sure, I saw her wear it. 

Ber. You aredeceiv'd, my lord, she never saw it : 
In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, 
Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name 
Of her that threw it : noble she was, and thought 
I stood ingag'd : but when I had subscrib'd 
To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully, 
I could not answer in that course of honour 
As she had made the overture, she ceas'd 
In heavy satisfaction, and would never 
Receive the ring again. 

King. Plutus himself. 

That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine. 
Hath not in nature's mystery more science. 
Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's, 
Whoever gave it you : Then, if you know 
That you are well acquainted with yourself. 
Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement 
You got it fro-T" her : she call'd the saints to surety, 
That she would never put it from her finger. 
Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, 
(Where you have never come,) or sent it us 
Upon her great disaster. 

Ber. She never saw it. [nour ; 

King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine ho- 
And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me, 
Which I would fain shut out : If il should prove 
That thou art so inhuman, — 'twill not prove so ; — 
And yet I know not :— thou didst hate her deadly. 
And she is dead ; which nothing, but to close 
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe. 
More than to see this ring. — Take him away.— 

[Guards seize Bertram. 
My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall. 
Shall tax my fears of little vanity. 
Having vainly fear'd too little.— Away with him ;— 
We '11 sift this matter further. 

■'}^''- If you shall prove 

This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy 
Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, 
Where yet she never was, [Exit Bertham, guarded. 



252 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



Enter a Gentleman. 

King. I dm wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. 

Gent. Gracious sovereign, 

Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not ; 
Here 's a petition from a Florentine. 
Who hath, for four or five removes, come short 
To tender it herself. I undertook it, 
V^anquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech 
Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know, 
Js here attending : her business looks in her 
With an important visage ; and she told me, 
In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern 
Your highness with herself. 

King. [Keat/s.] Uponhismanti prntestat'wnstnmarrq 
me, when his wife was dead, I blush to sat/ it, he won 
me. Now is the count Bousillon a widower ; his vows 
are forfeited to me, and mif honnur^s paid to him. He 
itole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow hiin 
to his countrii for justice: Grant it me, king; in 
you it best lies ; otherwise a seducer Jioitriahes, and a poor 
maid is undone, Diana Capulet. 

Laf I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll 
him : for this, I '11 none of him. 

King. The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu, 
To bring forth this discovery. — Seek these suitors : — 
Go, speedily, and bring again the count. 

[Ereunt Gentleman, and some Attendants. 
T am afeard, the life of Helen, lady, 
Was foully snatch'd 

Count. Now, justice ou the doers ! 

Enter Bertram, guarded. 

King. I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to you. 
And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, 
Yet you desire to marry. — What woman's that ] 

Re-enter Gentleman, tcith Widow, and Diana. 

Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, 
Derived from the ancient Capulet ; 
My suit, as I do understand, you know. 
And therefore know how far 1 may be pitied. 

Wid. 1 am her mother, sir, whose age and honour 
Both suffer under this complaint we bring. 
And both shall cease, without your remedy, [women ? 

King. Come hither, count; Do you know these 

Ber. My lord, 1 neither can, nor will deny 
But that I know them : Do they charge me further ? 

Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your wife 1 

Ber. She's none of mine, my lord. 

Dia. If you shall marry. 

You give away this hand, and that is mine; 
You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine ; 
You give away myself, which is known mine ; 
For I by vow am so embodied yours. 
That she, which marries you, must marry me. 
Either both or none. 

Laf. Your reputation [to Bertram.] comes too 
short for my daughter, you are no husband for her. 

Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature, 
Whom sometime I have laugh 'd with : let your higii- 
Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour, [ness 
Than for to think that I would sink it here. 

A'iHo-. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to 
friend. 
Till your deeds gain them : Fairer prove your honour, 
Than in ray thought it lies ! 

Dia. Good my lord. 

Ask him upon his oath, if he does think 
He had not my virginity. 

King. What say'st thou to her 1 

Ber She's impudent, my lord ; 



And was a common gamester to the camp. 

Dia. He does me wrong, my lord ; if I were so. 
He might have bought me at a common price : 
Do not believe him : O, behold this ring. 
Whose high respect, and rich validity. 
Did lack a parallel : yet, for all that. 
He gave it to a commoner o' the camp. 
If I be one. 

Count. He blushes, and 'tis it : 
Of six preceding ancestors, that gem 
Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue. 
Hath it been ow"d and worn. This is his wife ; 
That ring's a thousand proofs. 

King. Methought, you said, 

You saw one here in court could witness it. 

Dia. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce 
So bad an instrument ; his name's ParoUes. 

Laf. 1 saw the man to-day, if man he bo- 

King. Find him, and bring him hither. 

Ber. What of him? 

He 's quoted for a most perifidious slave. 
With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd ; 
Whose nature sickens, but to speak a truth : 
Am I or that, or this, for what he'll utter, 
That will speak any thing ? 

King. She hath that ring of yours, 

Ber. I think, she has : certain it is, I lik'd her, 
And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth : 
She knew her distance, and did angle for me, 
jMadding my eagerness with her restraint. 
As all impediments in fancy's course 
Are motives of more fancy ; and, in fine. 
Her insuit coming with her modern grace. 
Subdued me to her rate : she got the ring ; 
And I had that which any inferior might 
At market-price have bought. 

Dia. I must be patient ; 

You, that turn'd off a first so noble vvife. 
May justly diet me. I pray you yet, 
(Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband,) 
Send for your ring, I will return it home. 
And give me mine again. 

Ber. I have it not. 

King. What ring was yours, I pray you 1 

Dia. Sir, much like 

The same upon your finger. 

King. Know you this ring? this ring was his of late. 

Dia. And this was it 1 gave him, being a-bed. 

King. The story then goes false, you threw it him 
Out of a casement. 

Dia. I have spoke the truth. 

Enter Paroeles. 

Ber. My lord, I do confess, the ring was hers. 

King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts 
Is this the man you speak of? [you. 

Dia. Ay, my lord 

King. Tell me, sirrah, but, tell me true, 1 charge 
Not fearing the displeasure of your master, [you, 
(Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep off,) 
By him, and by this woman iiere, what know you ? 

Par. So please your majesty, my master iiath been 
an honourable gentleman ; tricks he hath had in him, 
which gentlemen have. 

King. Come, come, to the purpose : Did he love 
this woman ! 

Par. 'Faith, sir, he did love her; But how? 

King. How, 1 piay you ? 

Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a 
woman. 

King. How is that? 

Par. He loved her, sir, and loved lier not. 



ACT v.— SCENE III. 



253 



King. As thou art a knave, and no knave : — 
What an eciuivocal companion is this! 

Fur. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's 
conimand. 

Ldf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty 
orator. 

Did. Do you know, he promised me marriage 1 

Par. 'Faith, I know more than 1 "11 speak. 

King. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'sf! 

Par. Yes, so please your majesty ; 1 did go between 
them, as I said ; but more than that, he loved her, — 
for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talked of Satan, 
and of limbo, and of furies, and 1 know not what: yet 
] was in that credit with them at that time, that Iknew 
of their going to bed ; and of other motions, as pro- 
mising her marriage, and things that would derive me 
ill-will to speak of, therefore 1 will not speak what I 
know. 

King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou 
canst say they are married : But thou art too fine in 
thy evidence ; therefore stand aside. — 
This ring, you say, was yours 1 

Dia. Ay, my good lord. 

King. Where did you buy it? or who gave it you? 

Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. 
Who lent it you ? 

1 1 was not lent me neither. 
Where did you find it then ? 

I found it not. 
If it were yours by none of all these ways. 
How could you give it him 1 

Dia. I never gave it him. 

Laf. This woman 's an easy glove, my lord ; she 
goes off and on at pleasure. 

King. This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife. 

Dia. It might be yours, or hers, for aught 1 know. 

King. Take her away, I do not like her now ; 
To prison with her : and away with him. — 
Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring. 
Thou diest within this hour. 

Dia. I '11 never tell you. 

King. Take her away. 

Dia. I'll put in bail, my liege. 

King. I think thee now some common customer. 

Dia. By Jove, if ever 1 knew man, 'twas you. 

King, Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all this 
while 1 

Dia. Because he 's guilty, and he is not guilty : 
He knows I am no maid, and he '11 swear to't : 
1 '11 swear I am a maid, and he knows not. 
Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life ; 
I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. 

IPointing to Lafeu. 

King. She does abuse our ears ; to prison with her. 



King. 

Dia. 

King. 

Dia. 

King. 



Dia. Good mother, fetch my ball. — Stay, royal sir ; 

[Exit Widow. 
The jeweller, that owes the ring, is sent for. 
And he shall surety me. But for this lord. 
Who hath abus'd me, as he knows himself. 
Though yet he never harm'd me, here I (juit him: 
He knows himself my bed he hath defil'd ; 
And at that time he got his wife with child: 
Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick; 
So there's my riddle. One, that's dead, is quick; 
And now behold the meaning. 

Re-enter Widow, with Helena. 

King. Is there no exorcist 

Beguiles the truer oflSce of mine eyes ? 
Is't real, that 1 see ! 

HeL. No, my good lord ; 

'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see. 
The name, and not the thing. 

Ber. Both, both ; O, pardon ! 

Hel. O, my good lord, when I was like this maid, 
I found you wond'rous kind. There is your ring, 
And, look you, here's your letter ; This it says, 
Whenjrom my finger you can get this ring, 
And are bq me uitli child, &c — This is done : 
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won ! 

Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this 
I '11 love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. [clearly. 

Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, 
Deadly divorce step between me and you ! — 
O, my dear mother, do I see you living? 

Laf. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon: — 
Good Tom Drum, [tt> Parolles.] lend me a hand- 
kerchief: So, 1 thank thee ; wait on me home, I'll 
make sport with thee : Let thy courtesies alone, they 
are scurvy ones. 

King. Let us from point to point this story know, 
To make the even truth in pleasure flow : — 
If thou be'styet a fresh uncropped flower, [To Diana. 
Choose thou thy husband, and 1 '11 pay thy dower ; 
For I can guess, that, by thy honest aid. 
Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. — 
Of that and all the progress, more and less. 
Resolvedly more leisure shall express : 
All yet seems well ; and, if it end so meet. 
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. [^Flourish. 

(^Advancing.^ 

The king's a beggar, note the play is done: 
All is well ended, if this sail be won. 
That you express content ; which we ivill pay, 
With strife to please you, day exceeding day ; 
Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts ; 
Your gentle liands lend us, and taheour hearts. \Exeant, 



This play has many delightful scenes, though not sufficiently 
probable, and some happy chiaracters, though not new, nor pro- 
duced by any deep knowledge of human nature. Parolles is a 
boaster and a coward, such as has always been the sporiof the 
.stage, but perhaps never raised more laughter or contempt than 
in the hands of ^hakspeare. 

I cannot reconcile my heart to Bertram ; a man nobh with- 
out generosity, aiid young without truth ; who marries Ilelnii 



as a coward, and leaves her as a profligate : ■when she is dead 
by his uukindncss, sneaks home to a second marriage, is ac- 
cused by a woman whom he has wronged, defends himself by 
falsehood and is dismissed toNhappintss. 

I he story of Bertram and Diana had been told before of 
Mariana and Angelo, and, to confess the truth, scarcely merited 
to b<; heard a second time. — JoHNSO.\'. 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



Mil. Malone supposes this comedy to have been written in 
J5'J6. It is founded on an anonymous play of nearly the same 
title, " The 1 aming of a Shrew," which was probably written 
about the year 1590, either by Georee Peele,or Robert Green. 
'J he outline of the induction may De traced, as Jlr. Douce 
observes, through many intermediate copies, to the Sleeper 
Awaked of th" Arabian Nights. It has been doubted by Dr. 
Warimrton and Dr. Farmer whether this comedy is really the 
production )f Shakspeare. They have no other grounds for 



their opinion, but the inferiority of its style. The play, as a 
whole, is certainly not in our author's best manner, but in the 
induction and in the scenes between Katharine and Petruchio 
the traces of his hand are strongly marked. If it be not Shak- 
speare's, to whom can it be attributed ? 
Beaumont and Fletcher have written a sequel to this comedy, 
called " 1 he Woman's Prize, or the Tamer lamed," in which 
a character bearing the name of Petruchio (for nothing but 
the name remains to him,) is subdued by a second wile. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



a drutihen Tinker. \ 
avers, Huntsmen, I Persnusiyi 
ints attending on i Inductio 



the 
ion. 



A Loud. 

Christopher Sly, adj'tifi/cen Tinker. 

Hostess, Page, Players, 

and other Servants 

the Lord. 

Baptista, a rich gentleman (if Padua. 
ViNCENTio, an old gentleman o/'Pisa. 
LucENTio, son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca. 
Peth uchio, a gentleman o/' Verona, suitor to Katharina. 
Gremio, Hortensio, suitors to Bianca. 
Tranio, Biondello, servants to Lucentio. 
GnuMio, Curtis, servants to Petruchio. 
Pedant, an old fellow set up to personate Vincentio. 

Katharina. the shrew; | ^ j^^„, to Baptista. 

Bianca, her sister, S 

Widow. 

Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on 
Baptista and Petruchio. 

SCENE, — sometimes in Padua; and sometimes in 
Petruchio's House in the Country, 



INDUCTION. 

SCENE I. — Before an Alehouse on a Heath. 
Enter Hostess a Htf Sl\. 

Sly. I'll pheese you, in faith. 

Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue ! 

Slif. Y 'are a baggage ; the Slies are no rogues: 
Look in the chronicles, we came in with Richard 
Conqueror. Therefore, paucas pallabris; let the 
world slide : Sessa ! 

Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have 
burst ! 

67i/- No, not a denier : Go by, says Jeronimy ; — 
Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. 

Host. I know my remedy, I must go fetch the 
thirdborough. [EiU. 

Slif. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer 
him by law: I'll not budge an inch, boy; let him 
come, and kindly. 

[^Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep. 

Wind horns. Enter a Lord /"rom hunting, with 
Huntsmen and Servants. 

Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my 
hounds: 
Brach Mcrriman,— the poor cur is emboss'd. 
And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd brach. 
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good 
At the hedge corner, in the coldest fault? 
I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. 

1 ifitn. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord ; 



He cried upon it at the merest loss. 

And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent : 

Trust me, I take him for the better dog. 

Lord. Thou art a fool ; if Echo were as fleet, 
I would esteem him worth a dozen such. 
But sup them well, and look unto them all ; 
To-morrow I intend to hunt again. 

1 Hun. I will, my lord. 

Lord. What's here! one dead, or drunk? See, doth 
he breathe ? [with ale, 

2 Hun. He breathes, my lord : Were he not warm'd 
This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. 

Lord. O monstrous beast ! how like a swine he lies ! 
Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image! 

Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. • 

What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, 
VVrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, 
A most delicious banquet by his bed. 
And brave attendants near him when he wakes, 
Would not the beggar then forget himself? 

1 Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose. 

2 Hun. It would seem strange unto him when he 

wak'd. 

Lord. Even as aflatteringdream, or worthless fancy. 
Then take him up, and manage well the jest : — 
Carry him gently to my fairest chamber, 
And hang it round with all my wanton pictures : 
Balm his foul head with warm distilled waters, 
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet : 
Procure me music ready when he wakes. 
To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound ; 
And if he chance to speak, be ready straight. 
And, with a low submissive reverence. 
Say, — What is it your honour will command? 
Let one attend him with a silver bason, 
Full of rose-water, and bestrew'd with flowers , 
Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper. 
And say — Will't please your lordship cool yout 
Some one be ready with a costly suit, [hands 1 

And ask him what apparel he will wear ; 
Another tell htm of his hounds and horse. 
And that his lady mourns at his disease : 
Persuade him, that he hath been lunatic ; 
And, when he says he is — , say, that he dreams. 
For he is nothing but a mighty lord. 
This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs; 
It will be pastime passing excellent. 
If it be husbanded with modesty. 

1 Hun. INIy lord, I warrant you, we'll play ourpart. 
As he shall think, by our true diligence. 
He is no less than what we say he is. 

Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him ; 
And each one to his office, when he wakes.— 

[Some hear out Sly. A trumpet sounds 
Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds : — 

[Exit Servant. 
Belike, some noble gentleman : that means. 
Travelling some journey, to repose him here. — 



INDUCTION.- -SCENE II. 



255 



Rp-enter a Servant. 
How now'? who is it ? 

Serv. An it please your honour, 

Players that offer service to your lordship. 

Lord. Bid them come near : 

Enter Players. 
Now, fellows, you are welcome. 

1 Play. We thank your honour. 

Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night? 

2 Play. So please your lordship to accept our duty. 
Lord. With all my heart. — This fellow 1 remember, 

Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son ; — 
'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well : 
I have forgot your name ; but, sure, that part 
Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd. 

1 Piny, I think, 'tv.as Soto that your honour means. 

Lord. 'Tis very true; — tliou didst it excellent. — ■ 
Well, you are come to me in happy time : 
The rather for I have some sport in hand. 
Wherein your cunning can assist me much. 
There is a lord will hear you play to-night : 
But I am doubtful of your modesties ; 
Lest, ever-eying of his odd behaviour, 
(For yet his honour never heard a play,) 
You break into some merry passion. 
And so offend him ; for 1 tell you, sirs, 
If you should smile, he grows impatient. 

J Plax). Fear not, my lord ; we can contain our- 
Were he the veriest antic in the world. [selves, 

Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery. 
And give them friendly welcome every one : 
Let them want nothing that my house affords. — 

[Exeunt Servant and Players. 
Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page, [Toa Serv. 
And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady : 
That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber. 
And call him — madam, do him obeisance. 
Tell him from me, (as he will win my love,) 
He bear himself with honourable action. 
Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies 
Unto their lords, by them accomplish'd: 
Such duty to the drunkard let him do, 
With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesy ; 
And say, — What is't your honour will command. 
Wherein your ladj', and your humble wife. 
May shew her duty, and make known her love? 
And then — with kind embracements, tempting kisses. 
And with declining head into his bosom, — 
Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd 
To see her noble lord restor'd to health. 
Who, for twice seven years, hath esteemed him 
No better than a poor and loathsome beggar : 
And if the boy hath not a woman's gift. 
To rain a shower of commanded tears, 
An onion will do well for such a shift ; 
Which in a napkin being close conveyed, 
Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. 
See this despatch'd with all the haste thou canst ; 
Anon I '11 give thee more instructions. — [Exit Serv. 
I know, the boy will well usurp the grace, 
Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman : 
I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband ; 
And how my men will stay themselves from laughter, 
When they do homage to this simple peasant. 
I '11 in to counsel them : haply, my presence 
May well abate their over-merry spleen. 
Which otherwise would grow into extremes, [Exeunt. 

SCENE IL — A Bedchamber in the Lord's House. 

Sly is discox^ered in a rich night-gown, with Atten- 
dants • some ivith apparel, others with bason, etcer, 



and other appurtenances. Enter Loud, dressed like 
a servant. 

Slu. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 
1 iServ. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of 
sack ? [conserves 1 

"i Serv. Will't please your honour taste of these 
3 Serv What raiment will your honour wear to-day 1 
67i/. I am C^ristopheroSly ■, call not me honour, 
nor lordship : I never drank sack in my life ; and if 
you give me any conserves, give me conserves of 
beef: Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear: for I 
have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings 
than legs, nor no more shoes than feet ; nay, some- 
times, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes 
look through the overleather. 

Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your 
O. that a mighty man of such descent, [honour! 
Of such possessions, and so high esteem. 
Should be infused witli so foul a spirit ! 

S/i/. What, would you make me mad? Am not I 
Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath ; by 
birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by trans- 
mutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession 
a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of 
Wincot, if she knov/ me not : if she say 1 am not four- 
teen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for 
the lyingest knave in Christendom. What, I am not 

bestraught : Here's 

1 Serv. O, this it is tliat makes your lady mourn 
'Z Serv. O, this it is that makes your servants droop 
Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your 
As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. [house 
O, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth ; 
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment. 
And banish hence these abject lowly dreams • 
Look how thy servants do attend on thee, 
Each in his office ready at thy beck. 
Wilt thou have music? hark! Apollo plays, [Music. 
And twenty caged nightingales do sing: 
Or wilt thou sleep ? we'll have thee to a couch, 
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed 
On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. 
Say, thou wilt walk : we will bestrew the ground 
Or wilt thou ride ? thy horses shall be trapp'd, 
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. 
Dost thou love hawking ? thou hast hawks will soar 
Above the morning lark: Or wilt thou hunt? 
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them. 
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. 

1 Serv. Say, thou wilt course ; thy greyhounds are 
As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. [as swift 

2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee 
Adonis, painted by a running brook : [straight 
And Cytherea all in sedges hid ; 

Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, 
P>ven as the waving sedges play with wind. 

Lord. We'lj shew thee lo, as she was a maid ; 
And how she was beguiled and surpriz'd, 
As lively painted as the deed was done. 

3 Serv. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny wood ; 
Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds : 
And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, 

So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. 

Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord: 
Thou hast a lady far more beautiful 
Than any woman in this waning age. 

1 Serv. And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee, 
Like envious floods o'er-ran her lovely face. 
She was the fairest creature in the world ; 
And yet she is inferior to none. 

Slif. Am 1 a lord ? and have I such a lady \ 
Or'do I dream, or have 1 drejun'd till now ? 



250 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



I do not sleep : I see. 1 hear, I speak ; 

I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things : — 

Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed ; 

And not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly — 

Well, bring our lady hither to our sight ; 

And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. [hands? 

2 Serv. Will't please your mightiness to wash your 

[Servants pceseMt an ewer, hasiiti, aiui napkin. 
O, how we joy to see your wit restor'd ' 
O, that once more you knew but what you are I 
These fifteen years you have been in a dream ; 
Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept. 

Sill. These fifteen years by my fay. a goodly nap. 
But did 1 never speak of all that time! 

1 Se7v. O, yes, my lord; but very idle words: — 
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber, 
Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of door ; 
And rail upon the hostess of the house ; 
And say, you would present her at the leet. 
Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts : 
Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket. 

Slu. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. [maid ; 

3 Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such 
Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up,— 

As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Gieece, 
And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell ; 
And twenty more such names and men as these, 
Which never were, nor no man ever saw. 

Slif. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends ! 

All. Amen. 

Sly. I thank thee ; thou shalt not lose by it. 

Enter the Page, as a ladti, with Attendants, 

Pacre. How fares my noble lord 1 

Sly". Marry, 1 fare well ; for here is cheer enough. 
Where is my wife ? 

Page Here, noble lord ; What is thy will with her? 

S/]/. Are you my wife, andwill not call me — husband? 
My men should call me— lord ; I am your goodman. 

Page. My husband and my lord, my lord and hus- 
I am your wife in all obedience. [band ; 

Sill. I know it well :— What must I call her? 

Lord. Madam. 

Sill. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam ? 

Lord. Madam, and nothingelse ; so lords call ladies. 

Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd and 
Above some fifteen year and more. [slept 

Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me ; 
Being all this time abandon'd from your bed. 

Sly. 'Tis much ; Servants, leave me and her 

alone 

Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. 

Page. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you, 
To pardon me yet for a night or two ; 
Or, if not so, until the sun be set : 
For your physicians have expressly charg'd. 
In peril to incur your former malady, 
That I should yet absent me from your bed : 
I hope, this reason stands for my excuse. 

Slu. Ay, it stands so, that ] may hardly tarry so 
long" But I would be loath to fall into my dreams 
aga?n ; I will therefore tarry, in despite of the flesh 
and the blood. 

Enter a Servant. 

Seru. Your honour's players, hearing your amend- 
Are come to play a pleasant comedy, [ment. 

For so your doctors hold it very meet ; 
Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood. 
And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy. 
Therefore, they thought it good you hear a play. 
And frame your mind to mirth and merriment, 
Which bars a thousand harms, and lengthens fife. 



5/i/. Marry, I will ; let them play it : Is not acorn- 
monty a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling-lrick? 

Page. No, my good lord : it is more pleasing stufll. 

Sly. What, household stuff? 

Page. It is a kind of history. 

Slu Well, we'll see't: Come, madam wife, sit by 
my side, and let the world slip ; we shall ne'er be 
younger. [They sit down. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.— Padua. A public Place. 
Enter LucENTio ond Tranio. 

Luc. Tranio, since — for the great desire I had 
To see fair Padua, nursery of arts, — 
I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy, 
The pleasant garden of great Italy ; 
And, by my father's love and leave, am arm'd 
With his good will, and thy good company. 
Most trusty servant, well approv'd in all : 
Here let us breathe, and happily institute 
A course of learning, and ingenious studies. 
Pisa, renowned for grave citizens. 
Gave me my being, and my father first, 
A merchant of great traffic through the world, 
Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii. 
Vincentio his son, brought up in Florence, 
It shall become, to serve all hopes conceiv'd, 
To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds : 
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study, 
Virtue, and that part of philosophy 
Will I apply, that treats of happiness 
By virtue 'specially to be achiev'd. 
Tell me thy mind : for I have Pisa left. 
And am to Padua come ; as he that leaves 
A shallow plash, to plunge him in the deep. 
And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst. 

Tra. Mi perdonate, gentle master mine, 
I am in all afiected as yourself; 
Glad that you thus continue your resolve. 
To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. 
Only, good master, while we do admire 
This virtue, and this moral discipline. 
Let's be no stoics, nor no stocks, I pray ; 
Or so devote to Aristotle's checks, 
As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd : 
Talk logic with acquaintance that you have. 
And practise rhetoric in your common talk: 
Music and poesy use to quicken you ; 
The mathematics, and the metaphysics. 
Fall to them, as you find your stomach serves you 
No profit grows, where is no pleasure ta'en ; — 
In brief, sir, study what you most aflPect. 

Luc. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise. 
If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore, 
We could at once put us in readiness ; 
And take a lodging, fit to entertain 
Such friends, as time in Padua shall beget. 
But stay awhile : What company is this ? 

Tra. Master, some show, to welcome us to town. 

Enter Bapiista, Katiiarina, Bianca, Grebiio, nvd 
HoRTENSio. LucENTio aud Tranio Stand aside. 

Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no furthei. 
For how 1 firmly am resolv'd you know ; 
That is, — not to bestow my youngest daughter. 
Before I have a husband for the elder : 
If either of you both love Katharina, 
Because 1 know you well, and love you well, 
L€a\e shall you have to court her at your pleasure. 



ACT I.— SCENE I. 



2-57 



Ore. To cart her rather : She's loo rough for nie : — 
There, there Hortensio, will you any wifel 

Kath. I pray you, sir, [to Bap.] is it your will 
To make a stale of me amongst these mates 1 

Hor. ]\Iates, maid ! how mean you that? no mates 
Unless you were of gentler, milder mould, [for you, 

Kath. I'faith, sir, you shall never need to fear ; 
I wis, it is not half way to her heart : 
But, if it were, doubt not her care should be 
To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool, 
And paint your face, and use you like a fool. 

Hor. From all such devils, good Lord, deliver us ! 

G;e. And me too, good Lord ! [toward ; 

Tra. Hush, master! here is some good pastime 
That wench is stark mad, or wonderful froward. 

Lttc. But in the other's silence I do see 
Maid's mild behaviour and sobriety. 
Peace, Tranio. 

Tra. Well said, master ; mum ! and gaze your fill. 

Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good 
What I have said, — Bianca, get you in : 
And let it not displease thee, good Bianca ; 
For I will love tiiee ne'er the less, my girl. 

Kath. A pretty peat! 'tis best 
Put finger in tlie eye — an she knew why. 

Biav. Sister, content you in my discontent. — 
Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe : 
l\ly books, and instruments, shall be my company ; 
On them to look, and practise by myself. 

Luc. Hark, Tranio ! thou niay'st hear Minerva 
speak. [Aside. 

Hor, Signior Baptista, will you be so strange 1 
Sorry am L, that our good will effects 
Bianca's grief. 

Gre. Why, will you mew her up, 

Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell. 
And make her bear the penance of her tongue? 

Bap. Gentlemen, content ye ; I am resolv'd: — 
Go in, Bianca. [Exit Bianca. 

And for I know, she taketh most delight 
In music, instruments, and poetry, 
Schoolmasters will I keep within my house. 
Fit to instruct her youth. — If you, Hortensio, 
Or signior Gremio, you, — know any such, 
prefer them hither ; for, to cunning men 
I will be very kind, and liberal 
To mine own children in good bringing up ; 
And so, farewell. Katharina, you may stay ; 
For I have more to commune with Bianca. [Exit. 

Kath. Why, and I trust, I may go too ; May 1 not? 
What, shall 1 be appointed hours ; as though, belike, 
I knew not what to take, and what to leave? Ha ! 

[Exit. 

Gre. You may go to the devil's dam ; your gifts 
are so good, here is none will hold you. Their love 
is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our nails 
together, and fast it fairly out ; our cake's dough 
on both sides. Farewell : — Yet, for the love 1 bear 
my sweet Bianca, if I can by any means light on a 
fit man, to teach her that wherein she delights, 1 will 
wish him to her father ? 

Hor. So will I, signior. Gremio : But a word, I 
pray. Though the nature of our quarrel yet never 
brook'd parle, know now, upon advice, it toucheth 
us both, — that we may yet again have access to our 
fair mistress, and be happy rivals in Bianca's love, — 
to labour and effect one thing 'specially. 

Gre. What's that, I pray? 

Hor. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister. 

Gre. A husband ! a devil. 

Hor. I say, a husband. 

Gre. I say, a devil : Thiak'st thou, Hortensio, 



though her father be very rich, any man is so very a 
fool to be married to hell ! 

Hoc. Tush, Gremio, though it pass your patience 
and mine, to endure her loud alarums, why, man, 
there be good fellows in tiie world, an a man could 
light on ihem, would lake her with all faults, and 
money enough. 

Gre. 1 cannot tell ; but I had as lief take her dowry 
with this condition, — to be whipped at the high-cros^ 
every morning. 

Hor. 'Faith, as you say, there's small choice in 
rotten apples. But, come ; since this bar in law 
makes us friends, it shall be so far forth friendly main- 
tained, — till by helping Baptista's eldest daughter to 
a husband, we set his youngest free for a husband, 
and then have to't afresh. — Sweet Bianca ! — Happy 
man be his dole ! He that runs fastest, gets the ring. 
How say you, signior Gremio ? 

Gre. I am agreed: and 'would I had given him the 
best horse in Padua to begin his wooing, that would 
thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, and rid 
the house of her. Come on. [Eieuiit Gre. and Hon. 

Tra. [Advancing.} 1 pray, sir, tell me, — Is it pos- 
That love should of a sudden take such hold? [sible 

Luc. O Tranio, till I found it to be true, 
I never thouglit it possible, or likely ; 
But see ! while idly I stood looking on, 
I found the effect of love in idleness : 
And now in plainness do confess to thee, — 
That art to me as secret, and as dear. 
As Anna to the queen of Carthage was, — 
Tranio, I burn, 1 pine, I perish, Tranio, 
If I achieve not this young modest girl : 
Counsel me, Tranio, for 1 know thou canst ; 
Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt. 

Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you now ; 
Affection is not rated from the heart • 
If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so, — 
Redime te captum quam queas miitimo. 

Ltic. Gramercies, lad ; go forward : this contents ; 
The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound. 

Tra. IMaster, you look'd so longly on the maid. 
Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all. 

Luc. O yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face, 
Such as the daughter of Agenor had. 
That made great Jove to humble him to her hand, 
When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. 

Tra. Saw you no more ? mark'd you not, how her 
Began to scold ; and raise up such a storm, [sister 
That mortal ears might hardly endure the din ? 

Luc. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move. 
And with her breath she did perfume the air ; 
Sacred, and sweet, was all I saw in her. 

Tra. Nay, then, 'tis time to stir him from his trance. 
I pray, awake, sir ; If you love the maid. 
Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it 
Her eldest sister is so curst and shrewd, [stands : — 
That, till the father rid his hands of her. 
Master, your love must live a maid at home ; 
And therefore has he closely mew'd her up. 
Because she shall not be annoy 'd with suitors. 

Luc. All, Tranio, what a cruel father's he I 
But art thou not advis'd he took some care 
To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her? 

2'ra. Ay, marry, am I sir ; and now 'tis plotted. 

Lnc. I have it, Tranio. 

Tra. INIaster, for my hand, 

Both our inventions meet and jump in one. 

Luc. Tell me thine first, 

Tru. You will be schoolmaster, 

And undertake the teaching of the maid : 
That's your device. 

R 



258 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



Lnc. It is : Slay it be done ? 

Tra. Not possible ; For who shall bear your part, 
And be in Padua here Vincentio's son ! 
Keep house, and ply his book ; welcome his friends; 
Visit his countrymen, and banquet them"! 

Luc. Jiasta ; content thee ; for I have it full. 
We have not yet been seen in any house ; 
Nor can we be distinguished by our faces, 
For man, or master : then it follows thus ; — 
Thou shall be master, Tranio, in my stead, 
Keep house, and port, and servants, as 1 should : 
I will some other be ; some Florentine, 
Some Neapolitan, or mean man of Pisa. 
'Tis hatch'd, and shall be so : — Tranio, at once 
Uncase thee ; take my colour'd hat and cloak: 
When Biondello comes, he waits on thee ; 
But 1 will charm !iim first to keep his tongue. 

Tra. .So had you need. [They exchange habits. 

In brief then, sir, sith it your pleasure is, 
And I am tied to be obedient ; 
(For so your father cliarg'd me at our parting ; 
Be serviceable to mif son, quoth he. 
Although, 1 think, 'twas in anotlier sense,) 
I am content to be Lucentio, 
Because so well I love Lucentio. 

Luc. Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves : 
And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid 
Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye. 

Enler Biondello. 
Here comes the rogue. — Sirrah, where have you been? 

Bion. Where have 1 been? Nay, how now, where 
are you 1 
Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes 1 
Or you stol'n his? or both? pray, what's the news? 

Lnc. Sirrah, come hither ; 'tis no time to jest, 
And therefore frame your manners to the time. 
Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life, 
Puts my apparel and my countenance on, 
And I for my escape have put on his ; 
For in a quarrel, since I came ashore, 
I kill'd a man, and fear I was descried. 
Wait you on him, 1 charge you, as becomes. 
While I make way from hence to save my life : 
You understand me ? 

Bion. I, sir ? ne'er a whit. 

Luc. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth ; 
Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio. 

Bion. The better for him ; 'Would I were so too ! 

Tra. So would 1, faith, boy, to have the next wish 
after,— [ter. 

That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daugh- 
But, sirrah,— not for my sake, but your master's, — 
1 advise . [panies : 

You use your manners discreetly in all kind of com- 
When I am atone, why, then 1 am Tranio ; 
But in all places else, your master Lucentio. 

Luc. Tranio, let's go: — 
One thing more rests, that thyself execute ; [why, — 
To make one among these wooers : If thou ask me 
Sufficeth, my reasons are both good and weighty. 

[Exeunt. 

1 Serv. 31 !/ lord you nod ; you do not mind the play. 

Sly. Yes, by sa'int Anne,' do L A good matter, 
surely ; Comes there any more of it ? 

Page. My lord, 'tis but begun. 

Sly. Tis a vent excellent piece ofiuorh, madam lady; 
'Would 'twere done! 

SCENE 11.— The same. Before Hoitensio's House. 
Enter Petruchio and Grumio. 
Pet. Verona, for a while I take my leave, 



To see my friends in Padua ; but, of all, 
My best beloved and approved friend, 
Hortensio ; and, I trow, this is his house : — 
Here, sirrah Grumio ; knock, 1 say. 

Gru. Knock, sir 1 whom should I knock ? is there 
any man has rebused your worship? 

Pet. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly. 

Gru. Knock you here, sir ? why, sir, what am I, 
sir, that I should knock you here, sir ? 

Pet. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate, 
And rap me well, or I '11 knock your knave's pate. 

Gru. My master is grown quarrelsome : I should 
knock you first. 
And then 1 know after who comes by the worst. 

Pet. Will it not be? 
'Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, I'll wring it; 
I'll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it. 

[He tcrings Grumio by the ears, 

Gru. Help, masters, help ! my master is mad. 

Pet. Now, knock when 1 bid you: sirrah! villain' 

Enter Hortensio. 

Hor. How now ? what's the matter? — My old friend 
Grumio ! and my good friend Petruchio ! — How do 
you all at Verona ? 

Pet. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray? 
Con tutlo il core bene trovato, may I say. 

Hor. Alia 7iostra casa bene venuto, 
Molto honorato signor mio Petruchio. 
Rise, Grumio, rise ; we will compound this quarrel. 

Gru. Nay, 'tis no matter, what he 'leges in Latin. 
— If this be not a lawful cause for me to leave his 
service. — Look you, sir, — he bid me knock him, and 
rap him soundly, sir : Well, was it fit for a servant 
to use ins master so ; being, perhaps, (for ought I 
see,) two and thirty, — a pip out? 
Whom, 'would to God, I had well knock'd at first, 
Then had not Grumio come by the worst. 

Pet. A senseless villain ! — Good Hortensio 
I bade the rascal knock upon your gate, 
And could not get him for my heart to do it. 

Gru. Knock at the gate ? — O heavens ! [liere, 
Spake you not these words plain, — Sirrah, knock me 
liap me here, knock me ivell, ami knock me soundli^ ? 
And come you now with — knocking at the gate ] 

Pet. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. 

Hor. Petruchio, patience ; I am Grumio's pledge : 
Why, this a heavy chance 'twixt him and you ; 
Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. 
And tell me now, sweet friend, — what happy gale 
Blows you to Padua here, from old Verona I 

Pet. Such wind as scatters young men through the 
To seek their fortunes further than at home, [world. 
Where small experience grows. But, in a few, 
Signior Hortensio, thus il stands with me : — 
Antonio, my father, is deceas'd ; 
And I have thrust myself into this maze. 
Haply to wive, and thrive, as best I may : 
Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home. 
And so am come abroad to see the world. 

Hor, Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee 
And wish thee to a shrew'd ill-favour'd wife ? 
Thoud'st thank me but a little for my counsel : 
And yet I '11 promise thee she shall be rich, 
And very rich : — but thou'rt too much my friend. 
And I'll not wish tliee to her. 

Pet. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we. 
Few words suffice : and, therefore, if thou know 
One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife, 
(As wealth is burden of my wooing dance,) 
Be she as foul as was Florentius' love. 
As old as Sybil, and as curst and shrewd 



ACT I.— SCENE II. 



259 



As Socrates' Xantippe, or a worse, 

She moves me not, or not removes, at least, 

Affection's edge in me ; were she as rough 

As are the swelling Adriatic seas : 

I come to wive it wealthily in Padua ; 

If wealthily, then happily in Padua. 

Gru. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what 
his mind is : Why, give him gold enough and marry 
him to a puppet, or an aglet-baby ; or an old trot 
with ne'er a tooth in her head, though she have as 
many diseases as two and fifty horses : why, nothing 
comes amiss, so money comes withal. 

Hor. Petruchio, since we have stepped thus far in, 
I will continue that 1 broacli'd in jest. 
I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife 
With wealth enough, and young, and beauteous ; 
Brought up, as best becomes a gentlewoman : 
Her only fault (and tliat is faults enough,) 
Is, — that she is intolerably curst, 
And shrewd, and froward: so beyond all measure, 
That, were my state far worser than it is, 
I would not wed her for a mine of gold. 

Pet. Hortensio, peace ; thou know'st not gold's ef- 
Tell me her father's name, and 'tis enough ; [feet: — 
For 1 will board her, though she chide as loud 
As thunder, when the clouds in autumn crack. 

Hor. Her father is Baptista Minola, 
An affable and courteous gentleman : 
Her name is Katharina Minola, 
Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue. 

Pet. I know her father, though 1 know not her ; 
And he knew my deceased father well : — 
I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her ; 
And therefore let me be thus bold with you, 
To give you over at this first encounter. 
Unless you will accompany me thither. 

Gru. I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour 
lasts. O' my word, an she knew him as well as I do, 
she would think scolding would do little good upon 
him : She may, perhaps, call him half a score knaves, 
or so. why, that's nothing ; an he begin once, he'll 
rail in his rope-tricks. I '11 tell you what, sir, — an 
she stand him but a little, he will throw a figure in 
her face, and so disfigure her with it, that she shall 
have no more eyes to see withal than a cat : You 
know him not, sir. 

Hor. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee ; 
For in Baptista's keep my treasure is : 
He hath the jewel of my life in hold. 
His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca ; 
And her withholds from me, and other more 
Suitors to her, and rivals in my love . 
Supposing it a thing impossible, 
(For those defects 1 have before rehears'd,) 
That ever Katharina will be woo'd, 
Therefore tliis order liatli Baptista ta'en ; 
That none shall have access unto Bianca, 
I'ill Katharine the curst have got a husband. 

Gi-u. Katharine the curst ! 
A title for a maid, of all titles the worst. 

Hor, Now shall my friend Petiuchio dome grace; 
And offer me, disguis'd in sober robes. 
To old Baptista as a schoolmaster 
Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca: 
That so I may by this device, at least. 
Have leave and leisure to make love to her, 
And, unsuspected, court her by herself. 

Enter Gremio ; with him Lucentio disguised, toith 
books tinder Itis arm. 

Gilt. Here's no knavery ! See; to beguile the old 
folks, how the young folks lay their lieads together! 



Master, master, look about you : Who goes there 1 ha ! 

Hor. Peace, Grumio ; 'tis the rival of my love : — 
Petruchio, stand by a while. 

Grit. A proper stripling, and an amorous ! 

[Theii retire. 

Ore. O, very well : I have perus'd the note. 
Hark you, sir ; I '11 have them very fairly bound : 
All books of love, see that at any hand ; 
And see you read no other lectures to her : 
You understand me : — Over and beside 
Siguior Baptista's liberality, 

I '11 mend it with a largess: — Take your papers too, 
And let me have them very well perfum'd ; 
For she is sweeter than perfume itself. 
To whom they go. What will you read to her? 

Luc. Whate'er I read to her, I '11 plead for you. 
As for my patron, (stand you so assur'd,) 
As firmly as yourself were still in place : 
Yea, and (perhaps) with more successful words 
Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir. 

Gre. O this learning ! what a thing it is • 

Gru, O this woodcock ! what an ass it is ! 

Pet. Peace, sirrah. 

Hor. Grumio, mum! — God save you, signiorGremio: 

Gre. And you're well met, signior Hortensio. Trow 
Whither I am going? — To Baptista Minola. [you, 
I promis'd to inquire carefully 
About a schoolmaster for fair Bianca : 
And, by good fortune, I have lighted well 
On this young man ; for learning, and behaviour, 
Fit for her turn ; well read in poetry 
And other books, — good ones, I warrant you. 

Hor, 'Tis well : and I have met a gentleman. 
Hath promised me to help me to another, 
A fine musician to instruct our mistress ; 
So shall I no whit be behind in duty 
To fair Bianca, so belov'd of me. 

Gre. Belov'd of me , — and that my deeds shall prove. 

Gru. And that his bags shall prove. \^Aside. 

Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love ; 
Listen to me, and if you speak me fair, 
1 '11 tell you news indifferent good for either. 
Here is a gentleman, whom by chance I met. 
Upon agreement from us to his liking. 
Will undertake to woo curst Katharine ; 
Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please. 

Gre. So said, so done, is well : — 
Hortensio, have you told him all her faults'! 

Pet. I know she is an irksome brawling scold ; 
If that be all, masters, I hear no harm. 

Gre. No, say'st me so, friend ? What countryman? 

Pet. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son : 
My father dead, my fortune lives for me ; 
And I do iiope good days, and long, to see. 

Gre, O, sir, such a life, with such a wife, were 
strange : 
But if you have a stomach, to 't o' God's name ; 
You shall have me assisting you in all. 
But, will you woo this wild cat? 

Pet. Will I live ? 

Gni. W^ill he woo her? ay, or I'll hang her. [Aside 

Pet. Wliy came 1 hither, but to that intent? 
Think you, a little din can daunt mine ears ; 
Have 1 not in my time heard lions roar 1 
Have I not heard the sea, puff 'd up with winds, 
llage like an angry boar, chafed with sweat ? 
Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, 
And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies? 
Have I not in a pitched battle heard 
Loud 'larums, neigliing steeds, and tn'mpets' clang? 
And do you tell me of a woman's tongue ; 
That gives not half so great a blow to the ear, 
112 



260 



TAMING OF THE SHREW 



As will a chesnut in a farmer's fire ? 
Tush ! tush ! fear boys with bugs. 

Gru. For he fears none. [Aside. 

Gre. Hortensio, hark ! 
This gentleman is happily arriv'd, 
JVIy mind presumes, for his own good, and yours. 

Hor. I promis'd we would be contributors. 
And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er. 

Gre. And so we will ; provided, that he win her. 

Gru. I would, I were as sure of a good dinner. 

[Aside. 

Enter Tranio, hravelxj apparelled; and Biondello. 

Tra. Gentlemen, God save you ! If I may be bold, 
Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way 
To the house of Siguier Baptista Winolal 

Gre. He that has the two fair daughters : — is 't 
[aside to Tranic] he you mean ? 

Tra. Even he. Biondello ! 

Gre, Hark you, sir ; You mean not her to 

Tra. Perhaps,himandher, sir; Whathaveyoutodo'! 

Pet. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray. 

7\a. I love no chideis, sir ; — Biondello, let's away. 

Iaic, Well begun, Tranio. [Aside. 

Hor. Sir, a word ere you go ; — 
Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea, or no? 

Tra. An if 1 be, sir, is it any offence "! [hence. 

Gre. No ; if, without more words, you will get you 

Tra. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free 
For me, as for you 1 

Gre. But so is not she. 

Tra. For what reason, T beseech you ? 

Gre. For this reason, if you '11 know, 

That she's the choice love of signior Gremio. 

Hor. That she's the chosen of signior Hortensio. 

Tra. Softly, my masters ! if you be gentlemen, 
Do me this right, — hear me with patience. 
Baptista is a noble gentleman. 
To whom my father is not all unknown ; 
And, were his daughter fairer than she is, 
She may more suitors have, and me for one. 
Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers ; 
Then well one more may fair l^ianca have ; 
And so she shall ; Lucentio shall make one, 
Though Paris came, in hope to speed alone. 

Gre. What ! this gentleman will out-talk us all. 

Lmc. Sir, give him head ; I know he'll prove a jade. 

Pet. Hortensio, to what end are all these words ] 

Hor. Sir, let me be so bold as to ask you. 
Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter's 

Tra. No, sir ; but hear I do, that he hath two ; 
The one as famous for a scolding tongue. 
As is the other for beauteous modesty. 

Pet. Sir, sir, the first 's for me ; let her go by. 

Gre. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules ; 
And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. 

Pet. Sir, understand you this of me, insooth ; — 
The youngest daughter, whom you hearken fur. 
Her father keeps from all access of suitors ; 
And will not promise her to any man. 
Until the elder sister first be wed : 
The younger then is free, and not before. 

Tra. If it be so, sir, that you are the man 
Must stead us all, and me among the rest ; 
An if you break the ice, and do this feat, — 
Achieve the elder, set the younger free 
For our access, — whose hap shall be to have her, 
Will not so graceless be, to be ingrate. 

Hor. Sir, you say well, and well you do conceive ; 
And since you do profess to be a suitor, 
You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman, 
To whom we all rest generally beholden. 



Tra. Sir, I shall not be slack: in sign whereof, 
Please ye we may contrive this afternoon. 
And quaff carouses to our mistress' health ; 
And do as adversaries do in law, — 
Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends, [gone. 
Gru. Biiin. O excellent motion ! Fellows, let's be- 
Hor. The motion 's good indeed, and be it so ; — 
Petruchio, 1 shall be your ben venuto. [Kieunt. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — The same. A Room in Baptista's house. 
Enter Kathaiiina and Bianca. 

Bian. Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong your- 
To make a bondmaid and a slave of me : [self. 

That I disdain ; but for these other gawds, 
Unbind my hands, I'll pull them oft' myself. 
Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat ; 
Or, what you will command me, will I do, 
So well I know my duty to my elders. 

Kath. Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, telJ 
Whom thou lov'st best : see thou dissemble not. 

Bian. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive 
I never yet beheld that special face. 
Which 1 could fancy more than any other. 

Kath. Minion, thou liest; Is't not Hortensio? 

Bian. If you affect him, sister, here I swear, 
I '11 plead for you myself, but you shall have him. 

Kath. O then, belike, you fancy riches more ; 
You will have Gremio to keep you fair. 

Bian. Is it for him you do envy me so? 
Nay, then you jest ; and now I well perceive. 
You have but jested with me all this while : 
I pr'ythee, sister Kate, untie my hands. 

Kath. 11 that be jesl, then all the rest was so. 

[Strikes her. 
Enter Baptista. 

Bap. Why, how now, dame ! whence grows tliis 

insolence ? 

Bianca, stand aside ; — poor girl ! she weeps : — 
Go ply thy needle ; meddle not with her. — 
For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit, 
Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee ? 
When did she cross thee with a bitter word ? 

Kath. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be reveng'd. 

[Flies after Bianca. 

Bap. What, in my sight 1 — Bianca, get thee in. 

[E.rit Biamca. 

Kath. Will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see, 
She is your treasure, she must have a husband ; 
I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day. 
And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell. 
Talk not to me ; I will go sit and weep, 
Till I can find occasion of revenge. [Eiit Kath. 

Bap. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as 1 ? 
But who comes here ? 

Enter G uemio, u'it/t Lucentio in the hahit of a mean 

man; Petuuchio, «;i//i Hortensio as a musician; 

and Tranio, with Biondello bearing a lute and 

boohs, 

Gre. Good-morrow, neighbour Baptista. 

Bap. Good morrow, neighbour Gremio : God save 
you, gentlemen ! 

Pet. And you, good sir! Pray, have you notadaugh- 
Call'd Katharina, fair, and virtuous ? [ter 

Bap, I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katharina. 

Gre, You are too blunt, go to it orderly. 
Pet. You wrong me, signior Cjremio; give me leave. — 
I am a gentleman of \'erona, sir. 



ACT 11. —SCENE I. 



261 



Tliat,— hearing of her beauty, and her wit, 

Her affability, and bashful modesty, 

Her wondrous qualities, and mild behaviour, — 

Am bold to shew myself a forward guest 

Within your house, to make mine eyes the witness 

Of that report whtcli I so oft have heard. 

And, for an entrance to my entertainment, 

I do present you with a man of mine 

[Presenting Hortensio. 
Cunning in music, and the mathematics, 
To instruct her fully in those sciences. 
Whereof, I know, she is not ignorant : 
Accept of him, or else you do me wrong ; 
His name is Licio, born in Mantua. 

Blip. You're welcome, sir; and he for your good 
But for my daughter Katharine, — this I know, [sake : 
She is not for your turn, the more my grief. 

Pet. 1 see you do not mean to part with her ; 
Or else you like not of my company. 

B(ip. Mistake me not, I speak but as I find. 
Whence are you, sirl what may I call your namet 

Pet. Petruchio is my name ; Antonio's son, 
.A. man well known throughout all Italy. 

Riip. 1 know him well : you are welcome forhi^sake. 

Ore. Saving your tale, Petruchio, 1 pray. 
Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too : 
Haccare ! you are marvellous forward. [doing. 

Pet. O, pardon me, signiorGremio ; I would fain be 

Gre. I doubt it not, sir ; but you will curse your 

wooing. 

Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. 
To express the like kindness myself, that have been } 
more kindly beholden to you than any, I freely give 
unto you this young scholar, [presenting Lucentio.] [ 
that hath been long studying at Rheims; as cunning i 
in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other in 
music and mathematics : his name is Cambio ; pray, 
accept his service. 

Bap. A thousand thanks, signior Gremio: wel- 
come, good Cambio. — But gentle sir, [to Tranio.] 
methinks you walk like a stranger ; May 1 be so bold 
to know the cause of your coming? 

Tra. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own ; 
That being a stranger in this city here. 
Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, 
Unto Bianca, fair, and virtuous. 
Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me, 
In the preferment of the eldest sister : 
This liberty is all that I request, — 
That upon knowledge of my parentage, 
I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo, 
And free access and favour as the rest. 
And, toward the education of your daughters, 
I here bestow a simple instrument. 
And this small packet of Greek and Latin books : 
If you accept them, riien their worth is great. 

Bap. Lucentio is your name 1 of whence, I pray 1 

Tra. Of Pisa, sir ; son to Vincentio. 

Bap. A mighty man of Pisa : by report 
I know him well : you are very welcome, sir. — 
Take you [to Hon.] the lute, and you [to Li-c] the set 
You shall go see your pupils presently, [of books, 
Holla, within ! 

Enter a Servant. 
Sirrah, lead 

These gentlemen to my daughters ; and tell them both, 
These are their tutors ; bid them use them well. 

[Exit Servant, with Hor. Luc. and Bion. 
We will go walk a little in the orchard. 
And then to dinner : You are passing welcome. 
And so I pray you all to think yourselves. 

Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste, 



And every day I cannot come to woo. 
You knew my father well ; and in him, me, 
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods. 
Which I have better'd rather than decreas'd : 
Then tell me, — If I get your daughter's love, 
What dowry shall I have with her to wife 1 

Bap. After my death, the one half of my lands; 
And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns. 

Pet. And, for that dowry, I'll assure her of 
Her widowhood, — be it that she survive me, — 
In all my lands and leases whatsoever : 
Let specialties be therefore drawn between ns, 
That covenants may be kept on either hand. 

Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd. 
This is, — her lov« ; for that is all in all. 

Pet. Why, that is nothing ; for I tell you, father, 
I am as peremptory as she proud-minded ; 
And where two raging fires meet together. 
They do consume the thing that feeds their fury : 
Though little fire grows great with little wind. 
Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all : 
So I to her, and so she yields to me ; 
For I am rough, and woo not like a babe. 

Bap. Well may'st thou woo, and happy be thy speed! 
But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. 

Pet. Ay, to the proof ; as mountains are for winds. 
That shake not, though they blow perpetually. 

JRe-e?(te)- Hortensio, with his head broken. 
Bap. How now, my friend 1 why dost tliou look so 
Hor. For fear, 1 promise you, if I look pale, [palel 
Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good mu- 
Hor. I think, she '11 sooner prove a soldier ; [sician? 
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. 

Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her to the Intel 
Hor. why, no ; for she hath broke the lute to me. 
I did but tell her, she mistook her frets. 
And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering ; 
When, with a most impatient devilish spirit. 
Frets, callijou these? quoth she: 1 'II fame with them: 
And, with that word she struck me on the head, 
And through the instrument my pate made way ; 
And there I stood amazed for a while. 
As on a pillory, looking through the lute ; 
While she did call me, — rascal fiddler. 
And — twangling Jack; with twenty such vile tenns. 
As she had studied to misuse me so. 

Pet. Now. by the world, it is a lusty wench ; 
I love her ten times more than e'er 1 did : 
O, how I long to have some chat with her ! 

Bap. Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited : 
Proceed in practice with my younger daughter ; 
She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns. — 
Signior Petruchio, will you go with us ; 
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you ? 

Pet. I pray you do ; 1 will attend her here, — 

[Eieunt Baptista, Gremio, Thanio,(^Hor. 
And woo her with some spirit when she comes. 
Say, that she rail ; Why, then 1 'II tell her plain, 
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale : 
Say, that she frown ; I 'II say, she looks as clear 
As morning roses newly wash'd with dew : 
Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word ; 
Then I'll commend her volubility. 
And say — she uttereth piercing eloquence : 
If she do bid me pack, 1 'II give her thanks, 
As though she bid me stay by her a week ; 
If she deny to wed, I 'II crave tiie day 
When I shall ask the banns, and when be married .— 
But here she comes ; and now, Petruchio, speak. 

Enter Katiiarina. 
Good morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear. 



262 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



Kath. Well have you heard, but something hard of 
hearing ; 
They call me — Katharine, that do talk of me. 

Pet. You lie, in faith ; foryouarecall'd plain Kate, 
And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst j 
But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, 
Kate of Kate-PIall, my super-dainty Kate, 
For dainties are all cates ; and therefore, Kate, 
'1 ake this of me, Kate of my consolation ; — 
Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town, 
Thj virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, 
(Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,) 
Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife, [hither, 

Kath. Mov'd ! in good time : let him that mov'd you 
Remove you hence: I knew you at the first, 
'i ou were a moveable. 

Pet. Why, what 's a moveable t 

Kaih. A joint-stool. 

Pet. Tliou hast hit it : come, sit on me. 

Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. 

Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are you. 

Kath. No such jade, sir, as you, if me you mean. 

Pet. Alas, good Kate ! I will not burden thee : 
For, knowing thee to be but young and light, — 

Kath. Too light for such a swain as you to catch ; 
And yet as heavy as my weight should be. 

Pet. Should be ■? should buz. 

Kath. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard. [thee? 

Pet. 0, slow-wing'd turtle ! shall a buzzard take 

Kath. Ay, for a turtle ; as he takes a buzzard. 

Pet. Come, come, you wasp; i* faith, you are too an- 

Kath. If 1 be waspish, best beware my sting, [gry 

Pet. My remedy is tiien to pluck it out. 

Kath. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies. 

Pet. Who knows not wiiere a wasp doth wear his 
In his tail. [sting? 

Kath. In his tongue. 

Pet. Whose tongue 1 

Kath. Yours, if you talk of tails ; and so farewell. 

Pet. What, with my tongueinyour tail? nay, come 
Good Kate ; 1 am a gentleman. [again, 

Kath. I'liat I'll try. [Striking him. 

Pet. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. 

Kath. So may you lose your arms : 
If you strike me, you are no gentleman ; 
And if no gentleman, why, tiien no arms. 

Pet. A herald, Kate? O put me in thy books. 

Kath. What is your crest? a coxcomb? 

Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen. 

Kath. No cock of mine, you crow too like a craven. 

Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come ; you must not look so 

Kath. It is my fashion, when 1 see a crab. [sour. 

Pet. Why, here 's no crab ; and therefore look not 

Kath. There is, there is, [sour. 

Pet. Then shew it me. 

Kath. Had I a glass, I would. 

Pet. What, you mean my face ? 

Kath. Well aim'd of such a young one, 

Pet. Now, by Saint George, 1 am too youug for you. 

Kath. Yet you are withered. 

Pet. 'Tis with cares. 

Kath. I care not. 

Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate : in sooth, you 'scape not 

Kath. I chafe you, if 1 tarry ; let me go. [so. 

Pet. No, not a whit ; 1 find you passing gentle. 
'Tvvas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen. 
And now I find report a very liar ; 
For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous ; 
But slow m speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers : 
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance. 
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will ; 
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk ; 



But thou with mildness entertain'sl thy wooers. 

With gentle conference, soft and affable 

Why does the world report, that Kate doth limp? 

slanderous world ! Kate, like the hazel-twig, 
Is straight, and slender ; and as brown in hue, 
As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels. 
0, let me see thee walk : thou dost not halt. 

Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command. 

Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove, 
As Kate this chamber with her princely gait? 
O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate ; 
And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful ! 

Kath. Where did you study all this goodly speech? 

Pel. It is extempore, from my mother-wit. 

Kath. A witty mother ! witless else her son. 

Pet. Am 1 not wise ? 

Kath. Yes ; keep you warm. 

Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in thy bed: 
And therefore, setting all this chat aside. 
Thus in plain terms: — Your father hath consented 
That you shall be my wife ; your dowry 'greed on ; 
And, will you, nill you, I will marry you. 
Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn ; 
For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty, 
(Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well.) 
Thou must be married to no man but me ; 
For I am he, am born to tame you Kate ; 
And bring you from a wild cat to a Kate 
Conformable, as other household Kates. 
Here comes your father ; never make denial, 

1 must and will have Katharine to my wife. 

Pe-enter Baptista, Gremio, and Tranio. 

Baji. Now, 
Siguier Petruchio : How speed you with 
My daughter ? 

Pet. How but well, sir? how but well ? 

It were impossible, I should speed amiss. 

Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine? in your 
dumps ? 

Kath. Call you me, daughter ? now I promise you, 
You have shew'd a tender fatherly regard. 
To wish me wed to one half lunatic ; 
A mad-cap ruflSan, and a swearing Jack, 
That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. 

Pet. Father, 'tis thus, — yourself and all the world, 
That talk'd of her, hath talk'd amiss of her ; 
If she be curst, it is for policy : 
For she's not froward, but modest as the dove ; 
She is not hot, but temperate as the morn ; 
For patience she will prove a second Grissel ; 
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity : 
And to conclude, — we have 'greed so well together, 
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. 

Kath. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first. 

Gre. Hark, Petruchio ! she says, she'll see thee 
hang'd first. [our part ! 

Tra. Is this your speeding? nay, then, good night 

Pet. Be patient, gentlemen ; I choose her for my- 
If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you ? [self ; 
'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone, 
That she shall still be curst in company. 
I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe 
How much she loves me : — O, the kindest Kate! — 
She hung about my neck ; and kiss on kiss 
She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath, 
That in a twink sne won me to her love. 
O, you are novices 1 'tis a world to see. 
How tame, when men and women are alone, 
A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.— 
Give me thy hand, Kate : I will unto Venice, 
To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding day : — 



ACT HI.— SCENE I. 



20:3 



Provide tlie feast, father, and bid the guests ; 

I will be sure, my Katharine shall be fine, [hands ; 

B(ip. I know not what to say : but give me your 
God send you joy, Petruchio ! 'tis a match. 

Gre. Tia. Amen, say we ; we will be witnesses. 

Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu ; 

I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace : 

VVe will have rings, and things, and fine array ; 
And kiss me Kate, we will be married o" Sunday. 
[Eieinit Petuuchio and Kai iiarina, severallif. 

Gre. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly 1 

Bap. Faitii, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's 
And venture madly on a desperate mart. fpart, 

7V((. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you ; 
'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas. 

Bap. Tlie gain I seek is — quiet in the match. 

Gre. No doubt, but he hath got a quiet catch. 
But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter ; — 
Now is the day we long have looked for ; 
I am your neighbour, and was suitor first. 

Tra, And I am one, that love Bianca more 
Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess. 

Gre. Youngling ! thou canst not love so dear as I. 

Tra. Grey-beard! thy love doth freeze. 

Gre. But thine doth fry. 

Skipper, stand back ; 'tis age, that nourisheth. 

Tra. But youth, in ladies' eyes, that flourisheth. 

Bap. Content you, gentlemen ; I'll compound this 
strife : 
'Tis deeds must win the prize ; and he, of both, 
Thai can assure my daughter greatest dower, 
Shall have Bianca's love. — 
Say, signior Gremio, what can you assure her 1 

Gre. First, as you know, my house within the city 
Is richly furnished with plate and gold ; 
Basons, and ewers, to lave her dainty hands ; 
My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry : 
In ivory coffers I have stuff"d my crowns ; 
In cypress chests my arras, counterpoints, 
Costly apparel, tents and canopies. 
Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl, 
Valance of Venice gold in needle-work, 
Pewter and brass, and all things that belong 
To house or house-keeping : then, at my farm, 
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, 
Sixscore fat oxen standing in my stalls. 
And all things answerable to this portion. 
Myself am struck in years, I must confess ; 
And, if I die to-morrow, this is hers. 
If, whilst I live, she will be only mine. 

Tra. That, only, came well in Sir, list to me, 

I am my father's heir, and only son : 

If I may have your daughter to my wife, 

I'll leave her houses three or four as good, 

AVithin rich Pisa's walls, as any one 

Old signior Gremio has in Padua ; 

Besides two thousand ducats by the year. 

Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure. — 

What, have I pinch'd you, signior Gremio 1 

Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year, of land ! 
]My land amounts not to so much in all : 
That she shall have ; besides an argosy 1 

That now is lying in Marseilles' road : 

What, have I chok'd you with an argosy 1 

Tra. Gremio, 'tis known, my father hath no less 
Than three great argosies ; besides two galliasses. 
And twelve tight gallies : these 1 will assure her, 
And twice as much, whate'er thou ofFer'st next. 

Gre. Nay, I have ofTer'd all, I have no more ; 
And she can have no more than all I have ; — 
If you like me, she shall have me and mine. 

Tra. Why, then the maid is mine from all the world, 



By your firm promise ; Gremio is out-vied. 

Bap. I nmst confess, your offer is the best ; 
And, let your father make her the assurance, 
She is your own ; else, you must pardon me : 
If you should die before him, where's her dower 1 

Tra. That's but a cavil ; he is old, I young. 

Gre. And may not young men die, as well as old 1 

Bap. Well, gentlemen, 
I am thus resolv'd : — On Sunday next you know. 
My daughter Katharine is to be married : 
Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca 
Be bride to you, if you make this assurance ; 
If not, to Signior Gremio; 
And so I take my leave, and thank you both. [Eiic. 

Gre. Adieu, good neighbour ; — now I fear thee not ; 
Sirrah, young gamester, your father were a fool 
To give thee all, and in his waning age. 
Set foot under thy table : Tut ! a toy ! 
An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. [Exit. 

Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide ' 
Yet I have faced it with a card of ten. 
'Tis in my head to do ray master good : — 
I see no reason, but suppos'd Lucentio 
Must get a father, call'd — suppos'd Vincentio ; 
And that's a wonder : fathers, commonly. 
Do get their children ; but, in this case of wooing, 
A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning. 

lExit 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — A Room in Baptista's House. 
Enter Lucentio, Hortensio, and Bianca. 

Luc. Fiddler, forbear ; you grow too forward, sir • 
Have you so soon forgot the entertainment 
Her sister Katharine welcom'd you withal ' 

Hor. But, wrangling pedant, this is 
The patroness of heavenly harmony : 
Then give me leave to have prerogative ; 
And when in music we have spent an hour. 
Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. 

Luc. Preposterous ass ! that never read so far 
To know the cause why music was ordain'd ' 
Was it not, to refresh tiie mind of man. 
After his studies, or his usual pain ? 
Then give me leave to read philosophy, 
And, while I pause, serve in your harmony. 

Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. 

Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong. 
To strive for that which resteth in my choice : 
I am no breeching scholar in the schools ; 
I'll not be tied to hours, nor 'pointed times. 
But learn my lessons as I please myself. 
And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down : — 
Take you your instrument, play you the whiles ; 
His lecture will be done ere you have tun'd. 

Hor. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune 1 
[To Bianca. — Hortensio retires. 

Luc. That will be never; — tune your instrument. 

Bian. Where left we last 1 

Luc. Here, madam : 

Hac ihat Simois ; hie est Sigeia tellus ; 

Hie iteterat Priami regia celsa senis. 

Bian. Construe them. 

Luc. Hac ibat,a.i I told you before, — Simois, I am 
Lucentio, — hie est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa, — .Vt- 
geia tellus, disguised thus to get your love ; — Hie 
iteterat, and that Lucentio that com^s a wooing, — 
Priami, is my manTranio, — reo-u/, bearing my port, — 
celsa senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon. 

Hor. Madam, my instrument's in tune. l_Returning 



264 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



Bian. Let's hear; — [Hortensio p/at/*. 

fye ! the treble jars. 

Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. 

Bian. Now let me see if 1 can construe it : Hac ibat 
Siinois, I know you not ; hie est Sigeia tellns, I trust 
you not; — Hie steterat Priaini, lake heed he hear us 
not ; — regia, presume not ; — cel.sa senis, despair not. 

//())•. Madam, 'tis now in tune. 

Liic. All but the base. 

Ilor. The base is right ; 'tis the base knave that jars. 
How fiery and forward our pedant is I 
Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love : 
Pednscule, I'll watch you better yet. 

Bian. In time 1 may believe, yet I mistrust. 

Lmc. Mistrust it not ; for, sure, .^acides 
Was Ajax, — call'd so from his grandfather. j 

Bian. I must believe mymaster; else, I promiseyou, ! 

1 should be arguing still upon that doubt: 
But let it rest. — Now, Licio, to you : — 
Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray, 
'Ihat I have been thus pleasant with you both. 

Ilnr. You may go walk, [to Lucentio.] and give 
me leave awhile ; 
My lessons make no music in three parts. 

Luc. Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait, 
And watch withal ; for, but I be deceiv'd, 
Our fine musician groweth amorous. [Aside. 

Hoi: Madam, before you touch the instrument, 
To learn the ordering of my fingering, 
I must begin with rudiments of art ; 
To teach you gamut in a briefer sort, 
More pleasant, pithy, and effectual. 
Than hath been taught by any of my trade : 
And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. 

Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago. 

Hor, Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. 

Bian. [2?earfs.J Gumul lamtheground oj'allaccord, 
A re, to plead Hortensio's passion ; 

B mi, Biaiica, take liim for thi) lord, 
C faut, that loves with all affection i 

D sol re, one cliff', two notes have I ; 

E la mi, shew pitii, or I die. 
Call you this — gamut? tut ! I like it no^ : 
Old fashions please me best ; I am not so nice. 
To change true rules for odd inventions. 

Enter a Servant. 

SerD.Mistress,your father prays you leave your books, 
And help to dress your sister's chamber up ; 
You know, to-morrow is the wedding-day. 

Bian. Farewell, sweet masters, both ; I must be 

gone. [Exeunt Bianca and Servant. 

Luc. 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. 

[fait. 
Hor, But I have cause to pry into this pedant ; 
Methinks, he looks as tliough he were in love ; — 
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble. 
To cast thy wandering eyes on every stale. 
Seize thee, that list : If once I find thee ranging, 
Hortensio will be (juitwith thee by changing. [Eiit. 

SCENE II. — The same. Before Baptista's House. 

Enter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, Katharina, 
Bianca, Lucentio, and Attendants. 

Bap. Signior Lucentio, [to Tranio.] this is the 
'pointed day 
That Katharine and Petruchio should be married, 
And yet we hear not of our son-in-law : 
What will be said ? what mockery will it be. 
To want the bridegroom, when the priest attends 
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage '. 



What says Lucentio to this shame of ours? [forc'd 

Kath. No shame but mine : I must, forsooth, be 
To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart. 
Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen ; 
Who woo'd in haste, and means to wed at leisure. 
I told you, I, he was a frantic fool. 
Hiding his bitter jests in blunt beliaviour. 
And, to be noted for a merry man, 
He '11 woo a tliousand, 'point the day of marriage. 
Make friends, invite -.hem, and proclaim the banns ; 
Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd. 
Now must the world point at poor Katharine, 
And say, — Lo, there is mad Petruchio's icife, 
If it would please hijn come and rnarrit her, 

Tra. Patience, good Katharine, and Baptista too. 
Upon my life, Petrucliio means but well. 
Whatever fortune stays him from his word : 
Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise ; 
Though he be merry, yet withal he 's honest. 

Kath. 'Would Katharine had never seen him though! 
[Eiit, weeping, folloued by Bianca, and others. 

Bap. Go, girl; 1 cannot blame thee now to weep ; 
For such an injury would vex a very saint. 
Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. 

Enter Biondello. 

Bion. Master, master ! news, okl news, and such 
news as you never heard of! 

Bap. Is it new and old too ? how may that be ? 

Bion. Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruchio's 
coming ? 

Bap. Is he come 1 

Bion, Why, no, sir. 

Bap, What then ? 

Bion. He is coming. 

Bap. When will he be here? 

Bion. When he stands where I am, and sees you 
there. • 

Tra. But, say, what : — To thine old news. 

Bion, Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat, 
and an old jerkin ; a pair of old breeches, thrice 
turned ; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, 
one buckled, another laced ; an old rusty sword ta'en 
out of the town armoury, with a broken hilt, and 
chapeless ; with two broken points : His horse hipped 
with an old mothy saddle, the stirrups of no kindred ; 
besides, possessed with the glanders, and like to mose 
in the chine ; troubled with the lampass, infected 
with the fashions, full of windgalls, sped with spavins, 
raied with the yellows, past cure of the fives, stark 
spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots ; 
swayed in the back, and shoulder-shotten ; ne'er leg- 
ged before and with a iialf-checked bit, and a head- 
stall of sheep's leather ; which, being restrained to 
keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and 
now repaired with knots ; one girt six times pieced, 
and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two 
letters for her name, fairly set down in studs, and 
here and there pieced with packthread. 

Bap, Who comes with him? 

Bion, O, sir, his lackey, for all the world capari- 
soned like the horse ; with a linen stock on one leg, 
and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with 
red and blue list ; an old hat, and The humour of 
forty fancies pricked in't for a feather : a monster, a 
very monster in apparel ; and not like a Christiaa 
footboy, or a gentleman's lackey. 

Tra. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this 

fashion ; 

Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd. 

Bcip. 1 am glad he is come, howsoe'er he comes. 

Bion. Why, sir, he comes not. 



ACT III.— SCENE II. 



265 



Bap. Didst thou not say, he comes ? 

Bion. Who ? that Petruchio came ! 

Bap. Ay, that Petrucliio came. 

Bioti. Mo, sir; I say, his horse comes with him on 
bis back. 

Bap. Why, that's all one. 

Bion. No, by saint Jamy, I hold you a penny, 
A horse and aman is more than one, and yet not many. 

Enter Petruchio and Gnu.Mio. 

Pet. Come, where be these gallants 1 who is at home 1 

Bap. You are welcome, sir. 

Pet. And yet I come not well. 

Bap. And yet you halt not. 

Tra. Not so well apparell'd 

As I wish you were. 

Pet. Were it better I should rush in thus. 
But where is Kate ? where is my lovely bride ■? 
How does my father? — Gentles, methinksyou frown: 
And wiierefore gaze this goodly company ; 
As if ihey saw some wondrous monument. 
Some comet, or unusual prodigy 1 

Bap. Why, sir, you know, this is your wedding-day : 
First we were sad, fearing you would not come ; 
Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. 
Fye ! doff this habit, shame to your estate, 
Aneyesore to our solemn festival. 

Tra. And tell us, what occasion of import 
Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife, 
And sent you hither so unlike yourself? 

Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear : 
Sufficeth, 1 am come to keep my word, 
Though in some part enforced to digress ; 
Which, at more leisure, I will so excuse 
As you shall well be satisKed withal. 
But, where is Kate ? I stay too long from her ; 
The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church. 

Tra.* See not your bride in these unreverent robes ; 
Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine. 

Pet. Not I, believe me ; thus I '11 visit her. 

Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. 

Pet. Good sooth , even thus; therefore have done with 
To me she 's married, not unto my clothes: [words; 
Could I repair what she will wear in me, 
As I can change these poor accoutrements, 
'Twere well for Kate, and better for myself. 
But what a fool am I, to chat with you. 
When I should bid good-morrow to my briiie. 
And seal the title with a lovely kiss ! 

[Exeunt Petruchio, Grumio, and Biondello. 

Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire : 
We will persuade him, be it possible. 
To put on better ere he go to church. 

Bap, I '11 after him, and see the event of this. [Exit. 

Tra. But, sir, to her love concerneth us to add 
Her father's liking : Which to bring to pass 
As 1 before imparted to your worship, 
I am to get a man, — whate'er he be. 
It skills not much ; we'll fit him to our turn, — 
And he shall be V^incentio of Pisa ; 
And make assurance, here in Padua, 
Of greater sums than I have promised. 
So shaii you quietly enjoy your hope. 
And marry sweet Bianca with consent. 

Luc. W ere it not that my fellow schoolmaster 
Doth walcli iiianca's steps so narrowly, 
'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage ; 
Which once perform'd, let all tiie world say — no, 
I 'II keep mine own, despite of all tiie world. 

Tra. Tiiat by degrees we mean to look into. 
And watch our vantage in this business : 
U'e'll over-ie.ach the ijieybeard, Gremio, 



The narrow-prying father, Minola ; 
The quaint musician, amorous Licio ; 
All for my master's sake, Lucentio. — 

Re-enter Guemio. 

Signior Gremio ! came you from the church ? 

Gre. As willingly as e'er I came from school ? 

Tra. And is the bride and bridegroom coming home ? 

Gre. A bridegroom, say you ? 'tis a groom, indeed, 
A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. 

Tru. CurstLT than she ? why, 'tis impossible. 

Gre. Why, he 's a devil, a devil, a very fiend. 

Tra. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam. 

Gre. Tut ! she 's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him. 
I'll tell you, sir Lucentio ; When the priest 
Should ask — if Katharine should be his wife, 
Au, bii <;i>gs-W(>uns, quoth he; and swore so loud, 
That, all amaz'd, the priest let fall the book : 
And, as he stoop'd again to take it up. 
The mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff. 
That down fell priest and book, and book and priest ; 
Now take them up, quoth he, //'any list. 

Tra, What said the wench, when he arose again? 

Gre. Trembled and shook ; for why, he stamp'd. 
As if the vicar meant to cozen him. [and swore, 
But after many ceremonies done. 
He calls for wine : — A health, quoth he ; as if 
He had been abroad, carousing to his mates 
After a storm : — Quaff'd off the muscadel. 
And threw the sops all in the sexton's face ; 
Having no other reason, — 
But that his beard grew thin and hungerly. 
And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking. 
This done, he took the bride about the neck ; 
And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack. 
That, at the parting, all the church did echo. 
I, seeing this, came thence for very shame ; 
And after me, I know, the rout is coming : 
Such a mad marriage never was before ; 
Hark, hark ! 1 hear the minstrels play. [Music. 

Enter Petruchio, Katiiarina, Bianca, Baptista, 
HoRTENSio, Grumio, and Train. 

Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your 
I know, you think to dine with me to-day, [pains: 
And have prepar'd great store of wedding cheer ; 
But so it is, my haste doth call me hence. 
And therefore here 1 mean to take my leave. 

Bap. Is 't possible, you will away to-night ? 

Pet. I must away to-day, befoie night come : — 
Rlake it no wonder ; if you knew my business. 
You would entreat me ratlier go than stay. 
And, honest company, 1 thank you all, 
That have beheld mo give away myself 
To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife : 
Dine with my father, drink a health to me ; 
For I must hence, and farewell to you all. 

Tra. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner. 

Pet. It may not be. 

Gre. 

Pet. It cannot be. 

Kath. 

Pet. I am content. 

Kath. Are you content to stay ? 

Pet. I am content you shall entreat me stay. 
But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. 

Kath. Now, if you love me, stay. 

Pet. Grumio, my horses. 

Grit. Ay, sir, they be ready ; the oats have eaten 
the horses. 

Kath. Nay, then, 
Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day ; 



Let me entreat you. 
Let me entreat vou. 



20(3 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



No, nor to-morrow, nor till I please myself. 
The door is open, sir, there lies your way, 
You may be jogging, whiles your boots are green ; 
For me, I'll not be gone, till I please myself: 
'Tis like, you '11 prove a jolly surly groom, 
That take it on you at the first so roundly. 

Fet. O Kate, content thee ; pr'ythee be not angry 

Kath. I will be angry? What hast thou to do 1 — 
Father, be quiet : he shall stay my leisure. 

Gre. Ay, marry, sir : now it begins to work. 

Kath. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner:— 
I see, a woman may be made a fool. 
If she had not the spirit to resist. [mand 



Pet. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy com- 
Obey the bride, you that attend on her: 
Go to the feast, revel and domineer, 
Carouse full measure to her maidenhead, 

Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves ; 

But for my bonny Kate, she must with me. 
Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret , 
I will be master of what is mine own : 
She is my goods, my chattels ; she is my house, 
My household stuff, my field, my barn. 
My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing ; 
And here she stands, touch her whoever dare ; 
I '11 bring my action on the proudest he 

That stops my way in Padua. Grumio, 

Draw forth thy weapon, we're beset with thieves ; 
Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man : — 
Fear not, sweetwench, they shall not touch thee, Kate; 
I '11 buckler thee against a million. 

[Ereioit Petrucuio, Katiiarina, atid Grumio. 

Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. 

Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die with 
laughing. 

Tra. Of all mad matches, never was the like ! 

Luc. Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister 1 

Bian. That, being mad herself, she's madly mated. 

Gre. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated. 

Bap. Neighbours and friends, though bride and 
bridegroom wants 
For to supply the places at the table, 
You know there wants no junkets at the feast ; — 
Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place ; 
And let Bianca take her sister's room. 

Tra. Shall sweet liianca practise how to bride it 1 

Bap. She shall, Lucentio. — Come, gentlemen, 
let's go. \_Exeuiit. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— -4 Hall in Petruchio's Country House. 
Enter Guumio. 
Cm. fye, fye, on all tired jades I on all mad 
masters! and all foul ways! Was ever man so 
beaten 1 was ever man so rayed ? was ever man so 
weary 1 I am sent before to make a fire, and they are 
coming after to warm them. Now, were not 1 a 
little pot, and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to 
my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my 
heart in my belly, ere I should come by a fire to 
thaw me : — But, I, with blowing the fire, shall warm 
myself; for, considering the weaiher, a taller man 
than 1 will take cold. Holla, hoa ! Curtis ! 

Enter Curtis. 

Curt. Who is that, calls so coldly? 
Gru. A piece of ice: If thou doubt it, thou may 'st 
slide from my shoulder to my heel, with no greater 



a run but my head and my neck. A fire, good Curtis. 

Curt. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio ! 

Gru. O, ay, Curtis, ay : and therefore fire, fire ; 
cast on no water. 

Curt. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported? 

Gru. She was, good Curtis, before this frost: but, 
thou know'st, winter tames man, woman, and beast; 
for it hath tamed my old master, and my new mis- 
tress, and myself, fellow Curtis. 

Curt. Away, you three inch fool ! I am no beast. 

Gru. Am I but three inches? why, thy horn is a 
foot ; and so long am I, at the least. But wilt thou 
make a fire, or shall 1 complain on thee to our mis- 
tress, whose hand (she being now at hand,) thou 
shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in 
thy hot office ? 

Curt. I pr'ythee, good Grumio, tell me, How goes 
the world ? 

Gru. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but 
thine ; and, therefore, fire : Do thy duty, and have 
thy duty ; for my master and mistress are almost 
frozen to death. 

Curt. There's fire ready; And, therefore, good 
Grumio, the news ? 

Gru. Why, Jack boy ! oh boy ! and as much news 
as thou wilt. 

Curt. Come, you are so full of conycatching : — 

Gru. Why, therefore, fire ; for I have cauglit ex- 
treme cold. Where's the cook? is supper ready, 
the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept ; 
the serving men in their new fustian, their white 
stockings, and every ofiicer his wedding-garment on ? 
Be the jacks fair within, the jills fair without, the 
carpets laid, and every thing in order? 

Curt. All ready; And, therefore, I pray thee, news ? 

Gru. First, know, my horse is tired ; my master 
and mistress fallen out. 

Curt. How? 

Gru. Out of their saddles into the dirt; And 
thereby hangs a tale. 

Curt. Let's ha't, good Grumio. 

Gru. Lend thine ear. 

Curt. Here. 

Gru. There. [Striking him. 

Curt. This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. 

Gru. And therefore 'tis called, a sensible tale : and 
this cufF was but to knock at your ear, and beseech 
listening. Now I begin ; Imprijnis, we came down 
a foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress : — 

Curt. Both on one horse ? 

Gru. What's that to thee ? 

Curt. Why, a horse. 

Gru. Tell thou the tale : But hadst thou not 

crossed me, thou should'st have heard how her horse 
fell, and she under her horse ; thou should'st have 
heard, in how miry a place : how she was bemoiled ; 
how he left her with the horse upon her ; how he 
beat me because her horse stumbled ; how she waded 
through the dirt to pluck him off me ; how he swore ; 
how she prayed — that never pray'd before ; how I 
cried : how the horses ran away ; how her bridle was 
burst ; how I lost my crupper ; with many things of 
worthy memory ; which now shall die in oblivion, 
and thou return unexperienced to thy grave. 

Curt. By this reckoning, he is more shrew than she. 

Gru. Ay ; and that, thou and the proudest of you 
all shall find, wiien he comes home. But what talk 
I of this? — call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, 
Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest ; let their 
heads be sleekly combed, their blue coats brushed, 
and their garters of an indifferent knit : let them 
curtsey with tlieir left legs; and not presume to 



ACT IV.— SCENE 11. 



2(J7 



touch a hair of my master's horse-tail, till they iciss 
their hands. Are they all ready ? 

Curt. They are. 

Gru. Call them forth. 

Curt. Do you hear, ho ? you must meet my mas- 
ter, to countenance my mistress. 

Gru. Why, she hath a face of her own. 

Curt. Who knows not that ? 

Gru. Thou, it seems ; that callest for company to 
countenance her. 

Curt. I call them forth to credit her. 

Gru. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them. 

Enter several Servants. 

Kath. Welcome home, Gruniio. 

Phil. How now, Grumio? 

Jos. What, Grumio ! 

Nich. Fellow Grumio ! 

Nath. How now, old lad? 

Gru. Welcome, you ; — how now, you ; — what, 
you ; — fellow, you ; — and thus much for greeting. 
Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all 
things neat? 

Nath. All things is ready: How near is our master? 

Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this ; and there- 
fore be not, Cock's passion, silence ! 1 hear 

my master. 

£?i(ec Petruciiio and Katiiarina. 

Pet. Where be theseknaves? What, nomanatdoor. 
To hold my stirrup, nor to take my horse ! 
Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip 7 

All Serv. Here, here, sir ; here, sir. 

Pet. Here, sir 1 here, sir ! here, sir ! here, sir ! — 
You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms ! 
What, no attendance? no regard? no duty ? — 
Where is the foolish knave I sent before ? 

Gru. Here, sir ; as foolish as 1 was before. 

Pet. You peasant swain ! you whoreson mall-horse 
Did I not bid thee meet me in the park, [drudge ! 
And bring along these rascal knaves with thee ? 

Gru. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made. 
And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'di' the heel ; 
There was no link to colour Peter's hat, 
And Walter's dagger was not come from slieathing : 
There were none tine, but Adam, Ralph, and Gre- 
The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly ; [gory ; 
Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you. 

Pet. Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. — 
[Exeunt some of the Servants. 
Where is the life that Lite 1 led — [Sings. 

Where are those Sit down, Kate, and welcome. 

Soud, soud, soud, soud ! 

Re-enter Servants, ruith sxipper. 

Why, when, I say? — Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry. 
Off with my boots, you rogues, you villains ; When ? 

Itxtas the friar of orders greu , [Sings. 

As he forth walked on his wau : — 
Out, out, you rogue ! you pluck my foot awry : 
Take that, and mend the plucking off the other. — 

[.SinTces him. 
Be merry, Kate : — Some water, here ; what, ho ! 
Where's my spaniel Troilus ? — Sirrah, get you hence, 
And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hillier: [ Exit Serv. 
One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted 

with. — 
Where are my slippers? — Shall I have some water? 
[A bason is presented to him. 
Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily : — 

[Servant lets the ener full. 
You whoreson villain! will youletitfall ! [Strikei: him. 



Kath. Patience, I pray you ; 'twas a fault unwilling. 

Pet. A whoreson, beetleheaded, flap-ear'd knave ' 
Come, Kate, sit down ; I know you have a stomach 
Will you give thanks, sweet Kate ; or else shall 1 ! — 
What is this? mutton? 

1 Serv. Ay. 

Pet. Who brought it >. 

1 Serv. I. 

Pet. 'Tis burnt ; and so is all the meat : 
What dogs are these ? — Where is the rascal cook ? 
How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser, 
And serve it thus to me that love it not ? 
There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all ; 

[77)/i)u'4- the meat, S^c. about the stage. 
You heedless joltheads, and unmanner'd slaves ! 
What, do you grumble ? I'll be with you straight. 

Kath. 1 pray you, husband, be not so disquiet ; 
The meat was well, if you were so contented. 

Pet. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away , 
And I expressly am forbid to touch it. 
For it engenders choler, planteth anger; 
And better 'twere that both of us did fast, — 
Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric, — 
Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh. 
Be patient ; to-morrow it shall be mended, 
And, for this night, we'll fast for company : — 
Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. 

[Eieunt Petkuciho, Katiiauina, and CruTis. 

Kath. [Admncing.] Peter, didst ever see the like ' 

Peter. He kills her in her own humour. 

Re-enter Curtis. 

Gru. Where is he ? 

Curt. In her chamber. 
Making a sermon of continency to her : 
And rails, and swears, and rates ; that she, poor soul, 
Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak ; 
And sits as one new-risen from a dream. 
Away, away ! for he is coming hither. [Exeunt 

Re-enter Petruchio. 
Pet. Thus have I politicly begun my reign. 
And 'tis my hope to end successfully : 
My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty 
And, till she stoop, she must not be full-gorg'd. 
For then she never looks upon her lure. 
Another way I have to man my haggard. 
To make her come, and know her keeper's call, 
That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites. 
That bate, and beat, and will not be obedient. 
She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat ; 
Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not! 
As with the meat, some undeserved fault 
I'll find about the making of the bed ; 
And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster, . 
This way the coverlet, another way the sheets : — 
Ay, and amid this hurly, 1 intend. 
That all is done in reverend care of her ; 
And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night: 
And, if she chance to nod, I'll rail and brawl. 
And with the clamour keep her still awake. 
This is a way to kill a wife with kindness ; 
And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humour: — 
lie that knows better how to tame a shrew. 
Now let him speak ; 'lis charity to shew. [F.iiT. 

SCKNE II. — Padua. Before Baptista's Honsf. 
Enter Tuavio (i/ai Hortknsio. 

Tra. Is't possible, friend Licio, that Bianca 
L)oth fancy any other but Lucentio ? 
1 tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. 



268 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



Hor. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said, 
Stand by, and mark the manner of his teaching. 

[They stand aside. 

Enter Bianca and Lucentio. 

Luc. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read ? 
Biare. What, master, read youl first resolve me that. 
Luc, I read that I profess, the art to love. 
Bian. And may you, prove, sir, master of your art ! 
Luc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my 
heart. [ They retire. 

Hor. Quick proceeders, marry ! Now, tell me, I pray, 
You that durst swear that your mistress Bianca 
Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio. 

Tra. despiteful love! unconstant womankind ! — 
I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful. 

Hor. Mistake no more : I am not Licio, 
Nor a musician, as I seem to be ; 
But one that scorn to live in this disguise, 
For such a one as leaves a gentleman, 
And makes a god of such a cullion : 
Know, sir, that I am call'd — Hortensio. 

7';(/. .Signior Hortensio, I have often heard 
Of your entire affection to Bianca ; 
And since mine eyes are witness of hei lightness 
I will with you, — if you be so contented, — 
Forswear Bianca, and her love for ever. 

Hor. See, how they kiss and court ! Signior Lu- 

Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow — [centio, 
Never to woo her more ; but do forswear her. 
As one unworthy of all the former favours 
That 1 have fondly flatter'.! her withal. 

Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned oath. 
Ne'er to marry with her though she would entreat: 
Fye on her ! see, how beastly she doth court him. 

Hor. 'Would, all the world, but he, had quite for- 
For me, — that I may surely keep mine oath, [sworn ! 
I will be married to a wealthy widow 
Ere three days pass ; which hath as long lov'd me, 
As I have lov'd this proud disdainful haggard : 
And so farewell, signior Lucentio. — 
Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks. 
Shall win my love : and so I take my leave. 
In resolution as I swore before. 

[Exit Hortensio.- — hvcu.STio and Bianca advance. 

Tra. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace 
As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case! 
Nay, 1 have ta'en you napping, gentle love ; 
And have forsworn you with Hortensio. 

JBia/i.Tranio, you jest; Buthave you both forsworn 

Tra. Mistress, we have. [me ? 

Luc. Then we are rid of Licio. 

Tra. I' faith, he '11 have a lusty widow now, 
That that shall be woo'd and wedded in a day. 

Bian. God give him joy ! 

Tra. Ay, and he '11 tame her. 

Bian. He says so, Tranio. 

Tra. 'Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school. 

Bian. Tlie taming-school ! what, is there such a 
place? 

Tra. Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the master ; 
That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, — 
To tame a shrew, and charm her chattering tongue, 

Enter Biondello, running. 

Bion. O master, master, 1 have watch'd so long 
That I'm dog-weary ; but at last I spied 
An ancient engle coming down the hill, 
W^ill serve the turn. 

Tra. What is he, Biondello 1 

Bion. Master, a niercatante, or a pedant, 
I know not what ; but formal in apparel, 



In gait and countenance surely like a father. 
Luc. And what of him, Tranio 1 
Tra. If he be credulous, and trust my tale 

I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio ; 

And give assurance to Baptista Minola, 

As if he were the right Vincentio. 

Take in your love, and then let me alone 

[Ejeiiut Lucentio and Bianca. 

Enter a Pedant. 

Fed. God save you, sir! 

Tra. And you, sir! you are welcome, 

Travel you far on, or are you at the furthest I 

Ped. Sir, at the furthest for a week or two : 
But then up further ; and as far as Rome ; 
And so to Tripoly, if God lend me life. 

Tra. What countryman, I pray ] 

Ped. Of Mantua. 

Tra. Of Mantua, sir? — marry, God forbid I 
And come to Padua, careless of your life ? 

Ped. My life, sir ! how, I pray ? for that goes hard. 

Tra. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua 
To come to Padua ; Know you not the cause 1 
Your ships are staid at V^enice ; and the duke 
(For private quarrel 'twi.xt your duke and him,) 
Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly: 
'Tis marvel ; but that you 're but newly come. 
You might have heard it else pioclaim'd about. 

Ped. Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so ; 
For I have bills for money by exchange 
From Florence, and must here deliver them. 

Tra. Well, sir, to do you courtesy, 
This wili I do, and this will I advise you : 
First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa ? 

Ped. Ay, sir, in Pisa have 1 often been : 
Pisa, renowned for grave citizens. 

Tra. Among them, know you one Vincentio 1 

Ped. I know him not, but I have heard of him ; 
A merchant of incomparable wealth. 

Tra. He is my father, sir ; and, sooth to say. 
In countenance somewhat doth resemble you. 

Bion. As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all 
one. [Aside. 

Tra. To save your life in this extremity. 
This favour will I do you for his sake ; 
And think it not the worst of all your fortunes. 
That you are like to sir Vincentio. 
His name and credit shall you undertake. 
And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd ; — 
Look, that you take upon you as you should ; 
You understand me, sir; — so shall you stay 
Till you have done your business in the city : 
If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it. 

Ped. O, sir, I do ; and will repute you ever 
The patron of my life and liberty. 

Tra. Then go with me, to make the matter good. 
This, by the way, I let you understand ; 
My father is here look'd for every day. 
To pass assurance of a dower in marriage 
'I'wixt me and one Baptista's daughter here : 
In all these circumstances I'll instruct you : 
Go with me, sir, to clothe you as becomes you. 

[E:ieunt. 

SCENE III. — A Jioom in Petruchio's House. 

Enter Katharina and Ghumio. 

Gru. No, no ; forsooth, I dare not, for my life. 

Kalh. The more my wrong, the more his spite ap- 
What, did he marry me to famish me ? [pears : 

Beggars, that come unto my father's door. 
Upon entreaty, have a present alms ; 




J^30l^ •i'^- 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



Pktboohio, Thy gown? why, ay; — Come, tailor, let us see 't. 
O mercy, God ! what m.asking stuff is here ? 



Art II'., Scent a. 



ACT IV.- -SCENE III. 



2(59 



If not, elsewhere they meet with charity : 

But 1, — wlio never knew liow to entreat, — 

Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep ; 

With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed : 

And that which spites nie more than all these wants, 

He does it under name of perfect love ; 

As who should say,— if 1 should sleep, or eat, 

'Twere deadly sickness, or else present death. — 

1 pr'ythee go, and get me some repast ; 

1 care not wliat, so it be wholesome food. 

Giu. What say you to a neat's foot 1 

Kaili. "J'is passing good ; 1 pr'ythee let me have it 

Gru. 1 fear, it is too phlegmatic a meat : — 
How say you to a fat tripe, finely broil'd ? 

Kaih. 1 like it well ; good Grumio, fetch it me 

Giti, 1 cannot tell ; 1 fear, 'tis choleric. 
What say you to a piece of beef, and mustard? 

Kath. A di>h that I do love to feed upon. 

Gru. Ay, but the mustard is too liot a little. 

Kath. Why, then the beef, and let the mustard rest. 

Gru. Nay, then 1 will not ; you shall have the mus- 
Or else yon get no beef of Grumio. [tard, 

Kath. Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt. 

Gru. Why, then the mustard without the beef. 

Kath. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave, 

[Beats him. 
That feed's! me with the very name of meat : 
Sorrow on tiiee, and all the pack of you, 
That triumph thus upon my misery ! 
Go, get thee gone, 1 say. 

Enter Petiuiciho, viih a dish of meat ; 
and llumKNSlo. 

Pet. IIow fares my Katel What, sweeting, all 

Hor. Mistress, what cheer ? [amort ? 

Kath. 'Faith, as cold as can be. 

PeJ. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me. 
Here, love ; thou see'st how diligent 1 am. 
To dress thy meat myself, and bring it tliee: 

[Sets the dish on a table. 
I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. 
What, not a wordl Nay then, tliou lov'st it not ; 
And all my pains is sorted to no proof: — 
Here, take away this dish. 

Kalh. 'Pray you, let it stand. 

Fet. The poorest service is repaid with thanks j 
And so shall mine, before you touch the meat. 

Kath. 1 thank you, sir. 

Hor. Signior Petruchio, fye ! you are to blame ! 
Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company. 

Pet. Eat it up all, llortensio, if thou lov'st me. — 

[Aside. 
Mucli good do it unto thy gentle heart ! 
Kate, eat apace : — And now my honey love, 
Will we return unto thy father's house ; 
And revel it as bravely as the best. 
With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings. 
With ruff's, and cuffs, and farthingales, and tilings ; 
With scarfs, and fans, and double change of braverv, 
With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery 
What, hast thou din'd? The tailor stays thy leisure, 
To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure. 

Enter Tailor. 
Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments ; 

Enter Haberdasher. 

Lay forth the gown. — ^\'ilat news with you, sir? 

Hab. Here is the caj) your worship did bespeak. 

Pet. Why, this was moulded on a porringer ; 
A velvet-dish ; — fye, fye ! 'tis lewd and hithy ; 
Why, 'tis a cockle, or a walnutshell, 



A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap ; 
Away with it, come, let me have a bigger. 

hath. 1 'II have no bigger ; this doth fit the time, 
And gentlewomen wear such caps as these. 

Pet. \Vhen you are geutle,you shall have one too, 
And not till then. 

Her. That will not be in haste. [Aside. 

Kath. Why, sir, 1 trust, 1 may have leave to speak j 
And speak 1 will ; I am no child, no babe 
Your betters have endur'd me say my mind ; 
And, if you cannot, best you stop your ears. 
My tongue will tell the anger of my heart ; 
Or else my heart, concealing it, will break ; 
And, rather tiian it shall, 1 will be free 
Even to the uttermost, as 1 please, in words. 

Pet. Why, thou say'st true ; it is a paltry cap, 
A custard coffin, a bauble, a silken pie : 
1 love thee well, in that thou lik'st it not. 

Kath. Love me, or love me not, 1 like the cap ; 
And it 1 will have, or 1 will have none. 

Pet. Thy gown? why, ay ; — Come, tailor, letussee't. 

mercy, God ! what masking stuff is here ? 
What's this ? a sleeve ? 'tis like a demi-cannon : 
What ! up and down, carv'd like an apple-tart ? 
Here's snip, and nij), and cut, and slish, and slash. 
Like to a censer in a barber's shop : — 

Why, what, o'devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this? 

Hor. 1 see, she 's like to have neither cap nor gown. 

[Aside. 

Tai. You bid me make it orderly and well, 
According to the fashion, and the time. 

I'et. Marry, and did ; but if you be reinember'd, 

1 did not bid you mar it to the time. 
Go, hop me over every kennel home. 

For you shall hop without my custom, sir: 
1 '11 none of it ; hence, make your best of it. 

Kutli. I never saw a better fashiun'd gown. 
More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable : 
Pelike, you mean to make a puppet of inc. 

Pet. Why, true; hemeansto make apuppet of thee. 

Tai. She says, your worship means to make a pup- 
pet of her. [thread, 

Pet. O monstrous arrogance ! 'I'hou liest, lliou 
Thou thimble, 

'I'hou yard, three-quarters, iialf-yard, quarter, nail, 
Thou flea, thou knit, thou winter cricket thou : — 
lirav'd in mine own house with a skein of tiiread ! 
Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant ; 
Or 1 shall so be-mete thee with thy yard, 
As thou shalt think on prating \\ hilst thou liv'st ! 
I tell thee, 1, tiiat thou hast marr'd her gown. 

Tai. Your worship is deceived; the gown is made 
Just as my master iiad direction : 
Grumio gave order how it should be done. 

Gru. I gave him no order, 1 gave him the stuff. 

Tai. But how did you desire it should be made 1 

Gru. Marry, sir, with needle and thread. 

Tai. But did you not request to have it cut'' 

Gru. Thou hast faced many things. 

Tai. 1 have. 

Gru. Face not me : thou hast braved many men ; 
brave not me; 1 will neither be faced nor braved. I 
say unto thee, — 1 bid thy master cut out the gown ; 
but 1 did not bid him cut it to pieces : ergo, thou liest. 

Tai. Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify. 

Pet. Read it. 

Gru. The note lies in his throat, if he say 1 said so. 

Tai. lmj)riinis, a loose-bodied goirn : 

Gru. iMaster, if ever J said loose-bodied gown, sow 
I me in the skirts of it, and beat me to death with a 
j bottom of brown thread • 1 said, a gown. 

Pet. Proceed. 



270 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



Tai. With a small compassed cape ; 

Gru. I confess the cape. 

Tai. With a trunk sleeve; 

Grti. I confess two sleeves. 

Tai. The sleeves curiousty cut. 

Pet. Ay, there 's the villany. 

Gru. Error i' the bill, sir ; error i' the bill. I com- 
manded the sleeves should be cutout, and sewed up 
again : and that I '11 prove upon thee, though thy 
little finger be armed in a thimble. 

Tai. 'I'his is true, that I say ; an I had thee in place 
where, thou should'st know it. 

Gru. I am for thee straight: take thou the bill, 
give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me. 

Hor. God-a-mercy, Grumio! then he shall have 
no odds. 

Pet. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me. 

Gru. You are i' the right, sir ; 'tis for my mistress. 

Pet. Go, take i' up unto thy master's use. 

Gru. Villain, not for thy life : Take up my mis- 
tress's gown for thy master's use ! 

Pet. Why, sir, what's your conceit in that ? 

Gi-u. O, sir, theconceitisdeepcr than you think for: 
Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use ! 
O, fye, fye, fye ! 

Pet. Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid : — 

[Aside. 
Go take it hence ; begone, and say no more. 

Hor. Tailor, 1 '11 pay thee for thy gown tomorrow. 
Take no unkindness of his hasty words : 
Away, 1 say; commend me to thy master. [EiftTai. 

Pet. Weil, come, my Kate ; we will unto your 
Even in these honest mean habiliments ; [father's. 
Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor : 
For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich ; 
And as the sun breaks through the darkest cloud. 
So honour peereth in the meanest habit. 
What, is the jay more precious than the lark, 
Because his feathers are more beautiful I 
Or is the adder better than the eel, 
Because his painted skin contents the eye? 
O, no, good Kate ; neither art thou the worse 
For this poor furniture, and mean array. 
If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me : 
And therefore, frolic ; we will hence fortliwith, 
To feast and sport us at thy father's house. — 
Go, call my men, and let us straight to him ; 
And bring our horses unto Long- lane end. 
There will we mount, and thither walk on foot. — 
Let's see ; 1 think, 'tis now some seven o'clock, 
And well we may come there by dinner time. 

Kath. 1 dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two; 
And 'twill be supper-time, ere you come there. 

Pet. It shall be seven, ere I go to horse : 
Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do. 
You are still crossing it. — Sirs, let't alone: 
I will not go to-day ; and ere I do. 
It shall be what o'clock 1 say it is. 

Hor. Why, so ! this gallant will command the sun. 

[Eieuiit. 

SCENE IV.— Padua. Before Baptista's House. 
Enter Tranio, and the Pedant dressed like Vinxentio. 

rrfl.Sir,thisis the house; Please it you, that I call? 

Ped. Ay, what else? and, but I be deceived, 
Signior Baptista may remember me. 
Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, where 
We were lodgers at the Pegasus. 

Tra. 'Tis well ; 

And hold your own, in any case, with such 
Austerity as 'longeth to a father. 



Enter Biovdello. 

Ped. I warrant you : But, sir, here comes your boy; 
'Twere good, he were schooFd. 

Tra. Fear you not him. Sirrah, Biondello, 
Now do your duty thoroughly, 1 advise you ; 
Imagine 'twere the rigiit Vincentio. 

Bion. Tut ! fear not me. 

Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista? 

Bion. I told him, that your father was at \'enice; 
And that you look'd for him this day in Padua. 

Tra. 'Fhou "rt a tall fellow ; hold thee that to drink 
Here comes Baptista: — set your countenance, sir. 

Enter Baptista and Lucentio. 
Signior Baptista, you are happily met : — 
Sir, [to the Pedant.] 
This is the gentleman 1 told you of: 
1 pray you, stand good father to me now, 
Give me Bianca for my patrimony. 

Ped. Soft, son ! 
Sir, by your leave, having come to Padua 
To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio 
Made me ac([uainted with a weighty cause 
Of love between your daughter and himself : 
And, — for the good report 1 hear of you ; 
And for the love he beareth to your daughter. 
And she to him, — to stay him not too lone:, 
I am content, in a good father's care, 
To have ium matcli'd ; and, — if you pleas'd to like 
No worse than I, sir — upon some agreement, 
Me shall you find most ready and most willing 
With one consent to have her so bestowed ; 
For curious I cannot be with you, 
Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well. 

Bap. Sir, pardon me in what 1 have to say ; — 
Your plainness, and your shortness, please me well. 
Right true it is, your son Lucentio here 
Dotii love my daughter, and she loveth him, 
Or both dissemble deeply their affections : 
And, therefore, if you say no more than ihis. 
That like a father you will deal with him. 
And pass my daughter a sufficient dower. 
The match is fully made, and all is done : 
Your son shall have my daughter with consent 

Tra, 1 thank you, sir. Where then do you know best 
We be affied ; and such assurance ta'en. 
As shall with either part's agreement stand ! 

Bap. Not in my house, Lucentio; for, you know, 
Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants : 
Besides, old Gremio is heark'ning still ; 
And, happily, we might be interrupted. 

Tra. Then at my lodging, an it like you, sir ■ 
There doth my father lie ; and there, this night. 
We'll pass the business privately and well : 
Send for your daughter by your servant here, 
My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently. 
The worst is this, — that, at so slender warning. 
You 're like to have a thin and slender pittance. 

Bap. It likes me well : — Cambio, hie vou home. 
And bid Bianca make her ready straight ; 
And, if you will, tell what hath happened : — 
Lticentio's father is arriv'd in Padua, 
And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. 

Luc. I pray the gods she may, with all my heart. 

Tra. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone. 
Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way? 
Welcome ! one mess is like to be your cheer ; 
Come, sir ; we '11 better it in Pisa. 

Bap. I follow you. 

[Eieunt Tranio, Pedant, and Baptista. 

Bion. Cambio. — 

Luc. What say'st thou, Biondello? 



ACT v.— SCENE L 



27] 



Bion. You saw my master wink and laugh upon you? 

Lac. Biondello, what of that? 

Bion. 'Faith nothing ; but he lias left me here be- 
hiisd, to expound the meaning or moral of his signs 
and tokens. 

Luc. I pray thee, moralize them. 

Bion. I hen thus. F)aptista is safe, talking with 
the deceiving father of a deceitful son. 

Luc. And what of him ? 

Binn. His daughter is to be brought by you to the 
supper, ! 

Luc. And then ? — i 

Bion. The old priest at Saint Luke's church is at 
your command at all hours. 

Luc. And what of all this ? 

Bion. 1 cannot tell ; except they are busied about 
a counterfeit assurance : I'ake your assurance of her, 
cum privilegin (id imprimendum solum: to the church ; 
— take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient iionest 
witnesses : 

If this be not that you look for, I have no more to say. 
But, bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. [Going. 

Luc. Hear'st thou, Biondello? 

Bion. 1 cannot tarry : 1 knew a wench married in 
an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley to 
stuff" a rabbit ; and so may you, sir ; and so adieu, 
sir. JMy master halh appointed me to go to Saint 
Luke's, to bid the priest be ready to come against you 
come with your appendix. [E.rit. 

Luc. I may, and will, if she be so contented : 
She will be pleas'd, then wherefore should 1 doubt? 
Hap what hap may, I '11 roundly go about her; 
It shall go hard, if Cambio go without her. [Exit. 

SCENE v.— ^ jmhlic Road. 
Enter Petruchio, Katharina, luid Houtensio, 

Pel. Come on, o'God's name; once more toward 
our father's. 
Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon ! 

Kath, The moon ! the sun ; it is not moonlight now. 

Pet. I say, it is the moon that shines so bright. 

Kath. I know, it is tlie sun that shines so bri^rht. 

Pet. Now, by my mother's son, and that's myself, 
It shall be moon, or star, or what 1 list. 
Or ere 1 journey to your father's house : — 
Go on, and fetch our horses back again. — 
Evermore cross'd, and cross'd : nothing but cross'd ! 

Hor. Say as he says, or we shall never go. 

Kath. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far, 
And be it moon, or sun, or what you please : 
And if you please to calHt a rush candle. 
Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. 

Pet. I say, it is tlie moon. 

Kath. I know it is. 

Pet. Nay, then you lie ; it is the blessed sun. 

Kath. Then, God be blessed, il is the blessed sun : 
But sun it is not, when you say it is not ; 
And the moon changes, even as your mind. 
What you will have it nam'd, even that it is , 
And so it shall be so, for Katharine. 

Hot: Petruchio, go thy ways ; the field is won. 

Pet. Well, forsvard, forward: thus the bowl should 
And not unluckily against the bias. — ['un. 

But soft ; what company is coming liere? 

Enter Vinx-entio, in a travelling dress. 
Good morrow, gentle mistress : Where away ? — 

[To ViXCENTIO. 

Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too, 
Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman ? 
Such war of white and red within her cheeks ! 
What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty, 



As those two eyes become that heavenly face ? — 
Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee : — 
Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. 

Hor. 'A will make the man mad, to make a woman 
of him. 

Kath. Young budding virgin, fair, and fresh, and 
Whither away ; or where is thy abode ? [sweet, 

Happy the parents of so fair a child ; 
Happier the man, whom favourable stars 
Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow ! 

Pet. Why, how now, Kate! I hope thou art not mad: 
This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither 'd ; 
And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is. 

Kath. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes, 
That have been so bedazzled with the sun. 
That every thing I look on seemeth green : 
Now 1 perceive thou art a reverend father ; 
Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking, [known 

Pet. Do, good old grandsire ; and, wilhal, make 
Which way thou travellest : if along with us, 
We shall be joyful of thy company. 

Vin. Fair sir, — atid you my merry mistress, — 
That with your strange encounter much amaz'd me; 
My name is call'd— Vincentio: my dwelling — Pisa; 
And bound I am to Padua ; there to visit 
A son of mine, which long I have not seen. 

Pet. What is his name ? 

Vin. Lucentio, gentle sir. 

Pet. Happily met ; the happier for thy son. 
And now by law, as well as reverend age, 
I may entitle thee — my loving father ; 
'Ihe sister to my wife, this gentlewoman. 
Thy son by this hath married : Wonder not. 
Nor be not griev'd ; she is of good esteem, 
Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth ; 
Beside, so qualified as may beseem 
The spouse of any noble gentleman. 
Let me embrace with old Vincentio : 
And wander we to see thy honest son. 
Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. 

I'/n. But is this true ? or is il else your pleasure, 
Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest 
Upon the company you overtake ? 

Hor. I do assure thee, father, so it is. 

Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; 
For our first merriment hath made thee jealous. 

[Ejennt PtTni'cnio, Kathauina, ^- ViNCEvrio. 

Hor. Well, Petruchio, this hath put me in heart. 
Have to my widow ; and if she be forward, 
Then hast thou taught Hor tensio to be untoward.[Eii(. 



ACT V. 

SCENE L — Padua. Before Lucentio's House. 

Enter on one side Biondello, Lucentio, and Bianca . 
Gkemio ivalking on the other side. 

Bion. Softly and swiftly, sir ; for the priest is ready. 

Luc. I fly, Biondello: but they may chance to 
need thee at home, therefore leave us. 

Bion. Nay, faith, I'll see the church o' your back ; 

and then come back to my master as soon as I can. 

[Eieunt Lucentio, Bianca, and Biondello. 

Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. 

Enter Petruchio, Katharina, Vincentio, 
and Attendants. 

Pet. Sir, here 's the door, this is Lucentio's house. 
My father's bears more toward the market-place ; 
Thither must 1, and here I leave you, sir. 



272 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



Vin. You sliall not choose but drink before you go ; 
I think, I shall command your welcome here. 
And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward, [/v'^nr^is 

Gre. They're busy within, you were best knock 
louder. 

Enter Pedant above, at a wiiKhrtc. 

Ped. What 's he, that knocks as he would beat 
down the gate 1 

Via. Is signior Lucentio within, sir ? 

Ped, He 's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal. 

Vin. What it' a man bring him a iiundred pound 
or two, to make merry withaH 

Ped, Keep your hundred pounds to yourself; he 
shall need none, so long as I live. 

Pet. Nay, 1 told you, your son was beloved in 
Padua. — Do you hear, sir ^ — to leave frivolous cir- 
cumstances, — 1 pray you, tell signior Lucentio, that 
his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door 
to speak with him. 

Ped. Thou liest ; his father is come from Pisa, 
and here looking out at the window. 

Vin, Art thou his father 1 

Ped. Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her. 

Pet. Why, how now, gentleman ! [To Vincen.] 
why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you another 
man's name. 

Ped. Lay hands on the villain ; I believe, 'a means 
to cozen somebody in this city under my countenance. 

Re-enter Biondello. 

Biou, 1 have seen them in the church together ; God 
send 'em good shipping! — But who is here? mine 
old master, Vincentio I now we are undone, and 
brought to nothing. 

Vin. Come hither, crack-hemp. [Seeing Biondhi.. 

Bion, I hope, 1 may clioose, sir. 

Vi7i. Come, hither, you rogue ; What, have you 
forgot me 1 

Bion, Forgot youl no, sir: I could not forget 
you, for I never saw you before in all my life. 

Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never 
see thy master's father, ^^incentio 1 

Bion, What, my old, worshipful old master? yes, 
marry, sir; see where he looks out of the window. 

Vin, Is 't so, indeed ? [iJsaJs Biondf.llo. 

Bion, Help, help, help! here's a madman will 
murder me. [Exit. 

Ped, Help, son! help, signior Baptista ! 

[Eiil,fnnn tlie UHndmr. 

Pet. Pr'ythee, Kate, let's stand aside, and see the 
end of this controversy. [77iei/ retire. 

Be-enter Pedant below; Baptista, Tranio, &; Servants. 

Tra. Sir, what are you, that offer to beat my servant? 
Vin. What am I, sir? nay, what are you, sir? — 

immortal gods ? O fine villain! A silken doublet! 
a velvet hose! a scarlet cloak! and a copatain hat! 
— O, I am undone I 1 am undone ! while I play the 
good husband at home, my son and my servant spend 
all at the university. 

Tra. How now I what 's the matter ? 

Bap, What, is the man lunatic ? 

Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by 
your habit, but your words shewyou a madman : Why, 
sir, what concerns it you, if I wear pearl and gold ? 

1 thank my good father, I am able to maititain it. 

Vin. Thy father ! O villain ! he is a sail maker in 
Bergamo. 

Bap. Vou mistake, sir ; you mistake, sir : Pray, 
what do you think is his name ? 

Vin. His name ? as if 1 knew not his name : I 



have brought him up ever since he was three years 
old, and his name is — Tranio. 

Ped. Away, away, mad ass ! his name is Lucentio , 
and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, 
signior Vincentio, 

Vin. Lucentio ! O, he hath murdered his master! 
— Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the duke's 
name : — O, my son, my son ! — tell me, thou villain, 
where is my son, Lucentio ? 

Tra. Call forth an officer: [Enter one with an 
Officer.] carry this mad knave to the gaol : — Father, 
Baptista, I ciiarge you see that he be forthcoming. 

Vin. Carry me to the gaol ! 

Gre. Stay, officer; he shall not go to prison. 

Bap. Talk not, signior Gremio ; 1 say, he shall go 
to prison. 

Gre. Take heed, signior Baptista, lest you be coney- 
catched in this business ; 1 dare swear, this is the 
right Vincentio. 

Ped. Swear, if thou darest. i 

Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it. 

Tra. Then thou wert best say, that I am not Lu- 
centio. 

Gre, Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio. 

Bup, Away with the dotard ; to the gaol with hira. 

Vin. Thus strangers may be haled and abus'd. — 
O monstrous villain ! 

Re-enter Biondeli.o, with Lucentio and Bianca. 

Bion. O, we are spoiled, and — Yonder he is ; deny 
him, forswear him, or else we are all undone. 

Luc. I'ardon, sweet father. [Kneeling. 

Vin, Lives my sweetest son ? 

[BiONDF.i.io, Tranio, and Pedant run out, 

Biun. Pardon, dear father. [Kneeling, 

Bap. How hast thou offended ? 

Where is Lucentio ? 

Luc, Here 's Lucentio, 

Right son unto the right Vincentio ; 
That have by marriage made thy daughter mine, 
While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne. 

Gre. Here's packing, with awitness, to deceiveusalll 

Vin. Where is that damned villain, Tranio, 
That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so ? 

Bap. \\ hy tell me, is not this my Cambio 1 

Bian, Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio. 

Liic. Love wrought these miracles, liianca's love 
Made me exchange my state with Tranio, 
While he did bear my countenance in the town 
And happily I have arriv'd at last 
Unto the wished haven of my bliss : — 
What Tranio did, myself enforc'd him to ; 
'i'hen pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. 

('/)(. I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have 
sent me to the gaol. 

Bap. But do you hear, sir? [To Lucentio.] Have 
you married my daughter without asking my good-will? 

Vin. Fear not, Baptista ; wevvillconlentyou,go to: 
But I will in, to be revenged for this villany ! [Erit. 

Bap. And 1 to sound thedepthofthis knavery. [Exit. 

Luc. Look not pale, Bianca; thy father \vill not 
frown. [E-ieiint Lit. and Bian. 

Gre. My cake is dough : but I'll in among the rest; 
Out of hope of all, — but my share of the feast. [Exit. 

PiTnucino and Katiiarina advance. 
Kath, Husband, let's follow to see the end of this ado 
Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. 
Kath. What, in the midst of the street] 
Pet. What, ait thou ashamed of me I 
Kath. No, sir ; God forbid : but ashamed to kiss. 
Pet, Why, then let's home again: — Come sirrah, 
let's away. 



ACT v.— SCENE II. 



273 



Kath. Nay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray tliee, 

love, stay. 
Pet. Is uot this well 1 — Come, my sweet Kate ; 
Better once than never, fornever too late. lExeunt. 

SCENE II, — A room in Lucentio's House. 

A Banquet set out. Enter Baptista, Vincentio, 
GiiEMio, the Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca, Petru- 
CHio, Katharina, HoRiENsio, ajid Widow. Tra- 
Nio, BiONDELLO, Grumio, and others, attending. 

hiic. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree ; 
And time it is, when raging war is done. 
To smile at 'scapes and perils overblown. — 
My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome, 
While I with self-same kindness welcome thine: — 
Brother Petrucliio, — sister Katharina, — 
And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow, — 
Feast with the best, and welcome to my house ; 
My banquet is to close our stomachs up. 
After our great good cheer : Pray you, sit down ; 
For now we sit to chat, as well as eat. [ Theii sit at table. 

Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat! 

Bap. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio. 

Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind. 

Hor. For both our sakes 1 would that word were true. 

Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. 

Wid. Then never trust me if I be afeard. 

Pet. You are sensible, and yet you miss my sense ; 
I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. 

Wid. He that is giddy thinks the world turns round. 

Pet. Roundly replied. 

Kath. Mistress, how mean you that "! 

Wid. Thus I conceive by him. 

Pet. Conceives by me ! — How likes Hortensio that ] 

Hor. My widow says, thus she conceives her tale. 

Pet. Very well mended : Kiss him for that, good 
widow. [round : 

Kath. He that is giddy, thinks the world turns 
I pray you, tell me what you meant by that. 

Wid. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew, 
Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe : 
And now you know my meaning. 

Kath. A very mean meaning. 

Wid. Right, I mean you. 

Kath. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you. 

Pet. To her, Kate ! 

Hor. To her, widow ! 

Pet. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down. 

Hor. That's my office. 

Pet. Spoke like an officer : — Ha' to thee, lad. 

[Dritdis to Hortensio. 

Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks ? 

Gre. Believe me, sir, they butt together well. 

Bian. Head, and butt ? an hasty witted body 
Would say your head and butt were head and horn. 

Vin. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd vou? 

Biau. Ay, but not frighted me ; therefore I'll .sleep 
again. 

Pet. Nay, that yor> shall not ; since you have begun. 
Have at you for a bitter jest or two. 

Bian. Am I your bird 1 I mean to shirt my bush. 
And tiien pursue me as you draw your bow : — 
You are welcome all. [Ex. Bian., Kath., &; Widow. 

Pet. She hath prevented me. — Here, signiorTranio, 
This bird you aim'd at, though you hit lier not; 
Therefore, a health to all tliat shot and miss'd. 

Tra. O.sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his greyhound, 
Which runs himself, and catches for his master. 

Pet. A good swift simile, but something currish. 

Tra. 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself ; 
'Tis thought, your deer does hold you at a bay. 



Bap. O ho, Petruchio, Tranio hits you now, 

Luc. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. 

Hoi: Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here 1 

Pet. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess ; 
; And, as the jest did glance away from me, 
j 'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. 
I Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, 
I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. 

Pet. Well, 1 say — no : and therefore, for assurance 
Let's each one send unto his wife ; 
! And he, whose wife is most obedient 
To come at first when he dotli send for her, 
Shall win the wager which we will propose, 

Hor. Content : What is the wager 1 

Luc. Twenty crowns. 

Pet. Twenty crowns ! 
I'll venture so much on my hawk, or hound, 
But twenty times so much upon my wife, 

Iaic. a hundred then. 

Hirr. Content. 

i^et. A match ; 'tis done, 

Hor. Who shall begin 1 

Luc. That will I. Go, 
Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. 

Bion. I go. [Exit. 

Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes. 

Luc. I'll have no halves ; I'll bear it all myself. 

Re-enter Biondello, 
How now ! what news 1 

Bion. Sir, my mistress sends you word, 

That she is busy, .and she cannot come. 

Pet. How ! she is busy, and she cannot come ! 
Is that an answer 1 

Gre. Ay, and a kind one too : 

Pray God, sir, your wife .send you not a worse. 

Pet. I hope, belter. 

Hor. Sirrah, Biondello, go, and entreat my wife 
To come to me forthwith. [Exit Biondello. 

Pet. O, ho ! entreat her ! 

Nay, then she must needs come. 

Hor. I am afraid, sir, 

Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. 

Re-enter Biondello. 
Now where's my wife ? 

Bion. She says, you have some goodly jest in hand ; 
She will not come ; she bids you come to her. 

Pet. Worse and worse ; she will not come ! O vile, 
Intolerable, not to be endur'd ! 
Sirrah, Grumio, go to your mistress ; 
Say I command her come to me. [Exit Grumio. 

Hor. I know her answer. 

Pet. Wliat ? 

Hor. She will not come. 

Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. 

Enter Katharina. 

Bap. Now, bymy holidame, here comes Katharina! 

Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send for me ? 

Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife 1 

Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire. 

Pet. Go, fetch them hither ; if they deny to come. 
Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands: 
Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. 

[Exit Katharina. 

Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. 

Hor. And so it is ; I wonder what it bodes. 

Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life, 
An awful rule, and right supremacy ; 
And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy. 

Bap. Now fair befal thee, good Petruchio ! 
The wager thou hast won ; and I will add 

S 



274 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns ! 

Another dowry to another daughter, 

For she is chang'd, as she had never been. 

Pet. Nay, 1 will win my wager better yet ; 
And shew more sign of her obedience, 
Her new-built virtue and obedience. 

Re-enter Katharina, with Bianca and Widow. 

See, where she comes ; and brings your froward wives 
As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. — 
Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not ; 
Off with that bauble, throw it under foot. 

[Katharina pulls off her cap, and throws it down. 

Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigii. 
Till I be brought to such a silly pass ! 

Bian. Fye ! what a foolish duty call you this 1 

Luc. I would, your duty were as foolish too : 
The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, 
Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper-time. 

Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty. 

Pet. Katharine, 1 charge thee, tell these head- 
strong women. 
What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. 

Wid. Come, come, you're mocking ; we will have 
no telling. 

Pet. Come on, 1 say ; and first begin with her. 

Wid. She shall not. 

Pet. I say, she shall ; — and first begin with her. 
Kath. Fye, fye! unknit that threat'ningunkindbrow; 
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, 
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor : 
It blots thy beauty, as frosts bite the meads ; 
Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds ; 
And in no sense is meet or amiable. 
A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled, 
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty ; 
And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty 
Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it. 
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, 
Thy head, thy sovereign ; one that cares for thee, 
And for thy maintenance : commits his body 
To painful labour, both by sea and land ; 
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, 



While thou liest warm at home, secure and safb ; 

And craves no other tribute at thy hands. 
But love, fair looks, and true obedience ; — 
Too little payment for so great a debt. 
Such duty as the subject owes the prince. 
Even sudi a woman oweth to her husband : 
And when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour. 
And not obedient to his honest will. 
What is she, but a foul contending rebel. 
And graceless traitor to her loving lord 1 — 
I am asham'd, that women are so simple 
To offer war, where they should kneel for peace ; 
Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway. 
When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. 
Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth, 
Unapt to toil, and trouble in the world ; 
But that our soft conditions, and our hearts. 
Should well agree with our external parts 1 
Come, come, you froward and unable worms ! 
My mind hath been as big as one of yours. 
My heart as great ; my reason, haply, more. 
To bandy word for word, and frown for frown ; 
But now, I see our lances are but straws ; 
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, — 
That seeming to be most, which we least are. 
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot; 
And place your hands before your husband's foot : 
In token of which duty, if he please. 
My hand is ready, may it do him ease, [me, Kate. 
Pet. Why, there 's a wencli ! — Come on, and kiss 
Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad: for thou shaltha't. 
Fin. 'Tis a good hearing, when children are toward. 
Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are froward. 

Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to bed : 

We three are married, but you two are sped. 
'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white ; 

[To LuCENTIO. 

And, being a winner, God give you good night ! 

[Eaeunf PETnuciiio and Katharine. 
Hor. Now go thy ways, thou hast tam'd a curst 

shrew. 
Luc. 'lis a wonder, by your leave, she will be 
tam'd so. [Eieunt. 



Of this play the two plots arc so well aDited,that they can hardly 
be called two without injury to the art with which they are 
interwoven. The attention is entertained with all the variety of 
a double plot, yet is not distracted by uncoonected incidenu. 



The part berwcen Katharine and Petmchio is eminently 
sprightly and diverting. At the marriage of Kianca the arrival 
of the real father, perhaps, produces more perplexity than plea- 
sure. 1 he whole play is very popular and divertiug. — Johnsok. 



WINTER'S TALE. 



Thb firit edition of this play is that of the Players, the folio 
of 1623. It could not have been written before 1010, as we 
find from the otfice-book of Sir Henry Herbert, that it was 
licensed by Sir lieorge Buck, who did not till that year get 
full possession of the office of Master of the Revels, which he 
had obtained by a reversionary grant ; neither could the co- 
medy have been produced later than 1613, when it was per- 
formed at Court. 

The plot is taken from the Pleasant History of Dorasliis and 
Faania, written by I'homas Green. The poet has changed the 
names of the characters, and added the parts of Antigonus, 
Paulina, and AulolycTts ; he has also suppressed many circum- 
stances of the original story ; in other respects he has adhered 
closely to the novel. The error of representing Bohemia as 
a maritime country is not attributable to our author, but to 
the original from which he copied. Ben Jouson, in a conver- 
sation with Drummoud of Ilawthurnden, in 1619, remarking 
on this geographical mistake, observed that " Shakspeare 
wanted art and sometimes sense, for in one of his plays he 
brought in s. number of men, saying they had sufifered ship- 



wreck in Bohemia, where is no sea near by a htindred miles." 
I'his remark, which was uttered in the course of private con- 
versation, without the slightest suspicion of its ever being 
made public, and which was so well justified by the example 
that he adduced to support it, has been quoted as another in- 
stance in proof of Jonson's enmity to Shakspeare. Jonson 
only professes to love Shakspeare, " on this side idolatry," to 
admire his excellences without being blinded to his defects: 
the incorrectness mentioned is decidedly a great fault, but 
there is no malignity or undue severity expressed by the man- 
ner in which it is censured. 

Mr. Walpole has a ridiculous conjecture that The Winter's Tale 
is an historical play, that it was intended as a covert compli- 
ment to Queen Elizabeth, that it is designed as a supplement 
to Henry the Eighth, and that Leontes represents the bluff 
monarch, Hermione, Anne HuUen, Perdita, Queen Elizabeth, 
and Mamillius an elder brother of hers, who was still-born. 

" 'ihe Title of this play," says Schlegel, " answers admirably 
to its subject. It is one of those histories which appear framed 
to delight the idleness of a long evening." 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Leontes, King of Sicilia. 

Mamillius, his son. 

Camillo, Antigonus, Cleomenes, Dion, 

Sicilian lords. 
Another Sic'iVmn lord. 
RoGEito, a Sicilian gentleman. 
An Attendant on ihe young Prince Mamillius. 
Officers of a Court if Judicature. 
Polixenes, King o/' Bohemia. 
Florizel, his son. 
Archidamus, a Bohemian lord. 
A Mariner. 
Gaoler. 

An old Shepherd, reputed father o/" Perdita. 
Clown, his son. 
Servant to the old shepherd, 
AuTOLYcus, a rogue. 
Time, as Chorus. 

Hermione, Queen to Leontes. 

Perdita, daughter to Leontes and Hermione. 

Paulina, wife to Antigonus. 

Emilia, a lady, i ,. , ., 

Two other ladies, ;««««^'"5 «''« Q'^een. 

MopsA, DoncAS, shepherdesses. 

Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Satyrs for a Dance; 
Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Guards, (5fc. 

SCENE, — sometimes in Sicilia, sometimes 
in Bohemia. 



ACT I. 

SCENE L 
Sicilia. — An Antechamber in Leontes' Palace. 
Enter Camillo and Archidamus. 
Arch. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohe- 
mia, on the like occasion whereon my services are 
now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great dif- 
ference betwixt our Bohemia, and your Sicilia. 

Cam. I think, this coming summer, the king of Si- 
cilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he 
justly owes him. 

Ar(:h. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us, 
we will be justified in our loves : for, indeed, — 
Cam. 'Beseech you, — — 
Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of mj know- 



ledge : we cannot with such magnificence — in so rare 

— I know not what to say. We will give you 

sleepy drinks ; that your senses, unintelligent of our 
insufficience, may, though they cannot praise us, as 
little accuse us. 

Cam. You pay a great deal too dear, for what 's 
given freely. 

Arch. Believe me, I speak as my understanding in- 
structs me, and as mine honesty puts it to utterance. 

Cam. Sicilia cannot shew himself over-kind to Bo- 
hemia. They were trained together in their child- 
hoods ; and there rooted betwixt them then such an 
aflfection, which cannot choose but branch now. Since 
their more mature dignities, and royal necessities, 
made separation of their society, their encounters, 
though not personal, have been royally attornied, with 
interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies ; that 
they have seemed to be together, though absent ; 
shook hands as over a vast ; and embraced, as it were, 
from the ends of opposed winds. The heavens con- 
tinue their loves! 

Arch. I think, there is not in the world either ma- 
lice, or matter, to alter it. You have an unspeakable 
comfort of your young prince Mamillius ; it is a gen- 
tleman of the greatest promise, that ever came into 
my note. 

Cam. I very well agree with you in the hopes of 
him : It is a gallant child ; one that, indeed, physics 
the subject, makes old hearts fresh ; they, that went 
on crutches ere he was born, desire yet their life, to 
see him a man. 

Arch. Would they else be content to die 1 

Cam. Yes ; if there were no other excuse why they 
should desire to live. 

Arch. If the king had no son, they would desire 
to live on crutches till he had one. lEieunt. 

SCENE IL 

The same. — A Room of State in the Palace. 

Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamillius, 
Camillo, and Attendants. 
Pol. Nine changes of the wat'ry star have been 
The shepherd's note, since we have left our throne 
Without a burden : time as long again 
Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks ; 
And yet we should, for perpetuity. 
Go hence in debt : And therefore, like a cipher, 
Yet standing in rich place, I multiply, 
With one wc-thank-you, many thousands more 
That go before it. 

S2 



27G 



WINTERS TALE. 



Leo7i, Stay your thanks awhile ; 

And pay them when you part. 

PpI. Sir, that's to-morrow. 

I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance, 
Or breed upon our absence : That may blow 
No sneaping winds at home, to make us say, 
This is put forth too truly ! Besides, 1 have stay'd 
To tire your royalty. 

Leon. We are tougher, brother, 

Than you can put us to 't. 

Pol. No longer stay. 

Leon. One seven-night longer. 

Pol. Very sooth, to-morrow. 

Leon. We'll part the time between's then, and in that 
I '11 no gainsaying. 

Pol. Press me not, 'beseech you, so ; 

There is no tongue that moves, none, none i'the world. 
So soon as yours, could win me : so it should now. 
Were there necessity in your request, although 
'Twere needful I denied it. INIy affairs 
Do even drag me homeward : wliich to hinder. 
Were, in your love, a whip to me ; my stay, 
To you a charge, and trouble : to save both. 
Farewell, our brother. 

Leon. Tongue-tied, our queen ? speak you. 

Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my ]ieace, until 
You had drawn oaths from him, not to stay ^ ou, sir, 
Charge him too coldly: Tell him, you are sure. 
All in Bohemia 's well : this satisfaction 
The by-gone day proclaim'd ; say this to him. 
He 's beat from his best ward. 

Leon. Well said, Hermione 

Her. To tell, belongs to see his son, were strong: 
But let him say so then, and let him go ; 
But let liim swear so, and lie shall not stay, 
We '11 thwack him hence with distaffs. — 
Yetof your royal presence [fnPoi..] I'll adventure 
The borrow of a week. U'hen at Bohemia 
You take my lord, 1 '11 give him my conmiission. 
To let him there a month, behind the gest 
Prefix'd for his parting : yet, good deed, Leontes, 
I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind 
What lady she her lord.- — You '11 stay ? 

Pot. No, madam. 

Her. Nay, but you will 1 

Pol. I may not verily. 

Hel. Verily! 
You put me off" with limber vows : But I, 
Though you would seek to unsphere the stars with 
Should yet say. Sir, no going. Verily [oaths, 

You shall not go ; a lady's verily is 
As potent as a lord's. \Vill you go yet? 
Force me to keep you as a prisoner. 
Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees, 
Whenyou depart, and save your thanks. How say you? 
My prisoner '. or my guest ? by your dread verily, 
One of them you shall be. 

Pol. Your guest then, madam : 

To be your prisoner, should import offending ; 
Which is for me less easy to commit, 
Than you to punish. 

Her. Not your gaoler then, 

But your kind hostess, dome, 1 '11 (juestion you 
Of my lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys ; 
Y'ou were pretty lordlings then. 

Pol. We were, fair queen. 

Two lads, that thought there was no more behind. 
But such a day to-morrow as today. 
And to be boy eternal 

Fer. Was not my lord the verier wag o' the two T 

Pol. We were as tvvinn'd lambs that did frisk i' the 
sun. 



And bleat the one at the other: What we chang'd 
Was innocence for innocence ; we knew not 
The doctrine of ill-doing, no, nor dream'd 
That any did: Had we pursued that life. 
And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd 
With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven 
Boldly, Not guilty ; the miposition clear'd. 
Hereditary ours. 

Her. By this we gather, 

Y^ou have tripp'd since. 

Pol. O my most sacred lady. 

Temptations have since then been born to us : for 
In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl ; 
Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes 
Of my young play-fellow. 

Her. Grace to boot ! 

Of this make no conclusion ; lest you say. 
Your queen and I are devils : Yet, go on ; 
The offences we have made you do, we'll answer ; 
If you first sinn'd with us, and tiiat with us 
You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not 
With any but with us. 

Leon. Is he won yet ? 

Her. He '11 stay, my lord. 

Leon. At my request, he would not. 

Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st 
To better purpose. 

Her. Never ? 

Leon. Never, but once. [before. 

Her. What? have I twice said well? when was 't 
I pr'ythee, tell me: Cram us with praise, and make us 
A s fat as tame things: One good deed, dying tongueless. 
Slaughters a tliousand, waiting upon that. 
Our praises are our wages : Y'ou may ride us 
With one soft kiss, a thousand furlongs, ere 
With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal ;—■ 
IVIy last good was, to entreat his stay ; 
What was my first ? it has an elder sister. 
Or I mistake you : O, would her name were Grace ! 
But once before I spoke to the purpose • When ? 
Nay, let me have't ; I long. 

Leon. ^^'^y tl't't was when 

Three crab'oed months had sour'd themselves to death, 
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand. 
And clap thyself my love ; then didst thou utter, 
/ am yours for ever. 

Her. It is Grace, indeed. — 

Why, lo you now I have spoke to the purpose twice ; 
The one for ever earn'd a royal husband ; 
The other, for some while a friend. 

\^Giving her hand to Poi.ixenks. 

Leon. Too hot, too hot : \^Aside. 

To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods. 
I have tremor cordis on me : — my heart dances ; 
But not for joy,— not joy.— This entertainment 
May a free face put on; derive a liberty 
From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom. 
And well become the agent : it may, 1 grant : 
But to be paddling palms, and pinching fingers, 
As now they are ; and making practis'd smiles, 
As in a looking glass ;— and then to sigh, as 'twere 
The mort o' the deer ; O, that is entertainment 
My bosom likes not, nor my brows. — Mamillius, 
Art thou my boy ? 

Main. Ay, my good lord. 

Leon. i' fecks? [nose?— 

Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast smutch'd thy 
They say, it's a copy out ofmine. Come, captain, 
We must be neat ; not neat, but cleanly, captain : 
And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf. 
Are all call'd neat. — Still virginailing 

lObier^ving Polixenks and Hf.kmione. 



ACT I —SCENE II. 



277 



Upon his palm?— How now, you wanton calfl 
Art thou my calf? 

Mtim. Yes, if you will, my lord. [that I have, 

Leon. Thou warjt'st a rough pash, and the shoots 
To be full like me: — yet, they say we are 
Almost as like as eggs ; women say so, 
That will say auy thing : But were they false 
As o'er-died blacks, as wind, as waters ; false 
As dice are to be wish'd, by one that fixes 
No bourn 'twixt his and mine ; yet were it true 
To say this boy were like me. — Come, sir page. 
Look on me with your welkin eye: Sweet villain ! 
Most dear'st ! my coUop ! — Can thy dam ! — may'l be? 
Affection! thy intention stabs the centre: 
Thou dost make possible, things not so held, 
Communicat'stwith dreams ; — (How can this be?) — 
With what's unreal thou coactive art. 
And fellow'st nothing : Then, 'tis very credent, 
'I'hou may'st co-join with something ; and thou dost ; 
(And that beyond commission; and 1 find it,) 
And that to the infection of my brains, 
And hardening of my brows. 

Fol. What means Sicilia ? 

Her. He something seems unsettled 

Pol. How, my lord? 

Leon. What cheer? how is't with you, best brotlierl 

Her. You look. 

As if you held a brow of much distraction : 
Are you inov'd, my lord ! 

Leon. No, in good earnest, — 

How sometimes nature will betray it's folly, 
Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime 
To harder bosoms ! Looking on the lines 
Of my boy's lace, methoughts, I did recoil 
Twenty-three years ; and saw myself unbreech'd. 
In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled. 
Lest it should bite its master, and so prove, 
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. 
How like, methought, 1 then was to this kernel. 
This squash, this gentleman : — Mine honest friend, 
Will you take eggs for money ? 

Mam. No, my lord, I'll fight. [-^^Y brother, 

Leon. You will ? why, happy man be his dole ! — • 
Are you so fond of your young prince, as we 
Do seem to be of ours ? 

Pol, If at home, sir. 

He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter : 
Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy ; 
My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all : 
He makes a July's day short as December ; 
And, with his varying childness, cures in me 
Thoughts that would thick my blood. 

Leon. So stands this squire 

Offic'd with me: We two will walk, my lord, 
And leave you to your graver steps. — Hermione, 
How thou lov'st us, shew in our brother's welcome ; 
Let what is dear in Sicily, be cheap : 
Next to thyself, and my young rover, he's 
Apparent to my heart. 

Her. If you would seek us, 

We are your's i' the garden : Shall's attend you there I 

Leon. To your own bents dispose you : you'll be 
Be you beneath the sky : — 1 am angling now, [found. 
Though you [lerceive me not how I give line. 
Go to, go to ! 

l^Aiide. Observing Poi.ixenfs and Hermione. 
How she holds up the neb, the bill to him! 
And arms her with the boldness of a wife 
To her allowing husband! Gone already ; 
Inch thick, knee-deep, o'er head andearsafork'done. 
[Eaeu«t PoLiXKNF.s, Hermione, and Attendants. 
Go, play, boy, play ; — thy mother plays, and 1 



Play too ; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue 
Will hiss me to my grave ; contempt and clamour 
Will be my knell. — Go, play, boy, play ; — There have 
Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now; [been, 
And many a man there is, even at this present, 
Now, while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm. 
That little thinks she has been sluic'd in his absence. 
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by 
Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay, there's comfort in't. 
Whiles other men have gates ; and those gates open'd. 
As mine, against their will : Should all despair. 
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind 
Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is none ; 
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike 
Where 'tis predominant; and "tis powerful, think it. 
From east, west, north, and south : Be it concluded. 
No barricade for a belly; know it ; 
It will let in and out the enemy. 
With bag and baggage : many a thousand of us 
Have the disease, and feel't not. — How now, boy 1 

Mum. I am like you, they say. 

Leon. Why, that's some comfort. — 

What! Camillo there ? 

Cam. Ay, my good lord. 

Leon. Go play, Mamillius ; thou'rtan honestman. — 

[Exit Mamili.ius. 
Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. 

Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold : 
When you cast out, it still came home. 

Leon. Didst note if? 

Cain. He would not stay at your petitions ; made 
His business more material. 

Leon. Didst perceive it ? — ■ 

They're here with me already ; whispering, rounding, 
Sicilia is a so-forth : 'Tis far gone, 
When I shall gust it last. — How came't, Camillo, 
That he did stay ? 

Cam. At the good ([ueen's entreaty, [nent? 

Leon. At the queen's, be't : good, should be perli- 
But so it is, it is not. Was this taken 
By any understanding pate but thine 1 
For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in 
More than the common blocks : — Not noted, is't, 
But of the finer natures? by some severals, 
Of head piece extraordinary 1 lower messes, 
Perchance are to this business purblind: say. 

Cam. Business, my lord? I think, most understand 
Bohemia stays here longer. 

Leon. Ha 1 

Cam. Stays here longer. 

Leon. Ay, but why? 

Cam. To satisfy your iiighness, and the entreaties 
Of our most gracious mistress. 

Leon. Satisfy 

The entreaties of your mistress ? satisfy ? — 

Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, 
With all the nearest things to my heart, as well 
My chamber councils : wherein, priest-like, thou 
Hast cleans 'd my bosom ; I from thee departed 
Thj' penitent reform 'd: but we have been 
Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd 
In that which seems so. 

Cam. Be it forbid, my lord I 

Leon. To bide upon't; — Thou art not honest: oi. 
If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward ; 
Which boxes honesty behind, restraining 
From course requir'd: Or else thou must be counted 
A servant, grafted in my serious trust. 
And therein negligent: or else a fool, 
Thatseest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn, 
And tak'st it all for jest. 

Cam. My gracious lord, 



270 



WINTER'S TALE. 



I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful ; 
la every one of these no man is free. 
But that his negligence, his folly, fear. 
Amongst the infinite doings of the world, 
Sometime puts forth : In your affairs, my lord, 
If ever I were wilful-negligent. 
It was my folly ; if industriously 
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, 
Not weighing well the end ; if ever fearful 
I'o do a thing, where I the issue doubted, 
Whereof the execution did cry out 
Against the nonperformance, 'twas a fear 
Which oft affects the wisest: these, my lord. 
Are such aliow'd infirmities, that honesty 
Is never free of. But, 'beseech your grace, 
Be plainer with me : let me know my trespass 
By its own visage : if I then deny it, 
"I'is none of mine. 

Lemi. Have not you seen, Camillo, 

(But that's past doubt: you have ; or your eye-glass 
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn;) or heard, 
(For, to a vision so apparent, rumour 
Cannot be mute,) or thought, (for cogitation 
Resides not in that man, that does not think it,) 
My wife is slippery 1 If thou wilt confess, 
(Or else be impudently negative. 
To have, nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then say, 
My wife's a hobbyhorse ; deserves a name 
As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to 
Before her troth-plight: say it, and justify it 

Cam. I would not be a stander-by, to hear 
My sovereign mistress clouded so, without 
My present vengeance taken : 'Shrew my heart. 
You never spoke what did become you less 
'i'lian this ; which to reiterate, were sin 
As deep as that, though true. 

Lenu. Is wliispering nothing? 

Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses? 
Kissing with inside lip ? stopping the career 
Of laughter with a sigh? (a note infallible 
Of breaking honesty : ) horsing foot on foot ? 
Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift? 
Hours, minutes • noon, midnight? and all eyes blind 
With the pin and web, but theirs, theirs only. 
That would unseen be wicked ? is this nothing? 
Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing; 
The covering sky is nothing ; Bohemia nothing ; 
My wife is nothing ; nor nothing have these nothings. 
If this be nothing. 

Cam. Good my lord, be cur'd 

Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes ; 
For 'tis most dangerous. 

Leon. Say, it be ; 'tis true. 

Cam. No, no, my lord. 

Leon. It is ; you lie, you lie : 

I say, thou liest, Camillo, and 1 hate thee ; 
Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave; 
Or else a hovering temporizer, that 
Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, 
Inclining to them both : Were my vvife's liver 
Infected as her life, she would not live 
The running of one glass. 

Cam. Who does infect her ? [ing 

Leon. Why he, that wears her like her medal, hang- 
About his neck, Bohemia: Who — if I 
Had servants true about me : that bare eyes 
I'o see alike mine honour as their profits. 
Their own particular thrifts, — they would do that 
Which should undo more doing : Ay, and thou, 
His cupbearer, — whom 1 from meaner form 
Have bench'd and rear'd to worship ; who may'st see 
Plainly, as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven. 



How I am galled, — might'st bespice a cup, 
To give mine enemy a lasting wink ; 
Which draught to me were cordial. 

Cam. Sir, my lord, 

I could do this ; and that with no rash potion. 
But with a ling'ring dram, that should not work 
Maliciously like poison : But I cannot 
Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress. 
So sovereignly being honourable. 
I have lov'd thee, 

Leon. Make't thy question, and go rot ! 

Dost think, I am so muddy, so unsettled, 
To appoint myself in this vexation? sully 
The purity and whiteness of my sheets, 
Which to preserve, is sleep; which being spotted, 
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps? 
Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son. 
Who, I do think is mine, and love as mine ; 
Without ripe moving to't ? — AVouid I do this? 
Could man so blench ? 

Cam. I must believe you, sir; 

I do ; and will fetch off Bohemia for't: 
Provided, that when he's remov'd, your highness 
Will take again your queen, as yours at first ; 
Even for your son's sake ; and, thereby, for sealing 
The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms 
Known and allied to yours. 

Leon. Thou dost advise me. 

Even so as I mine own course have set down : 
I'll give no blemish to her honour, none. 

Cam. Rly lord. 
Go then ; and with a countenance as clear 
As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia, 
And with your queen : 1 am his cuj>bearer ; 
If from me he have wholesome beverage. 
Account me not your servant. 

Leon. This is all : 

Do 't, and thou hast the one half of my heart ; 
Do't not, thou split'sl thine own. 

Cam. I '11 do 't, my lord. 

Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me. 

[El'-. 

Cam. O miserable lady ! — But, for me. 
What case stand 1 in ? I must be the poisoner 
Of good Polixenes : and my ground to do 't 
Is the obedience to a master ; one. 
Who, in rebellion with himself, will have 
All that are liis, so too. — To do this deed. 
Promotion follows : If I could find example 
Of thousands, that had struck anointed kings. 
And flourished after, I 'd not do 't : but since 
Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one. 
Let villany itself forswear 't. I must 
Forsake the court : to do't, or no, is certain 
To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now ! 
Here comes Bohemia. 

Enter Polixenes. 

Pol. This is strange ! methmks, 

My favour here begins to warp. Not speak ? 

Good-day, Camillo. 

Cam. Hail, most royal sir: 

Pol. What is the news i' the court ? 

Cam. None rare, my lord. 

Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance, 
As he had lost some province, and a region, 
Lov'd as he loves himself: even now 1 met him 
With customary compliment ; when he, 
Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling 
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me ; and 
So leaves me, to consider what is breeding. 
That changes thus his manners. 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



•279 



Cam. 1 dare not know, my lord. 

Fol. How ! dare not? do not. Do you know, and 
Be intelligent to mel 'Tis thereabouts; [dare not 
For, to yourself, what you do know, you must ; 
And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo, 
Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror. 
Which shews me mine chang'd too: for 1 must be 
A. party in this alteration, finding 
Myself thus alter'd with it. 

Cam. There is a sickness 

Which puts some of us in distemper ; but 
[ cannot name tlie disease ; and it is caught 
Of you that yet are well. 

Fol. How ! caught of me ? 

Make me not sighted like the basilisk : 
I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the better 

By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo, 

As you are certainly a gentleman ; thereto 

Clerk-like, expcrienc'd, which no less adorns 

Our gentry, than our parents' noble names, 

In whose success we are gentle, I beseech you, 

If you know aught which does behove my knowledge 

Thereof to be inform'd, imprison it not 

In ignorant concealment. 

Ca7n. I may not answer. 

Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well ! 
I must be answer'd. — Dost thou hear, Camillo, 
I conjure thee, by all tlie parts of man, 
Which honour does acknowledge, — whereof the least 
Is not this suit of mine, — that thou declare 
What incidency thou dost guess of harm 
Is creeping toward me ; how far off, how near ; 
Which way to be prevented, if to be ; 
If not, how best to bear it. 

Cam. Sir, I 'II tell you ; 

Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him 
That I think honourable : Therefore, mark my counsel ; 
Which must be even as swiftly foUow'd, as 
I mean to utter it ; or both yourself and me 
Cry, lost, and so good-night. 

Pol. On, good Camillo. 

Cam. I am appointed him to murder you. 

Pol. By whom, Camillo "! 

Cam. By the king. 

Pol. For what 1 

Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears, 
As he had seen 't or been an instrument 
To vice j'ou to't, — that you have touch'd his queen 
Forbiddenly. 

Pol. O, then my best blood turn 

To an infected jelly ; and my name 
Be yok'd with his, that did betray the best ! 
Turn then my freshest reputation to 
A savour, that may strike the dullest nostril 
Where I arrive ; and my approach be shunn'd. 
Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection 
That e'er was heard, or read ! 

Cam. Swear his thought over 

By each particular star in heaven, and 
By all their influences, you may as well 
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon. 
As or, by oath, remove, or counsel, shake 
The fabric of his folly ; whose foundation 
Is pil'd upon his faith, and will continue 
The standing of his body. 

Pol. How should this grow ? 

Cam: I know not : but, I am sure, 'tis safer to 
Avoid what's grown, than question how 'tis bora. 
If therefore you dare trust my honesty, — 
That lies enclosed in this trunk, which you 
Shall bear along impawn'd, — away to night. 
Vour followers I will whisper to the business : 



And will, by twos, and threes, at several posterns. 

Clear them o' the city : For myself, 1 '11 put 

My fortunes to your service, which are here 

By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain ; 

For, by the honour of my parents, I 

Have utter'd truth : which if you seek to prove, 

I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer 

Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, thereon 

His execution sworn. 

Pol. I do believe thee ; 

I saw his heart in his face. Give me thy hand ; 
Be pilot to me, and thy places shall 
Still neighbour mine : My ships are ready, and 
My people did expect my hence departure 
Two days ago. — This jealousy 
Is for a precious creature : as she 's rare. 
Must it be great ; and, as his person's mighty, 
Must it be violent : and as he does conceive 
He is dishonour'd by a man which ever 
Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must 
In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me ; 
Good expedition be my friend, and comfort 
The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing 
Of his ill-ta'en suspicion ! Come, Camillo ; 
I will respect thee as a father ; if 
Thou bear'st my life off hence : let us avoid. 

Cam. It is in mine authority, to command 
The keys of all the posterns : Please your highness 
To take the urgent hour: come, sir, away. [Exeunl. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I.— The same. 
Enter Hermione, Mamillius, and Ladies. 

Her. Take the boy to you : he so troubles me, 
'Tis past enduring. 

1 Lady. Come, my gracious lord. 

Shall I be your play-fellow 1 

Mam. No, I'll none of you. 

1 Lady. Why, my sweet lord 1 

Mam. You'll kiss me hard ; and speak to me as if 
I were a baby still. — 1 love you better. 

2 Lady. And why so, my good lord 1 

Mam. Not for because 

Your brows are blacker ; yet black brows, they say. 
Become some women best ; so that there be not 
Too much hair there, but in a semi-circle. 
Or half-moon made with a pen. 

"2 Ladt). Who taught you this ? 

Mam. I learn'd it out of women's faces. — Pray now 
What colour are your eye-brows 1 

1 Lady. Blue, my lord. 

Mam. Nay, that's a mock : I have seen a lady's nose 
That has been blue, but not her eye-brows. ' 

a Lady. Hark ye : 

The queen, your mother, rounds apace : we shall 
Present our services to a fine new prince. 
One of these days ; and then you 'd wanton with us, 
If we would have you. 

1 Lady . She is spread of late 

Into a goodly bulk : Good time encounter her : 

Her. What wisdom stirs among you ] Come, sir, 
I am for you again : Pray you, sit by us, [now 

And tail's a tale. 

Mam. IVIerry, or sad, shall "t be ? 

Her. As merry as you will. 

Mam. A sad tale 's best for winter: 

I have one of sprites and goblins. 

Her. Let 's have that, good sir. 



280 



WINTER'S TALE. 



Come on, sit down : — Come on, and do your best 
To fright me with your sprites : you 're powerful at it. 

Mam. There was a man, 

Her. Nay. come, sit down : then on. 

Mam. Dwelt by a church-yard ; — 1 will tell it 
Yon crickets shall not hear it. [softly ; 

Her. Come on then, 

And give 't me in inine ear. 

Enter Leontes. AsTicoNrs, Lords, and others. 

Leon. Wcis he met there 1 his train 1 Camillo with 
iiim ? 

1 Lord Behind the tuft of pines 1 met them ; never 
Saw I men scour so on their way : 1 ey'd them 
Even to their ships. 

Leon. How bless'd am I 

In my just censure ! in my true opinion ! — 
Alack, for lesser knowledge I How accurs'd, 
In being so blest [ — There may be in the cup 
A spider steep'd, aud one may drink ; depart. 
And vet partake no venom ; for his knowledge 
Is not infected : but if one present 
The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known 
How he hath drank, he cracks his gorge, his sides 
With violent hefts : — 1 have drank, and seen the spider. 
Camillo was his help in this, his pander : — 
There is a plot aga"ist my life, my crown ; 
All's true that is mistrusted : — that false villain, 
Whom I employ'd, was pre employ'd by him : 
He has discover d my design, and I 
Remain a pinch'd thing ; yea, a very trick 
For them to play at will: — How came the posterns 
So easily open ? 

1 Lord. Bv his great authority ; 

Which often hath ao less prevailed than so, 
On your command. 

Leon. I know 't too well. 

Give me the bov ; 1 am glad, vou did not nurse him: 
Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you 
Have too much blood in him. 

Her. What is this ? sport 1 

Leon. Bear the boy hence, he shall not cqjne about 
Away with him : — and let her sport herself [her ; 
With that she 's big with ; for 'tis Polixenes 
Has made thee swell thus. 

Her. But I 'd say, he had not. 

And, I'll be sworn, you would believe my saying, 
Howe'er you lean to the nayward. 

Leon. You, my lords. 

Look on her, mark tier well ; be but about 
To say, she is j goiHilii iadti, and 
The justice of your iiearts will thereto add, 
'Tispitij, she's not honest, honourable: 
Praise her but for this her without-door form, 
(Which, on iny fcuth, deserves high speech,) £md 

straight 
Th% shrug, the hum, or ha ; these petty brands. 
That calumny doth use : — O, I am out. 
That mercy does -, for calumny will sear 
Virtue itself: — these shrugs, these hums, and ha's, 
When you hare said, she's goodly, come between. 
Ere you can say she 's honest : But be it known. 
From him that has inost cause to grieve it should be, 
She's an adultress. 

Her. Should a villain say so. 

The most replenisn d villain in the world. 
He were as much more villain : you, my lord, 
Do but mistake. 

Leon. You ha^e mistook, my lady, 

Polixenes for Leontes : O thou thing, 
Which I'll not call a creature of thy place. 
Lest barbarism, making me the precedent. 



Should a like language nse to all degrees. 
And mannerly distinguishment leave out 
Betwixt the prince and beggar ! — I have said. 
She's an adultress ; I have said, with whom ; 
More, she's a traitor ; and Camillo is 
A federary with her ; and one that knows 
What she should shame to know herself, 
But with her most vile principal, that she's 
I A bed-swerver, even as bad as those 
I That Yulgars give bold titles ; ay, aud privy 
To this their late escape. 

Her. No, by my life. 

Privy to none of this : How will this grieve you. 
When vou shall come to clearer knowledge, that 
You thus have publish'd me ? Gentle my lord. 
You scarce can right me throughly then, to say 
You did mistake. 

Leon. ' No, no ; if I mistake 

In those foundations which I build upon. 
The center is not big enough to bear 
A school-boy's top. — Away with her to prison . 
He, who shall speak for her, is afar off guilty, 
' But that he speaks. 

Her. There's some ill planet reigns 

I must be patient, till the heavens look 
With an aspect more favourable. — Good my lords, 
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex 
I Commonly are ; the want of which vain dew, 
I Perchance, shall dry your pities : but I have 
I That honourable grief lodg'd here, which bums 
Worse than tears drown : 'Beseech you all, my lords, 
With thoughts so qualified a^ your charities 
Shall best instruct you, measure me; — and so 
The king's will be perform'd ! 

Leon. Shall I be heard ? [To Vie Guards. 

Her. Who is't, that goes with me? — 'Beseech your 
My women may be with me ; for, you see, [highness, 
My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools ; 
There is no cause : when you shall know, your mis- 
Has deserv'd prison ; then abound in tears, [tress 
As I come out : this action I now go on. 
Is for my better grace. — Adieu, my lord ; 
I never wish'd to see you sorry ; now, 

I trust, I shall. My women, come; you have leaTe. 

Leon. Go, do our bidding ; hence. 

[Eieunt Queen and Ladies. 
1 Lord, 'Beseech your highness, call the queen 

again. 
Ant. Be certain what you do, sir : lest your justice 
Prove violence : in the which three great ones suffer. 
Yourself, your queen, your son. 

1 Lord. For her, my lord,-- 

I dare my life lay down, and will do't, sir. 
Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless 
I'the eyes of heaven, and to you; I mean. 
In this which you accuse her. 

Ant. If it prove 

She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where 
I I lodge my wife : I'll go in couples with her; 
\ Than when 1 feel, and see her, no further trust hei , 
For every inch of woman in the world. 
Ay, every dram of woman's flesh, is false. 
If she be. 

Leon. Hold your peaces. 
1 Lord. Good my lord, — 

Ant. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves: 
You are abus'd, and by some putter-on. 
That will be damn'd for't ; 'would I knew the villain 
I would land-damn him : Be she honour-flaw'd, — 
I have three daughters ; the eldest is eleven ; 
The second and the third, nine, and some five ; 
If this prove true, they'll pay for't : bv mine honour, 



ACT II.— SCENE II. 



281 



I'll geld them all : fourteen they shall not see, 
To bring false generations : they are co-heirs ; 
And I had rather glib myself, than they 
Snoiild not produce fair issue. 

Leon. Cease ; no more. 

You smell this business with a sense as cold 
As is a dead man's nose : but I do see't and feel't, 
As you feel doing thus ; and see withal 
Tlie instruments that feel. 

Ant. If it be so, 

We need no grave to bury honesty; 
There's not a grain of it, the face to sweeten 
Of the whole dungy earth. 

Leon. What! lack I credit? 

1 Lord. I had rather you did lack, than I, my lord, 
Upon this ground : and more it would content me 
To have her honour true, than your suspicion ; 
Be blam'd for't how you might. 

Leon. Why, what need we 

Commune with you of this 1 but rather follow 
Our forceful instigation 1 Our prerogative 
Calls not your counsels ; but our natural goodness 
Imparts this : which — if you (or stupified. 
Or seeming so in skill,) cannot, or will not. 
Relish as truth, like us ; inform yourselves. 
We need no more of youp advice : the matter, 
The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all 
Properly ours. 

Ant. And I wish, my liege. 

You had only in your silent judgment tried it, 
Without more overture. 

Leon. How could that be ] 

Either thou art most ignorant by age. 
Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight. 
Added to their familiarity, 

(Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture, 
That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation. 
But only seeing, all other circumstances 
Made up to the deed,) doth push on this proceeding. 
Yet, for a greater confirmation, 
(For, in an act of this importance, 'twere 
Most piteous to be wild,) 1 have dispatch'd in post. 
To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, 
Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know 
Of stufTd sufficiency : Now, from the oracle, 
They will bring all ; whose spiritual counsel had, 
Shall stop, or spur me. Have I done well ] 

1 Lord. Well done, my lord. 

Leon. Though I am satisfied, and need no more 
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle 
Give rest to the minds of others ; such as he. 
Whose ignorant credulity will not 
Come up to the truth : So have we thought it good. 
From our free person she should be confin'd ; 
Lest tiiat the treachery of the two, fled hence. 
Be left her to perform. Come, follow us ; 
We are to speak in public ; for this business 
Will raise us all. 

Ant. [Aside.] To laughter, as I take it. 
If the good truth were known. [Ejeuut. 

SCENE II. — The same. The outer Room of a Prison. 

Enter Paulina and Attendants. 

Paul. The keeper of the prison, — call to him ; 

[Exit on Attendant. 
Let him have knowledge who I am. — Good lady ! 
No court in Europe is too good for thee, 
What dost thou then in prison ! — Now, good sir. 

Re-enter Attendant, with the Keeper. 
Vou know me, do you not] 



For a worthy lady, 
Pray you then. 



Keep. 
And one whom much I honour. 

Pun I. 
Conduct me to the queen. 

Keep. I may not, madam ; to the contrary 
I have express commandment. 

Paul. Here's ado, 

To lock up honesty and honour from 
The access of gentle visitors ! — Is it lawful, 
Pray you, to see her women 1 any of them ■* • 
Emilia ? 

Keep. So please you, madam, to put 
Apart these your attendants, I shall bring 
Emilia forth. 

Paul. I pray now, call her. 

Withdraw yourselves. [Exeunt Attend. 

Keep. And, madam, 

I must be present at your conference. 

Paul. SVell, be it so, pry'thec. [Eiit Keeper, 

Here's such ado to make no stain a stain, 
As passes colouring. 

Re-enter Keeper, with Emilia. 

Dear gentlewoman, how fares our gracious lady 1 

Emil. As well as one so great, and so forlorn. 
May hold together : on her frights, and griefs, 
(Which never tender lady hath borne greater,) 
She is, something before her time, delivered. 

Paul, A boy ! 

Emil. A daughter ; and a goodly babe. 

Lusty, and like to live : the queen receives 
Much comfort in't : says My poor prisoner, 
I am innocent as you, 

Paul. I dare be sworn : ■ 

These dangerous unsafe lunes o'the king ! beshrew 

He must be told on't, and he shall : the office [them ' 

Becomes a woman best ; I'll take't upon me : 

If I prove honey mouth'd, let my tongue blister , 

And never to my red-look'd anger be 

The trumpet any more : — Pray you, Emilia, 

Commend my best obedience to tiie queen ; 

If she dares trust me with her little babe, 

I'll shevv't the king, and undertake to be 

Her advocate to th' loudest : We do not know 

How he may soften at the sight o'the child ; 

The silence often of pure innocence 

Persuades, when speaking fails. 

Emil. Most worthy madam, 

Your honour, and your goodness is so evident, 
That your free undertaking cannot miss 
A thriving issue ; there is no lady living. 
So meet for this great errand: please your ladyship 
To visit the next room, I'll presently 
Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer ; 
Who, but to-day, hammer'd of this design ; 
But durst not tempt a minister of honour, 
Lest she should be denied. 

Paul. Tell her, Emilia, 

I'll use that tongue I have : if wit flow from it. 
As boldness from my bosom, let it not be doubted 
1 shall do good. 

Emil. Now be you blest for it ! 

I'll to the queen : Please you, come something nearer. 

Keep. Aladam, if t please the queen to send the babe 
I know not what I shall incur, to pass it, 
Having no warrant. 

Paul. You need not fear it, sir : 
The child was prisoner to the womb ; and is. 
By law and process of great nature, thence 
Freo'd and ent'ranchis'd : not a party to 
The anger of tlie king ; nor guilty of, 
If any be, the trespass of the queen. 



282 



WINTER'S TALE. 



Keep. I do believe it. 

Paul. Do not you fear : upon 

Mine honour, 1 will stand 'twixt you and danger. 

[ Eieunt. 

SCENE III. — The same, A Room i7i the Palace. 

Enter Leontes, Avtigonus, Lords, and 
other Attendants. 

Leon. Nor night, nor day, no rest: Itisbutweak- 
To beaj the matter thus ; mere weakness, if [ness 
The cause were not in being ; — part o' the cause, 
She, the adultress ; for the harlot king 
Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank 
And level of my brain, plot-proof : but she 
I can hook to me : Say, that she were gone. 
Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest 
Might come to me again. Who's there 1 

1 Atten. My lord ? [^Advancing. 

Leon. How does the boy 1 

1 Atten. He took good rest to-night ; 

'Tis hop'd, his sickness is discharg'd. 

Leon. To see. 

His nobleness ! 

Conceiving the dishonour of his mother. 
He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply ; 
Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself; 
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, 
And downright languish'd. — Leave me solely: — go. 
See how he fares. [Eitt Attend.] — Fye, fye ! no 

thought of him ; 
The very thought of my revenges that way 
Recoil upon me : in himself too mighty : 
And in his parties, his alliance, — Let him be, 
Until a time may serve : for present vengeance, 
Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes 
Laugh at me ; make their pastime at my sorrow : 
They should not laugh, if 1 could reach them ; nor 
Shall she, within my power. 

Enter Paulina, with a child. 

1 Lord. You must not enter. 

Paul, Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me : 
Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas. 
Than the queen's life t a gracious innocent soul ; 
More free, than he is jealous. 

Ant. That's enough. 

1 Attend. ]Madam,he hath not slept to-night ; corn- 
None should come at him. [manded 

Paul. Not so hot, good sir ; 

I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you, — 
That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh 
At each his needless heavings, — such as you 
Nourish the cause of his awaking : I 
Do come with words as med'cinal as true ; 
Honest, as either ; to purge him of that humour, 
That presses him from sleep. 

Leon. What noise there, ho 1 

Paul. No noise, my lord ; but needful conference ; 
About some gossips for your highness. 

Leon. How? 

Away with that audacious lady : Antigonus, 

I charg'd thee, that she should not come about me ; 

I knew, she would. 

Ant. I told her so, my lord. 

On your displeasure's peril, and on mine. 
She should not visit you. 

Leon. What, canst not rule herl 

Paul. From all dishonesty, he can : in this, 
(Unless he take the course that you have done. 
Commit me, for committing honour,) trust it. 
He shall aot rule me. 

Ant. Lo you now : you hear ! 



When she will take the rein, I let her run ; 
But she'll not stumble. 

Paul. Good my liege, 1 come, — 

And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess 
Myself your loyal servant, your physician. 
You most obedient counsellor ; yet that dare 
Less appear so, in comforting your evils. 
Than such as most seem yours : — 1 say, I come 
From your good queen. 

Leon. Good queen ! [good queen ; 

Paul. Good queen, my lord, good queen : I say, 
And would by combat make her good, so were I 
A man, the worst about you. 

Leon. Force her hence. 

Paul. Let him, that makes but trifles of his eyes, 
First hand me : on mine own accord, 1 '11 off; 
But first, I '11 do my errand. — The good queen. 
For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter; 
Here 'tis ; commends it to your blessing. 

\^Laiiing down the child. 
Leon. Out ! 

A mankind witch ! Hence with her, out o' door • 
A most intelligencing bawd ! 

Paul. Not so : 

I am as ignorant in that, as you 
In so entitling me : and no less honest 
Than you are mad ; which is enough, 1 '11 warrant. 
As this world goes, to pass for honest. 

Leon. Traitors ! 

Will yod not push her out 1 Give her the bastard— 
Thou, dotard, [to Antigonus.] thou art woman- tir'd, 

unroosted 
By thy dame Partlet here,— take up the bastard ; 
Take't up, I say ; give't to thy crone. 

Paul. For ever 

Unvenerabie be thy hands, if thou 
Tak'st up the princess, by that forced baseness 
Which he has put upon 't ! 

Leon. He dreads his wife. 

Paid. So, I would, you did ; then 'twere past all 
You'd call your children yours. [doubt, 

Leon. A nest of traitors 1 

Ant. 1 am none, by this good light. 
Paul. Nor I ; nor any. 

But one, that's here ; and that's himself: for he 
The sacred honour of himself, his queen's. 
His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander. 
Whose sting is sharper than the sword's ; and will not 
(For, as the case now stands, it is a curse 
Tie cannot be compell'd to't,) once remove 
'i'he root of his opinion, which is rotten, 
As ever oak, or stone, was sound. 

Leon. A callat, [band, 

Of boundless tongue ; who late hath beat her hus- 
And now baits me ! — This brat is none of mine ; 
It is the issue of Polixenes : 
Hence with it ; and, together with the dam. 
Commit them to the fire. 

Paul. It is yours ; 

And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge. 
So like you, 'tis the worse. — Behold, my lords. 
Although the print be little, the whole matter 
And copy of the father, eye, nose, lip. 
The trick of his frown, his forehead ; nay, the valley, 
The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek ; his smiles ; 
The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger : — 
And thou, good goddess nature, which hast made it 
So like to him that got it, if thou hast 
The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours 
No yellow in't ; lest she suspect, as he does. 
Her children not her husband's ! 

Leon. A gross hag ! — 



\ VA"^-''^ 



:ii;!iii 




WINTER'S TALE. 



Leontes, 



Swear by this sword. 



Thou wilt perform my "bidding. 



/*« //., Srenr S. 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 



'283 



And, lozel, thou art worthy to be haug'd. 
That wilt not stay her tongue. 

Ant. Hang all the husbands, 

That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself 
Hardly one subject. 

Leon. Once more, take her hence. 

Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord, 
Can do no more. 

J.eon. I'll have thee burn'd. 

Paul. I care not : 

It is an heretic, that makes the fire, 
Not she, which burns in 't. I '11 not call you tyrant ; 
But this most cruel usage of your queen 
(Not able to produce more accusation 
Than your own weak-hing'd fancy,) something sa- 
Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you, [vours 

Yea, scandalous to the world. 

Lean. On your allegiance, 

Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyrant, 
Where were her life 1 she durst not call me so. 
If she did know me one. Away with her. 

Paul. I pray you, do not push me ; I'll be gone. 
Look to your babe, my lord ; 'tis yours : Jove send her 
A better guiding spirit ? — What need these hands? — 
You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies. 
Will never do him good, not one of you. 
So, so : — Farewell ; we are gone. [Exit. 

Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. — 
My child? away with't! — even thou, that hast 
A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence. 
And see it instantly consumed with fire ; 
Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight ; 
Within this hour bring me word 'tis done, 
(And by good testimony,) or I'll seize thy life. 
With what thou else call'st thine : If thou refuse. 
And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so ; 
The bastard brains with these my proper hands 
Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire ; 
For thou sett'st on thy wife. 

Ant. I did not, sir : 

These lords, my noble fellows, if they please. 
Can clear me in't. 

1 Lord. We can, my royal liege, 

He is not guilty of her coming hither. 

Leon. You are liars all. [dit ; 

1 Lord. 'Beseech your highness, give us better cre- 
We have always truly serv'd you ; and beseech 
So to esteem of us : And on our knees we beg, 
(As recompense of our dear services, 
Past, and to come,) that you do change this purpose ; 
Which, being so horrible, so bloody, must 
Lead on to some foul issue : We all kneel. 

Leon. I am a feather for each wind that blows : — 
Shall 1 live on to see this bastard kneel 
And call me father? Better burn it now, 
I'han curse it then. But, be it ; let it live : 
It shall not neither. — You, sir, come you hither ; 

[To Antigonus. 
You, that have been so tenderly officious 
With lady Margery, your midwife, there, 
To save this bastard's life : for 'tis a bastard, 
So sure as this beard's grey, — what will youadven- 
To save this brat's life ? [ture 

Ant. Any thing, my lord. 

That my ability nay undergo. 
And nobleness impose : at least, thus much ; 
I '11 pawn the little blood which 1 have left, 
To save the innocent: any thing possible. 

Leon. It shall be possible : Swear by this sword. 
Thou wilt perform my bidding. 

Ant. I will, my lord. [fail 

Leon. Mark, and perform it ; (scest thou ?) for the 



Of any point in 't shall not only be 
Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu'd wife ; 
Whom, for this time, we pardon. We enjoin thee. 
As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry 
This female bastard hence ; and that thou bear it 
To some remote and desert place, quite out 
Of our dominions ; and that there thou leave it. 
Without more mercy, to its own protection. 
And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune 
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, — 
On thy soul's peril, and thy body's torture, — 
That thou commend it strangely to some place. 
Where chance may nurse, or end it : Take it up. 

Ant. I swear to do this, though a present death 
Had been more merciful — Come on, poor babe : 
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens, 
To be thy nurses ! Wolves, and bears, they say. 
Casting their savageness aside, have done 
Like offices of pity. — Sir, be prosperous 
In more than this deed doth require ! and blessing. 
Against this cruelty, fight on thy side. 
Poor thing condemn'd to loss! [Exit, with the child. 

Leon. No, I '11 not rear 

Another's issue. 

1 Atten. Please your highness, posts, 

From those you sent to the oracle, are come 
An hour since : Cleomenes and Dion, 
Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both lauded, 
Hasting to the court. 

t Lord. So please you, sir, their speed 

Hath been beyond account. 

Leon. Twenty-three days 

They have been absent : 'Tis good speed ; forete's, 
The great Apollo suddenly will have 
The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords ; 
Summon a session, tiiat we may arraign 
Our most disloyal lady . for, as she hath 
Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have 
A just and open trial. While she lives. 
My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me , 
And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — The same. A Street £?i some Town. 
Enter Cleomenes and Dion. 

Cleo. The climate's delicate ; the air most sweet ; 
Fertile the isle ; the temple much surpassing 
The common praise it bears. 

L>ion. I shall report. 

For most it caught me, the celestial habits, 
(Methinks, I should so term them,) and the reverence 
Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice! 
How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly 
It was i' the ofl'ering ! 

Cleo. But, of all, the burst 

And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle 
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpriz'd my sense. 
That I was nothing. 

Dion. If the event o' the journey. 

Prove as successful to the queen, — O, be 't so 1 — 
As it hath been to us, rare, pleasant, speedy. 
The lime is worth the use on 't. 

Cleo. Great Apollo, 

Turn all to the best ! These proclamations. 
So forcing faults upon Hermione, 
I little like. 

Dion. The violent carriage of it 

Will clear, or end, the business : When the oracle, 



284 



WINTER'S TALE. 



(Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up,) 
Sliall the contents discover, something rare. 

Even then will rush to knowledge. Go, — fresh 

horses ; — 
And gracious be the issue I [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The same. A Court of Justice. 
Leontes, Lords, &; Officers, appear properly seated, 
Leon, This sessions (to our great grief, we pro- 
nounce,) 
Even pushes 'gainst our heart : The party tried, 
The daughter of a king : our wife ; and one 
Of us too much belov'd. — Let us be clear'd 
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly 
Proceed in justice ; whicli shall have due course. 

Even to the guilt, or the purgation. 

Produce the prisoner. 

Offi. It is his highness' pleasure, that the queen 
Appear in person here in court. — Silence ! 

Hermione is brought in, guarded; Paulina and 
Ladies, attending, 

Leon. Read the indictment. 

()//?. Hermione, queen to the worthq Leontes, l<ing 
o/'Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of high 
treason, in committing adulterii with Polixenes, king 
o/"Bohemia; and corispiring with Camiilo to take away 
the life of our sovereign lord the king, thy royal hus- 
band : the pretence whereof being fci/ circumstances 
parity laid open, thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith 
and allegiance of a true subject, didst counsel and aid 
them, for their better safety, to fly away hi/ night. 

Her. Since what I am to say, must be but that 
Which contradicts my accusation ; and 
The testimony on my part, no other 
But what comes from myself; it shall scarce boot me 
To say, Not guilty ; mine integrity. 
Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it, 
Be so receiv'd. But thus, — If powers divine 
Behold our human actions, (as they do,) 
I doubt not then, but innocence shall make 
False accusation blush, and tyranny 
Tremble at patience. — You, my lord, best know, 
(Who least will seem to do so,) my past life 
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true. 
As I am now unhappy ; which is more 
Than history can pattern, though devis'd, 
And play'd, to take spectators: For behold me, — 
A fellow of the royal bed, winch owe 
A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter. 
The mother to a hopeful prince, — here standing. 
To prate and talk for life, and honour 'fore 
Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it. 
As I weigh grief, which I would spare : for honour, 
'Tis a derivative from me to mine. 
And only that I stand for. I appeal 
To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes 
Came to your court, how I was in your grace. 
How merited to be so ; since he came. 
With what encounter so uncurrent I 
Have strain'd, to appear thus : if one jot beyond 
The bound of honour ; or, in act, or will. 
That way inclining ; harden'd be the hearts 
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin 
Cry, Fye upon my grave ! 

Leon. I ne'er heard yet, 

That any of these bolder vices wanted 
Less impudence to gainsay what they did, 
Than to perform it first. 

Her. That's true enough ; 

Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. 

Leon, You will not own it. 



Her. !More than mistress of, 

Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not 
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, 
(With whom I am accus'd,) I do confess, 
I lov'd him, as in honour he requir'd ; 
With such a kind of love, as might become 
A lady like me ; with a love, even such. 
So, and no otlier, as yourself commanded : 
Which not to have done, 1 think, liad been in me 
Both disobedience and ingratitude. 
To you, and toward your friend ; whose love had spoke. 
Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely. 
That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, 
I know not how it tastes ; though it be dish'd 
For me to try how: all I know of it. 
Is, that Camiilo was an honest man ; 
And, why he left your court, the gods themselves, 
Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. 

Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know 
What you have underta'en to do in his absence. 

Her, Sir, 
You speak a language that I understand not: 
My life stands in the level of your dreams. 
Which I'll lay down. 

Leon. Your actions are my dreams , 

You had a bastard by Polixenes, 
And 1 but dream'd it: — As you were past all shame, 
(Those of your fact are so,) so past all truth : 
Which to deny, concerns more than avails : for as 
Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, 
No father owning it, (which is, indeed. 
More criminal in thee, tiian it,) so thou 
Shalt feel our justice ; in whose easiest passage. 
Look for no less than death. 

Her. Sir, spare your threats , 

The bug, which you would fright me with, I seek. 
To me can life be no commodity : 
The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, 
I do give lost ; for I do feel it gone. 
But know not how it went : My second joy. 
And first-fruits of my body, from his presence, 
I am barr'd, like one infectious : My third comfort, 
Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast. 
The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth, 
Haled out to murder : Rlyself on every post 
Proclaim'd a strumpet ; with immodest hatred. 
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs 
To women of all fashion : — Lastly, hurried 
Here to this place, i' the open air, before 
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege. 
Tell me what blessings 1 have here alive. 
That I should fear to die ! Tiierefore, proceed, 
But yet hear this ; mistake me not ; — — ^No ! life, 
I prize it not a straw : — but for mine honour, 
(Which I would free,) if I sliall be condemn'd 
Upon surmises ; all proofs sleeping else, 
But what your jealousies awake ; i tell you 
'Tis rigour, and not law. — Your honours all, 
I do refer me to the oracle ; 
Apollo be my judge. 

1 Lord. This your request 

Is altogether just : therefore, bring forth, 
And in Apollo's name, his oracle. 

[Eieuiit certain Officers. 

Her. The emperor of Russia was my father : 
O, that he were alive, and here beholding 
His daughter's trial ! that he did but see 
The flatness of my misery ; yet with eyes 
Of pity, not revenge ! 

Re-enter Officers, with Cleomenes anrf Dion. 
0^. You here shall swear upon this sword of justice 



ACT III.— SCENE III. 



285 



That you. Cleomenes and Dion, have 

Been both at Delphos; and from thence have brought 

This seai"d-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd 

Of great Apollo's priest ; and that, since then, 

You have not dar'd to break tlit holy seal, ! 

Nor read the secrets in't. 

Cteo. Dion. All this we swear. i 

l.pon. Break up the seals, and read. j 

Ofli. [Reads.] Hermione is c'iriste, Polixenes fe/nme- | 
less, Camillo a true subject, Leontes a jealous tyrant, 
his innocent babe trutu begotten ; and the king shall 
liif without an heir, if that, which is lost, he not found, 
l.iirds. Now blessed be the great Apollo ! ' 

llcr. Praised! 

I.eoii. Hast thou read truth ? 
0//z. Ay, my lord ; even so 

As it is here set down. 

Leon. 'J here is no truth at all i' the oracle : 
The sessions bhall proceed ; this is mere falsehood. 

Enter a Servant, hastily, 

Serv. My lord the king, the king ! 

I^eon, What is the business 1 

Serv. sir, I shall be hated to report it : 
The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear 
Of the tpeen's speed, is gone. 

Leon. How ! gone ? 

Serv. Is dead. 

Leon. Apollo's angry ; and the heavens themselves 
Do strike at my injustice. [Hermione /nu((s.] How 
now tliere 1 
Paul. This news is mortal to the queen : — Look down , 
And see what death is doing. 

Leon. Take her hence : 

Her heart is but o'ercharg'd ; she will recover. — 
I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion : — 
'Beseech you, tenderly apply to her 
Some remedies for life. — Apollo, pardon 

[Eieunt Paulina and Ladies, with Herm. 
]\Iy great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle ! — 
I'll reconcile me to Polixenes ; 
New woo my queen ; recal the good Camillo ; 
Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy : 
For, being transported by my jealousies 
To bloody thouglits and to revenge, 1 chose 
Camillo for the minister, to poison 
My friend Polixenes ; which had been done, 
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied 
My swift command, though I with death, and with 
Tlev;ard, did threaten and encourage him. 
Not doing it, and being done : he, most humane. 
And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest 
Unclasp'd my practice ; quit his fortunes here. 
Which you knew great ; and to the certain hazard 
Of all incertainties himself commended. 
No richer than his honour : — How he glisters 
Thorough my rust ! and how his piety 
Does my deeds make the blacker ! 

Re-enter Pai'i.ixa. 

Taul. ^ Woe the while ! 

O, cut my lace ; lest my heart, cracking it, 
Break too ! 

1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady"! 

Taul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast forme \ 
What wheels \ racks? fires \ What flaying? boiling, 
In leads, or oils ? what old, or newer torture 
Must I receive ; whose every word deserves 
To taste of thy must worst ! Thy tyranny 
Together working with thy jealousies, — 
Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle 
For girls of nine I — O, think, what they have done, 
And then run mad, indeed ; stark mad! for all 



Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. 
That thou betray 'i!st Polisenes, 'twas nothing, 
That did but shew thee, of a fool, inconstant. 
And damnable ungrateful : nor was't much. 
Thou would'st have poison'd good Camillo's honour, 
To have him kill a king ; poor trespasses. 
More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon 
The casting forth to crows thy baliy daughter. 
To be or none, or little ; though a devil 
Would have shed water out of fire, ere don't : 
Nor is 't directly laid to thee, the death 
Of the young prince ; whose honourable thoughts 
(Thoughts high for one so tender,) cleft the heart 
That could conceive, a gross and foolish sire 
Blemish 'd his gracious dam : this is not, no, 
Laid to thy answer: But the last,— O, lords. 
When I have said, cry, woe! — the queen, the queen, 
The sweetest, dearest creature's dead ; and vengeance 
Not dropp'd down yet. [for 't 

1 hard. The higher powers forbid ! 

Void. I say, she's dead : I'll swear't : if word, nor 
Prevail not, go and see : if you can bring [oath. 
Tincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye. 
Heat outwardly, or breath within, I'll serve you 
As I would do the gods. — But, O thou tyrant ! 
Do not repent these things ; for they arc heavier 
Than all thy woes can stir : therefore betake thee 
To nothing but despair. A thousand knees 
Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting. 
Upon a barren mountain, and still winter 
In storm perpetual, could not move the gods 
To look that way thou wert. 

Leon. Go on, go on : 

Thou canst not speak too much ; I have deserv'd 
All tongues to talk their bitterest. 

1 Liird. Say no more 

Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault 
r the boldness of your speech. 

Paul. I am sorry for't ; 

All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, 
I do repent : Alas, I have shew'd too much 
The rashness of a woman : he is touch'd [help. 

To the noble heart. — What's gone, and what's past 
Should be past grief: Do not receive affliction 
At my petition, 1 beseech you ; rather 
Let me be punish'd, that have minded you 
Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege, 
Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman : 
The love I bore your queen,— lo, fool, again ! — 
I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children j 
I'll not remember you of my own lord. 
Who is lost too : Take your patience to you. 
And I'll say nothing. 

J^eon. Thou didst speak but well, 

When most the truth ; which 1 receive much better 
Than to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me 
To the dead bodies of my queen, and son : 
One grave sliall be for both ; upon them shall 
'I'he causes of their death appear, unto 
Our shame perpetual : Once a day I'll visit 
The chapel where they lie ; and tears, shed there. 
Shall be my recreation : So long as 
Nature will bear up with this exercise. 
So long I daily vow to use it. Come, 
And lead me to these sorrows. [£iT!i?if. 

SCENE III. 

Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea. 
Enter Antigom'S, v>ith the Child ; and a Mariner. 
Ant Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd 
The deserts of Bohemia 1 [upon 



286 



WINTER'S TALE. 



Mar. Ay, my lord ; and fear 

We have landed in ill time : the skies look grimly, 
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, 
The heavens with that we have in hand are angry. 
And frown upon us. 

Ant. Their sacred wills be done ! — Go, get aboard ; 
Look to thy bark ; I'll not be long, before 
I call upon thee. 

Mar. Make your best haste ; and go not 
Too far i' the land : 'tis like to be loud weather ; 
Besides, this place is famous for the creatures 
Of prey, that keep upon't. 

Ant. Go thou away: 

I'll follow instantly. 

Mar. I am glad at heart 

To be so rid o'the business. [Eiit. 

Ant. Come, poor babe : 



I have heard, (but not believ'd,) the spirits of the dead 

IMay walk again : if such thing be, thy mother 

Appear'd to me last night ; for ne'er was dream 

So like a waking. To me comes a creature, 

Sometimes her head on one side, some another ; 

I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, 

So fill'd, and so becoming : in pure white robes. 

Like very sanctity, she did approach 

My cabin where I lay : thrice bow'd before me ; 

And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes 

Became two spouts : the fury spent, anon 

Did this break from her : Good Antigonus, 

Since fate, against thy better disposition. 

Hath made thy person for the thrower-out 

Of my poor babe, according to t)nne oath, — 

Places remote enough are in Bohemia, 

There weep and leave it cryivg ; and, for the babe 

Is counted lost for ever, Perdita, 

I pr'ythee, caWt : for this ungentle business, 

Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see 

Thy wife Paulina more: — and so, with shrieks, 

She melted into air. Affrighted much, 

I did in time collect myself; and thought 

This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys: 

Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously, 

I will be squar'd by this. I do believe, 

Ilermione hath suffer'd death ; and that 

Apollo would, this being indeed the issue 

Of king Polixenes, it should here be laid, 

Either for life, or death, upon the earth 

Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well ! 

[^Laying down the Child. 
There lie ; and there thy character : there these ; 

l^Layiiig down a bundle. 
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee pretty, 

And still rest thine. The storm begins: — Poor 

That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd [wretch. 

To loss, and what may follow ! — Weep I cannot, 

But my heart bleeds ; and most accurs'd am I, 

To be by oath enjoin'd to this. — Farewell ! 

The day frowns more and more — thou art like to have 

A lullaby too rough : I never saw 

The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour 1 — 

Well may I get aboard ! This is the chace ; 

r am gone for ever. [Eijt, pursued by a Bear. 

E/ifer an old Shepherd. 

Shep. I would, there were no age between ten and 
three-and twenty ; or that youth would sleep out the 
rest: for there is nothing in the between but getting 
wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, 

fighting. — Hark you now ! Would any but these 

boiled brains of nineteen, and twoand-twenty, hunt 
this weather 1 They have scared away two of my best 
sheep ; which, I fear, the wolf will sooner find, than 



the master ; if any where I have them, 'tis by the sea- 
side, browzingon ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will ! 
what have we here'? [Taking up the Child.] Mercy 
on 's, a barne ; avery pretty barne ! A boy, or a child, 
I wonder'! A pretty one ; a very pretty one : Sure, 
some scape : though I am not bookish, yet I can read 
waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This lias been some 
stair-work, some trunk- work, some behind-door- work : 
they were warmer that got this, than the poor thing is 
here. I '11 take it up for pity : yet I '11 tarry till my son 
come ; he hollaed but even now. Whoa, ho hoa! 
Enter Clown. 

Clo. Hilloa, loa ! 

Shep. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thingto 
talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. 
What ailest thou, man"! 

Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea, and by 
land ; — but I am not to say, it is a sea, for it is now 
the sicy ; betwixt the firmament and it, you cannot 
thrust a bodkin's point. 

Shep. Why, boy, how isitl 

Clo. I would, you did but see how it chafes, how 
it rages, how it takes up the shore ! but that's not to 
the point ! O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls ! 
sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em : now the 
ship boring the moon with her main-mast; and anon 
swallowed with yest and froth, as you 'd thrust a cork 
into a hogshead. And then for the land service, — To 
see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone ; how he 
cried to me for help, and said, his name was Antigo- 
nus, a nobleman : — But to make an end of the ship : 
— to see how the sea flap-dragoned it : but, first, how 
the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them ; — and 
how the poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked 
him, both roaring louder than the sea, or weather. 

Shep. Name of mercy, when was this, boy ? 

Clo. Now, now ; I have not winked since I saw 
these sights : the men are not yet cold under water, 
nor the bear half dined on the gentleman; he's at it now. 

Shep. Would 1 had been by, to have helped the 
old man ! 

Clo. I would you had been by the ship's side, to 
have helped her ; there your charity would have 
lacked footing. [Aside. 

Shep. Heavy matters ! heavy matters ! but look 
thee here, boy. Now bless thyself ; thou met'st with 
things dying, I with things new born. Here 's a sight 
for thee ; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's 
child ! look thee here ! take up, take up, boy ; open't. 
So let's see ; It was told me, I should be rich by the 
fairies ; this is some changeling : — open't : What 's 
within, boy 1 

Clo. You 're a made old man ; if the sins of your 
youth are forgiven you, you 're well to live. Gold ! 
all gold ! 

Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so ; 
up with it, keep it close ; home, home, the next way. 
We are lucky, boy, and to be so still, requires no- 
thing but secrecy. — Let my sheep go : — Come, good 
boy, the next way home. 

Clo. Go you the next way wth your findings ; I'll 
go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, anil 
how much he hath eaten : they are never curst, but 
when they are hungry : if there be any of him left, 
I'll bury it. 

Shep. That's a good deed : If thou may'st discern 
by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to 
the sight of him. 

Clo. Marry, will I ; and you shall help to put him 
i'the ground. 

Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy ; and we'll do good 
deeds on't. {Exeunt, 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



287 



ACT IV. 



Enter Time, as Chorus. 

Time I, — that please some, try all , both joy, and 
terror, 
Of good and bad : that make, and unfold error, — 
>Jo\v take upon me, in the name of Time, 
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime. 
To me, or my swift passage, tliat I slide 
O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried 
Of that wide gap ; since it is in my power 
To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour 
To plant and o'erwhelm custom : Let me pass 
The same 1 am, ere ancient'st order was, 
Or what is now received : I witness to 
The times that brought them in : so shall I do 
To the freshest things now reigning ; and make stale 
The glistering of this present, as my tale 
Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, 
I turn my glass ; and give my scene such growing. 
As you had slept between. Leontes leaving 
The effects of his fond jealousies ; so grieving, 
That he shuts up himself ; imagine me, 
Gentle spectators, that I now may be 
In fair Bohemia ; and remember well, 
I mentioned a son o'the king's, which Florizel 
I now name to you ; and with speed so pace 
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace 
Equal with wondering: Wiiat of her ensues, 
I list not prophecy ; but let Time's news [daughter, 
Be known, when 'tis brought forth: — a shepherd's 
And what to her adheres, which follows after. 
Is the argument of time : Of this allow, 
If ever you have spent time worse ere now ; 
If never yet, that Time himself doth say, 
He wishes earnestly, you never may. [Eiit. 

SCENE I. 

Tlie same. A Boom in the Palace of Polixenes. 

Enter PoLiXENes and Camillo. 

Pol. 1 pray thee, good Camillo, be no more im- 
portunate : 'tis a sickness, denying thee any thing ; 
a death, to grant this. 

Cam. It is fifteen years, since I saw my country ; 
though I have, for the most part, been aired abroad, 
I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the peni- 
tent king, my master, hath sent for me : to whose 
feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween 
to think so ; which is another spur to my departure. 

Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the 
rest of thy services, by leaving me now: the need I 
have of thee, tliine own goodness hath made ; better 
not to have had tiiee, than thus to want thee : tliou, 
having made me businesses, which none, without 
thee, can sufficiently manage, must either stay to exe- 
cute them thyself, or take away with thee ilie very 
services thou hast done : which if I have not enough 
considered, (as too much I cannot, ) to be more thank- 
ful to thee, shall be my study ; and my profit therein, 
the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Si- 
cilia, pr'ythee speak no more ; whose very naming 
punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, 
as thou call'st iiirn, and reconciled king, my brother ; 
whose loss of his most precious queen, and children, 
are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me. 



What his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown : 
but I have, missingly, noted, he is of late much re 
tired from court ; and is less frequent to his princely 
exercises, than formerly he hath appeared. 

Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo ; and 
with some care ; so far, that I have eyes under my 
service, which look upon hisremovedness : from whom 
I have this intelligence ; That he is seldom from tiie 
house of a most homely shepherd ; a man, they say, 
that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination 
of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate. 

Cam. 1 have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a 
daughter of most rare note : the report of her is ex- 
tended more, than can be thought to begin from such 
a cottage. 

Pol. That 's likewise part of my intelligence. But, 
I fear the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou 
shalt accompany us to the place : where we will, not 
appearing what we are, have some question with the 
shepherd ; from whose simplicity, I think it not un- 
easy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. 
Pr'ythee, be my present partner in this business, and 
lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. 

Cam. I willingly obey your command. 

Pol. My best Camillo ! — We must disguise our- 
selves. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. 

The same. A Road near the Shepherd's Cottage. 

Enter Autolycus, singing. 

When daffodils begin to peer, 

With, heigh! the doxy over the dale, — 
Whii, then comes in the sweet o'the year , 
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. 

The ivhite sheet bleaching on the hedge, — 

With, hey ! the sweet birds, 0, how they sing ' — 

Doth set thy pngging tooth on edge ; 
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 

The lark, that Arra-lirra chants, — 

With, hey ! with, hey ! the thrush and the jay : — 
Are summer songs for me and my aunts. 

While ue lie tumbling in the hay, 

I have served prince Florizel, and, in my time, wore 
three-pile ; but now I am out of service : 

But shall I go mourn for that, my dear ? 

The pale moon shines by night : 
And when 1 wander here and there, 

I then do most go right. 

If tinkers may have leave to live, 

And bear the sow-skin budget ; 
Then my account I well may give. 

And in the stocks avouch it. 

My traffic is sheets ; when the kite builds, look to 
lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus , who, 
being as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise 
a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles : With die, and 
drab, I purchased this caparison ; and my revenue is 
the silly cheat : Gallows, and knock, are too power- 
ful on the highway : beating, and hanging, are terrors 
to me ; for the life to come, I sleep out the thought 
of it. — A prize ! a prize ! 

Enter Clown. 
Clo. Let me see: — Every 'leven wether — tods; 
every tod yields — pound and odd shilling : fifteen 



when saw'st thou the prince Florizel my son? Kings hundred shorn, — What comes the wool to] 
are no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, | Aut. If the springe hold, the cock's mine. [Aside. 
than they are in losing them, when they have ap- Clo. I cannot do 't without counters. — Let me see ; 
proved their virtues. what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast 1 Three 
Cam, Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince: ^ pound of sugar ; Jive pound of currants} rice 



288 



WINTER'S TALE. 



What will this sister of mine do with rice 1 But my 
father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she 
lays it on. She hath made me four-and- twenty nose- 
gays for the slieareis : three-man song-men all, and 
very good ones ; but they are most of them means 
and bases : but one Puritan amongst them, and he 
sings psalms to hornpipes. J must have safl'ron, to 
colour the warden pies ; mace, — dates, — none ; that's 
out of my note: nutmegs, seven; a race, or two, of 
ginger : but that 1 may beg ;—four pound of prunes, 
and as many of raisins o' the sun, 

Aut. O, that ever I was born ! 

\_Grovelling on the ground. 

Clo. I' the name of me, 

Aut. O, help me, help me! pluck but off these 
rags ; and then, death, death ! 

Clo. Alack, poor soul ! thou hast need of more rags 
to lay on thee, rather than have these off. 

Aut. 0, sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me 
more than the stripes. I have received ; which are 
mighty ones, and millions. 

Clo. Alas, poor man ! a million of beating may 
come to a great matter. 

Aut. 1 am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and 
apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things 
put upon me. 

Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man ? 

Aut. A foot-man, sweet sir, a foot-man. 

Clo. Indeed, he should be a footman, by the gar- 
ments he hath left with thee; if this beahoise-man's 
coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy 
hand, I'll help thee: come, lend me thy hand. 

[Helping him up. 

Aut. O ! good sir, tenderly, oh ! 

Clo. Alas, poor soul ! 

Aut. O, good sir, softly, good sir : I fear, sir, my 
shoulder blade is out. 

Clo. How now ■? canst stand 1 

Aut. Softly, dear sir ; [picks his pocl<et.'\ good sir, 
softly ; you ha' done me a charitable office. 

Clo, Dost lack any money 1 1 have a little money 
for thee. 

Aut. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: 
I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile 
hence, unto whom I was going ; I shall there have 
money, or any thing I want : Offer me no money, I 
pray you ; that kills my heart. 

Clo. W hat manner of fellow was he that robbed you 1 

Aut. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about 
with trol-my dames : I knew him once a servant of 
the prince ; I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his 
virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of 
the court. 

Clo, His vices, you would say ; there 's no virtue 
whipped out of the court : they cherish it, to make it 
stay there ; and yet it will no more but abide. 

Aut. Vices I would say, sir. I know this man 
well : he hath been since an ape-bearer ; then a pro- 
cess-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a motion 
of the prodigal son, and married a tinker's wife within 
a mile where my land and living lies ; and, having 
flown over many knavish professions, he settled only 
in rogue ; some call him Autolycus. 

Clo. Out upon him! Prig, for my life, prig: he 
haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. 

Aut. Very true, sir; he, sir, he ; that's the rogue, 
that put me into this apparel. 

Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia ; if 
vouhadbut look'd big, and spit at him, he'd have run. 

Aut. 1 must confess to you, sir, 1 am no fighter ; 
r am false of heart that way ; and that he knew, I 
warrant you. 



Clo. How do you now ? 

Aut. Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can 
stand, and walk : 1 will even take my leave of you, 
and pace softly towards my kinsman's. 

Clo. Shall 1 bring thee on the way ; 

Aut. No, good faced sir ; no, sweet sir. 

Clo. Then fare thee well ; 1 must go buy spices 
for our sheap-shearing. 

Attt- Prosper you, sweet sir ! — [Exit Clown] Your 
purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. 1 '11 
be with you at your sheep-shearing too : If I make 
not this cheat bring out another, and the shearers 
prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my name put 
in the book of virtue ! 



Jog on, jog on, the foot-path wai/, 
And merrily hent the stile-a : 

A merry heart goes all the day. 
Your sad tires in a mile-a. 



[Exit. 



SCENE 111.— The same. A Shepherd's Cottage. 
Enter Florizel and Perdita. 

Fio. These your unusual weeds to each part of you 
Do give a life : no shepherdess ; but Flora, 
Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing 
Is as a meeting of the petty gods, 
And you tiie queen on't. 

Per. Sir, my gracious lord, 

To chide at your extremes, it not becomes me ; 
O, pardon, that I name them : your high self, 
The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscur'd 
With a swain's wearing ; and me, poor lowly maid, 
Most goddess-like prank'd up: But that our feasts 
In every mess have folly, and the feeders 
Digest it with a custom, 1 should blush 
To see you so attired ; sworn, I think. 
To shew myself a glass. 

Flo. T bless the time. 

When my good falcon made her flight across 
Thy father's ground. 

Per. Now Jove afford you cause ! 

To me, the difference forges dread ; your greatness 
Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble 
To think, your father, by some accident. 
Should pass this way, as you did : O, the fates I 
How would he look, to see his work, so noble. 
Vilely bound up1 What would he say] Or how 
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold 
The sternness of his presence ? 

Flo, Apprehend 

Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, 
Humbling their deities to love, have taken 
The shapes of beasts upon them : Jupiter 
Became a bull, and bellow'd ; the green Neptune 
A ram, and bleated : and the fire-rob'd god. 
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain. 
As I seem now : Their transformations 
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer ; 
Nor in a way so chaste : since my desiies 
Run not before mine honour ; nor my lusts 
Burn hotter than my faith. 

Per. O hut, dear sir. 

Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis 
Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power o' the king ; 
One of these two must be necessities. 
Which then will speak ; that you must change this 
Or I my life. [purpose, 

Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, 

With these forc'd thoughts, I pr'ytliee, darken not 
The mirth o'the feast : Or I' 11 be thine, my fair. 
Or not my father's : for I cannot be 
Mine own, nor any thing to any, if 



ACT IV.— SCENE III. 



289 



I be not thine : to this 1 am most constant. 
Though destiny say, no. Be merry, gentle ; 
Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing 
That you behold the while. Your guests are coining : 
Lift up your countenance ; as it were the day 
Of celebration of that nuptial, which 
We two have sworn siiail come. 

Per. O lady fortune 

Stand you auspicious ' 

Enter Shepherd, with Polixf.nes and Camillo dis- 
guised ; Clown, Mops.'V, DoucAS, arid others. 

Flo. See, your guests approach : 

Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, 
And let's be red with mirth. 

Shep. Fye, daughter I when my old wife liv'd upon 
This day, she was both pantler, butler, cook ; 
Both dame and servant : wclcom'd all : serv'd all : 
Would sing her song, and dance her turn ; now here, 
At upper end o' the table, now, i' the middle ; 
On his shoulder, and his : her face o' fire 
With labour ; and the thing, she took to quench it, 
She would to each one sip : Vou are retir'd, 
As if you were a feasted one, and not 
The hostess of the meeting : Pray you, bid 
These unknown friends to us welcome : for it is 
A way to make us better friends, more known. 
Come, quench your blushes ; and present yourself 
That which you are, mistress o' the feast : Come on, 
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing. 
As your good flock shall prosper. 

Per. Welcome, sir! [Ty Pol. 

It is my father's will, I should take on me 
The hostess-ship o'the day: — You're welcome, sir! 

[To Camillo. 
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. — Reverend sirs, 
For you there's rosemary, and rue ; these keep 
Seeming, and savour, all the winter long : 
Grace, and remembrance, be to you both, 
And welcome to our shearing ! 

Ptii. Shepherdess, 

(A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages 
VVith flowers of winter. 

Per. Sir, the year growing ancient, — 

Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth 
Of trembling winter, — the fairest flowers o' the season 
Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers. 
Which some call nature's bastards : of that kind 
Our rustic garden's barren ; and I care not 
To get slips of them. 

Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden, 

Do you neglect them 1 

Per. For I have heard it said, 

There is an art, which, in their piedness, shares 
With great creating nature. 

Pol. Say, there be ; 

Yet nature is made better by no mean, 
But nature makes that mean : so, o'er that art. 
Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art. 
That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry 
A gentler scion to the wildest stock ; 
And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
By bud of nobler race ; This is an art 
Which does mend nature, — change it rather : but 
The art itself is nature. 

Per. So it is. 

Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers. 
And do not call them bastards. 

Per. I'll not put 

The dibble in earth to set one slip of them : 
No more than, were I painted, 1 would wish 
This youth should say, 'twere well ; and only therefore 



Desire to breed by me. — Here's flowers for you ; 
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; 
The marigold, that goc to bed witii the sun, 
And with him rises weeping ; these are flowers 
Of middle summer, and 1 think, they are given 
To men of middle age : You are very welcome. 

Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock. 
And only live by gazing. 

Per. Out, alas! 

You'd be so lean, that blasts of January [est friend. 
Would blow you through and through. — Is'ow, my fair- 
I would, I had some flowers o'the spring, that migh 
Become your time of day ; and yours, and yours ; 
That wear upon your virgin branches yet 
Your maidenheads growing : — U Proserpina, 
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall 
From Dis's waggon ! daflx)dils. 
That come before the swallow dares, and take 
The winds of March with beauty ; violets, dim, 
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes. 
Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses. 
That die unmarried, ere they can behold 
Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady 
Most incident to maids ; bold oxlips, and 
The crown imperial ; lilies of all kinds, 
The flower-de-luce being one ! O, these I lack, 
To make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend. 
To strew him o'er and o'er. 

Flo. What ] like a corse ? 

Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on ; 
Not like a cor.se : or if, — not to be buried, 
But(]uick,and inminearms. Come, take your flowers: 
Methinks, I play as I have seen them do 
In Whitsun' pastorals: sure, this robe of mine 
Does change my disposition. 

Flo. What you do, 

Still belters what is done. When you speak, sweet, 
I'd have you doit ever: when you sing, 
I'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ; 
Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs, 
To sing them too: When you do dance, I wish you 
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do 
Nothing but that ; move still, still so, and own 
No other function : Each your doing. 
So singular in each particular. 
Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds. 
That all your acts are queens. 

Per, O Doricles, 

Your praises are too large: but that your youth. 
And the true blood, which fairly peeps through it. 
Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd ; 
With wisdom 1 might fear, my Doricles, 
You woo'd me tiie false way. 

Flo. I think, you have 

As little skill to fear, as I have purpose 
To put you to't. — But, come ; our dance, I pray : 
Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair. 
That never mean to part. 

Per. I'll swear for 'em. 

Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever 
Ran on the green sward : nothing she does or seems 
But smacks of something greater than herself; 
Too noble for this place. 

Cutn. He tells her something, 
That makes her blood look out : Good sooth, she is 
The queen of curds and cream. 

Clo. Come on, strike up. 

Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlick. 
To mend her kissing with. 

Mop. Now, in good time ! [ners. — 

Clo. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our man- 
Come, strike up. [Music. 
T 



290 



WINTER'S TALE. 



Hei'e a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses. 

Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what 
Fair swain istliis, which dances with your daughter? 

Shep. They call him Doricles ; and he boasts himself 
To have a worthy feeding : but I have it 
Upon his own report, and I believe it ; 
Jle looks like sooth ; He says, he loves my daughter ; 
1 think so too : for he never gaz'd the moon 
Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read. 
As 'twere, my daughter's eyes : and, to be plain, 
I think, there is not half a kiss to choose, 
Who loves another best. 

Pol. She dances featly. 

Shep. So she does any thing; though I report it, 
That should be silent : if young Doricles 
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that 
Which he not dreams of. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. master, if you did but hear the pedler at 
the door, you would never dance again after a tabor 
and pipe ; no, the bagpipe could not move you : he 
sings several tunes, faster than vou'll tell money ; 
he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's 
ears grew to his tunes. 

CLn. He could never come better: he shall come 
in: I love a ballad but even too well ; if it be dole- 
ful matter, merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing 
indeed, and sung lamentably- 

Seru. He hath songs, for man, or woman, of all 
sizes ; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves : 
he has the prettiest love songs for maids ; so without 
bawdry, which is strange ; with such delicate bur- 
dens of dildos Z.nd fadings: jump her and thnmp her; 
and where some stretch mouth'd rascal would, as it 
were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the 
matter, he makes the maid to answer. Whoop, do me 
■no harm, good man ; puts him off, slights him, with 
Whoop, do me no harm, good man. 

Pol. This is a brave fellow. 

Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable- 
conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares ? 

Serv. He hath ribands of all the colours i'the rain- 
bow ; points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia 
can learnedly handle, though they come to him by 
the gross ; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns ; why, 
he sings them over, 'as they were gods or goddesses ; 
you would think, a smock were a she-angel : he so 
chants to the sleeve-hand, and the work about the 
square on't. 

CLo. Pr'ythee, bring him in ; and let him approach 
singing. 

Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous 
words in his tunes. 

C/j). You have of these pedlers, that have more in 
'em than you'd think, sister. 

Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. 

Enter Autolvcus, singing. 
Latvn, as white as driven snow ; 
Cyprus, black as e'er was croiu ; 
Gloves, as sweet as damask roses ; 
Masks for faces, and for noses ; 
Bugle bracelet, necklace-amber. 
Perfume for a lady's chamber: 
Golden quoifs, and stomachers. 
For my lads to give their dears; 
Pins, and poking-sticks of steel. 
What maids lack from head to heel : 
Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; 
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry ; 
Come, buy, &:c. 
Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou 



should'st take no money of roe ; bnt berrtg enthralFd 
as I am, it will also be the bondage of certaia ribands 
and gloves. 

Mop. 1 was promis'd them against the feast ; bnt 
they come not too late now. 

Dor. He hath promised you more shan that, or 
tliere be liars. 

Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you : may 
be, he has paid you more ; wiiich will shame yoa to 
give him again. 

Clo. Is there no manners left among maids? wiJl 
they wear their plackets, where they should bear their 
faces ? Is there not milking-time, when you are going 
to bed, or kiln-hole, to whittle off these secrets ; but 
you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? "J'is 
well they are whispering: Charm your tongues, 
and not a word more. 

Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a taw- 
dry lace, and a pair of sweet gloves. 

Clo. Have I not told thee, how I was cozened by 
the way, and lost all my money? 

Ant. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad ; 
therefore it behoves men to be wary. 

Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here. 

Ant. I hope so, sir ; for 1 have about me many 
parcels of charge. 

Clo. What hast here? ballads? 

Mop, Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in 
print, a'-life; for then we are sure they are true. 

Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune, How a 
usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money- 
bags at a burden ; and how she longed to eat adders' 
heads, and toads carbonadoed. 

Mop. Is it true, think you 1 

Aut. Very true ; and but a month old. 

Dor. Bless me from marrying a OKurer ! 

Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one mistress 
Taleporter ; and five or six honest wives that were 
present: Why should I carry lies abroad? 

Mop. 'Pray you now, buy it. 

Clo. Come on, lay it by: And let's first see more 
ballads; we'll buy the other things anon. 

Aut. Here's another ballad. Of a fish, that ap- 
peared upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore 
of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung 
this ballad against the hard hearts of maids : it was 
thought, she was a woman, and was turned into a cold 
fish, for she would not exchange flesh with one that 
loved her : The ballad is very pitiful, and as true. 

Dor. Is it true too, think you ? 

Aut. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses, more 
than my pack will hold. 

Clo. Lay it by too : Another. 

Aut. This is a merry ballad ; but a very pretty one. 

Mop. Let's have some merry ones. 

Aut. Why, this is a passing merry one ; and goes 
to the tune of Two maids wooing a man : there's scarce 
a maid westward, but she sings it ; 'tis in request, I 
can tell you. 

Mop. We can both sing it ; if thou'lt bear a part, 
thou shalt hear ; 'tis in three parts. 

Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago. 

Aut. I can bear my part; you must know, 'tis my 
occupation : have at it with you. 

SONG. 

A. Get you hence, for I must go; 
Where itfts not i/ou to know. 

D. Whitherl'U.O, Whiiherl D. Whither? 
M. It becomes tliy oalhfull icell, 
Thou to me thy secrets tell : 

T). Me too, let me go thither. 



ACT IV.— SCENE IJL 



291 



?.f. Or ifix'.K gfl'st Co the g-rangv, or rAill: 
D. If tii eithtr, th<ni doat Hi. 

A. Nekher. U. Wfint, Keitht.rf A. NtUher, 
D. Th'Oii liast sicoiii mij luiv to be , 
M. TluHi hast suxsi-K it rmn-e to me : 

Then, whither g's'st J sa?, vohiiherf 

Cio. We'll have this sottg out anoa by ourselves ; 
My father and the geatlemen are ia sad talk, and we'U 
aot trouble them: Come, bring away thy pack after 
m-e. Wenches, I'll buy for you both :•— Pedler, let's 
have the first choice. — Follow iiie, girls. 

AiU- And you shall pay v.'cil for 'em. \_Aside, 

Wilt yau buy a mi/ tape. 

Or lace far iiour cape, 
Mv datKtti duck, mit de^r~a ? 

Any siik, any thread. 

Any toys far ymir head, 
OJ' the Kew'st, and fiustjj/ifi'st wear-*? 

Come to the pedlcr ; 

Money's a medlcr, 
Tftat dotk Htter ail men's ware-«s. 

[Ettunt Clown, Autolvcius, Dorcas, and Mos-sa, 
Enter a Servant, 

Serv- Master, there is three carters, three shep- 
herds, three neat herds, three swine-herds, that have 
made themselves all men of hair; they call them- 
selves saltiers : and they have a dance which the 
wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because 
they are not in't • but they themselves are o' the mind, 
(if it be not too rough for some, that know little but 
bowling,) it will please plentifully. 

Shep. Away! we'll none on't; here has been too 
much homely foolery already : — I know, sit, we 
■weary you, 

Pol, You weary those that refresh us : Pray, let's 
see these four threes of herdsmen. 

Serv, One three of them, by their own report, sir, 
hath danced before the king ; and not the worst of the 
three, but jumps twelve foot and a half by the squire. 

Shep. Leave your prating : since these good men 
are pleased, let them come in ; but quickly now. 

Strv. Why, they stay at door, sir. [Exit. 

Re-enter Servant, with twelve Rustics, habited like 
Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt. 

Pol. 0, father, yo XT' 11 know more of that hereafter. — 
Is it not too far gone 1 — 'Tis time to part them. — 
He's simple and tells much. [^Aside.] — How now, fair 

shepherd 1 
Your heart is full of something, that does take 
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young, 
And handed love, as you do, I was wont 
To load my she with knacks : I would have ransack'd 
The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it 
To her acceptance ; you have let him go. 
And nothing marted with him : If your lass 
Interpretation should abuse ; and call this. 
Your lack of love, or bounty ; you were straited 
For a reply, at least, if you make a care 
Of happy holding her. 

Flo. Old sir, I, know 

She prizes not such trifles as titese are : 
The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and lock'd 
Up in my heart; which I have given already, 
But not deliver'd. — O, hear me breathe my life 
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem. 
Hath sometime lov'd : I take thy hand ; this hand, 
As soft as dove's down, and as while as it ; 
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow, 
That 's bolted by the northern blasts twice o'er. 

PoL What follows this?— 



How prettily the jT^ting swain seemc to wush 
The hand, was fair before! — I have put yuu out; — 
But, to your protestation ; let me hear 
What you profess. 

Fte, Do, and be witness to't. 

Pol. And this my neighbour too ? 

Flo. ^ And he, and more 

Than he, and men ; the earth, the heavens, and all : 
That, — were I crown'd the most imperial monarch. 
Thereof most worthy ; were I the fairest youth, 
That evermadeeye swerve ; had force, and knowledge. 
More than was ever man's, — I would not prize them, 
Without her love : for her, employ them all ; 
Commend them, and condemn them, to her service. 
Or to their own perdition. 

PoL Fairly offer'd. 

Cam. This shews a sound affection. 

Shep. But, my daughter. 

Say you the like to him ! 

Per. I cannot speak 

So well, nothing so well ; no, nor mean better* 
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out 
The purity of his. 

Shep. Take hands, a bargain ; 

And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't: 
I give my daughter to him, and will make 
Mer portion equal his. 

Flo. O, that must be 

Fthe virtue of your daughter : one being dead, 
I shall have more than you can dream of yet ; 
Enough then for your wonder : But, come on, 
Contract us 'fore these witnesses. 

Shpp. Come, your hand; 

And, daughter, yours, 

Poi. Soft, swain, awhile, 'beseech you ; 

Have you a father ? 

Flo. I have : But what of him t 

Pol. Knows he of this ? 

Fio. He neither does, nor shall. 

Pol. Methinks, a father 
Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest 
That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more ; 
Is not your father grown incapable 
Of reasonable affairs ? is he not stupid 
With age, and altering rheums ? Can he speak 1 hear ? 
Know man from man 1 dispute his own estate 'i 
Lies he not bed-rid ! and again does nothing. 
But what he did being childish 1 

Flo. No, good sir ; 

He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed, 
Than most have of his age. 

Pol. By my white beard. 

You offer him, if this be so, a wrong 
Soniething unfilial : Reason, my son 
Should choose himself a wife ; but as good reason, 
'I'he father, (all whose joy is nothing else 
But fair posterity,) should hold some counsel 
In such a business. 

Flo. I yield all this ; 

But, for some other reasons, my grave sir, 
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint 
My father of this business. 

Pifl' Let him know 't. 

Flo. He shall not. 

Pol. Pr'ythee, let him. 

Fio. No, he must not. 

Shep. Let him, my son ; he shall not need to grieve 
At knowing of thy choice. 

Fio. Come, come, he must not: — 

Mark our contract. 

Pol, Mark your divorce, young sir, 

[_Discoiering himself, 
T2 



2.02 



WINTER'S TALE. 



Whom son I dare not call ; thou art too base 
To be ack-nowledg'd : Thou a scepter's heir, 
That thus affect'st a sheep-hook! — Thou old traitor, 
I am sorry, that, by hanging thee, I can but 
Shorten thy life one week. — And thou, fresh piece 
Of excellent witchcraft ; who, of force, must know 
The royal fool thou cop'st with ; 

Shep. O, my heart! [made 

Put. I'll have tiiy beauty scratch'd with briars, and 
More homely than thy state. — For thee, fond boy, — 
If I may ever know, thou dost but sigh. 
That thou no more shall see this knack, (as never 
I mean thou shalt,) we'll bar thee from succession ; 
Not hold thee of our blood, no not our kin. 
Far than Deucalion off; — Mark thou my words ; 
Follow us to the court. — Thou churl, for tliis time, 
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee 
From the dead blow of it. — And you, enchantment, — 
Wortliy enough a herdsman ; yea, him too. 
That makes himself, but for our honour therein. 
Unworthy thee, — if ever, henceforth, thou 
These rural latches to his entrance open. 
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, 
I will devise a death as cruel for thee. 
As thou art tender to't. [Eiit. 

Per. Even here undone! 

I was not mucli afeard : for once, or twice, 
I was about to speak ; and tell him plainly, 
The self-same sun, that shines upon his court. 
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but 
Looks on alike. — Will't please you, sir, be gone? 

[To Flouizel. 
I told you, what would come of tliis: 'Beseech you. 
Of your own state take care : this dream of mine, — 
Being now awake, I 'II queen it no inch further. 
But miik my ewes, and weep. 

Cam. Why, how now, father 1 

Speak, ere thou diest. 

Shep. I cannot speak, nor think. 

Nor dare to know that which 1 know. — O, sir, 

[To FLOllIZliL. 

You liave undone a man of fourscore three, 
That thought to hll liis grave in quiet ; yea. 
To die upon the bed my father died, 
To lie close by his honest bones : but now 
Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me 
Where no priest shovels-in dust. — O cursed wretch I 

[To Perdita. 
That knew'st this was the prince, and would'st adven- 
To mingle faith with him. — Undone! undone! [ture 
If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd 
To die when I desire. [Exit. 

Flo. Why look you so upon mel 

I am but sorry, not afeard ; delay 'd, 
But nothing alter"d : What I was, I am : 
More straining on, for plucking back ; not following 
My leash unwillingly. 

Cam. Gracious my lord. 

You know your father's temper : at this time 
Me will allow no speech, — wliich, 1 do guess. 
You do not purpose to him ; and as hardly 
Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear : 
Then, till the fury of his highness settle. 
Come not before him. 

Flo. I not purpose it. 

I think, Camillo. 

Cam. Even he, my lord. 

Per. How often have 1 told you, 'twould be thus? 
How often said, my dignity would last 
But till 'twere known 1 

Flo. It cannot fail, but by 

Tile violation of my faith ; And then 



Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together. 
And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks: 
From my succession wipe me, father ! I 
Am heir to my affection. 

Cam. Be advised. 

Flo. I am ; and by my fancy : if my reason 
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason ; 
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness. 
Do bid it welcome. 

Cam. This is desperate, sir. 

Flo. So call it: but it does fulfil my vow j 
I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, 
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp tliat may 
Be thereat glean'd ; for all the sun sees or 
The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide 
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath 
To this my fair belov'd : Therefore, 1 pray you. 
As you have e'er been my father's lionour'd friend, 
When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, 1 mean not 
To see him any more,) cast your good counsels 
Upon his passion ; Let myself and fortune, 
Tug for the time to come. This you may know. 
And so deliver, — I am put to sea 
With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore; 
And, most opportune to our need, 1 have 
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd 
For this design. W hat course I mean to hold. 
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor 
Concern me the reporting. 

Cam. O, my lord, 

1 would your spirit were easier for advice, 
Or stronger for your need. 

Flo. Hark, Perdita. [Takes her aside 

I '11 hear you by and by. [To Camillo 

Cam. He 's irremovable, 

Ilesolv'd for flight : Now were I happy, if 
His going I could frame to serve my turn ; 
Save him from danger, do him love and honour , 
Purchase the sigltt again of dear Sicilia, 
And that unhappy king, my master, whom 
I so much thirst to see. 

Flo. Now, good Carriillo, 

I am so fraught with curious business, that 
I leave out ceremony. [Going. 

Cum. Sir, I think. 

You have heard of my poor services, i' the love 
That I have borne your father] 

Flo. Very nobly 

Have you deserv'd : it is my father's music. 
To speak your deeds ; not little of his care 
To have them recompens'd as thought on. 

Cam. Well, my lord. 

If you may please to think I love the king ; 
And, through liim, what is nearest to him, which is 
Your gracious self; embrace but my direction, 
(If your more ponderous and settled project 
Alay suffer alteration,) on mine honour 
I 'if point you where you shall have such receiving 
As shall become your highness ; where you may 
Enjoy your mistress : (from the whom, I see. 
There's no disjunction to be made, but by, 
As heavens forfend ! your ruin :) marry her; 
And (with my best endeavours, in your absence,) 
Your discontenting father strive to qualify, 
And bring him up to liking. 

Flo. How, Camillo, 

May this, almost a miracle, be done 1 
That 1 may call thee something more than man. 
And, after that, truit to thee. 

Cum. Have you tliought on 

A place, whereto you'll go? 

Flo. Not any yet : 



ACT IV.— SCENE III. 



293 



B'dt as the untho'ugtit on accident is guilty 
I'o wliat we wildly do ; so we profess, 
Ourselv-es to be the slaves of chance, and flics 
Of every wind that blows. 

Caw. Then list to me : 

This follows, — if you will not change your purpose, 
But undergo this dight ; — Make for Sicilia ; 
And there present yourself, and your fair princess, 
(For so, I see, she must be, ) 'fore Leontes ; 
She shall be habited, as it becomes 
The partner of your bed. Methinks, I see 
Leontes, opening his free arms, and weeping 
His welcomes forth: asks thee, the son, forgiveness, 
As 'twere i' the father's person : kisses the hands 
Of you fresh princess : o'er and o'er divides him 
'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness ; the one 
He chides to hell, and bids the other grow, 
Faster than thougiit, or time. 

Flo. Worthy Camilio, 

What coiour for my visitation shall I 
Hold up before him 1 

Cam. Sent by the king your father 

To greet him, and to give him comforts. Sir, 
The manner of yo'"' bearing towards him, with 
What you, as from your father, shall deliver. 
Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down : 
The which shall point you forth at every sitting. 
What you must say; that he shall not perceive. 
But that you have your father's bosom there, 
And speak his very heart. 

Flo. I am bound to you : 

There is some sap in this. 

Cam. A course more promising 

Than a wild dedication of yourselves 
Tounpath'd waters, undream'd shores ; most certain, 
To miseries enough : no hope to help you : 
But, as you shake off one, to take another : 
Nothing so certain as your anchors ; who 
Do their best office, if they can but stay you 
Where you '1! be loath to be : Besides, you know, 
Prosperity 's the very bond of love ; 
Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together 
Affliction alters. 

Per. One of these is true : 

I think, afRiction may subdue the cheek, 
But not take in the mind. 

Cam. Yea, say you so ? 

There shall not, at your father's house, these seven 
Be born another such. [years, 

Flo. My good Camilio, 

She is as forward of her breeding, as 
She is i'the rear of birth. 

Cam. I cannot say, 'tis pity 

She lacks instructions ; for she seems a mistress 
To most that teach. 

f'er. Your pardon, sir, for this : 

I 'H blush you thanks. 

Flo. My prettiest Perdita. 

But, O, the thorns we stand upon! - Camilio, — 
Preserver of my father, now of me : 
The medicin of our house ! — how shall we do 1 
We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son ; 
Nor shall appear in Sicily 

Cam. My lord, 

Fear none of this : I think, you know, my fortunes 
Do all lie there : it shall l»e so my care 
To have you royally appointed, as if 
The scene you play, were mine. For instance, sir. 
That you may know you shall not want, — one word. 

[77ici/ talk aside. 
Filter Ai'TOi.vcus. 

Ant. Ha. ha! what a fool honesty is ! and trust, 
his sworn brotlier, a very simple gentleman ! 1 have 



sold all my trumpery, not a counterfeit stone, not a 
riband, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, 
knife, tape, glove, shoe-tye, bracelet, horn-ring, to 
keep my pack from fasting ; they throng who should 
buy first ; as if my trinkets had been hallowed, and 
brought a benediction to the buyer : by which means, 
I saw whose purse, was best in picture ; and, what 
I saw, to my good use, I remembered. My clown, 
(who wants but something to be a reasonable man,) 
grew so in love with the wenches' song, that he would 
not stir his petitoes, till he had both tune and words ; 
which so drew tiie rest of the herd to me, that all their 
other senses stuck in ears : you might have pinched 
a placket, it was senseless ; 'twas nothing, to geld a 
codpiece of a purse ; I would have filed keys off, that 
hung in chains: no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's 
song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that, in this 
time of lethargy, I picked and cut most of their fes- 
tival purses : and had not the old man come in with 
a whoobub against his daughter and the king's son, 
and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not left 
a purse alive in the whole army. 

[Cam. Fr.D. and Per. come forward. 

Cam. Nay, but my letters by this means being there 
So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. 

Flo. And those that you'll procure from king Leon- 
Cam. Shall satisfy your fatiier. [tes, 

Per. Happy be you ! 

All, that you speak, shews fair. 

Cam. VVhohave we here? [5eemg Autolycl's. 

We'll make an instrument of this ; omit 
Nothing, may give us aid. 

Aiit. If they have overheard me now, whv 

hanging. [Aiide. 

Cam, How now, good fellow? why shakest thou 
so ? Fear not, man ; here's no harm intended to thee. 

Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. 

Cata. Why, be so still ; here's nobody will steal 
that from thee : \'et, for the outside of thy poverty, 
we must make an exchange : therefore, disease tiiee 
instantly, (thou must think, there's necessity in 't, ) 
and change garments with this gentleman : Though 
the pennyworth, on his side, be the worst, yet hold 
thee, there's some boot. 

.Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir : — I know ye well 
enough. [Aiide. 

Cum. Nay, pr'ythee, despatch : the gentleman is 
half flayed already. 

Aut. Are you in earnest, sir — I smell the trick of 
it.— {.Aside. 

Flo. Despatch, I pr'ythee. 

Aut. Indeed, 1 have had earnest ; but I cannot 
with conscience take it. 

Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle — 

[Fl.o. and Ai'Toi.. e.icliange gannents. 
Fortunate mistress, — let my prophecy 
Come home to you! — you must retire yourself 
Into some covert : take your sweetiieart's hat. 
And pluck it o'er your brows ; muflle your face ; 
Dismantle you ; and as you can, disliken 
The truth of your own seeming ; that you may, 
(For 1 do fear eyes over you,) to shipboard 
Get undescried. 

Per. I see, the play so lies, 

That I must bear a part. 

Cam. No remedy. — 

Have you done there 1 

Flo. Should I now meet my father, 

He would not call me son. 

Cam. Nay, you shall have 

No hat: — Come, lady, come. — Farewell, my friend, 

Aut. Adieu, sir. 

/•'/('. O Perdita, what have we twain forget! 



294 



WINTER'S TALE. 



Pray you, a word. [Tliei/ nmrerse apart. 

Cam. What I do next, shall be, to tell the king 
Ot this escape, and whither they are bound; [Asuie, 
Wherein, my hope is, 1 shall so prevail. 
To force him after ; in ivhose company 
I shall review Sicilia ; for whose sight 
I have a wroman's longing. 

Flo. Fortune speed as? — 

I'hus we set on, Camillo, to the sea- side. 
Cam. The swifter speed, the better. 

[Eieant Fi.orizkl, Perbita, and CitMiLi,©. 
Ant. I understand the business, 1 hear it : To have 
an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble band, is ne- 
cessary for a cut-purse ; a good nose is reijuisite also, 
to smell out work for the other senses. ! see, this is 
the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an 
exchange had this been, without boot ? what a boot 
is here, with this exchange ? Sure, the gods do this 
year connive at us, and we may do any thing extem- 
pore. The prince himself is about a piece of iniquity ; 
stealing away from his father, with his clog at his 
heels : if I thought it were not a piece of honesty to 
acquaint the king withal, I would do't: I hold it 
the more knavery to conceal it: and therein am I 
constant to my profession. 

Enter Clown ami Shepherd. 
Aside, aside ; — here is more matter for a hot brain : 
Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hang- 
ing, yields a careful man work. 

Cii). See, see ; what a man you are now ! there 
is no other way, but to tell the king she's a change- 
ling, and none of your flesh and blood. 
aiiep. Nay, but hear me. 
Clo. Nay, but hear me. 
Hhep. Go to then. 



See'st thou not the air of the court in these en/old- 
ings? hath not my gait in it, the measure of the 
court 1 receives not thy nose couri-odour from me ? 
reflect 1 not on thy baseness, couxt-coritemptiThlnk'st 
thou, for that I insinuate, or toze from thee thy bu- 
siness, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier 
cap-a-pe ; and one that will either push on, or pluck 
back thy business there : whereupon I comBiaoil 
ihee to open thy affair. 

Shep. My business, sir, is to the king, 

Aut. What advocate hast thou to him? 

She}). I know not, an't like you. 

Clo, Advocate 's the pourt-word for z pheasant ; 
say, you have none. 

Shep. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock, nor hen. 

Aut. Howbless'd are we, that are not simple bi&q ! 
Yet nature might have made me as these are. 
Therefore I'll not disdain. 

Clo. This cannot be but a great courtier. 

Shep. His garments are rich, but he wears theni 
not handsomely. 

Clo. )Je seems to be the more noble in being fan- 
tastical : a great man, I'll warrant ; I know, by the 
picking oa's teeth. 

Ant. The fardel there? what's i' the fardel ? 
Wherefore that bos? 

Shep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel, and 
bos, which none must know but the king ; and which 
he shall know within this hour, if 1 may come to th« 
speech of him. 

Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. 

Shep. Why, sir ? 

Aut. The king is not at the palace : he is gone 
aboard a new ship to purge melancholy, and aii 
himself : For, if thou be'st capable of things serious. 



C7i). She being none of your flesh and blood, your thou must know, the king is full of grief. 



flesh and blood has not offended the king; and, so, 
your flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. 
Sliew tiiose things you found about her ; those secret 
things, all but what she has with her : 'I'his being 
done, let the law go whistle ; 1 warrant you. 

Shep. I will tell the king all, every word, yea, 
and his son's pranks too ; who, I may say, is no ho- 
nest man neither to his father, nor to me, to go about 
to make me the king's brother-in-law 



Shep. So 'tis said, sir ; about his son, that should 
have married a shepherd's daughter. 

Aut. If tikat shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him 
fly ; the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall 
feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster. 

Clo. Think you so, sir ! 

Ant. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make 
heavy, and vengeance bitter ; but those that are ger- 
mane to him, though removed fifty times, shall all 



Clo. Indeed, brotlier-in-law was the furthest off come under the hangman : which though it be great 



you could have been to liim ; and then your blood had 
been the dearer, by 1 know not how much an ounce. 

Aut. Very wisely ; puppies' [Aside. 

Shep. Well ; let us to the king ; there is that in 
this fardel, will make him scratch his beard. 

Aut. 1 know not what impediment this complaint 
may be to the flight of my master. 

Clo. 'Pray heartily he be at palace. 

Aut. Though I am not naturally honest, I am so 
sometimes by chance : — Let me pocket up my ped- 
ler's excrement. — [Takes ojf' his false beatd.] How 
now, rustics ? wliither are you bound ? 

Shep. To the palace, an it like your worship. 

A»it. Your affairs there? what? with whom? the 
condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, 
your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, 
and any thing that is fitting to be known, discover. 

Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir. 



pity, yet it is necj'ssary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, 
a ram-tender, to ofl'er to have liis daughter come into 
grace f Some say, he shall be stoned ; but that death is 
too soft for him, say 1 : Draw our throne into a sheep- 
cole ! all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy. 

CL). Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear, 
an't like you, sir? 

Aiit. lie has a son, who shal}, be flayed alive ; 
then 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a 
wasp's nest ; then stand, till he be three quarters and 
a dram dead : then recovered again with aqua-vitae, 
or some other hot infusion : then, raw as he is, and 
in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall 
he be set against a brick wall, the sun looking with a 
southward eye upon him ; where he is to behold him 
with flies blown to death. But what talk we of these 
traitorlv rascals, whose miseries are to be smiled at, 
their offences being so capital ? Tell me, (for yoa 



Aut. A lie! you are rough and hairy : Let me I seem to be lionest plain men,) what you have to the 



have no lying ; it becomes none but tradesmen, and 
they often give us soldiers the lie ! but we pay them 
for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel ; there- 
fore they do not give us the lie. 

Clo. Your worship had like to have given us one, 
if you iiad not taken yourself with the manner. 

Shep. Are you a courtii-r. an't like you, sir ? 

Aut. Whether it like me, or no. 1 am a courtier. 



king: being something gently considered, I'll bring 
you where he is aboard, tender your persons to his 
presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and, if it be 
in man, besides the king, to effect your suits, here is 
man shall do it. 

Clo. He seems to be of great authority • close with 
him, give him gold ; and though authority be a stub- 
born bear, jet he is of) led by the nose with gold ; 



ACT v.— SCENE I 



295 



s?icv/ the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, 
and no more ado : Remember, stoned and flayed alive. 

Shep. An't please you, sir, to undertake the busi- 
ness for us, here is that gold 1 have : 1 'U make it as 
much more; and leave this young man in pavirn, till 
I bring it you. 

Ant. After I have done what I promised! 

6hep. Ay, sir. 

Aut. Well, give me the moiety :— Are you a party 
in this business I 

CUu In some sort, sir: but though my case be a 
pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it. 

AaU O, that's the case of the shepherd's son: — 
Hang him, he '11 be made an example. 

do. Comfort, good comfort : we must to the king, 
and shew our strange sights: he must know, 'tis none 
of your daughter, nor my sister ; we are gone else. 
Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does, 
when the business is performed ; and remain, as he 
says, your pawn, till it be brought you. 

Aut, I will trust you. Walk before toward the 
sei-side ; go on the right hand ; I will but look upon 
the hedge, and follow you. 

CLo. We are blessed in this man, as 1 may say, 
even blessed. 

Shep. Let's before, as he bids us: he was provided 
to do us good. [Eieunt Shepherd and Clown. 

Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see, fortune 
would not suffer me ; she drops booties in my mouth. 
I am courted now with a double occasion ; gold, and 
a means to do the prince my master good ; which, 
who knows how that may turn back to my advance- 
ment 1 I will bring these two moles, these blind ones, 
aboard him : if he think it (it to shore them again, and 
tliat the complaint they have to the king concerns him 
nothing, let him call me, rogue, for being so far ofli- 
cious ; for I am proof against that title, and what 
shame else belongs to 't : To him will I present them, 
there may be matter in it. [Exit, 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — Sicilia- A linom in Leontes' Palace. 

Enter Leontes, Cleo.wenes, Dion, Paulina, 

and others, 

CLeo. Sir, you have done enough , and have perform 'd 
A saint-like sorrow : no fault could you make. 
Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down 
More penitence, than done trespass : At the last 
Do, as the heavens have done ; forget your evil ; 
With them, forgive yourself. 

Leon. Whilst I remember 

Her, and her virtues, I cannot forget 
My blemishes in them ; and so still think of 
The wrong 1 did myself: which was so much. 
That heirless it hath made my kingdom ; and 
Destroy'd the sweet'st companion, that e'er man 
Bred his hopes out of. 

Paul. True, too true, my lord : 

If, one by one, you wedded all the world. 
Or, from the all that are, took something good, 
To make a perfect woman ; she, you kill'd, 
Would be unparallel'd. 

Leon. I think so. Kill'd ! 

She 1 kill'd ^ I did so : but thou strik'st me 
Sorely, to say I did ; it is as bitter 
Upon thy tongue, as in my thought: Now, good now, 
Say so but seldom. 

Cleo. Not at all, good lady; 

Vou might have spoken a thousand things that would 
Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd 
Yaur kindness better. 



Paul. You are one of those. 

Would have him wed again. 

Dion. If you would not so, 

You pity not the state, nor tlie remembrance 
Of his most sovereign dame ; consider little. 
What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue. 
May drop upon his kingdom, and devour 
Incertain lookers-on. VVhat were more holy. 
Than to rejoice, the former queen is well 1 
What holier, than, — for royalty's repair, 
For present comfort and for future good, — 
To bless the bed of majesty again 
With a sweet fellow to 't I 

Paul. There is none worthy, 

Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods 
Will have fulfill'd tlieir secret purposes: 
For has not the divine Apollo said. 
Is 't not the tenour of his oracle. 
That king Leontes shall not have an heir. 
Till his lost child be found? which, that it shall. 
Is all as monstrous to our human reason, 
As my Antigonus to break his grave, 
And come again to me ; who, on my life. 
Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel, 
My lord should to the heavens be contrary, 
Oppose against their wills. — Care not for issue , 

[2'o Leontes, 
The crown will find an heir: Great Alexander 
Left his to the worthiest ; so his successor 
Was like to be the best. 

Leon. Good Paulina, — 
Who hast the memory of Hermione, 
I know, in honour,— O, that ever I 
Had squar'd me to tliy counsel ! — then, even now, 
I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes ; 
Have taken treasure from her lips, 

Paul. And left thorn 

More rich, for what they yielded. 

Leon, Thou speak'st truth. 

No more such wives ; therefore, no wife : one worse. 
And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit 
Again jjossess her corps ; and, on this stage, 
(Where we oflenders now appear,) soul-ve.xed. 
Begin, Aiui why to me? 

Paul, Had she such power. 

She had just cause. 

Leon. Siie had ; and would incense me 

To murder her I married. 

Paul. I should so : 

Were I the ghost that walk'd, I 'd bid you mark 
Her eye ; and tell me, for what dull part in 't 
You chose her: then I'd shriek, that even your ears 
Should rift to bear me ; and the words that follow'd 
Should be, Remember minel 

Leon. Stars, very stars, 

And all eyes else dead coals ! — fear thou no wife, 
I "11 have no wife, Paulina. 

Paul. Will you swear 

Never to marry, but by my free leave 1 

Leon. Never, Paulina: so be bless'd my spirit! 

Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath 

Cleo. You tempt him over-much. 

Paul. Unless another. 

As like Hermione as is her picture, 
Affront his eye. 

Cleo. Good madam, — 

Paul. I have done. 

Yet, if my lord will marry, — if you will, sir, 
No remedy, but you will ; give me the ofiSce 
To choose you a queen ; she shall not be so young 
As wa< your former ; but she s'..M be such. 
As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy 
To see her in your arms. 



296 



WLNTER'S TALE. 



Leon. My true Paulina, 

We shall not marry, till thou bidd'st us. 

Paul. That 

Shall be, when your first queen's again in breath ; 
Never till then. 

Enter a Gentleman. 

Geut. One that gives out himself prince Florizel, 
Son of Polixenes, with his princess, (she 
The fairest I have yet beheld,) desires access 
To your high presence. 

Leon. Wliat with him? he comes not 

Like to his father's greatness : his approach. 
So out of circumstance, and sudden, tells us, 
'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd 
By need, and accident. What train ? 

Gent. But few. 

And those but mean. 

Leon. His princess, say you, with him? 

Gent. Ay, the most peerless piece of earth, I think, 
That e'er the sun shone bright on. • | 

Paul. O Hermione, 

As every present time doth boast itself 
Above a better, gone ; so must thy grave 
Give way to what's seen now. Sir, you yourself 
Have said, and writ so, (but your writing now 
Is colder than that theme,) iihe had not been, 
Nnr was not to be eqmiiCd; — thus your verse 
Flow'd with her beauty once ; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd. 
To say you have seen a better. 

Gent. Pardon, madam ; 

The one I have almost forgot ; (your pardon,) 
The other, when she has obtain'd your eye. 
Will have your tongue too. 'I'his is such a creature, 
Would she begin a sect, might quench tlie zeal 
Of all professors else ; make proselytes 
Of who she but bid follow. 

Paid. How? not women? 

Gent. Women will love her, that she is a woman. 
More worth than any man ; men, that she is 
The rarest of all women. 

Leon. Go, Cleomenes ; 

Yourself, assisted with your honour'd fiiends, 
Bring them to our embracement. — Stiil 'tis strange, 

[Eaeunt Cleomenes, Lords, and Gentleman. 
He thus should steal upon us. 

Paul. Had our prince, 

(Jewel of children,) seen this hour, he had pair'd 
Well with this lord ; there was not full a month 
Between their births. 

Leon. Pr'ythee, no more ; thou know'st. 
He dies to me again, when talk'd of: sure. 
When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches 
Will bring me to consider that, which may 
Unfurnish me of reason. — They are come. 

i?e-enter Cleomenes, with Florizel, Perdita, 
and Attendants. 
Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince ; 
For she did print your royal father off. 
Conceiving you : Were 1 but twenty-one, 
Your father's image is so hit in you. 
His very air, tliat I should call you brother, 
As I did him ; and speak of something, wildly 
By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome ! 
And your fair princess, goddess ! — O, alas ! 
1 lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth 
Miglit thus have stood, begetting wonder, as 
You, gracious couple, do ! and then I lost 
(All mine own folly,) the society, 
Amity too, of your brave father ; whom, 
Though bearing misery, 1 desire my life 
Once more to look upon. 

Flo. By his command 



Have I here touch'd Sicilia : and from him 

Give you all greetings, that a king, and friend. 

Can send his brother ; and, but infirmity 

(\Vhich waits upon worn times,) hath something seiz'd 

His wish'd ability, he had himself 

The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his 

Measur'd, to look upon you ; whom he loves 

(He bade me say so,) more than all the scepters. 

And those that bear them, living. 

Leon. O, my brother, 

(Good gentleman !) the wrongs I have done thee, stir 
Afresh within me ; and these thy offices, 
So rarely kind, are as interpreters 
Of my behind-hand slackness! — Welcome hither, 
As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too 
Expos'd this paragon to the fearful usage 
(At least, ungentle) of the dreadful Neptune, 
To greet a man, not worth her pains ; much less 
The adventure of her person ? 

Flo. Good my lord. 

She came from Libya. 

Leon. Where the warlike Smalus, 

That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd, and lov'd ? 

Flo. Rlost royal sir, from thence •, from him, whose 
daughter 
His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her : thence 
(A prosperous south- wind frieiuliy,) we have cross'd, 
To execute the charge my father gave me. 
For visiting your highness : My best train 
I have from your Sicilian shores disiuiss'd ; 
Who for Bohemia bend, to signify 
Not only my success in Libya, sir, 
But my arrival, and my wife's, in safety 
Here, where we are. 

Leon, The blessed gods 

Purge all infection from our air, whilst you 
Do climate iiere ! You have a holy father, 
A graceful gentleman ; against whose person. 
So sacred as it is, 1 have done sin : 
For which the heavens, taking angry note, 
Have left me issueless ; and your father's bless'd, 
(As he from heaven merits it,) with you, 
Worthy his goodness. What might I have been. 
Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on. 
Such goodly things as you ? 

Fnter a Lord. 

Lord. Most noble sir. 

That which I shall report, will bear no credit. 
Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, 
Bohemia greets you from himself by me : 
Desires you to attach his son ; who has 
(His dignity and duty both cast off,) 
Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with 
A shepiierd's daughter. 

Leon. Where's Bohemia ? speak 

Lord. Here in the city ; 1 now came from him : 
I speak amazedly ; and it becomes 
My marvel, and my message. To your court 
Whiles he was hast'ning, (in the chase, it seems. 
Of this fair couple,) meets he on the way 
The father of this seeming lady, and 
Her brother, having both tlieir country quitted 
With this young prince. 

Flo. Camillo has betray 'd me ; 

W' hose honour, and whose honesty, till now, 
Endur'd all weathers. 

Lord. Lay't so to his charge ; 

He's with the king your father. 

Leon. Who? Camillo 1 

Lord. Camillo, sir; I spake with him ; who now 
Has these poor men in question. Never saw I 
Wretches so quake : they kneel, they kiss the earlb ; 
Forswear themselves as often as they speak : 



ACr v.— SCENE II. 



297 



Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them 
With divers deaths in death. 

Per. O, my poor father ! — 

The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have 
Our contract celebrated. 

Leon, You are married ? 

Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be ; 
The stars, I see, will kiss the vallies first: — 
The odds for high and low's alike. 

Leon. My lord, 

Is this the daughter of a king? 

Flo. She is, 

When once she is my wife. 

Leon. That once, 1 see, by your good father's speed, 
Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, 
Most sorry, you iiave broken from his liking, 
W^here you were tied in duty ; and so sorry, 
Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, 
That you might well enjoy her. 

Flo. Dear, look up : 

Though fortune, visible an enemy, 
Should chase us, with my father : power no jot 
Hath she to change our loves. — -'Beseech you, sir, 
Remember since you ow"d no more to time 
Than I do now : with thought of such affections, 
Step forth mine advocate ; at your request. 
My father will grant precious things, as trifles. 

Leon. Would he do so, I'd begyour precious mistress, 
Which he counts but a trifle. 

Paul. Sir, my liege. 

Your eye hath too much youth in 't : not a month 
'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes 
Than what you look on now. 

Leon. I thought of her. 

Even in these looks I made. — But your petition 
Is yet unanswer'd : I will to your father ; [To Flo. 
Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, 
I am a friend to them, and you : upon which errand 
I now go toward him ; therefore follow me, ! 

And mark what way 1 make : Come, good my lord. 

\_Eieiuit. 

SCENE II.— The same. Before the Palace. 
Enter AuTOLi-cus and a Gentleman. 

Aut. 'Beseech you, sir, were you present at this 
relation 1 

1 Gent. I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard 
the old shepherd deliver the manner how he found 
it : whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were all 
commanded out of the chamber ; only this, methought 
I heard the shepherd say, he found the child. 

AiiL I would most gladly know the issue of it. 

1 Gent. I make a broken delivery of the business : 
— But the changes I perceived in the king, and Ca- 
millo, were very notes of admiration : they seemed 
almost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases 
of their eyes ; there was a speech in their dumbness, 
language in their very gesture ; they looked, as they 
had heard of a workl ransomed, or one destroyed : A 
noble passion of wonder appeared in them : but the 
wisest beiiolder, tiiat knew no more but seeing, could 
not say, if the importance were joy, or sorrow: but 
in the extremity of the one it must needs be. 

Enter another Gentleman. 
Here comes a gentleman, that, happily, knows more : 
"The news, Uogero ? 

'2 Gent, \othing but bonfires: The oracle is ful- 
filled ; the king's daughter is found : such a deal of 
wonder is broken out within this hour, that ballad- 
Qiakers cannot be able to express it. 

Er.ter a third Gentleman. 
Here comes the lady Paulina's steward ; he can de- 
liver you more. — How goes it now^ sirl this news. 



which is called true, is so like an old tale, that the 
verity of it is in strong suspicion : Has the king found 
his heir 7 

3 Gent. Most true; if ever truth were pregnant 
by circumstance ; that, which you hear, you'll swear 
you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle 
of queen Hermione : — her jewel about the neck of 
it :— the letters of Antigonus, found with it, which 
they know to be his character :— the majesty of the 
creature, in resemblance of the mother ;— the afl^ec- 
tion of nobleness, which nature shews above her 
breeding, — and many other evidences, proclaim her, 
with certainty, to be the king's daughter. Did you 
see the meeting of the two kings i 

2 Gent. No. 

3 Gent. Tlien have you lost a sight, which was 
to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you 
have beheld one joy crown another ; so, and in such 
manner, that, it seemed, sorrow wept to take leave of 
them ; for their joy waded in tears. There was cast- 
ing up of eyes, holding up of hands ; with counte- 
nance of such distraction, that they were to be known 
by garment, not by favour. Our king, being ready 

, to leap out of himself for joy of his found daughter ; 
j as if that joy weie now become a loss, cries, 0, thy 
j mother, thy mother ! then asks Bohemia forgiveness ; 
j then embraces his son-in-law ; then again worries he 

his daughter, with clipping her ; now he thanks the 
I old shepherd, which stands by, like a weather-bitten 

conduit of may kings' reigns. I never heard of such 

another encounter, which lames report to follow it, 

and undoes description to do it. 

2 Gent What, pray you, became of Antigonus, 
that carried hence the child ? 

3 Gent. Like an old tale sliil ; which will have 
matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep, and not 
an ear open : He was torn to pieces with a bear : this 
avouches the sheplierd's son ; who has not only his in- 
nocence (which seems much,) to justify him, but a 
handkerchief, and rings, of his, that Paulina knows. 

1 Gent. What became of his bark, and his followers? 

3 Gent. Wrecked, the same instant of their mas- 
ter's death ; and in the view of the shepherd : so that 
all the instruments, which aided to expose the child, 
were even then lost, when it was found. But, O, 
the noble combat, that, 'twixt joy and sorrow, was 
fought in Paulina ! She had one eye declined for the 
loss of her husband ; another elevated that the oracle 
was fulfilled : She lifted the princess from the earth ; 
and so locks her in embracing, as if she would pin 
her to her heart, that she might no more be in dan- 
ger of losing. 

1 Gent. The dignity of this act was worth the au- 
dience of kings and princes ; for by such was it acted. 

3 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all, and 
that which angled for mine eyes (caught the water, 
though not the fish,) was, when at the relation of the 
queen's death, with the manner how she came to it, 
(bravely confessed, and lamented by the king,) how 
attentiveness wounded his daughter ; till, from one 
sign of dolour to another, she did, with an alas! I 
would fain say, bleed tears ; for, I am sure, my heart 
wept blood. Who was most marble there, changed 
colour ; some swooned, all sorrowed : if all the world 
could have seen it, the woe had been universal. 

1 Gent. Are they returned to the court? 

3 Gent. No : the princess hearing of her mother's 
statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina, — a piece 
many years in doing, and now newly performed by 
that rare Italian master, Julio Romano; who, had 
he himself eternity, and could put breath into his 
work, would beguile nature of her custom, so per- 
fectly he is her ape : he so near to Hermione hath 



298 



WINTER'S TALE. 



done Hermione, that, they say, one would speak to 
her, and stand in hope of answer : thither, with all 
greediness of affection, are they gone ; and there they 
intend to sup. 

2 Gent. I thought, she had some great matter there 
in hand ; for she hath privately, twice or thrice a day, 
ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed 
house. Shall we thither, and with our company 
piece the rejoicing 1 

1 Gent. Who would be thence, that has the be- 
nefit of access ? every wink of an eye, some new grace 
will be born : our absence makes us unthrifty to our 
knowledge. Let 's along. [£i?"«t Gentlemen. 

Aut. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in 
tne, would preferment drop on my head. I brought 
the old man and his son aboard the prince ; told him, 
I heard them talk of a fardel, and 1 know not what ; 
but he at that time, over-fond of the shepherd's 
daughter, (so he then took her to be,) who began to 
be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity 
of weather continuing, this mystery remained un- 
discovered. But 'tis all one to me; for had I been 
the finder out of this secret, it would not have relished 
among my other discredits. 

Enter Shepherd and Clown. 
Here comes those I have done good to against my 
will, and already appearing in the blossoms of their 
fortune. 

Shep. Come, boy ; I am past more children, but 
thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. 

Clo. You are well met, sir : You denied to fight 
with me this other day, because I was no gentleman 
born : See you these clothes? say, you see them not, 
and think me still no gentleman born : you were best 
say, these robes are not gentleman born. Give me 
the lie ; do ; and try whether I am not now a gen- 
tleman born. 

Aut. I know, you are now, sir, a gentleman born. 

Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. 

Shep. And so have 1, boy. 

Clo. So you have : but 1 was a gentleman born 
before my father : for the king's son look me by the 
hand, and called me, brother ; and then the two kings 
called my father, brother ; and then the prince, my 
brother, and the princess, my sister, called my father, 
father ; and so we wept : and there was the first gen- 
tleman-like tears that ever we shed. 

Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more. 

Clu. Ay ; or else 'twere hard luck ; being in so 
preposterous estate as we are. 

Aut. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all 
the faults I have committed to your worship, and to 
give me your good report to the prince my master. 

Shep. Pr'ythee, son, do ; for we must be gentle, 
now we are gentlemen. 

Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life 1 

Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship. 

Clo. Give me thy hand : 1 will swear to the prince, 
thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia. 

Shep. You may say it, but not swear it. 

Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman 1 Let 
boors and franklins say it, I '11 swear it. 

Shep. How if it be false, son "? 

Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may 
swear it, in the behalf of his friend : — And 1 '11 swear 
to the prince, thou art a tall fellow of thy hands, 
and that thou wilt not be drunk ; but I know, thou 
art no tall fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt be 
drunk ; but I '11 swear it : and 1 would, thou would'st 
be a tall fellow of thy hands, 

.4ut. 1 will prove so. sir, to my power. 

LLi. A)', by any means prove a tal! fellow: If I 



do not wonder, how thou darest venture to be drunk, 
not being a tall fellow, trust me not. — Hark! the 
kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see 
the queen's picture. Come, follow us : we '11 be thy 
good masters. [Exeunt. 

SCENE in. — The same. A Room in Paulina's House. 

£;iter Leontes, Polixfnes, Flokizel, Pebdita, 
Camillo, Paulina, Lords, and Attendants. 

Leon. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort 
That I have had of thee ! 

faul. What, sovereign sir, 

I did not well, I meant well : All my services. 
You have paid home : but that you have vouchsafd 
With your crown'd brother, and these your contracted 
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit ; 
It is a surplus of your grace, which never 
JMy life may last to answer. 

Lenn. O Pauhna, 

We honour you with trouble : but we came 
To see the statue of our queen : your gallery 
Have we pass'd through, not without much content 
In many singularities ; but we saw not 
That which my daughter came to look upon, 
The statue of her mother. 

Paul. As she liv'd peerless, 

So her dead likeness, I do well believe. 
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon. 
Or hand of man hath done ; therefore I keep it 
Lonely, apart : But here it is: prepare 
To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever 
Still sleep mock'd death : behold ; and say, 'tis well, 

[Paulina ziiulraws a curtain and d'ncnvers a statue, 
I like your silence, it the more shews off 
Your wonder : But yet speak ; — first, you, my liege ; 
Comes it not something near 1 

Leon. Her natural posture I — 

Chide me, dear stone ; that I may say, indeed, 
Thou art Hermione : or, rather, thou art she, 
In thy not chiding ; for she was as tender. 
As infancy and grace. — But yet, Paulina, 
Hermione was not so much wrinkled ; nothing 
So aged, as this seems. 

Pol. O, not by much. 

Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence ; 
Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her 
As she liv'd now. 

Leon. As now she might have done, 

So much to my good comfort, as it is 
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, 
Even with such lite of majesty, (warm We, 
As now it coldly stands,) when tirst I woo'd her J 
I am asham'd: Does not the stone rebuke me, 
For being more stone than it ? — O, royal piece, 
There's magic in thy majesty ; which has 
My evils conjur'd to remembrance ; and 
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, 
Standing like stone with thee ! 

Per. And give me leave ; 

And do not say, 'tis superstition, that, 
I kneel, and then implore her blessing. — Lady, 
Dear queen, that ended when I but began, 
Give me that hand of yours, to kiss. 

Paul. 0, patience ; 

The statue is but newly fi.x'd, the colour's 
Not dry. 

Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on : 
Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, 
So many summers, dry ; scarce any joy 
Did ever so long live ; no sorrow, 
But kill'd itself nmch sooner. 

Pol. Dear my brother, 

Let him. that was the cause of this, have power 



ACT v.- -SCENE III. 



2i)9 



To take off so much grief from you, as he 
Will piece up in himself. 

Paul. Indeed, my lord. 

If I had thought, tlie sight of my poor image 
Would thus have wrought you (for the stone is mine,) 
I'd not have shew'd it. 

Leon. Do not draw the curtain. 

Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't ; lest your 
May think anon, it moves. [fancy 

Leon. Let be, let be. 

Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already — 
What was he, that did make it ? — See, my lord. 
Would you not deem, it breath'd? and that those veins 
Did verily bear blood ? 

Pol. Masterly done : 

The very life seems warm upon her lip. 

Leon. The fixture of her eye has motion in't, 
As we are mock'd with art. 

Paul. I'll draw the curtain ; 

My lord's almost so far transported, that 
He'll think anon, it lives. 

Leon. O sweet Paulina, 

Make me to think so twenty years together ; 
No settled senses of the world can match 
The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone. 

Paul. I am sorry, sir, 1 have thus farstirr'dyou: but 
I could afflict you further. 

Leon, Do, Paulina ; 

For this affliction has a taste as sweet 
A& any cordial comfort. — Still, methinks, 
There is an air comes from her : What fine chisel 
Could ever yet cut breath 1 Let no man mock me, 
For I will kiss her. 

Paul. Good my lord, forbear : 

The ruddiness upon her lip is wet ; 
You'll mar it, if you kiss it ; stain your own 
With oily painting: Shall I draw the curtain'! 

Leon. No, not these twenty years. 

Per. So long could I 

Stand by, a looker on. 

Paul. Either forbear. 

Quit presently the chapel ; or resolve you 
For more amazement : If you can behold it, 
I'll make the statue move indeed ; descend. 
And take you by the hand : but then you'll think, 
( Whicii 1 protest against,) I am assisted 
By wicked powers. 

Leon. Wiiat you can make her do, 

I am content to look on : what to speak, 
I am content to hear : for 'tis as easy 
To make her speak, as move. 

Paul. It is requir'd, 

You do awake your faith : Then, all stand still; 
Or those, that think it is unlawful business 
I am about, let them depart. 

Leon. Proceed; 

No foot shall stir. 

Paul. Music; awake her : strike. — [MnsiV. 

'Tis time ; descend ; be stone no more : approach ; 
Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come; 
111 fill your grave up : stir ; nay, come away ; 
Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him 



Dear life redeems you. — You perceive, she stirs ; 

[Iliin.MiONK romes down from the pedestal. 
Start not : her actions shall be holy, as. 
You hear, my spell is lawful : do not shun her, 
Until you see her die again ; for then 
You kill her double ; Nay, present your hand : 
^\'hen she was young, you woo'd her; now, in age. 
Is she become the suitor. 

Leon. O, she's warm ! [Embracing her. 

If this be magic, let it be an art 
Lawful as eating. 

PoL She embraces him. 

Cam. She hangs about his neck ; 
If she pertain to life, let her speak too. 

Pol. Ay, and make't manifest where she has liv'd, 
Or, how stol'n from the dead ] 

Paul. That slie is living, 

Were it but told you, should be hooted at 
Like an old tale ; but it appears, she lives. 
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. — 
Please you to interpose, fair madam ; kneel. 
And pray your mother's blessing. — Turn, good lady ; 
Our Perdita is found. 

{^Presenting Perdita, who kneels to Hermione. 

Her. You gods, look down, 

And from your sacred vials pour your graces 
Upon my daughter's head! — Tell me, mine own. 
Where hast thou been preserv'd 1 where liv'd ! how 

found 
Thy father's court"! for thou shalt hear, that I, — 
Knowing by Paulina, that the oracle 
Gave hope tiiou wast in being, — have preserv'd 
Myself, to see the issue. 

Paul. 'J'here's time enough for that; 

Lest they desire, upon this push to trouble 
\'our joys with like relation. — Go together. 
You precious winners all ; your exultation 
Partake to every one. I, an old turtle, 
Will wing me to some wither'd bough ; and there 
My mate, that's never to be found again. 
Lament till I am lost. 

Leon. O peace, Paulina ; 

Thou should'st a husband take by my consent. 
As I by thine, a wife : this is a match, 
Andmadebetween'sby vows. Thou hast found mine; 
But how, is to be question'd : for I saw her, 
As I thought, dead ; and have, in vain, said many 
A prayer upon her grave : I'll not seek far 
(For him, I partly know liis mind,) to 'ind thee 
An honourable husband : — Come, Camillo, 
And take her by the hand : whose worth, and honesty, 
Is richly noted ; and here justified 
By us, a pair of kings. — Let's from this place. — 
What? — Lookuponmybrother:— both your pardons, 
That e'er I put between your holy looks 
My ill suspicion. — This your son-inlaw, 
And son unto the king, (whom heavens directing,) 
Is troth-plight to your daughter. — Good Paulina, 
Lead us from hence ; where we may leisurely 
Each one demand, and answer to his part 
Perform 'd in this wide gap of time, since first 
We were dissever'd : Hastily lead away. [Eieuni. 



This play, as Dr. Warburton jusily observes, is, with all its 
a'jsurdilies, very t- nteriaiiiiiif. the charatter ot Autolycus is 
QQlurally conceived, aixl btrongly re|ireseiitea. — loH.NSo.\. 

Warburcon is not guilty of a criiK'i:>ui so frigid as Jolnison 
has represented.— His words are 

" This play, throughout, is written in the very spirit of its 
author. And in telliub' this homely and simple, thouijb ayree- 
able, country tale, I 

Our siceetest Shahpeare. fam-y's child, 
li'aiSUi /tis natne uooJ-JioUi 'diid. \ 

This was neci'ssary to oliserve in mirejuMice to the play ; as 
the maaaoessof ;he fable, and the extras a^aut conduct of it, had < 



misled some of great name into a wrone judKment of its merit ; 
wliich, as far as it regards sentiment and character, is staice in 
ferior to any in the whole collection." 

I'lie persons of great name to whom Warburton alludes arc 
Drydeii ami Pope. The former of whom mentions this |)lay 
with no great indultrence, in the Essay at the end of the second 
linrt of iheCowtuesi of Grennda ; while tlie latter, in the pretACe 
to his edition of our author'.s works, is rash enough to class it 
with Love's Labour's Lost, the Comedy of Krrors, and I itus 
Andronicus. as one of the plays, in which Shakspeare had pro- 
duced only some characters, or siuglc kceues, or perhaps afew 
particular passaKes. 



COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



This plav of which the first edition was that of the folio 162.1, is mentioned by Meres in ITiOO. and exhibits internal proofs of 
having been one of Shakspeare's earliest productions. A translation of the Mi-nnchmt of Phutus by W. W (i. c, accorUiiig 
to Ward, William WarnerJ was published in 1595, and may have afforded the ground worlc of the present comedy. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

SoLiNus, Duke of Ephesus. 
.(Egeon, a merchant o/' Syracuse. 
, /. T^ 1 ( twill brothers, and sons to 

Antipholuso/ Ephesus,) ^ a«rf Emilia, but 

Antipholuso/ Syracuse,^ „„Lou>« to each other. 
Dromio o/' Ephesus, ^ twin brothers, and Attendants 
Dromio o/Syracuse, S o)t t/ie noo Antipholus's. 
Balthazar, a merchant. 
Anoelo, a goldsmith. 

A Merchant, friend to Antipholus o/" Syracuse. 
Pinch, a schoolmaster, and a conjurer. 

JEmilia, ivife to ^T'.geon, an Abbess at Ephesus. 
Adriana, wife to Antipholus of Ephesus. 
LuciANA, her sister. 
Luce, her servant. 
A Courtezan, 

Gaoler, Officers, and other Atte7idants. 
SCENE,— Ephesus. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.—A Hall in the Duke's Palace. 

Enter Duke, ^Egeon, Gaoler, Officers, and other 

Attendants. 
Mge. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall. 
And, by the doom of death, end woes and all. 

Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more ; 
I am not partial, to infringe our laws : 
The enmity and discord, which of late 
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke 
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen, — 
Who, wanting gilders to redeem their lives, 
Have sealed his rigorous statutes with their bloods, — 
Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks. 
For, since the mortal and intestine jars 
'Twi.Kt thy seditious countrymen and us. 
It hath in solemn synods been decreed, 
Both by the Syracusans and ourselves. 
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns : 
Nay, more. 

If any, born at Ephesus, be seen 
At any Syracusan marts and fairs, 
Again, If any Syracusan born. 
Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies. 
His goods confiscate to the duke dispose ; 
Unless a thousand marks be levied. 
To quit the penalty, and to ransom him. 
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate, 
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks; 
Therefore, by the law thou art condemn'd to die. 

£ge. Yet this my comfort; when your words are 
My woes end likewise with the evening sun. [done, 

Duke. Well, Syracusan, say in brief the cause 
Why thou departedst from thy native home ; 
And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus, 

JEge. A heavier task could not have been impos'd. 
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable : 
Yet, that the world may witness, that my end 
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, 
I '11 utter what my sorrow gives me leave. 
In Syracusa was I born ; and wed 



Unto a woman, happy but forme, 

And by me too, had not our hap been bad. 

With her I liv'd in joy ; our wealth increas'd. 

By prosperous voyages I often made 

To Epidamnum, till my factor's death. 

And he (great care of goods at random left) 

Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse : 

From whom my absence was not six months old. 

Before iierself (almost at fainting, under 

The pleasing punishment that women bear,) 

Had made provision for her following me. 

And soon, and safe, arrived where 1 was. 

There she had not been long, but she became 

A joyful mother of two goodly sons ; 

And, which was strange, the one so like the other 

As could not be distinguish'd but by names. 

That very hour, and in the selfsame inn, 

A poor mean woman was delivered 

Of such a burden, male twins, both alike : 

Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, 

I bought, and brought up to attend my sons. 

My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys. 

Made daily motions for our home return : 

Unwilling I agreed ; alas, too soon. 

We came aboard 

A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd. 

Before the always-wind-obeying deep 

Gave any tragic instance of our harm : 

But longer did we not retain much hope ; 

For what obscured ligiit the heavens did grant 

Did but convey unto our fearful minds 

A doubtful warrant of immediate death ; 

Which, though myself would gladly have embrac'd, 

Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, 

Weeping before for what she saw must come, 

And piteous plainings of the pretty babes. 

That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear, 

Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me. 

And this it was, — for other means was none. — 

The sailors sought for safety by our bo it. 

And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to as : 

My wife, more careful for the latter-born. 

Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast. 

Such as sea-faring men provide for storms : 

To him one of the other twins was bound. 

Whilst I had been like heedful of the other. 

The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I, 

Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, 

Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast ; 

And floating straight, obedient to the stream. 

Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought. 

At length tiie sun, gazing upon the earth, 

Dispers'd those vapours that offended us ; 

And, by tlie benefit of his wish'd light. 

The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered 

Two ships from far making amain to us. 

Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this : 

But ere they came, — O, let me say no more ! 

Gatiier tiie sequel by that went before. 

Duke. Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so , 
For we may pity, tliough not pardon thee. 

JEge. O, had the gods done so, 1 had not now 
Worthily term'd them merciless to us ! 
For, ere the ships could meet by twice five league.'^. 
We were encounter'd by a mighty rock ; 



ACT I. -SCENE 11. 



301 



Which beins; violently borne upon, 

Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst, 

So that, in this unjust divorce of us, 

Fortune had left to bolli of us alike 

What to delight in, what to sorrow for. 

Her part, poor soul ! seeming as burdened 

With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe. 

Was carried with more speed before the wind ; 

And in our sight they three were taken up 

By fishermen of Corinth, as we tiiought. 

At length, another ship had seiz'd on us ; 

And, knowing whom it was their hap to save. 

Gave helpful welcome to their shipvvreck'd guests ; 

And would have reft the fishers of their prey, 

Had not their bark been very slow of sail, I 

And therefore homeward did they bend their course. — 

Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss ; 

I'hat by misfortunes was my life prolong'd. 

To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. 

Duke. And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for. 
Do me the favour to dilate at full 
What hath befall'ii of them, and thee, till now. 

^'Ege. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, 
At eighteen years became iiuiuisitive 
After his brother ; and importun'd me, 
I'hat his attendant, (for his case was like, 
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name,) 
Might bear him company in the quest of him : 
^Vhom whilst I labour'd of a love to see, 
1 hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd. 
Five summers have I spent in furthes* Greece, 
Roaming clean through the bounds oi Asia, 
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus ; 
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought. 
Or that, or any place that harbours men. 
But here must end the story of my life ; 
And happy were I in my timely death. 
Could all my travels warrant me they live. 

Duke. Hapless ^?igeou, whom the fates have mark'd 
To bear the extremity of dire mishap ! 
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, 
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity. 
Which princes, would they, may not disannul. 
My soul should sue as advocate for tliee. 
But, though thou art adjudged to the death, 
And passed sentence may not be recall'd, 
But to our honour's great disparagement, 
Yet will I favour thee in what 1 can : 
Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day. 
To seek thy help by beneficial help : 
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus : 
Jieg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum, 
And live ; if not, then thou art doom'd to die : — 
Gaoler, take him to thy custody. 

GaoL. I will, my loid. 

■^ge. Hopeless, and helpless, doth .T'geon wend. 
But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 11.—^ public Place. 

Enter ANTiriioi.us and Dromio of Syracuse, and a 
Merchant. 

Mei: Therefore, give out, you are of Epidamnum, 
Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. 
"I'his very day a Syracusan merchant 
Is apprehended for arrival here ; 
And, not being able to buy out his life, 
According to the statute of the town, 
Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. 
There is your money that 1 had to keep. 

Ant. a. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host, 
And stay there, Dromio, till 1 coine to thee. 
Wiihiu this hour it will be dinucr-time ; 



Till that, I'll view the manners of the town, 
I'eruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings, 
And then return, and sleep within mine inn ; 
For with long travel 1 am stiff and weary. 
Get thee away. 

Dm. S. Many a man would take you at your word. 
And go indeed, having so good a mean. [Eiit Dro. S. 

Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir; that very oft. 
When I am dull with care and melancholy, 
Lightens my humour with ids merry jests. 
What, will you walk with me about the town. 
And then go to my inn, and dine with me ? 

Mei: I am invited, sir, to certain merchants, 
Of whom I hope to make much benefit ; 
1 crave your pardon. Soon, at five o'clock. 
Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart, 
And afterwards consort you till bed-time ; 
My present business calls me from you now. 

Ant. S. Farewell till then : 1 wili go lose myself. 
And wander up and down to view the city. 

Mer. Sir, 1 commend you to your own content. 

[Eiit Merchant. 

Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own content, 
(-ommends me to the thing I cannot get. 
1 to the world am like a drop of water. 
That in the ocean seeks another drop ; 
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, 
Unseen, inciuisitive, confounds himself- 
So I, to find a mother, and a brother 
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. 

Enter Dromio nf Ephesus. 
Here comes the almanac of my true date. — 
What now ? How chance, thou art return'd so soon! 
Dio. i'J. Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too late: 
The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit ; 
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell. 
My mistress made it one upon my cheek ; 
She is so hot, because the meat is cold ; 
'1 he meat is cold, because you come not home ; 
You come not home, because you have no stomach ; 
\ ou have no stomach, having broke your fast ; 
But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray, 
Are penitent for your default to-day. 

Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir; tell me this, I pray; 
Where have you left the money that I gave you 1 

Dro. E. O, — sixpence, that 1 had o' Wednesday last, 
To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper ; — 
The saddler had it, sir, I kept it not. 

Ant. a. 1 am not in a sportive humour now : 
Tell me, and dally not, where is the money 1 
We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust 
So great a charge from thine own custody? 

Dro. E. 1 pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinnei : 
1 from my mistress come to you in post ; 
If I return, 1 shall be post indeed ; 
il'or she will score your fault upon my pate. 
Melhinks, your maw, like mine, should be your clock. 
And strike you home without a messenger. 

Ant. a. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of 
Reserve them till a merrier hour than this : [season ; 
Where is the gold 1 gave in charge to thee? 

Dro. /,'. To me, sir ! why you gave no gold to me. 

Ant. 6'. Come on, sir knave ; have done your fool- 
ishness, 
.\nd tell me, how thou hast dispos'd thy charge. 

Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the mart 
Home to your house, the Phcenix, sir, to dinner ; 
My mistress, and her sister, stay for you. 

Ant.S. Now, as I am a chri.^tian, answer me. 
In what safe place you have bestow'd my money ; 
Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours, 
'1 hat stands on tricks when I am undispo:>"d : 



302 



COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of ine ? 

Dro. E. 1 have some marks of yours upon my pate, 
Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders, 
But not a thousand marks between you both. — 
If I should pay your worship those again, 
Perchance, you will not bear them patiently. 

Aiit. S. Thy mistress' marks I what mistress, slave, 
hast thout [Phoenix ; 

Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the 
She that doth fast, till you come home to dinner. 
And prays, that you will hie you home to dinner. 

Ant. ^. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face, 
Beiug forbid 1 There, take you that, sir knave. 

Dro. E. What mean you, sir 1 for (jod's sake, hold 
your hands : 
Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. [Erit. 

Ant. a. Upon my life, by some device or other, 
The villain is o'er-raught of all my money. 
They say, this town is full of cozenage ; 
As, nimble jugglers, that deceive the eye, 
Dark-working sorcerers, that change the mind, 
Soul-killing witches, that deform the body ; 
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, 
And many such like liberties of sin : 
If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner. 
I '11 to the Centaur, to go seek this slave ; 
I greatly fear, my money is not safe. \^Exit. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I.— ^ public Place. 
Enter Adriana and Luciana. 

Adr. Neither my husband, nor the slave return'd, 
That iu such liaste I sent to seek his master ! 
Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. 

Ltic. Perhaps, some merchant hath invited him. 
And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner. 
Good sister, let us dine, and never fret . 
A man is master of his liberty: 
Time is their master ; and, when they see time, 
They'll go, or come : If so, be patient, sister. 

Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be more 1 

Luc. Because their business still lies out o'door. 

Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill. 

Luc. 0, know, he is the bridle of your will. 

Adr. There's none, but asses, will be bridled so. 

Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe. 
There's nothing, situate under heaven's eye, 
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky : 
The beasts, the hshes, and the winged fowls, 
Are their males' subject, and at their controls : 
Men, more divine, the masters of all these. 
Lords of the wide world, and wild wat'ry seas, 
Indued with intellectual sense and souls, 
Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls. 
Are masters to their females and their lords : 
Then let your will attend on their accords. 

Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed. 

Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed. 

Adr. But, were you wedded, you would bear some 

Ltic. Ere I learn love, 1 '11 practise to obey. [sway. 

Adr. How if your husband start some other where? 

Luc. Till he come home again, I would forbear. 

Adr. Patience, unmov'd, no marvel though she 
They can be meek, that have no other cause, [pause ; 
A wretciied soul, bruis'd with adversity. 
We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry ; 
But were we burden'd with like weight of pain. 
As much, or more, we should ourselves coiaplain: 
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee. 
With urging helpless patience would'st relieve me : 



But, if thou live to see like right bereft. 
This fool- begg'd patience in thee will be left. 

Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try : — 
Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh. 

Enter DiioMio o/'Ephesus. 

Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand? 

Dro. E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and that 
my two ears can witness. [his mind 1 

Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him? know'stthou 

Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear ; 
Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. 

Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel 
his meaning ? 

Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could tco well 
feel his blows ; and withal so doubtfully, that I could 
scarce understand them. 

Adr, But say, I pr'ythee, is he coming home ? 
It seems he hath great care to please his wife. 

Dro.E. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad. 

Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain ? [stark mad : 

Dro. E. I mean not cuckold mad ; but, sure, he's 
When I desir'd him to come home to dinner, 
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold : 
'Tis dinner time, quoth I ; My gold, quoth he : 
Your meat doth burn, quoth I ; My gold, quoth he : 
Will you come home ? quoth I ; My gold, quoth he : 
Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain 1 
The pig, quoth I, is burn'd ; My gold, quoth he : 
My mistress, sir, quoth I ; Hang up thy mistress ; 
I knoio not thy mistress ; out on thy mistress ! 

Luc. Quoth who ? 

Dro. E. Quoth my master : 
I know, quotli he, mo house, no wife, no mistress ; 
So that mv errand, due unto my tongue, 
I thank hini, 1 bare home upon my shoulders ; 
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. 

Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home, 

Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home ? 
For God's sake send some other messenger. 

Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across. 

Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with othei 
Between you 1 shall have a holy head. [beating: 

Adr. Hence, prating peasant •, fetch thy master home. 

Dro. E. Am I so round with you, as you with me, 
That like a football you do spurn me thus ? 
You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither: 
If I last in this service, you must case me in leather, 

[Exit 

Luc. Fye, how impatience lowreth in your face ! 

Adr. His company must do his minions grace. 
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. 
Hath homely age the alluring beauty took 
From my poor cheek ? then he hath v/asted it ; 
Are my discourses dull 1 barren my wit ? 
If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd, 
Unkindness blunts it, more than marble hard. 
Do their gay vestments his affections bait ? 
That 's not my fault, he 's master of my state : 
What ruins are in me, that can be found 
By him not ruin'd ? then is he the ground 
Of my defeatures : My decayed fair 
A sunny look of his would soon repair : 
But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale, 
And feeds from home ; poor I am but his stale. 
Luc. Self-harming jealousy ! — fye, bear it hence. 
Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense. 
I know his eye doth homage otherwhere ; • 

Or else, what lets it but he would be here? 
Sister, you know, he promised me a chain ; — 
Would that alone alone he would detain. 
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed ! 
I see the jewel, best enamelled. 



.^■'-Ai^:^tAk 
















COMEDY OF ERRORS. 

Dromio op E. What mean you, sir 7 for God's sake, hold your handa 

Act I.. Scene i 



ACT II.— SCENE II. 



303 



Will lose his beauty ; and though gold 'bides still, 
That others touch, yet often touching will 
Wear gold ; and so no man that hath a name, 
But falsehood and corrujition doth it shame. 
Since that my beauty cannot [ilease his eye, "1 

I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. > 

Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy ! ) 

[^Kieitnt. 
SCENE II.— 7'/(e snwe. 
Enter Antii'Iiolus of Syracuse. 

Ant. S. The gold I gave to Dromio, is laid up 
Safe at the Centaur ; and the heedful slave 
Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out. 
By computation, and mine host's report, 
I could not speak with Dromio, since at first 
I sent him from the mart : See, here lie comes. 

Enter Uromio of Syracuse. 
How now, sir? is your merry humour alter'dl 
As you love strokes, so jest with me again. 
You know no Centaur 1 you receiv'd no gokl 1 
Your mistress sent to liave me liome to dinner f 
My house was at the Phoenix 1 Wast thou mad, 
That thus so madly thou didst answer me ? 
Dro. S. What answer, sir ] when spake I such a word 1 
Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an hour since. 
Dro. S. 1 did not see you since you sent me hence. 
Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. 

Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt ; 
And told'st me of a mistress, and a dinner ; 
For wliicii, 1 hope, thou felt'st 1 was displeas'd. 

Dro. 6'. I am glad to see you in this merry vein : 
What means tliis jestl I pray you, master, tell me. 

A nt. S, Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the teeth 1 
Think'st thou, I jest ] Hold, take thou that, and that. 

l^Beating him. 

Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake : now your jest is 
Upon what bargain do you give it me 1 [earnest : 

Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes 
Do use you for my fool, and chat with you, 
Your sauciness will jest upon my love. 
And make a common of my serious hours. 
When the sun shines, let foolish gnats make sport, 
But cieep in crannies, when he hides iiis beams. 
If you will jest with me, know my aspect. 
And fasliion your demeanour to my looks. 
Or I will beat this method in your sconce. 

Dro. S. Sconce, call you it! so you would leave 
battering, I had rather have it a head : an you use 
these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, 
and insconce it too ; or else I shall seek my wit in 
my shoulders. But, I pray sir, why am I beaten 1 

Ant. S. Dost tliou not know ? 

Dro. S. Nothing, sir, but tiiat I am beaten. 

Ant. S. Shall I tell you why ? 

Di'o. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore ; for, tiiey say, 
every wiiy hath a wherefore. 

Ant. a. Wily, first, — for flouting me ; and then. 
For urging it a second time to me. [wherefore, — 

Dro, S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out 
of season ? 
When, in the why, and the wherefore, is neither rhyme 
Well, sir, I thank you. [nor reason! — 

Ant. S. Thank me, sir'! for what! 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, for tiiis something that you 
gave me for notliing. 

Ant.S. I'll make you amends next, to give you no- 
thing for sometiiing. But, say, sir, is it dinner-time ! 

Dro. S. No, sir ; i think tlie meat wants ttiat I have. 

Ant. S. In good time, sir, what's that 1 

Dro. S. Basting. 

Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry. 

Dro S If it be, sir, 1 pray you eat none of it. 



holeric, and purchase 



Ant. S. Your reason ? 

Dro. S. Lest it make you 
me another dry basting. 

Ant. S. Well, sir, learu to jest in good time; 
There's a time for all things. 

Dro. S. 1 durst have denied that, before you were 
so choleric. 

Ant. S. J5y what rule, sir 7 

Dro. .b'. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain 
bald pate of father Time himself. 

Ant. a. Let's hear it. 

Dro. S There 's no time for a man to recover his 
hair, that grows bald by nature. 

Ant. i>. May he not do it by fine and recovery? 

Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a peruke, and re- 
cover tiie lost hair of another man. 

Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, 
as it is, so plentiful an excrement ! 

Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows 
on beasts : and what he hath scanted men in hair, 
he hath given them in wit. 

Ant. S. Why, but there's many a man hath more 
hair than wit. 

Dro. S. Not a man of those, but he hath the wit 
to lose his liair. 

Ant. S. \Vhy, thou didst conclude hairy men plain 
dealers without wit. 

Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost : Yet 
he loseth it in a kind of jollity. 

Ant. S. For what reason 1 

Dro. S. For two ; and sound ones too. 

Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you. 

Dro. S. Sure ones then. 

Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. 

Dro. S. Certain ones then. 

Ant. S. Name them. 
' Dro. S. 'I'lie one, to save the money that he spends 
in tiring ; the other, that at dinner they should not 
drop in his porridge. 

Ant. S. You would all this time have proved, 
there is no time for all things. 

Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir ; namely, no time to 
recover hair lost by nature. 

Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial, why 
there is no time to recover. 

Dro. S. Thus I mend it : Time himself is bald, and 
therefore, to the world's end, will have bald followers. 

Ant. S. I knew, 'twould be a bald conclusion : 
But soft ! who wafts us yonder 1 

Enter Aduiana and Luciana. 
Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange, and frown; 
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects, 
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. 
The time was once, when thou unurg'd wouldst vow 
That never wjrds were music to thine ear. 
That never object pleasing in thine eye. 
That never touch well welcome to thy hand. 
That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste. 
Unless I spake, look'd, touch'd, or carv'd to thee. 
How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes it. 
That thou art then estranged from thyself! 
Thyself I call it, being strange to me. 
That undividable, incorporate. 
Am better than thy dear self's better part. 
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me ; 
For know, my love, as easy may'st thou fall 
A drop of water in the breaking gulph. 
And take unmingled thence that drop again. 
Without addition or diminishing, 
As take from me thyself, and not me too. 
How dearly would it toucli thee to the quick. 
Should'st thou but hear I were licentious? 



304 



COiMEDY OF ERRORS 



And that this body, consecrate to thee, 

By ruffian lust should be contaminate 1 

Would'st thou not spit at me, and spurn at me. 

And hurl the name of husband in my face, 

And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot brow, 

And from my false hand cut the wedding ring, 

And break it with a deep-divorcing vow ! 

I know thou canst ; and therefore, see, thou do it. 

I am possess'd with an adulterate blot ; 

My blood is mingled with the crime of lust : 

For, if we two be one, and thou play fal.-,e, 

I do digest the poison of thy flesh, 

Being strumpeted by thy contagion. 

Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed ; 

I live dis- stain'd, thou, undishonour'd. 

Aiit. S. Plead you to me, fair dame 1 I know you 
In Ephesus I am but two hours old, [not : 

As strange unto your town, as to your talk ; 
Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd. 
Want wit in all one word to understand. 

Luc. Fye, brother ! how the world is chang'd with 
When were you wont to use my sister thus ! [you : 
She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. 

Ant. S. By Dromio? 

Dro. S. By me ] 

Adr. By thee ; and this thou didst return from him, — 
That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows. 
Denied my house for his, me for his wife. [man 1 

Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewo- 
What is the course and drift of your compact? 

Dro. S. I, sir 1 I never saw her till this time. 

Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her very words 
Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. 

Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life. 

Ant. S. How can she thus then call us by our names, 
Unless it be by inspiration ? 

Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity, 
To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, 
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood? 
Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt. 
Put wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. 
Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine : 
Thou art an elm, my husband, 1 a vine ; 
Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state. 
Makes me with thy strength to communicate : 
If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, 
Usurping ivy, briar, or idle moss ; 
Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion 
Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion, [theme : 

Aw. S. To me she speaks ; she moves me for her 
What, was I married to her in my dream? 
Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this ? 
What error drives our eyes and ears amiss ? 
Until I know this sure uncertainty, 
1 '11 entertain the ofler'd fallacy. 

Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner. 

Dro. S. O, for my beads ! 1 cross me for a sinner. 
This is the fairy land ; — O, spite of spites ! — 
We talk with goblins, owh, and elvish sprites; 
If we obey them not, this will ensue. 
They'll .^uck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. 

Luc. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st not ? 
Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot! 

Dro. S. I am transformed-, master, am not I ? 

Ant. S. I think, thou art, in mind, and so am I. [ 

Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind, and in my shape. 

Aiit. S. Thou hast thine own form. j 

D/o. S. No, I am an ape. 

Liic. If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an ass. j 

Dro.S. "i'if true ; she rides me, and 1 long for grass, i 
Tis so, I am an ass ; else it could never be, i 

But ] should know her as well as she knows me. ] 



Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a tool. 
To put the finger in the eye and weep. 
Whilst man, and master, laugh my woes to scorn. --- 
Come, sir, to dinner ; Dromio, keep the gate : — 
Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day. 
And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks • 
Sirrah, if any ask you for your master, 
Say, he dines forth, and let no creature enter. — 
Come, sister : — Dromio, play the porter well. 

Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell "> 
Sleeping or waking? mad, or well advis'd? 
Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd 1 
I'll say as they say, and persever so. 
And in this mist at all adventures go. 

Dro. S. Master, shall i be porter at the gate? 

Adr. Ay ; and let none enter, lest I break your pate. 

Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late. 

[Eieu/it. 

ACT III. 

SCENE I. — The same. 
£«fe?- Amtipiiolus o/' Ephesus, Dnosiio o/' Ephesus, 
Ancei.o, and Balthazar. 
Ant. E. Good signior Angelo, you must excuse us 
]\Iy wife is shrewish, when 1 keep not hours : [all. 
I Say, that 1 linger'd with you at your shop, 
. To see the making of her carkanet. 
And that to-morrow you will bring it home. 
But here's a villain, that would face me down 
He met me on the mart ; and that 1 beat him, 
And charg'd him with a thousand marks in gold ; 
And that 1 did deny my wife and house : — 
Thou drunkard; thou, what didst thou mean by this? 
Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but i know what 
i know : [shew ; 

That you beat me at the mart, 1 have your hand to 
If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave 

were ink. 
Your own handwriting would tell you what I think 
Ant. E. I think, thou art an ass. 
Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear 

By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear. 
I should kick, being kick'd ; and, being at that pass, 
You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass. 
Ant. E. You are sad, signior Balthazar: Tray 
God, our cheer [here. 

May answer my good will, and your good welcome 
Bal. 1 hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your wel- 
come dear. 
Ant. E. O, signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, 
A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish. 
Bat. Good meat, sir, is common ; that every cliurl 
affords. [nothing but words. 

Ant. E. And welcome more common ; for that's 
Bat. Small cheer, and great welcome, makes a 
merry feast. [guest. 

Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing 
But though my cates be mean, take them in good part ; 
Better cheer you may have, but not with better heart, 
But, soft; my door is lock'd ; Go bid them let us in. 
Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, INIarian, Cicely, Gillian, Jen'! 
Dro.S. ^Within.] Mome, malt-horse, capon, cox- 
comb, idiot, patch ! 
Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the hatch- 
Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'si for 
such store, [dour. 

When one is one too many ? Go, get tiiee from tiie 
Dro. E. What patch is made our porter ? My 

master stays in the street. 
Dm. S. Let him walk from whence he came, lest 
he catch cold on's feet. 



ACT III.- -SCENE II. 



305 



Ant. E. Who talks within there ? ho, open the door. 
Dro. S. Right, sir, I'll tell you when, an you'll tell 

me wherefore. [to-day. 

Ant. E. VVhereforel for mydinner ; I have not din'd 
Dro. S. Nor today here you must not ; come again, 

when you may. 
Ant. E. What art thou, that keep'st me out from 

the house I owe 1 [Dromio. 

Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir, and my name is 
Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both my office 

and my name ; 
The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. 
If thou had'st been Dromio to-day in my place. 
Thou would'st have chang'd thy face for a name, or 

thy name for an ass. 
Luce. [Within.] What a coil is there! Dromio, 

who are those at the gate ? 
Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce. 
Luce. Faith no ; lie comes too late ; 

And so tell your master. 

Dro. E. O Lord, I must laugh ; — 

Have at you with a proverb. — Shall I set in my staff"! 

Luce. Have at you with another : that's — When 1 

can you tell ? 
Dro. S. If thy name be called Luce, Luce, thou 

hast answer'd him well. 
Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in. 
Luce. I thought to have asked you. [1 hope 1 

Dro. S. And you said, no. 

Dro.E. So, come, help; wellstruck; there was blow 
Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. [for blow. 

Luce. Can you tell for whose sake. 

Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard. 
Luce. Let him knock till it ake. 

Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the 

door down. [the town ? 

Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in 
Adr. [Within.] Who is that at the door, that keeps 
all this noise 1 [ruly boys. 

Dro. S. By my troth, your town is troubled with un- 
Ant. E. Are you there, wife? you might have come 

before. 
Adr. Your wife, sir knave ! go, get you from thedoor. 
Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this knave 

would go sore. 
Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome : we 

would fain have either. [neither. 

Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part with 
Dro. E. They stand at tlie door, master ; bid tliem 

welcome hither. [not get in. 

Ant. £. There is something in the wind, that we can- 
Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your garments 

were thin. [cold : 

Your cake here is warm within ; you stand here in the 
It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought 

and sold. [gate. 

Ant. E. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope the 
Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I '11 break 

your knave's pate. 
Dro. E. A man may break a word with you, sir ; 

and words are but wind ; 
Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind. 
Dro. 6'. It seems, thou wantest breaking ; Out upon 

thee, hind ! [let me in. 

Dro. E. Here's toomuch,outupon thee ! 1 pray thee, 
Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and fish 

have no fin. 
Ant. E. Well, I'll break in ; Go borrow me a crow. 
Dro. E. A crow without a feather ; master, mean 

vou so 1 
For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather: 
If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow together. 



A)it. E, Go get thee gone, fetch me an iron crow. 

Bal. Have patience, sir, O, let it not be so ; 
Herein you war against your reputation. 
And draw within the compass of suspect 
The unviolated honour of your wife. 
Once this, — Your long experience of her wisdom, 
Her sober virtue, years, and modesty. 
Plead on her part some cause to you unknown ; 
And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse 
Why at this time the doors are made against you. 
Be rul'd by me ; depart in patience, 
And let us to the Tiger all to dinner: 
And, about evening, come yourself alone. 
To know the reason of this strange restraint. 
If by strong hand you offer to break in. 
Now in the stirring passage of the day, 
A vulgar comment will be made on it ; 
And that supposed by the common rout 
Against your yet ungalled estimation, 
That may with foul intrusion enter in, 
And dwell upon your grave when you are dead 
For slander lives upon succession ; 
For ever hous'd, where it once gets possession. 

Ant. E. You have prevail'd ; 1 will depart in quiet, 
And, in despight of mirth, mean to be merry. 
I know a wench of excellent discourse, — 
Pretty and witty ; wild, and, yet too, gentle ; — 
There will we dine : this woman that 1 mean, 
My wife (but, I protest, without desert,) 
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal ; 
To her will we to dinner.— Get you home. 
And fetch the chain : by this, I know, 'tis made • 
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine ; 
Foi there 's the house ; that chain will I bestow 
(Be it for nothing but to spite my wife,) 
Upon mine hostess there : good sir, make haste : 
Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, 
I '11 knock elsewhere, to see if they '11 disdain me. 

Ang. I '11 meet you at that place, some hour hence. 

Ant. E. Do so; This jest shall cost me some ex- 
pense. [^Exeunt, 

SCENE 11.— The same. 

Enter Luciana and Antipholus of Syracuse. 
Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot 

A husband's office? shall, Antipholus, hate, 
Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot ? 

Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate ? 
If you did wed my sister for her wealth, 

Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with more ki'nd- 
Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth ; [ness. 

Muffle your false love with some show of blindness: 
Let not my sister read it in your eye ; 

Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator ; 
Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty ; 

Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger : 
Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted ; 

Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint ; 
Be secret- false : What need she be acquainted? 

What simple thief brags of his own attaint 1 
'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed, 

And let her read it in thy looks "at board : 
Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed ; 

111 deeds are doubled Aith an evil word. 
Alas, poor women ! make us but believe. 

Being compact of credit, that you love us ; 
Though others have the arm, shew us the sleeve ; 

We in your motion turn, and you may move us. 
Then, gentle brother, get you in again ; 

Comfort my sister, cheer iier, call her wife . 
'Tis holy sport, to be a little vain, 

When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. 
U 



306 



COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



Ant. S. Sweet mistres3,(what your name is else, I know 

Nor by what wonder you do hit on mine,) [not, 
Less, in your knowledge.and your grace, you shew not. 

Than our earth's wonder ; more than earth divine. 
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak ; 

Lay open to my earthy gross conceit, 
Smotlier'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak. 

The folded meaning of your words' deceit. 
Against my soul's pure truth why labour you, 

To make it wander in an unknown field ? 
Are you a god ? would you create me new ? 

Transform me then, and to your power I '11 yield. 
But if that I am I, then well 1 know. 

Your weeping sister is no wife of mine. 
Nor to her bed no noniage do I owe ; 

Far more, far more, to you do I decline. 

train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, 
To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears ; 

Sing, syren, for thyself, and I will dote : 

Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, 
And as a bed I '11 take thee, and there lie ; 

And, in that glorious supposition, think 
He gains by death, that hath such means to die : — 

Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink ! 

Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason so 1 

Ant, S. Not mad, but mated ; how, I do not know. 

Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. 

Aiit.S, Forgazing onyourbeams, fair sun, being by. 

Luc. Gaze where you sliould, and that will clear 
your sight. 

Ant.S. Asgoodtowink, sweet love, as look on night. 

Luc. Why call you me love 1 call my sister so. 

Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. 

Luc. That's my sister. 

Ant. S. No ; 

It is thyself, mine own self's better part ; 
Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart ; 
JMy food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim, 
My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim. 

Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be. 

Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee : 
Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life , 
Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife •■ 
Give me thy hand. 

Luc. O, soft, sir, hold you still ; 

1 '11 fetch my sister, to get her good will. [Exit Luc. 

Enier from the house of Amtipholus of Ephesus, 
Dromio of Syracuse 

Ant. S. W'hy, how now, Dromio"! where run'st 
thou so fast ] 

Dro. S. Do you know me, sir 1 am I Dromio ? am 
I your man 1 am 1 myself? 

Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou 
art thyself. 

Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and 
besides myself. 

^«J.S. What woman's man? andhowbesides thyself ? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, 1 am due to a 
woman ; one that claims me, one that haunts ine, one 
that will have me. 

Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee } 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay to 
your horse ; and she would have me as a beast : not 
that, I being a beast, she would have me ; but that she, 
being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me. 

Ant. S. What is she ? 

Dro. S. A very reverend body ; ay, such a one as 
a man may not speak of, without he say, sir-rever- 
ence : I have but lean luck in the match, and yet is 
she a wondrous fat marriage. 

Ant. S, How dost thou mean a fat marriage? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, she 's the kitchen-wench, and 



all grease ; and I know not what use to put her to, 
but to make a lamp of her, and run from her by her 
own light. I warrant, her rags, and the tallow in them, 
will burn a Poland winter : if she lives till doomsday, 
she '11 burn a week longer than the whole world. 

Ant. S. What complexion is she of? 

Dro. S. Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing 
like so clean kept : For why ? she sweats, a man 
may go over shoes in the grime of it. 

Ant. S. That 's a fault that water will mend. 

Dro. S. No, sir, 'tis in grain ; Noah's flood could 
not do it. 

Ant. S. What's her name? 

Dro. S. Nell, sir; — but her name and three quar- 
ters, that is an ell and three quarters, will not mea- 
sure her from hip to hip. 

Ant, S. Then she bears some breadth ? 

Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from 
hip to hip : she is spherical, like a globe ; I could 
find out countries in her. 

Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks ; I found it 
out by the bogs. 

Arit. S. Where Scotland? 

Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness ; hard, in the 
palm of the hand. 

Ant. S. Where France ? 

Dro. S. In her forehead ; armed and reverted, mak- 
ing war against her hair. 

Ant. S. Where England? 

Dro. S. I looked for the chalky cliflTs, but I could 
find no whiteness in them: but I guess, it stood in 
her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France 
and it. 

Ant, S. Where Spain ? 

Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not ; but I felt it, hot in 
her breath. 

Ant, S, Where America, the Indies ? 

Dro.S. O, sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellished 
with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their 
rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain ; who sent whole 
armadas of carracks to be ballast at her nose. 

Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands ? 

Dro. S. O, sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, 
this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me; called me 
Dromio ; swore, I was assured to her ; told me what 
privy marks I had about me, as the mark of my shoul- 
der, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my left 
arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a witch: and, 
I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and 
my heart of steel, she had transformed me to a cur- 
tail- dog, and made me turn i'the wheel. 

Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the road ; 
And if the wind blow any way from shore, 
I will not harbour in this town to-night. 
If any bark put forth, come to the mart, 
Where I will walk, till thou return to me. 
If every one knows us, and we know none, 
'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone. 

Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for life, 
So fly I from her that would be my wife. [Exit. 

Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit here ; 
And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence. 
She, that doth call me husband, even my soul 
Doth for a wife abhor : but her fair sister, 
Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace. 
Of such enchanting presence and discourse. 
Hath almost made me traitor to myself: 
But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong, 
I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song. 

Enter AngkLO. 
Ans;, Master Antipholus ? 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



307 



Ant. S. Ay, that's my name. 

Ang. I know it well, sir : Lo, here is the chain ; 
I thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine: 
The chain unfinish'd made nie stay thus long. 

AtH. S. What is your will, that I shall do with this f 

Ang. What please yourself, sir ; I have made it 
for you. 

Ant. S. Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not. 

y^n^.Not once, nor twice.but twenty times you have: 
Go home with it, and please your wife withal ; 
And soon at supper- time I'll visit you, 
And then receive my money for the chain. 

Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now. 
For fear you ne'er see chain, nor money more. 

Ang, You are a merry man, sir ; fare you well. 

[Exit. 

Ant. S. What I should think of this, I cannot tell : 
But this I think, there's no man is so vain, 
That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain. 
I see, a man here needs not live by shifts. 
When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. 
['11 to the mart, and there for Dromio stay ; 
[f any ship put out, then straight away. [Ertf. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— The same. 
Enter a Merchant, Angelo, and an Officer 

Mer. You know, since Pentecost the sum is due. 
And since I have not much importun'd you ; 
Nor now I had not, but that I am bound 
To Persia, and want gilders for my voyage : 
Therefore make present satisfaction, 
Or I'll attach you by this officer. 

Ang. Even just the sum, that I do owe to you. 
Is growing to me by Antipholus : 
And, in the instant that 1 met with you, 
He had of me a chain ; at five o'clock, 
I shall receive the money for the same: 
Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, 
I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. 

Enter Antipholus o/'Ephesus, and Duomio 
of Ephesus. 

Off. That labour may you save ; see where he comes. 

Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou 
And buy a rope's end ; that will I bestow 
Among my wife and her confederates. 
For locking me out of my doors by day. — 
But soft, 1 see the goldsmith : — get thee gone ; 
Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. 

Dro. E. I buy a thousand pound a year ! I buy a 
rope! [Eiit Dromio. 

Ant. E. A man is well holp up, that trusts to you. 
I promised your presence, and the chain ; 
But neither chain, nor goldsmith, came to me : 
Belike, you thought our love would last too long. 
If it were chain'd together ; and therefore came not. 

Ang. Saving your merry humour, here's the note, 
IIow much your chain weighs to the utmost carat ; 
The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion ; 
Which doth amount to three odd ducats more 
Than I stand debted to this gentleman : 
I pray you, see him presently discharg'd. 
For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it. 

Ant. E. I am not furnish'd with the present money ; 
Besides I have some business in the town : 
Good signior, take the stranger to my house. 
And with you take the chain, and bid my wife 
Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof ; 
Perchance I will be there as soon as you. 



Ang. Then you will bring the chain to her yoursel f ■• 

Ant. E. No ; bear it with you, lest I come not time 
enough. [you ■ 

Ang. Well, sir, I will : Have j'ou the chain about 

Ant. E, An if I have not, sir, I hope you have ; 
Or else you may return without your money. 

Aug. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain; 
Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman. 
And I, to blame, have held him here too long. 

Ant. E. Good lord, you use this dalliance to excuse 
Your breach of promise to the Porcupine : 
I should have chid you for not bringing it, 
But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. 

Mer. The hour steals on ; I pray you, sir, despatch. 

Ang, You hear how he importunes me ; the chain — 

Ant. E. Why, give it to my'wife, and fetch your 
money. [now ; 

Ang. Come, come, you know, I gave it you even 
Either send the chain, or send me by some token. 

Ant. E. Fye ! now you run this humour out of breath. 
Come, Where's the chain"! I pray you, let me see it. 

Mer. My business cannot brook this dalliance : 
Good sir, say, whe'r you'll answer me. or no, 
If not, I'll leave him to the officer. 

Ant. E. I answer you ! What should I answer you 1 

Ang. The money, that you owe me for the chain. 

Ant. E. I owe you none, till I receive the chain. 

Ang. You know, I gave it you half an hour since. 

Ant. E. You gave me none ; you wrong me much 
to say so. 

Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it • 
Consider, how it stands upon my credit. 

Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. 

Off. I do ; and charge you in the duke's name, to 

Ang. This touches me in reputation : — [obey me. 
Either consent to pay this sum for me, 
Or I attach you by this officer. 

Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never had ' 
Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st. 

Ang. Here is thy fee ; arrest him, officer ; — 
I would not spare my brother in this case. 
If he should scorn me so apparently. 

Off. I do arrest you, sir ; you hear the suit. 

Ant. E. I do obey thee, till I give thee bail : — 
But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear 
As all the metal in your shop will answer. 

Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, 
To your notorious shame, I doubt it not. 

Enter Dromio o/" Syracuse. 

Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum, 
That stays but till her owner comes aboard. 
And then, sir, bears away : our fraughtage, sir, 
I have convey'd aboard ; and I have bought 
The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vita;. 
The siiip is in her trim ; the merry wind 
Blows fair from land: they stay for nought at all, 
But for their owner, master, and yourself. [sheep. 

Ant. E. How now ! a madman] Why thou peevish 
What ship of Epidamnum stays for me ? 

Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. 

Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope ; 
And told thee to what purpose, and what end. 

Dro. S. You sent me, sir, for a rope's-end as soon : 
You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. 

Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more leisure. 
And teach your ears to listen with more heed. 
To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight: 
Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk 
That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry, 
There is a purse of ducats ; let hei send it ; 
Tell her, 1 am arrested in the street. 
And that shall bail me: hie thee, slave; begone. 
U 2 



308 



COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



On, officer, to prison till it come. 

[Exeunt JNIerchant, Angelo, Officer, and Ant. E. 

Dro. S. To Adriana ! that is where we din'd. 
Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband. 
She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. 
Thither T must, although against my will. 
For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. [Exit. 

SCENE IL— The same. 

Enter Adriana and Luciana. 

Adr. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so? 
Rlight'st thou perceive austerely in his eye 
That he did plead in earnest, yea or no 1 

Look'd he or red, or pale ; or sad, or merrily 1 
What observation mad'st thou in this case, 
Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face"! 

Luc. First, he denied you had in him no right. 

Adr. He meant, he did me none ; the more my spite. 

Luc. Then swore he, that he was a stranger here. 

Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were. 

Luc. Then pleaded 1 for you. 

Adr. And what said he ? 

Luc. That love I begg'd for you, he begg'd of me. 

Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love ? 

Luc. With words, that in an honest suit might move. 
First, he did praise my beauty ; then, my speech. 

Adr. Did'st speak him fair 1 

Luc. ' Have patience, I beseech. 

Adr. I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still ; 
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will. 
He is defonned, crooked, old, and sere, 
Hl-fac'd, worse-bodied, shapeless everywhere; 
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind; 
Stigmatical in making, worse in mind. 

Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a onel 
No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. 

Adr. Ah ! but 1 think him better than I say. 
And yet would herein others' eyes were worse : 
Far from her nest, the lapwing cries, away ; [curse. 
My heart prays for him, though my tongue do 

Enter Dnoiiio of' Syracuse. 

Dro, S. Here, go : the desk, the purse ; sweet now, 

Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath? [make haste. 

Dro. S. By running fast. 

Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio ? is he well ? 

Dro. S. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell. 
A devil in an everlasting garment hath him. 
One, whose hard heart is button'd up with steel ; 
A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough ; 
A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff; [mands 
A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one tiiat counter- 
The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands ; 
A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry foot well; 
One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls to 

Adr. Why, man, what is the matter ? [hell. 

Dro. S. 1 do not know the matter ; he is 'rested on 
the case. 

Adr. What, is he arrested? tell me, at whose suit. 

Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is arrested, well; 

But he's in a suit of buff, which 'rested him, that can I 

tell : [the desk ? 

Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money in 

Adr. Go fetch it, sister. — This 1 wonder at, 

[Exit LVCIANA. 

'i'hat he, unknown to me, should be in debt : — 
Tell me, was he arrested on a band ? 

Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing ; 
A chain, a chain : do you not hear it ring? 

Adr. What, the chain ? 

Dro. S. No, no, the bell: 'tis time, that I were gone. 
It was two ere 1 left him, and now the clock strikes one. 

Adr. The hours come back ! that did I never hear. 



Dro. S. Oyes. If any hour meet a sergeant, a'turns 

back for very fear. [reason ! 

Adr. As if time were in debt! how fondly dost tlion 

Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more than 

he's worth, to season 

Nay, he's a thief too : Have you not heard men say, 

That time comes stealing on by night and day ? 

If he be in debt, and tlseft, and a sergeant in the way. 

Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in the day ? 

Enter Luciana. 

^dr. Go, Dromio ; there'sthemoney,bearitstraight; 
And bring thy master home immediately. — 
Come, sister ; 1 am press'd down with conceit : 

Conceit, my comfort, and my injury. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— T/je same. 

£/i(er Antipholus it/" Syracuse. 

Ant. S. There'snotamanlmeet.butdothsaluteme 
As if I were their well acquainted friend ; 
And every one doth call me by my name. 
Some tender money to me, some invite me ; 
Some other give me thanks for kindnesses ; 
Some offer me commodities to buy : 
Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop, 
And shew'd me silks that he had bought for me. 
And, therewithal, took measure of my body. 
Surs, these are but imaginary wiles. 
And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. 

Enter Dromio o/' Syracuse. 

Dro. S, blaster, here's the gold you sent me for: 

What, have you got the picture of Old Adam new 

apparelled ? [mean ? 

Ant. S. What gold is this? What Adam dost thou 

Dro. S, Not that Adam that kept the paradise, but 
that Adam, that keeps the prison : he that goes in the 
calf's skin that was killed for the prodigal ; he that 
came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you 
forsake your liberty. 

Ant. S. I understand thee not. 

Dro. S. No? why, 'tis a plain case : he that went 
like a base-viol, in a case of leather ; the man, sir, 
that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a fob, and 
'rests them ; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men, 
and gives them suits of durance ; he that sets up 
his rest to do more exploits with his mace, than a 
morris- pike. 

Ant. S. What ! thou mean'st an officer? 

Dro. S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band ; he, that 
brino-s any man to answer it, that breaks his band ; 
one that thinks a man always going to bed, and says, 
God give you good rest ! 

Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is 
thereany ship puts forth to-night? may we be gone? 

Dro. S. Why, sir, 1 brought you word an hour 
since, that the bark Expedition put forth to-night ; 
and then were you hindered by the sergeant, to tarry 
for the hoy. Delay : Here are the angels that you 
sent for, to deliver you. 

Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I ; 
And here we wander in illusions ; 
Some blessed power deliver us from hence ! 

Enter a Courtezan. 

Cour. Well met, well met, master Antipholus. 
I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now: 
Is that the chain, you promis'd me to-day? 

Ant. S. Satan, avoid! I charge thee tempt me not : 

Dro. S. Master, is this mistress Satan ? 

Ant. S. It is the devil. 

Dro. S. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam; 
and here she comes in the habit of a light wench; 



ACT IV.— SCENE IV. 



.']09 



and thereof comes, that the wenches say, God damn 
me, that's as much as to say, God make me a light 
wench. It is written, they appear to men like angels 
of light: light is an effect of fire, and fire niU burn; 
ergii, light wenches will burn ; Come not near her. 

Cour. Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir. 
Will you go with me ^ We '11 mend our dinner here. 

Dro. S. Master, if you do expect spoon-meat, or 
bespeak a long spoon. 

Aut. S. Why, Dromio 1 

Dro. S. Marry, he must have a long spoon, that 
must eat with the devil. [supping? 

Ant. S. Avoid then, fiend ! whattell'st thou me of 
Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress : 
I Conjure thee to leave me, and be gone. 

Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner, 
Or for my diamond, the chain you promis'd • 
And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 

Dro.S. Some devils ask but the parings of one's nail, 
A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, 
A nut, a cherry-stone ; but she, more covetous. 
Would have a chain. 
Master, be wise ; an' if you give it her. 
The devil will shake her chain, and fright ws with it. 

Coin: I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain; 
I hope, yon do not mean to cheat me so. 

Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witch ! Come, Dromio, let 
us go. lyou know. 

Dro. S. Fly pride, says the peacock : Mistress, that 
[Eieunt Ant. S. and Dro. S. 

Cour. Now, out of doubt, Antipholus is mad. 
Else would he never so demean himself: 
A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats, 
And for the same he promis'd me a chain ; 
Both one, and other, he denies me now. 
The reason that I gather he is mad, 
(Besides this present instance of his rage,) 
Is a mad tale, he told to-day at dinner, 
Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. 
Eielike, his wife, acquainted with his fits. 
On purpose shut the doors against his way. 
My way is now, to hie home to his house, 
Aad tell his wife, that, being lunatic. 
He rush'd into my house, and took perforce 
My ring away : This course 1 fittest choose ; 
For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Ertt. 

SCENE IV.— The same. 

Enter Antipholus o/'Ephesus, and an Officer. 

Ant. E. Fear me not, man, I will not break away: 
I'll give thee, ere 1 leave thee, so much money 
To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for. 
My wife is in a wayward mood to day ; 
And will tint lightly trust the messenger. 
That I should be attach'd in Ephesus : 
I tell you 'twill sound harsiily in her ears. — 

Enter Dkomio (y Ephesus, iv'uh a rope's end, 

(fere comes my man ; I think, he brings the money. 
How now, sir ! have you that I sent you for? 

Dro. K. Here's that, I warrant you, will pay them all. 

Ant. E. I'ut where 's the money 1 

Dro. E. Wiiv. sir, I gave tlie money for the rope. 

Ant. E. Five hundred ducats, xillain, for a rope ? 

Dro. E. I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate. 

Ant. E. To what end did I bid triec hie thee home ? 

Dro. E. To a rope's end, sir ; and to that end am I 
return'd. 

Ant. E. And to thai end, sir, I will welcome you. 

\_Beating him. 

Off. Good sir, be patient. 



Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient ; I am in 
adversity. 

Off. Good now, hold thy tongue. 

Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands. 

Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain ! 

Dro. E. I would I were senseless, sir, that I might 
not feel your blows. 

Ant. E. Thou art sensible in nothing but blows, 
and so is an ass. 

Dro. E. I am an ass, indeed ; you may prove it by 
my long ears I have served him from the hour of 
my nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his 
hands for my service, but blows : when I am cold, 
he heals me with beating : when I am warm, he 
cools me with beating : I am waked with it, when 
I sleep ; raised witii it, when I sit ; driven out o< 
doors with it, when I go from home ; welcomed home 
with it, when I return: nay, I bear it on my shoulders, 
as a beggar wont her brat : and, I think, when he 
hath lamed me, I shall beg with it from door to door. 

Enter Adri.\na, Luci.4n.\, and the Courtezan, ivith 
Pinch, and others. 

Ant. E. Come, go along ; my wifeiscomingyonder. 

Dro. E. Mistress, respice finem, respect your end ; 
or rather the prophecy, like the parrot, Beware the 
rope's end. 

Ant. E. Wilt thou Still talk? [Bents /um. 

Cou r. How say you now ? is not your husband mad \ 

Adr. His incivility confirms no less.-- 
Good doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer ; 
Establish him in his true sense again. 
And I will please you what you will demand. 

Luc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks ! 

Cour. Mark, how he trembles in his extacy ! 
Finch. Givemeyourhand, and letme feel yourpulse. 

Aut. E. There is my hand, and let it feel your ear. 

Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, hous'd within this man, 
To yield possession to my holy prayers. 
And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight ; 
I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven. 

Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace ; I am not mad. 

Adr. O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul ! 

Ant. E. You, minion, you, are these your customers] 
Did this companion with the saffron face 
Revel and feast it at my house to-day, 
Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut, 
And I denied to enter in my house ? 

Adr. O husband, God doth know, you din'dat home, 
Where 'would you had remain'd until this time, 
Free from these slanders, and this open shame ! [thou ? 

Ant. E. I din'd at home ! Thou villain, what say'st 

Dro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home. 

Ant. E. VV'eie not my doors lock'd up, and I shut 
out? [out. 

Dro. E. Perdy, yourdoors were lock'd, and you shut 

Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me there? 

Dro. £. Sans fable, she herself revil'd you there. 

Ant. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and 
scorn me ? [yo"- 

Dro. E. Certes, she did ; the kitchen-vestal scomM 

Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from thence 1 

Dro. E. In verity, you did ; — my bones bear witness, 
That since have felt the vigour ot his rage. 

Adr. Is 't good to sooth him in these contraries? 

Finch. It is no shame; the fellow finds his vein ; 
And, yielding to him, humours well his frenzy, [me. 

Ant.E. Thou hast suborn 'd the goldsmith to arrest 

Adr. Alas ! I sent you money to redeem you. 
By Dromio here, who came in haste for it. 

Dro. E. Money by me ? heart and good-will you 
But, surely, master, not a rag of money. [might, 

Ant.E. Went'st not thou to her for a purse of ducats ' 



310 



COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



Adr. He came to me, and I deliver'd it. 

Luc. And I am witness with iier, that she did. 

D7-0. E, God and the rope-maker bear me witness, 
That I was sent for nothing but a rope ! 

Pinch. Rlistress, both man and master is possess'd"! 
I know it by their pale and deadly looks : 
They must be bound, and laid in some dark room. 

Ant. E. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth 
And why dost thou deny the bag of gold 1 [to-day, 

Adr. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth. 

Dro. E. And, gentle master, I receiv"d no gold ; 
But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out. 

.4cfr. Dissembling villain, thou speak'stfcLJse in both. 

Ant- E. Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all ; 
And art confederate with a damned pack. 
To make a loathsome abject scorn of me : 
But with these nails I '11 pluck out these false eyes. 
That would behold me in this shameful sport. 

[Pinch and his Assistants bind Ant. E. 6; Dro. E. 

Adr. O, bind him, bind him, let him not come near 
me. [him. 

Ph'ich. More company ; — the fiend is strong within 

Luc. Ah me, poor man ! how pale and wan he looks ! 

Ant. E. What, will you murder me? Thou gaoler, 
I am thy prisoner : wilt thou suffer them [thou. 
To make a rescue 1 

Off. Masters, let him go : 

He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. 

Finch. Go, bind this man, for he is frantic too. 

Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer l 
Hast thou delight to see a wretched man 
Do outrage and displeasure to himself^ 

Off. He is my prisoner ;. if I let him go, 
The debt he owes, will be requir'd of me. 

Adr. I will discharge thee, ere I go from thee : 
Bear me forthwith unto his creditor, 
And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it. 
Good master doctor, see him safe conveyed 
Home to my house. — O most unhappy day ! 

Ant. E. O most unhappy strumpet ! 

Dro. E. Master, I am here enter'd in bond for you. 

Ant. E. Out on thee villain! wherefore dost thou 
mad me 1 

Dro. E. Will you be bound for nothing? be mad. 
Good master; cry, the devil. — 

Luc. God help, poor souls, hov*- idly do they talk ! 

Adr. Go bear hmi hence. — Sister, goyou with me. — 
[EjreH/it Pinch (Sf Assistants, u;it/i Ant. E. tlif Duo. E. 
Say now, whose suit is he arrested at ? 

Off. One Angelo, a goldsmith ; Do you know him ? 

Adr. I know the man: What is the sum he owes? 

Off. Two hundred ducats. 

Adr. Say, how grows it due ? 

Off. Due for a chain, your husband had of him. 

Adr. He did bespeak a chain forme, but had it not. 

Cour. When as your husband, all in lage, to-day 
Came to my house, and took away my ring, 
(The ring I saw upon his finger now,) 
Straight after, did I meet him with a chain. 

Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it : — 
Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is, 
I long to know jhe truth hereof at large. 

Enter Antipholus o/ Syracuse, with his rapier 
drawn, and Dnojui) n/' Syracuse. 

Luc. God, for thy mercy ! they are loose again. 

Adr. And come with naked swords ; let's call more 
To have them bound again. [heip. 

Off, Away, they'll kill us. 

[Exeunt Officer, Adh. and Luc. 

Ant. S. I see, these witches are afraid of swords. 

Dro. S, She, that would be your wife, now ran from 
you. 



Ant. S. Come to the Centaur •, fetch our stuff froni 
I longj that we were safe and sound aboard, [thence. 

Dro.S. Faith, stay here this night, they will surely 
do us no haiTn ; you saw, they speak us fair, give us 
gold : methinks they are such a gentle nation, that 
but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims jiiar- 
riage of me, I could find in my heart to stay here 
still, and turn witch. 

Ant- S. I will not stay to-night for all the town ; 
Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard. [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I.— The same. 
Enter Merchant and Angelo 

A/ig. I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder'd vou ; 
But, I protest, he had the chain of me. 
Though most dishonestly he doth deny it. 

Mer. How is the man esteem'd here in the city T 

Ang. Of very reverent reputation, sir. 
Of credit infinite, highly belov'd, 
Second to none that lives here in the city ; 
His word might bear my wealth at any time. 

Mer. SpeEik softly : yonder, as I think, he walks. 

Enter Antipholus and Dromio p/' Syracuse. 

Ayig. 'Tis so ; and that self chain about his neck, 
Which he forswore, most monstrously, to have. 
Good sir, draw near to me, I'll speak to him. — 
Signior Antipholus, I wonder much 
That you would put me to this shame and trouble ; 
And not without some scandal to yourself, 
With circumstance and oaths, so to deny 
This chain, which now you wear so openly: 
Besides the charge, the shame, imprisonment, 
You have done wrong to this my honest friend ; 
Who, but for staying on our controversy, 
Had hoisted sail, and put to sea to-day : 
This chain you had of me, can you deny it ? 

Ant. S. I think, 1 had ; I never did deny it. 

Mer. Yes, that you did, sir ; and forswore it toe. 

Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it, or forswear it ? 

Mpr. These ears of mine, thou knowest, did hear 
Fye on thee, wretch '. 'tis pity, that thou liv'st [thee ; 
To walk where any honest men resort. 

Ant. S. Thou art a villain to impeach me thus : 
I'll prove mine honour and mine honesty 
Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand. 

iVJer. 1 dare, and do defy thee for a villain. 

[Tliey draw. 

Enter Adrian,*, Li.'ciana, Courtezan, and others. 

Adr. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake; he is mad; 
Some get within him, take his sword away : 
Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. 

IJro. S. Run, master, run ; for God's sake, take a 

This is some priory ; — In, or we are spoil'd. [house. 

[Eieiuit Ant. S. and Dito. S. to the Priori/, 

Enter the Abbess. 

vf66. Be quiet, people; Wherefore thrcngyou hither. 

Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence : 
Let us come in, that we may bind him fast. 
And bear him home for his recovery. 

Ang. I knew, he was not in his perfect wits. 

Mer. I am sorry now, that I did draw on him. 

Abh. How long hath this possession held the man? 

Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad, 
And much, much different from the man he was; 
But, till this afternoon, his passion 
Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



311 



Abb. Huth he not lost much wealtli by wreck at sea 1 
Buried some dear friend 1 Hath not else his eye 
Stray 'd his affection in unlawful love \ 
A sin, prevailing much in youthful men, 
Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. 
Which of these sorrows is he subject to ] 

Adr. To none of these, except it be the last •, 
Namely, some love, that drew him oft from home. 

Abb. You should for that have reprehended him. 

Adr. Why, so I did. 

Abh. Ay, but not rough enough. 

Adr. As roughly, as my modesty would let me. 

Abb. Haply, in private 

Adr. And in assemblies too. 

Abb. Ay, but not enough. 

Adr. It was the copy of our conference ; 
In bed, he slept not for my urging it ; 
At board, he fed not for my urging it ; 
Alone, it was the subject of my theme ; 
In company, I often glanced it ; 
Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. 

Abb. And thereof came it, that the man was mad : 
The venom clamours of a jealous woman 
Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth. 
It seems, his sleeps were hinder'd by the railing: 
And therefore comes it, that his head is light. 
Thou say'st, his meat was sauc'd with thyupbraidings : 
Unquiet meals make ill digestions. 
Thereof the raging fire of fever bred ; 
And what's a fever but a fit of madness ? 
Thou say'st, his sports were hinder'd by thy brawls : 
Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue, 
But moody and dull melancholy, 
(Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair ;) 
And, at her heels, a huge infectious troop 
Of pale distemperatures, and foes to life ^ 
In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest 
To be disturb'd, would mad or man, or beast: 
The consequence is then, thy jealous fits 
Have scar'd thy husband from the use of wits. 

Luc. She never reprehended him but mildly. 
When he demean'd himself rough, rude and wildly. — 
Why bear you these rebukes, and answer nof? 

Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof. — 
Good people, enter, and lay hold on him. 

Abb. No, not a creature enters in my house. 

/Jrfr.Then.letyour servants bring my husband forth. 

Abb. Neither ; he took this place for sanctuary, 
And it shall privilege him from your hands, 
Till I have brought him to his wits again, 
Or lose my labour in assaying it. 

Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse, 
Diet his sickness, for it is my office. 
And will have no attorney but myself; 
And therefore let me have him home with me. 

Abb. Be patient: for I will not let him stir, 
Till I have used the approved means I have. 
With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers. 
To make of him a formal man again : 
It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, 
A charitable duty of my order ; 
Therefore de.part, and leave him here with me. 

Adr. I will not hence, and leave my liusband here : 
And ill it doth beseem your holiness. 
To separate the husband and the wife. 

Abb. Be quiet, and depart, thou shalt not have him. 

[Exit Abbess. 

Luc. Complain unto the duke of this indignity. 

Adr. Come, go ; I will fall prostrate at his feel. 
And never rise until my tears and prayers 
Have won liis grace to come in person hither. 
And take perforce my husband from the abbess. 



Mer. By this, I think, the dial points at five : 
Anon, I am sure, tiie duke himself in person 
Comes this way to the melancholy vale ; 
The place of death and sorry execution. 
Behind the ditches of the abbey here. 

Ang. Upon what cause ? 

Mer. To see a reverend Syracusan merchant, 
Who put unluckily into this bay 
Against the laws and statutes of this town. 
Beheaded publicly for his offence. [death. 

Ang. See, where they come ; we will behold his 

Luc. Kneel to the duke, before he pass the abbey. 

Enter Duke, attended ; ^Egeon, hare-headed ; with 
the Headsman and other Officers. 

Duke. Yet once again proclaim it publicly. 
If any friend will pay the sum for him. 
He shall not die, so much we tender him. 

Adr. Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess ! 

Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady ; 
It cannot be, that she hath done thee wrong. 

Adr. May it please your grace, Antipholus, my 
Whom I made lord of me and all 1 had, [husband, - 
At your important letters, — this ill day 
A most outrageous fit of madness took him ; 
That desperately he hurried through the street, 
C With him his bondman, all as mad as he,) 
Doing displeasure to the citizens 
By rushing in their houses, bearing thence 
Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like. 
Once did I get him bound, and sent him home. 
Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went. 
That here and there his fury had committed. 
Anon, I wot not by what strong escape. 
He broke from those that had the guard of him , 
And, with his mad attendant and himself. 
Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords. 
Met us again, and, madly bent on us. 
Chased us away ; till, raising of more aid. 
We came again to bind them : then they fled 
Into this abbey, whither we pursued them ; 
And here the abbess shuts the gates on us. 
And will not suffer us to fetch him out, 
Nor send him forth, that we may bear him hence. 
Therefore, most gracious duke, with tliy command. 
Let him be brought forth, and borne hence for help. 

Duke. Long since, thy husband serv'd me in my 
And I to thee engag'd a prince's word, [wars ; 

When thou didst make him master of thy bed, 
To do him all the grace and good I could. — 
Go, some of you, knock at the abbey-gate ; 
And bid the lady abbess come to me ; 
I will determine this, before I stir. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself ! 
My master and his man are both broke loose. 
Beaten the maids a-row, and bound the doctor. 
Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire ; 
And ever as it blazed, they threw on him 
Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair : 
My master preaches patience to him, while 
His man with scissars nicks him like a fool : 
And, sure, unless you send some present help. 
Between them they will kill the conjurer. 

Adr. Peace, fool, thy master and his man are here; 
And that is false, thou dost report to us. 

Serv. Mistress, upou my life, I tell you true ; 
I have not breath'd almost, since 1 did see it. 
He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you. 
To scorch your face and to disfigure you : [Cri/ withm. 
I Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress j fly, be gone. 



312 



COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



Duke. Come, stand by me, fear nothing : Guard 
with halberds. 

Adr. Ah me, it is my husband ! Witness you 
That he is borne about invisible: 
Even now we hous'd him in the abbey here ; 
And now he's there, past thought of human reason. 

Enter Antipholus and Dkomio of Ephesus, 

Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke, oh, grant me 
justice ! 
Even for the service that long since I did thee. 
When I bestrid thee in the wars, and took 
Deep scars to save thy life ; even for the blood 
That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. 

jEge. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote, 
I see my son Antipholus, and Dromio. 

Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that woman 
She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife ; [there. 
That hath abused and dishonour'd me, 
Even in the strength and height of injury ! 
Beyond imagination is the wrong, 
That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. 

Duke. Discover how, and thou shaltfind me just. 

Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the doors 
While she, with harlots feasted in my house, [upon me, 

Duke. A grievous fault: Say, woman, didst thou so? 

Adr. No, my good lord ; — myself, he, and my sister, 
To-day did dine together : So befal my soul, 
As this is false, he burdens me withal ! 

Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night. 
But she tells to your highness simple truth I 

Ang. O perjur'd woman ! they are both forsworn. 
In this the madman justly chargeth them. 

Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say; 
Neither disturb'd with the effect of wine. 
Nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire. 
Albeit, my wrongs might make one wiser mad. 
This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner : 
That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her, 
Could witness it, for he was with me then ; 
Who parted with me to go fetch a chain. 
Promising to bring it to the Porcupine, 
Where Balthazar and I did dine together. 
Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, 
I went to seek him : In the street I met him ; 
And in his company, that gentleman. 
Tiiere did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down, 
That I this day of him receiv'd the chain, 
W' liich, God he knows, I saw not : for the which, 
He did arrest me with an officer. 
I did obey ; and sent my peasant home 
For certain ducats : He with none return'd. 
Then fairly I bespoke the officer, 
To go in person with me to my house. 
By the way we met 

My wife, her sister, and a rabble more 
Of vile confederates ; along with them 
They brought one Pinch ; a hungry lean-faced villain, 
A meer anatomy, a mountebank, 
A thread bare juggler, and a fortune-teller ; 
A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch, 
A living dead man : this pernicious slave. 
Forsooth took on him as a conjurer : 
And gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse. 
And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me. 
Cries out, I was possess'd : then altogether 
They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence ; 
And in a dark and dankish vault at home 
There left me and my man, both bound together : 
Till gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, 
I gain'd my freedom, and immediately 
Ran hither to your grace ; whom I beseech 



To give me ample satisfaction 

For these deep shames, and great indignities. 

Ang. My lord, in truth, thusfarlwitness with himj 
That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out. 

Duke. But had he such a chain of thee, or no ? 

Ang. He had, my lord : and when he ran in here, 
These people saw the chain about his neck. 

Mer. Besides, I will be sworn, these ears of mine 
Heard you confess, you had the chain of him. 
After you first forswore it on the mart. 
And, thereupon I drew my sword on you ; 
And then you fled into this abbey here. 
From whence, I think, you are come by miracle. 

Ant. E. I never came within these abbey walls. 
Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me ; 
I never saw the chain, so help me heaven ! 
And this is false, you burden me withal. 

Duke. What an intricate impeach is this ! 
I think, you all have drank of Circe's cup. 
If here you hous'd him, here he would have been : 
If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly : — 
You say, he dined at home ; the goldsmith here 
Denies that saying: — Sirrah, what say you 1 

Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the Por- 
cupine, ["ug- 

Cour. He did ; and from my finger snatch'd that 

Ant. E. 'Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her. 

Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey herel 

Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. 

Duke. Why, this is strange : — Go call the abbess 
I think, you are all mated, or stark mad. [hither ; 

[Exit an Attendant. 

yi^^e.Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word, 
Haply, I see a friend will save my life. 
And pay the sum that may deliver me. 

Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt. 

-^'ge. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus 1 
And is not that your bondman Dromio 1 

Dro. E. Within this hour, I was his bondman, sir, 
But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords : 
Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound. 

.Xge. I am sure, you both of you remember me. * 

Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you ; 
For lately we were bound, as you are now. 
You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir? 

yE^e. Why look you strange on me ] you know me 

Am. E. I never saw you in my life, till now, [well. 

■^ge. Oh ! grief hath chang'd me, since you saw 
n)e last ; 
And careful hours, with time's deformed hand. 
Have written strange defeatures in my face : 
But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice? 

Aiit. E. Neither. 

JEge. Dromio, nor thou ? 

Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. 

^ge. I am sure, thou dost, 

Dio. E. Ay, sir? but I am sure, I do not ; and 
whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to be- 
lieve him. 

yEge. Not know my voice ! O, time's extremity ? 
Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue. 
In seven short years, that here my only son 
Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares ? 
Though now chis grained face of mine be hid 
In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow. 
And all the conduits of my blood froze up ; 
Yet hath my night of life some memory, 
My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left. 
My dull deaf ears a little use to hear : 
All these old witnesses (I cannot err,) 
Tell me, thou art my son Antipholus. 

Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life. 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



313 



JEge. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, 
Thou know'st, we parted : but, perhaps, my son, 
Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery. 

Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in the city, 
Can witness with me that it is not so; 
I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. 

Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years 
Have I been patron to Antipholus, 
During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa : 
I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote. 

Enter the Abbess, with Antipholus Syracusan, a?id 
Dromio Syracusan. 

Ahb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much 
wiong'd. [All gather to see him. 

Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me. 

Duke. One of these men is genius to the other ; 
And so of these : Which is the natural man, 
And which the spirit 1 Who deciphers them i. 

Dm. S, I, sir, am Dromio ; command him away. 

Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio ; pray, let me stay. 

Ant. S. ji'^geon, art thou not? or else his ghost] 

Dro, S. O, my old master, who hath bound him here'? 

Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds. 
And gain a husband by his liberty : — 
Speak, old /Egeon, if thou be'st the man 
That had'st a wife once called Emilia, 
That bore thee at a burden two fair sons : 
O, if thou be'st the same Asgeon, speak, 
And speak unto the same /Emilia ! 

.^ge. If I dream not, thou art yEmilia ; 
If thou art she, tell me, where is that son 
That floated with thee on the fatal raft ? 

Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he, and I, 
And tlie twin Dromio, all were taken up : 
But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth 
By force took Dromio, and my son from them, 
And me they left with those of Epidamnum : 
What then became of them, I cannot tell ; 
[, to this fortune that you see me in. 

Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right : 
These two Antipholus's, these two so like. 
And these two Dromio's, one in semblance, — 
Besides her urging of her wreck at sea, — 
These are the parents to these children, 
Which accidentally are met together. 
Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first. 

Ant. S. No, sir, not I ; 1 came from Syracuse. 

Duke. Stay, stand apart ; I know not which is 
which. [lord. 

Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious 

Dro. E. And I with him. 

Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most famous 
Duke iMenaphon, your most renowned uncle, [warrior 

Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to- day 1 

Ant. S. I, gentle mistress. 

Adr. And are not you my husband ? 

Ant. E. No, I say nay to that. 

Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so ; 
And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, 



Did call me brother : — What I told you then, 
I hope, I shall have leisure to make good ; 
If this be not a dream I see and hear. 

Aug. That is the chain, sir, which you had oi me. 

Ant. S. I think it be, sir ; I deny it not. 

Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me. 

Ang. I think 1 did, sir ; I deny it not. 

Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail. 
By J)romio ; but I think he brought it not. 

Dro. E. No, none by me. 

Ant. S. This purse of ducats I receiv'd from you, 
And Dromio my man did bring them me : 
I see, we still did meet each other's man, 
And I was ta'en for him, and he for me. 
And thereupon these errors are arose. 

Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here. 

Duke. It shall not need, thy father hath his life. 

Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from you. 

Ant. E. There, take it ; and much thanks for my 
good cheer. 

Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains. 
To go with us into the abbey here. 
And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes : — 
And all that are assembled in this place. 
That by this sympathized one day's error. 
Have suft'er'd wrong, go, keep us company. 
And we shall make full satisfaction. — 
Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail 
Of you, my sons ; nor, till this present hour. 
My heavy burdens are delivered : — 
The duke, my husband, and my children both,^ 
And you the calendars of their nativity, 
Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me ; 
After so long grief, such nativity ! 

Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast. 
[Exeunt Duke, Abbess, iCictoN, Courtezan, 
Merchant, Angelo, and Attendants. 

Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from ship- 
board ? [bark'd ? 

Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou em- 

Dro. S. Your goods, that lay at host, sir, in the 
Centaur. [mio : 

Ant. S. He speaks to me ; I am your master, Dro- 
Come, go with us ; we '11 look to that anon : 
Embrace thy brother there, rejoice with him. 

[Exeunt Antipholus S. and E., Ann. and Luc. 

Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's house, 
That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner ; 
She now shall be my sister, not my wife. 

Dro. E. Methinks, you are my glass, and not my 
I see by you, I am a sweet-faced youth, [brother; 
Will you walk in to see their gossiping i 

Dro. S. Not I, sir ; you are my elder. 

Dro. E That's a question : how shall we try it? 

Dro. S. We will draw cuts for the senior : till 
then, lead thou first. 

Dro. E. Nay, then thus : 
We came into the world like brother and brother : 
And now let's go hand iu hand, not one before an- 
other. [Exeunt. 



On a careful revision of the foregoing scenes, I do not hesi- 
tate to pronounce thejn the composition of two very unequal 
writers. .Shakspeare had undoubtedly a share in them ; but 
that the entire play was no work of his, is an opinion which 
(as Benedict says) " fire cannot melt out of me ; I will die in 
it at the stake." Thus, as we are informed by Aulus tiellius, 
lib. iii. cap. 3. some plays were actually ascribed to Plautns, 
which in truth had ouly been Crelracla et expolitxj retouched 
and polished by him. 

In this comedy we find more intricacy of plot than distinc- 
tion of character; and our attention is less ("orcibly engaged, 
because we can guess in a great measure how the denouement i 
will be broui-'ht about. Yet the subject appears to have been 
reluctantly disaiissed, even in this last and unnecessary scene, | 



where the same mistakes are continued, till their power of af- 
lordiog entertainment is entirely lost.— Steev ens. 

Ihe limgdoggrel verses that .^'hakspeare has attributed in this 
play to the two Dromios, are written in that kind of metre which 
was usually attributed, by the dramatic jioets before liis time, 
in their comic pieces, to someof their inferior characters ; and 
this circumstance is one of the many that authorizes usto place 
the preceding comedy, as well as Love's l.ahoufs Losl.anaThe 
laming ()/ i/,e :shre:a, (where the same kind of versification is 
likewise lound.) among our author's earliest productions; com- 
P?se(l probably at a time when he was imperceptibly infected 
with the prevailing mode, and before he had completely learned 

to deviate boldly from the common track."— .Ma lo.\e. 



MACBETH. 



Oi" tUis splendid poem the first edition was that of the players 
in 1623. It Mas, however, in the opinion ol .Mr. .\lalone, 
written either in 1606 or 1607 -—When .Mr. Keed first disco- 
vered the MS. of Middleton's tragi-coniedy the Witch, it was 
supposed that Shakspeare liad taken from it the hint of the 
supei-natural portion of this tragedy. Ihere is no reason for 
sus])ertiiig that the play of Middleton was anterior to tliat of 
Shakspeare, and Mr. Malone has adduced several very strong 
arguments to shew that it was written several years later. 
The following Essay on the superstitious opinions prevalent 
in Shakspeare's time is from Dr. Johnson. 

" In order to make a true estimate of the abilities and merit of 
a writer, it is always necessary to examine the genius of his 
age, ana the opinions of his contemporaries. A poet who 
should now make the whole action of his tragedy depend upon 
enchantment, and produce the chief events by the assistance 
of supernatural agents, would be censured as transgressing the 
bounds of probability, be banished from the theatre to the nur- 
sery, and condemned to write fairy tales instead of tragedies ; 
but a survey of the notions that prevailed at the time when 
this play was written, will prove that Shakspeare was in no 
danger of such censures, since he onl3' turned the system that 
■was then universally admitted, to his advantage, and was far 

^^ from overburdening the credulity of his audience. 

' The reality of witchcraft or enchantment, which, though not 
strictly the same, are confounded in this play, has in all ages 
and countries been credited by the common people, and in 
most, by the learned themselves. The phantoms have indeed 
ai)peared more frequently, in proportion as the darkness of 
ignorance has been more gross ; but it cannot be shewn, that 
the brightest gleams of knowledge have at any time been suf- 
ficient to drive them out of the world. The time in which this 
kind of credulity was at its height, seems to have been that of 
the holy war, in which the Christians imputed all their defeats 
to enchantmentsor diabolical opposition, as they ascribed their 
success to the assistance of the military saints ; and the learned 
Dr. Warburton appears to believe CHujipletnent to the Intro- 
ductioK to Von QutioteJ, that the first accounts of enchant- 
ments were brought into this part of the world by those who 
returned from their eastern expeditions. But there is always 
some distance between the birth and maturity of folly as of 
wickedness : this opinion had long existed, though perhaps the 
application of it had in no foregoing age been so frequent, nor 
the reception so general. Olympiodorus, in Phoiius's i>- 
tiacti, tells us of one l.ihanius who practised this kind of 
military magic, and having promised x^'P't; oT>^iruw Karri 
/3apj3u(iwv ti'(fp7€ii/, to perform great things anainsl the Bar- 
barians u'it/iout soldiers, -was, at the instance of the empress Pla- 
cidia,putto death, when he was about to have given proofs of 
his abilities. The empress shewed some kindness in her anger, 

,,bv cutting him off at a time so convenient for his reputation. 
But a more remarkable proof of the antiquity of this notion 
may be found in St. Chrysostom's book t/e Sacerdotio. which 
exhibits a scene of enchantments not exceeded by any romance 
of the middle age : he supposes a spectator overlooking a field 
of battle, attended by one that points out all the various objects 
of horror, the engines of destruction and the arts of slaughter. 
AeiKi/uTO 5fc t-Ti TTMptc To7i,' ^vaviiott; Kia'i irtTOfi^vovq 'iir-novQ 
&iu TtvoQ ^a77ai'€tat;, Ka'i onXtTag 6i' utpog (pepofxivoTuj, nut 
wci(Triii jomeiag 6vvatJ.iv Kai\6eav. Let hitn then proceed lo 
shew him in the opposite armies flying horses by enchantmejit, 
armed men tiansported thiough the air, and every power and 
form of magic. Whether St. Chrysostom believed that such 
performances were really to be seen in a day of battle, or only 



eiideavoured to enliven his description, by adopting the notions 
of the vulgar, it is equally certain, that such notions were in 
his time received, and that therefore they were not imported 
from the Saracens in a later age ; thewarswith the Saracens, 
however, gave occasion to their propagation, not only as bi- 
gotry naturally discovers prodigies, but as the scene of action 
was removed to a great distance. 

" Ihe Reformation did not immediately arrive at its meridian, 
and though day was gradually increasing upon us, the goblins 
of witchcraft still continued to hover in the twilight. In the 
time of Queen Elizabeth was the remarkable trial of the 
witches of Warbois, whose conviction is still commemorated 
in an annual sermon at Huntingdon. But in the reign of King 
James, in which this tragedy was written, many circumstances 
concurred to propagate and confirm this opinion. Ihe kin^, 
who was much celebrated for his knowledge, had, before his 
arrival in England, not only examined in person a woman ac 
cused of witchcraft, but had given a very formal account of 
the practices and illusions of evil spirits, the compacts of 
witches, the ceremonies used by them, the manner of detect- 
ing them, and the justice of punishing them, in his dialogues 
of D(cmonolugie, written in the Scottish dialect, and published 
at Edinburgh. I his book was, soon after his succession, re- 
printed at London ; and as the ready way to gain King James's 
favour was to Hatter his speculations, the system of Uicmono- 
logie was immediately adojited by all who desired either to 
gain preferment or not to lose it. 1 hus the doctrine of witch- 
craft was very powerfully inculcated ; and as the greatest part 
of mankind have no other reason for their opinions than that 
they are in fashion, it cannot be doubted but this persuasion 
niade a rapid progress, since vanity and credulity co-operated 
in its favour. 1 he infection soon reached the parliament, 
who, in the first year of King James, made a law, by which 
it was enacted, chap. xii. I'hat ' if any person shall use any 
invocation or conjuration of any evil or wicked spirit ; 2. or 
shall consult, covenant with, entertain, employ, feed, or re- 
ward any evil or cursed spirit, to or for any Intent or purpose ; 
3. or take up any dead man, woman, or child, out of the grave, 
— or the skin, bone, or any part of the dead person, to be em- 
ployed or used in any manner of witchcraft, sorcery, charm, 
or enchantment; 4. or shall use, practise, or exercise any sort 
of witchcraft, sorcery, charm, or enchantment ; 5. whereby 
any person shall be destroyed, killed, wasted, consumed, pined, 
or lamed in any part of the body : 6. That every such person 
being convicted shall suffer death.' J his law was repealed 
in our own time- 

" Thus, in the time of Shakspeare, was the doctrine of witch- 
craft at once established by law and by the fashion, and it be- 
came not only unpolite, but criminal, to doubt it ; and as pro- 
digies are always seen in proportion as they are expected, 
witches were every day discovered, and multiplied so fast in 
some places, that Bishop flail mentions a village in Lanca- 
shire, where their number was greater than that of the houses. 
Ihe Jesuits and sectaries took advant.ige of this universal 
error, and endeavoured to promote the interest of their par- 
ties by pretended cures of persons affected by evil spirits ; 
but they were detected and exposed by the clergy of the es- 
tablished church. 

" Upon this general infatuation Shakspeare might be easily al- 
lowed to found a play, especially since he has followed ivith 
great exactness such histories as were then thought true ; nor 
can it be doubted that the scenes of enchantment, however 
they may now be ridiculed, were both by himself and his au- 
dience thought awful and affecting."— Johnson. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Duncan, King ii/" Scotland, 

Malcolm, Donalbain, his sons. 

Macbeth, Banquo, generals of the King's army, 

Macduff, Lenox, Rosse, Mentftii, Angus, Cath- 

NESs, noblemen of Scotland. 
Fleance, son to Banquo. 
SiWARD, Earl of Northumberland, general of the 

English forces. 
Young SiWAni), his son. 
Seyton, an officer attending on Macbeth. 
Son to Macduff. 

An Eiiglish Doctor. A Scotch Doctor. 
A Soldier. A Porter. An old Man. 

Lady Macbeth. 

Lady Macduff. 

Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth. 

Hecate, antl three Witches. 

Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, 

Attendants, and Messe/igers. 

Tfie Ghost rf Bajiquo, and several other Apparitions, 



SCLNE, — in the end of the Fourth Act, lies ^»^ Eng- 
land ; through the rest of the Play, in Scotland ; 
and, chiefly, at Macbeth's Castle. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — An open Place. Thunder and Lightning. 
Enter three Witches. 

1 Witch. When shall we three meet again. 
In thunder, lightning, or in rain ? 

2 Witch. When the hurlyburly 's done, 
When the battle 's lost and won : 

3 Witch. That will be ere set of sun. 

1 Witch. Where the place ? 

2 Witch. Upon the heath : 

3 Witch. There to meet with Macbeth. 
1 Witch. I come, Graymalkin ! 

All. Paddock calls : — Anon. — 
Fair is foul, and foul is fair: 
Hover through the fog and filthy air. [Witches vanish. 



ACT I.— SCENE III. 



315 



SCENE II. — A Camp near Fores. Alarum within. 

Enter King DvNCAyi, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lenox, 
with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Soldier. 

Dun. What bloody man is that ? He can report, 
As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt 
The newest state. 

Mai. This is the sergeant, 

Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought 
'Gainst my captivity : — Hail, brave friend ! 
Say to the king the knowledge of the broil, 
As thou didst leave it. 

Sol. Doubtfully it stood ; 

As two spent swimmers, that do cling together. 
And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald 
(Worthy to be a rebel ; for, to that, 
The multiplying villanies of nature 
Do swarm upon him,) from the western isles 
Of Kernes and Gallowglasses is supplied ; 
And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, 
Shevv'd like a rebel's whore ; But all 's too weak : 
For brave ftlacbeth, (well he deserves that name,) 
Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, 
Which smok'd with bloody execution, 
Like valour's minion, 

Carv'd out his passage, till he fac'd the slave ; 
And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, 
Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, 
And fix'd his head upon our battlements. 

Dun. O, valiant cousin ! worthy gentleman ! 

Sol, As whence the sun 'gins his reflection 
Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break ; 
So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come, 
Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark, 
No sooner justice had, with valour arm'd, 
Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heels : 
But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage. 
With furbish'd arms, and new supplies of men, 
Began a fresh assault. 

Dun. Dismay 'd not this 

Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo ? 

Sol. Yes ; 

As sparrows, eagles; or the hare, the lion. 
If I say sooth, I must report they were 
As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks ; 
So they 

Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe : 
Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, 
Or memorize another Golgotha, 
I cannot tell : 
But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. 

Dun. So well thywordsbecome thee, as thy wounds; 
They smack of honour both : — Go, get him surgeons. 

[Eiit Soldier, attended. 

Enter Rosse. 
Who comes here 1 

Mai. The worthy thane of Rosse. 

Len. Whatahastelooksthroughhiseyes! Soshould 
That seems to speak things strange. [he look, 

liosse. God save tiie king ! 

Duti. W^hence cam'st thou, worthy thane? 

linsse. I'rom Fife, great king. 

Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky, 
And fan our people cold. 
Norway himself, with terrible numbers. 
Assisted by tiiat most disloyal traitor 
The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict : 
Till that ]5ellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, 
Confronted him with self-comparisons. 
Point against point lebellious, arm 'gainst anu, 
Curbing his lavish spirit: And, to conclude, 
The victory fell on us ; 



1 Witch. 

2 Witch. 

Witch. 

1 Witch. 



Dun. Great happiness 1 

Rosse. That now 
Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition ; 
Nor would we deign him burial of his men, 
Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes' inch. 
Ten thousand dollars to our general use. 

Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive 
Our bosom interest:--Go,pronounce his present death. 
And with his former title greet Macbeth. 

Rosse. I'll see it done. 

Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— ^ Heath. Thunder. 
Enter the three Witches. 
Where hast thou been, sister? 
Killing swine. 
Sister, where thou 1 

A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap, 
And mounch'd and mounch'd and mounch'd : — Give 

me, quoth 1 : 
Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon cries. 
Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o'the Tiger • 
But in a sieve I'll thither sail. 
And, like a rat without a tail, 
I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. 
ii Witch, I'll give thee a wind. 
1 Witch. Thou art kind. 
3 Witch. And I another. 

1 Witch. I myself have all the otlier ; 
And the very ports they blow. 

All the quarters that they know 
I'the shipman's card. 
I will drain him dry as hay : 
Sleep shall, neither night nor day, 
Hang upon his pent-house lid ; 
He shall live a man forbid : 
Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine. 
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine : 
Though this bark cannot be lost. 
Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. 
Look what I have. 

2 Witch. Shew me, shew me. 

1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thum, 
Wreck'd as homeward he did come. [Dciim ivithin. 

.5 Witch. A drum, a drum : 
Macbeth doth come. 

ill. The weird sisters, hand in hand, 
Posters of the see and land. 
Thus do go about, about; 
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, 
! And thrice again, to make up nine: 
Peace! — the charm's wound up. 

Enter Macbeth and Bancjl'o. 

Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. 

Ban. How faris't call'd to Fores ! — Whatare tliese. 
So wither'd, and so wild in their attire ; 
That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth. 
And yet are on't? Live you 1 or are you aught 
That man may question 1 You seem to understand me. 
By each at once her choppy finger laying 
Upon her skinny lips : — You should be women, 
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 
That you are so. 

JVJdcfe. Speak, if you can;— Whatare you? [Glamis! 

1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! liail to thee, thane of 

2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of 

Cawdor ! [after. 

switch. All hail, Macbeth Ithatshalt be king here- 

Ban. Good sir, why do you start ; and seem to tear 

Things that do sound so fair ? — I'the name of truth, 



31(j 



MACBETH. 



Are ye fantastical, or that indeed 

Which outwardly ye shew ? JNIy noble partner 

You greet with present grace, and great prediction 

Ot noble having, and of royal hope, 

That he seems wrapt withal ; to me you speak not: 

If you can look into the seeds of time. 

And say, which grain will grow, and which will not ; 

Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear, 

Your favours, nor your hate. 

1 Witch. Hail ! 

2 Witch. Hail ! 

3 Witch. Hail ! 

1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 

2 Witch. Not so happy, yet mucli happier. 

3 Witch, Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: 
So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo ! 

1 Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hall ! 

Mach. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more : 
By Sinel's death, I know, 1 am thane of Glamis; 
But how of Cawdor ? the thane of Cawdor lives, 
A prosperous gentleman ; and, to be king, 
Stands not within the prospect of belief, 
No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence 
You owe this strange intelligence? or why 
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way 
With such prophetic greeting? — Speak, I charge you. 

[Witches vanish. 

Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has. 
And these are of them : Whither are they vanish'd? 
Macb. Into the air : and what seem'd corporal, melted 
As breath into the wind. — 'Would they had staid ! 

Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak about? 
Or have we eaten of the insane root, 
That takes the reason prisoner? 

Macb. Your children shall be kings. 

Ban. You shall be king. 

Macb. And thane of Cawdor too ; went it not so ? 

Ba?i. To the self-same tune, and words. Who's here? 

Enter Rosse and Angus. 

Rosse. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth, 
The news of thy success : and when he reads 
Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight. 
His wonders and his praises do contend, 
Which should be thine, or his : Silenc'd with that, 
In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day, 
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks. 
Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make. 
Strange images of death. As thick as hail, 
Came post with post ; and every one did bear 
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence. 
And pour'd them down before him. 

Aug. We are sent, 

To give thee, from our royal master, thanks ; 
To herald thee into his sight, not pay thee. 

llosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour, 
He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor : 
In which addition, hail, most worthy thane ! 
For it is thine. 

Ban. What, can the devil speak true ? 

Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives; Whydo you dress 
In borrow'd robes ? [me 

Ang. Who was the thane, lives yet ; 

But under heavy judgment bears that life 
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was 
Combln'd with Norway ; or did line the rebel 
With hidden help and vantage ; or that with both 
He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not ; 
But treasons capital, confess'd, and prov'd, 
Have overthrown him. 

Macb. Glamis, and thane of Cawdor : 

The greatest is behind. — Thanks for your pains. — 



Do you not hope your children shall be kings, 
When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me, 
Promis'd no less to them ? 

Ban. That, trusted home, 

Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, 
Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange : 
And oftentimes to win us to our harm. 
The instruments of darkness tell us truths ; 
Win us wiih honest trifles, to betray us 
In deepest consequences. — 
Cousins, a word, I pray you. 

Macb. Two truths are told. 

As happy prologues to the swelling act 
Of the imperial theme. — I thank you, gentlemen. — 
This supernatural soliciting 
Cannot be ill ; cannot be good : — If ill, 
Why hath it given me earnest of success, 
Commencing in a truth ? I am thane of Cawdor : 
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion 
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair. 
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs. 
Against the use of nature ? Present fears 
Are less than liorrible imaginings : 
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, 
Shakes so my single state of man, that function 
Is smolher'd in surmise ; and nothing is. 
But what is not. 

Bini. Look, how our partner's rapt. 

Macb. If chance will have me king, why, chance may 
Without my stir. [crown me. 

Ban. New honours come upon him 

Like our strange garments ; cleave not to their mould. 
But with the aid of use. 

Macb. Come what come may ; 

Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. 

Ba7i. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. 

Macb. Give me your favour: — my dull brain was 
wrought 
With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains 
Are register'd where every day I turn 
The leaf to read them. — Let us toward the king. — 
Think upon what hath chanc'd; and, at more time. 
The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak 
Our free hearts each to other. 

Ban. Very gladly. 

Macb. Till then, enough. — Come, friends. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Fores. A Room in the Palace. 

Flourish. Enter Duncan, Mai-colm, Donalbain, 
Lenox, and Attendants. 

Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not 
Those in commission yet return'd? 

Mat. My liege, 

They are not yet come back. But I have spoke 
With one that saw him die : who did report. 
That very frankly he confess'd his treasons ; 
Implor'd your highness' pardon ; and set forth 
A deep repentance: nothing in his life 
Became him, like the leaving it ; he died 
As one that had been studied in his death. 
To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd. 
As 'twere a careless trifle. 

Du7i. There 's no art, 

To find the mind's construction in the face : 
He was a gentleman on whom I built 
An absolute trust. — O worthiest cousin ! 

Enter Macbeth, Ba.vquo, Rosse, and Angus. 
The sin of my ingratitude, even now 
Was heavy on me : Thou art so far before, 
That swiftest wing of recompense is slow 
To overtake thee. 'Would thou hadst lessdeserv'd ; 



ACT I.— SCENE VI. 



317 



That the proportion both of thanks and payment 
Might have been mine ! only I have left to say, 
More is thy due than more than all can pay. 
Much. The service and the loyalty I owe, 
In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part 
Is to receive our duties : and our duties 
Are to your throne and state, children, and servants ; 
Which do but what they should, by doing every thing 
Safe toward your love and honour. 

Dim. Welcome hither: 

I have begun to plant thee, and will labour 
To make thee full of growing. — Noble Banquo, 
That hast no less deserv'd, nor must be known 
No less to have done so, let me infold thee. 
And hold thee to my heart. 

Ban. There if I grow, 

The harvest is your own. 

Bint. My plenteous joys, 

Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves 
In drops of sorrow. — Sons, kinsmen, thanes, 
And you whose places are the nearest, know. 
We will establish our estate upon 
Our eldest, Malcolm ; whom we name hereafter 
The prince of Cumberland : which honour must 
Not, unaccompanied, invest him only, 
But signs of nobleness, like stars shall shine 
On all deservers. — From hence to Inverness, 
And bind us further to you. 

Macb. The rest is labour, which is not us'd for you : 
I'll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful 
The hearing of my wife with your approach ; 
So, humbly lake my leave. 

Du7i. My worthy Cawdor ! 

Macb. The prince of Cumberland! — That is a step. 
On which I must fall down, or else o'er-leap, lAside. 
For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires ! 
Let not light see my black and deep desires : 
The eye wink at the hand ! yet let that be, 
Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. lExit. 

Dun. True, worthy Banquo ; he is full so valiant ; 
And in his commendations I am fed ; 
It is a banquet to me. Let us after him, 
Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome : 
It is a peerless kinsman. [F/ouiis/i. Exeunt. 

SCENE Y. 
Inverness. A Rwm in Macbeth's Castle. 
Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter. 
Lady M. They met me in the day of success ; and I 
have learned bif the perfectest report, they have more in 
them than mortal knowledge. ]Vhen I burned in desire 
to question them further, they made themselves — air, 
into ivhich they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the 
tvonder of it, came missives from the king, who all-hailed 
nie. Thane of Cawdor ; by which title, before, these 
tveird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming 
on of time, ivith. Hail, king that shalt be ! This have 
I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of 
great/iess ; that thou, mightest not lose the dues of re- 
joicing, by being ignorant of xvhat greatness is promised 
thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell. 

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor ; and shalt be 
What thou art promis'd : — Yet do I fear thy nature ; 
It is too full o' the milk of human kindness. 
To catch the nearest way . Thou would'st be great ; 
Art not without ambition ; but without [higlily, 

The illness should attend it. What thou would'st 
That would'st thou holily ; would'st not play false, 
And yet would'st wrongly win : thou'dst have, great 

Glamis, 
That which cries, Thus thou must do, if thou have it ; 



And that which rather thou dost fear to do, 

Than ivishest should be undone. Hie thee hither, 

That I may pour my spirits in thine ear ; 

And chastise with the valour of my tongue 

All that impedes thee from the golden round, 

Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem 

To have thee crown'd withal. What is your tidings'* 

Enter an Attendant. 

Atten. The king comes here to-night. 

Ludy M. 'J'hou'rt mad to say it : 

Is not thy master with him? who, wer't so. 
Would have inform'd for preparation. 

Atten. So please you, it is true; our thane is com- 
One of my fellows had the speed of him ; [ing: 

Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more 
Than would make up his message. 

Lady M. Give him tending. 

He brings great news. The raven himself is hoarse, 

[Exit Attendant. 
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits 
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here ; 
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full 
Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood. 
Stop up the access and passage to remorse ; 
That no compunctious visitings of nature 
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 
The effect, and it ! Come to my woman's breasts, 
And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, 
Wherever in your sightless substances 
You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, 
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell I 
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes ; 
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark. 

To cry. Hold, hold ! Great Glamis I worthy 

Cawdor ! 

Enter Macbeth. 

Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter! 
Thy letters have transported me beyond 
This ignorant present, and I feel now 
The future in the instant. 

Macb. My dearest love, 

Duncan comes here to-night. 

Lady M. And when goes hence ? 

Macb. To-morrow, — as he purposes. 

Lady M. 0, never 

.Shall sun that morrow see ! 
Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men 
May read strange matters ; — To beguile the time. 
Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye. 
Your hand, your tongue : look like the innocent flower. 
But be the serpent under it. He that's coming 
Must be provided for : and you shall put 
This night's great business into my despatch ; 
Which shall to all our nights and days to como 
Give solely sovereign sway and inasterdom. 

Macb. We will speak further. 

Lady M. Only look up clear ; 

To alter favour ever is to fear : 
Leave all the rest to me. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— The same. Before the Castle. 

Hautboys. Servants o/'JMacbeth attendirig. 

Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Banquo, 
Lenox, Macduff, Rosse, Angus, atid Attendants. 

Dvn. This castle Iiath a pleasant seat ; the air 
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself 
Unto our gentle senses. 

Ban. This guest of summer. 



318 



MACBETH 



The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, 
By his lov'd tnansionry, that the heaven's breath 
Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze, buttress, 
Nor coigne of vantage, but this bird hath made 
His pendent bed, and procreant cradle : Where they 
Most breed and haunt, I have observ'd, the air 
Is delicate. 

Enter Ladif Macbeth. 

Dim. See, see ! our honour'd hostess ! 

The love that follovcs us, sometimes is our trouble, 
Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you, 
How you shall bid God yield us for your pains, 
And thank us for your trouble. 

Lady M. All our service 

In every point twice done, and then done double, 
Were poor and single business to contend 
Against those honours deep and broad, wherewith 
Your majesty loads our house : For those of old, 
And the late dignities heap'd up to them. 
We rest your hermits. 

Dun. Where 's the thane of Cawdor? 

We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose 
To be his purveyor : but he rides well ; 
And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him 
To his home before us : Fair and noble hostess. 
We are your guest to-night. 

Lady M. Your servants ever 

Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt, 
To make their audit at your highness' pleasure. 
Still to return your own. 

Dun. Give me your hand : 

Conduct me to mine host ; we love him highly, 
And shall continue our graces towards him. 
By your leave, hostess. [_Exeunt. 

SCENE VII. — The same. A Room in the Castle. 

Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over the stage, 
a Sewer, and divers Servants with dishes and service. 
Then enter Macbeth. 

Macb. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere 
It were done quickly : If the assassination [well 
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch. 
With his surcease, success ; that but this blow 
Might be the be-all and the end-all here, 
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — 
We'd jump the life to come. — But in these cases. 
We still have judgment here ; that we but teach 
Bloody instructions, which being taught, return 
To plague the inventor: This even-handed justice 
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice 
To our own lips. He 's here in double trust : 
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, 
Strong both against the deed ; then, as his host. 
Who should against his murderer shut the door, 
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 
Iluth borne his faculties so meek, hath been 
So clear in his great office, that his virtues 
Will plead like angels, trumpet- tongued, against 
The deep damnation of his taking-off : 
And pity, like a naked new-born babe, 
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, hors'd 
Upon the sightless couriers of the air. 
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye. 
That tears shall drown the wind. — I have no spur 
To prick the sides of my intent, but only 
Vaulting ambition, which o'er-leaps itself. 
And falls on the other. — How now, what news 1 

Enter Lady MACBftTH. 

Lady M. He has almost supp'd : Why have you left 
Mac. Hath he ask'd for me ? [the chamber l 



Lady M. Know j ou not, he has ? 

Macb. We will proceed no further in this business: 
He hath honour'd me of late ; and I have bought 
Golden opinions from all sorts of people. 
Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, 
Not cast aside so soon. 

-Lac?!/ M. Was the hope drunk, 

Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since? 
And wakes it now, to look so green and pale 
At what it did so freely ? From this time, 
Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard 
To be the same in thine own act and valour, 
As thou art in desire ? Would'st thou have that 
Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life. 
And live a coward in thine own esteem ; 
Letting I dare not wait upon I would, 
Like the poor cat i' the adage ? 

Much. Pr'ythee, peace : 

I dare do all that may become a man ; 
Who dares do more, is none. 

Lady M. W^hat beast was it then. 

That made you break this enterprise to me ? 
When you durst do it, then you were a man ; 
And, to be more than what you were, you would 
Be so much more the man. Nor time, nor place, 
Did then adhere, and yet you would make both : 
They have made themselves, and that their fitness now 
Does unmake you. I have given suck ; and know 
How tender 'tis, to love the babe that milks me : 
I would, while it was smiling in my face. 
Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums. 
And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn, as you 
Have done to this. 

Macb. If we should fail, 

Lady M. We fail ! 

But screw your courage to the sticking place. 
And we '11 not fail. When Duncan is asleep, 
(Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey 
Soundly invite him,) his two chamberlains 
Will I with wine and wassel so convince. 
That memory, the warder of the brain. 
Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason 
A limbeck only: When in swmish sleep 
Their drenched natures lie, as in a death, 
W^hat cannot you and I perform upon 
The unguarded Duncan ? what not put upon 
His spongy officers ; who shall bear the guilt 
Of our great quell ? 

Macb. Bring forth men-children only ! 

For thy undaunted mettle should compose 
Nothing but males. Will it not be receiv'd. 
When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two 
Of his own chamber, and us'd their very daggers. 
That they have done 't ? 

Lady M. Who dares receive it other, 

As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar 
Upon his death ? 

Macb. I am settled, and bend up 

Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. 
Away, and mock the time with fairest show : 
False face must hide what the false heart doth know. 

\_Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

SCENE I. — The same. Court within the Castle. 

Enter Banquo and Fle.a.vce, and a Servant with a 
torch before them. 

Ban. How goes the night, boy? 

F/e. The moon is down ; I have not heard the clock. 



ACT II.— SCENE II. 



319 



Ban. And she goes down at twelve. 
Fie. I take't, 'tis later, sir. [heaven, 

Ban. Hold, take my sword.— There's husbandry in 
Their candles are all out. — Take thee that too. 
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, 
And yet I would not sleep : Merciful powers ! 
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts, that nature 
Gives way to in repose ! — Give me my sword ; — 

Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch. 

Who's there? 

Much. A friend. 

Ban. What, sir, not yet at rest"! The king's a-bed : 
He hath been in unusual pleasure, and 
Sent forth great largess to your offices : 
This diamond he greets your wife withal. 
By the name of most kind hostess ; and slsut up 
Tn measureless content. 

Much. Being unprepar'd, 

Our will became the servant to defect ; 
V^'hich else should free have wrought. 

Ban. All 's well. 

1 dreamt last night of tlie three weird sisters : 
To you they have shew'd some truth. 

Much. I think not of them : 

Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve. 
Would spend it in some words upon that business, 
If you would grant the time- 
Bart. At your kind'st leisure. 

Macb. I fyou shall cleave to my consent, — when 'tis, 
It shall make honour for you. 

Bun. So I lose none, 

In seeking to augment it, but still keep 
My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear, 
I shall be counsel'd. 

Alacb. Good repose, the while ! 

Ban. Thanks, sir; The like to you ! [Exit Ban. 

Mach. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready. 
She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. [ Exit Sei v. 
Is this a dagger, which I see before me. 
The handle toward my hand 1 Come, let me clutch 

I have thee not, and yet 1 see thee still, [thee: 

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 

To feeling, as to sight] or art thou but 

A dagger of the mind ; a false creation. 

Proceeding from the heat- oppressed brain? 

I see thee yet, in form as palpable 

As this which now I draw. 

Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going ; 

And such an instrument I was to use. 

Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, 

Or else worth all the rest : I see thee still ; 

And on thy blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood. 

Which was not so before. — There's no such thing : 

It is the bloody business, wliich informs 

Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er the one half world 

Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 

The curtain'd sleep ; now witchcraft celebrates 

Pale Hecate's offerings ; and wither'd murder, 

Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, 

Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace. 

With Tarquin's ravishing strides, toward his design 

Moves like a ghost. I'hou sure and firm set earth, 

Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
Thy very stones prate of my where-about. 
And take the present horror from the time. 
Which now suits with it. — Whiles 1 threat, he lives; 
Words to the iieat of deeds too cold breath gives. 

[A bell rijigs. 
1 go, and it is done ; the bell invites me. 
Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell 
That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. [EaU. 



SCENE II.— ne same. 
Enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady M, That which hath made them drunk, hath 
made me bold : [Hark ! — Peace ! 

What hath quencli'd them, hath given me fire. — 
It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman. 
Which gives the stern'st good night. He is about it: 
The doors are open ; and the surfeited grooms 
Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'd 

their possets. 
That death and nature do contend about them, 
Whether they live, or die. 

Macb. [Within.] Who's there? — what, ho ! 

Lady M. Alack ! 1 am afraid they have awak'd, 
And 'tis not done : — the attempt, and not the deed. 
Confounds us : — Hark ! — 1 laid their daggers ready. 
He could not miss them. — Had he not resembled 
My father as he slept 1 had done 't. — My husband ? 

Enter Macbeth. 

Mach. I have done the deed : — Didst thou not hear 
a noise ? 

Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the ciickets 
Did not you speak ? [cry. 

Mach. When ? 

Lady ill. Now. 

Macb. As I descended ? 

I. ad II M. Ay. 

Macb. Hark! — 
Who lies i' the second chamber'' 

Lady M. Donalbain. 

Macb. This is a sorry sight. [Loi)fci?(o on his hands. 

Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. 

Mach. There's one did laugh in iiis sleep, and one 
cried, miuder .' [them: 

That they did wake each other; I stood and heard 
liut they did say their prayers, and address'd them 
Again to sleep. 

Lady M. There are two lodg'd together. 

Macb. One cried, God bless us! and, .4meu, the other ; 
As they had seen me, with these hangman's hands, 
Listening their fear, I could not say, amen, 
When they did say, God bless us. 

Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. 

Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce, amen ? 
I had most need of blessing, and amen 
Stuck in my throat. 

Lady M. These deeds must not be thought 

After these ways ; so, it will make us mad. 

Macb. Methought, I heard a voice cry. Sleep no 
Macbeth does murder steep, t)ie innocent sleep ; [tnore! 
■Sleep, that knits up the raoell'd sleave of care, 
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath. 
Balm oj hurt minds, great nature's second course, 
Chief jiouriiher in life's feast. 

Lady M. What do you mean ? 

Macb. Still it cried, Sleep no more ! to all the house : 
Glamis hath mnrder'd sleep: and therefore Cawdor 
Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more ! 

Lady M. Who was it that thus cried? Why, wor- 
thy thane, 
You do unbend your noble strength, to think 
So brainsickly of things : — Go, get some water, 
And wash this filthy witness from your hand. — 
Why did you bring these daggers from the place? 
They must lie tliere : Go, carry them ; and smear 
The sleepy grooms with blood. 

Macb. I'll go no more* 

I am afraid to think what I have done ; 
Look on 't again, 1 dare not. 

Lady M. Infirm of purpose! 



320 



MACBETH. 



Give ine the daggers : The sleeping, and the dead, 
Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood, 
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, 
For it must seem their guilt. [Exit. Knocking within. 
Much. Whence is that knocking? 

How is 't with me, when eveiy noise appals me 1 
What hands are here 1 Ha ! they pluck out mine eyes ! 
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
Clean from my hand? No ; this my hand will rather 
The multitudinous seas incarnardine, 
Making the green — one red. 

Re-enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady M. My hands are of your colour ; but I shame 
To wear a heart so white. [A'noc/c.] I hear a knocking 
At the south entry : — retire we to our chamber. 
A little water clears us of this deed: 
How easy is it then ? Your constancy [knocking : 
Hath left you unattended. — [Knocking.] Hark! more 
Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us. 
And shew us to be watchers : — Be not lost 
So poorly in your thoughts. 

Macb. To know my deed, — 'twere best not know 

myself. [Knock. 

Wake Duncan with thy knocking ; Ay, 'would thou 

could'st ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE III The same. 

Enter a Porter. [Knocking within. 

Porter. Here's a knocking, indeed! If a man were 
porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the 
key. [Knocking.] Knock, knock, knock : Who's there, 
i' the name of Belzebub 1 Here's a farmer, that 
hanged himself on the expectation of plenty : Come 
in time ; have napkins enough about you ; here you'll 
sweat for't. [Knocking.] Knock, knock : Who's there, 
i' the other devil's name? 'Faith, here's an equivo- 
cator, that could swear in both the scales against 
either scale ; who committed treason enough for God's 
sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven : O, come 
in equivocator. [Kiwcking.] Knock, knock, knock : 
Who 's there ? 'Faith, here's an English tailor come 
hither, for stealing out of a French hose : Come in, 
tailor ; here you may roast your goose. [Knocking.] 
Knock, knock: Never at quiet! What are you? — 
But this place is too cold for hell. I '11 devil-porter 
it no further : I had thought to have let in some of 
all professions, that go the primrose way to the ever- 
lasting bonfire. [Knocking.] Anon, anon; I pray you, 
remember the porter. [Opens the gate. 

Enter Macduff and Lenox. 

Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, 
That you do lie so late ? 

Port. 'Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second 
cock : and drink, sir, is a great provoker of tiiree things. 
. Macd. What three things does drink especially 
provoke ? 

Port. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. 
Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes : it pro- 
vokes the desire, but it takes away the performance : 
Therefore, mucli drink may be said to be an equivo- 
cator with lechery: it makes him, and it mars him ; 
it sets him on, and it takes him off ; it persuades him, 
and disheartens him ; makes him stand to, and not 
stand to : in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, 
and, giving him the lie, leaves him. 

Macd. 1 believe, drink gave thee the lie last night. 

Port. That it did, sir, i" tlie very throat o' me : But 
I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being too 



strong for him, though he took up my legs sometime, 
yet I made a shift to cast him. 

Macd. Is thy master stirring ? — 
Our knocking has awak'd him ; here he comes. 

Enter Macbeth. 

Len. Good-morrow, noble sir ! 

Macb. Good-morrow, both ! 

Macd. Is the king stirring, worthy thane ? 

Macb. Not yet. 

Macd. He did command me to call timely on him : 
I have almost slipp'd the hour. 

Macb. I '11 bring you to him. 

Macd. I know, this is a joyful trouble to you ; 
But yet, 'tis one. 

Macb. The labour we delight in, physics pain. 
This is the door. 

Macd. I'll make so bold to call. 

For 'tis my limited service. [Erit Macduff. 

Len. Goes the king 

From hence to-day? 

Macb. He does : — he did appoint so. 

Len. The night has been unruly : Where we lay. 
Our chimneys were blown down : and, as they say, 
Lamentings heard i'theair; strange screams of death ; 
And prophesying, with accents terrible. 
Of dire combustion, and confus'd events. 
New hatch'd to the woeful time. The obscure bud 
Clamour'd the livelong night : some say, the earth 
Was feverous, and did shake. 

Macb. 'Twas a rough night. 

Len. My young remembrance cannot parallel 
A fellow to it. 

Re-enter Macduff. 

Macd. horror ! horror! horror! Tongue, nor heart, 
Cannot conceive, nor name thee ! 

Macb. Len. What's the matter? 

Macd. Confusion now hath made his master-piece ! 
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope 
The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence 
The life o' the building. 

Macb. What is 't you say ? the life ? 

Len. Mean you his majesty ? [sight 

Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy your 
With a new Gorgon : — Do not bid me speak ; 
See, and then speak yourselves. — Awake ! awake ! — 
[Exeunt Macbeth and Lenox. 
Ring the alarum-bell : — Murder ! and treason ! 
Banquo, and Donalbain ! Malcolm ! awake ! 
Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit 
And look on death itself! — up, up, and see 

The great doom's image Malcolm ! Banquo I 

As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprights. 
To countenance this horror ! [Bell rings. 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady M. What's the business. 
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley 
The sleepers of the house ? speak, speak, 

Macd. O, gentle lady, 

'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak : 
The repetition, in a woman's ear. 
Would murder as it fell. O Banquo ! Banquo ! 

Enter Banquo. 

Our royal master's murder'd ! 

Lady M. Woe, alas ! 

What, in our house 1 

Ban. Too cruel, any where. 

Dear Duff, I pr'ythee, contradict thyself. 
And say, it is not so. 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 



321 



Re-enter Macbeth and Lenox. 
Macb. Had I but died an hour before this chance, 
I had liv'd a blessed time ; for, from this instant, 
There's nothing serious in mortality : 
All is but toys : renown, and grace, is dead ; 
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees 
Is left this vault to brag of. 

Enter Mat.colm and Donaluain. 

Dor. What is amiss 1 

Miicb. You are, and do not know it : 

The spiing, the head, the fountain of your blood 
Is stopp'd ; the very source of it is stopp'd. 

Macd. Your royal father 's rnurder'd. 

Mat. (), by whom? 

Leii.Thoseof hischamber,asitseem'd, had done't: 
Their hands and faces were all badg'd with blood, 
So were their dai^cers, which, unwin'd, we found 

DO ' 1 

Upon their pillows : 

They star'd, and were distracted ; no man's life 

Was to be trusted with them. 

Macb. O, yet I do repent me of my fury, 
That I did kill them. 

Macd. Wherefore did you so? [furious. 

Much. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate, and 
Loyal and neutral, in a moment ] No man : 
The expedition of my violent love 
Out-ran the pauser reason. — Here lay Duncan, 
His silver skin lac'd with his golden blood ; 
And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature 
For ruin's wasteful entrance : there, the murderers, 
Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggeia 
Unmannerly breech'd with gore : Who could refrain, 
That had a heart to love, and in that heart 
Courage to make his love known 1 

Ladif M. Help me hence, ho! 

Macd. Look to the lady. 

MaL ^Vhy do we hold our tongues. 

That most may claim this argument for ours 1 

Don. What should be spoken here. 
Where our fate, hid within an augre-hole. 
May rush, and seize us? Let's away ; our tears 
Are not yet brew'd. 

MaL 
The foot of motion. 

Ban. Look to the lady : — [^Ladij Mac. is carried orit. 
And when we have our naked frailties hid. 
That suffer in exposure, let us meet, 
And question this most bloody piece of work. 
To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us : 
In the great hand of God I stand ; and, thence, 
Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight 
Of treasonous malice. 

Macb. And so do I. 

All. So all. 

Macb. Let's briefly put on manly readiness. 
And meet i'the hall together. 

All. Well contented. [E.xennt all hut Mal. ^•Don. 

Mul. AVhat will you do? Let's not consort with 
To shew an unfelt sorrow, is an office [them : 

W'hich the false man does easy : I'll to England. 

Don. To Ireland, I ; our separated fortune 
Shall keep us both the safer : where we are. 
There's daggers in men's smiles : the near in blood, 
The nearer bloody. 

Ml//. This murderous shaft that's shot. 

Hath not yet lighted ; and our safest way 
Is, to avoid the aim. Therefore to horse ; 
And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, 
But shift away : There's warrant in that theft 
Which steals itself, when thcro's no mercy left. 

[Exeunt. 



Nor our strong sorrow on 



SCENE IV Without the Castle. 

Enter llosSE and an old ]Man. 

Old M. Threescore and ten I can remember well : 
Within the volume of which time, I have seen 
Hours dreadful, and things strange; but this sore 
Hath trifled former knowings. [ii'^^l't 

liosse. Ah, good father, 

Thou see'st the heavens, as troubled with man's act. 
Threaten his bloody stage : by the clock, 'tis day. 
And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp : 
Is it night's predominance, or the day's shame, 
That darkness does the face of earth intomb, 
When living light should kiss it ? 

Old M. 'Tis unnatural, 

Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, 
A falcon, tow'ring in her pride of place. 
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at, and kill'd. 

Kosse. And Duncan's horses, (a thing most strange 
and certain,) 
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, 
Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, 
Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make 
War with mankind. 

Old M. 'Tis said, they eat each other. 

liosse. They did so ; to the amazement of mine eyes. 
That look'd upon'l. Here comes the good ftlac- 
dufT: 

Enter Macduff. 
How goes the world, sir, now ? 

Macd. Why, see you not 1 

Rosse. Is 't known, who did this more than bloody 

Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain ? [deed ! 

Rosse. Alas, the day 

What good could they pretend ? 

Macd. They were suborn'd 

Malcolm, and Donalbain, the king's two sons. 
Are stol'n away and fled ; which puts upon them 
Suspicion of the deed. 

Uosse. 'Gainst nature still : 

Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up 
Thine own life's means ! — Then 'tis most like. 
The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. 

Macd. He is already nam'd ; and gone to Scone, 
To be invested. 

Rosse. Where is Duncan's body ? 

Macd. Carried to Colmes-kill ; 
The sacred storehouse of his predecessors, 
And guardian of their bones. 

Rosse. Will you to Scone 1 

Macd. No, cousin, I'll to Fife. 

Rosse. Well, I will thither. [ — adieu ! 

Macd. Well, may you see things well done there : 
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new ! 

Rosse. Father, farewell. 

Old M. God's benison go with you ; and with those 
That would make good of bad, and friends of foes' 

[E.iennt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I.— Fores. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Bancjuo. 
J3(i;i. Thou hast it, now. King, Cawdor, Glamis, all. 
As the weird women promis'd ; and, I fear. 
Thou play'dst most foully for't : yet it was said, 
It should not stand in thy posterity ; 
But that myself should be the root and father 
Of many kings. If there come truth from them, 
(As upon thee, INIacbeth, their speeches shine,) 
\Vhy, by the verities on thee made good, 



:J22 



MACBETH. 



May they not be my oracles as well, 

And set me up in hope? But, hush ; no more. 

Senet sounded. Enter Macbeth, as King ; Lady 
Macbeth, as Queen ; Lenox, Rosse, Lords, La- 
dies, and Attendants. 

Macb. Here's our chief guest. 

Lady M, If he had been forgotten. 

It had been as a gap in our great feast, 
And all-thino;s unbecominor. 

Marh. To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir. 
And I'll request your presence. 

Ban, Let your highness 

Command upon me ; to the which, my duties 
Are with a most indissoluble tie 
For ever knit. 

Macb. Ride you this afternoon'? 

Ban. Ay, my good lord. 

Macb. We shouldhave elsedesir'd yourgood advice 
(Which still hath been both grave and prosperous,) 
In this day's council ; but we'll take to-morrow. 
Is't far you ride ? 

J3a7i. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time, 
'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better, 
I must become a borrower of the night. 
For a dark hour, or twain. 

Macb. Fail not our feast. 

Ban. My lord, I will not. 

Macb. We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd 
In England, and in Ireland ; not confessing 
Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers 
With strange invention : But of that to-morrow; 
When, therewithal, we shall have cause of state. 
Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse : Adieu, 
Till you return at night Goes Fleance with you 1 

Ban. Ay, my good lord : our time does call upon us. 

Macb. 1 wish your horses swift, and sure of foot ; 
And so I do commend you to tiieir backs. 

Farewell. [Exit Banquo. 

Let every man be master of his time 
Till seven at night ; to make society 
The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself 
Till supper time alone : while then, God be with you. 
[Exeunt Lady Macbeth, Lords, Ladies, &;c. 
Sirrah, a word : Attend those men our pleasure? 

Attend. They are, my lord, without the palace gate. 

Macb. Bring them before us. — [Exit Atten.] 
To be thus, is nothing ; 
But to be safely thus : — Our fears in Banquo 
Stick deep ; and in his royalty of nature [dares ; 
Reigns that, which would be fear'd : 'Tis much he 
And, to that dauntless temper of his mind. 
He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour 
To act in safety. There is none, but he 
Whose being I do fear : and, under him, 
My genius is rebuk'd ; as, it is said, 
Mark Antony's was by Csesar. He chid the sisters. 
When first they put the nam.e of king upon me, 
And bade them speak to him ; then, prophet-like, 
They hail'd him father to a line of kings : 
Upon my head they plac'd a fruitless crown. 
And put a barren sceptre in my gripe. 
Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand. 
No son of mine succeeding. If it be so, 
For Banquo's issue liave I fil'd my mind ; 
For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd ; 
Put rancours in the vessel of my peace 
Only for Ihem ; and mine eternal jewel 
Given to ihe common enemy of man. 
To make them kings ^the seed of Banquo kings ! 
Rather than so, come, fate, into the list, 
And champion me to the utterance I — Who's there ? — 



Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers. 

Now to the door, and stay there till we call. 

[Exit Attendant. 
Was it not yesterday we spoke together 1 

1 Mur, It was, so please your highness. 

Matb. Well then, now 

Have you consider'd of my speeches ? Know, 
That it was he, in the times past, which held you 
So under fortune ; wiiich, you thought, had been 
Our innocent self: this I made good to you 
In our last conference ; pass'd in probation with you, 
How you were borne in hand ; how cross'd ; the in- 
struments ; [might, 
Who wrought with them ; and all things else, that 
To half a soul, and a notion craz'd, 
Say, Thus did Banquo. 

1 Mur. You made it known to us. 

Much. I did so ; and went further, which is now 
Our point of second meeting. Do you find 
Your patience so predominant in your nature. 
That you can let this go 7 Are you so gospell'd. 
To pray for this good man, and for his issue. 
Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave, 
And beggar'd yours for ever ? 

1 Mur. We are men, my liege. 
Macb. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men ; 

As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs 
Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi-wolves, are cleped 
All by the name of dogs : the valued file 
Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, 
The house-keeper, the hunter, every one 
According to the gift which bounteous nature ) 
Hath in him clos'd ; whereby he does receive 
Particular addition, from the bill 
That writes them all alike : and so of men. 
Now, if you have a station in the file. 
And not in the worst rank of manhood, say it ; 
And I will put that business in your bosoms, 
Whose execution takes your enemy off; 
Grapples you to the heart and love of us. 
Who wear our health but sickly in his life, 
Which in his death were perfect. 

2 Mur. I am one, my liege. 
Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world 
Have so incens'd, that I am reckless what 

I do, to spite the world. 

1 Mur. And I another. 

So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune. 
That 1 would set my life on any chance. 
To mend it, or be rid on't. 

Macb. Both of you 

Know, Banquo was your enemy. 

2 Mur. True, my lord. 
Macb. So is he mine ; and in such bloody distance. 

That every minute of his being thrusts 
Against my near'st of life : And though I could 
With bare-fac'd power sweep him from my sight, 
And bid my will avouch it ; yet I must not. 
For certain friends that are both his and mine. 
Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall 
Whom I myself struck down : and thence it is. 
That I to your assistance do make love ; 
INIasking the business from the common eye. 
For sundry weighty reasons. 

'2 Mur. We shall, my lord, 

Perform what you command us. 

1 Mur. Though our lives [hour, at most, 

Macb. Your spirits shine through you. Withinlhis 
I win advise you where to plant yourselves. 
Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time. 
The moment on't; for't must be done to-night. 



ACT in.— SCENE IV. 



323 



And something fram the palace ; always thought, 
That 1 require a clearness : Aud with him, 
(To leave no rubs, nor botches, in the work,) 
Fleaace his son, that keeps him company. 
Whose absence is no less material to me 
Than is his father's, must embrace the fate 
Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart ; 
I'll come to you anon. 

2 Mur. We are resolv'd, my lord. 

Much. I'll call upon you straight ; abide within. 

It is concluded : Banquo, thy soul's fliglit. 

If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. [Exeimt. 

SCENE II.— The same. Another Room. 
Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant. 

Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court 1 

Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. 

Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend his leisure 
For a few words. 

Serv. Madam, I will. [Exit. 

Lady M. Nought's had, all's spent. 

Where our desire is got without content ; 
'Tis safer to be that which we destroy, 
Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy. 

Enter Macbeth. 

How now, my lord ? why do you keep alone, 
Of sorriest fancies your companions making 1 
Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died 
With them they think on? Things without remedy, 
Should be without regard: what's done, is done. 

Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it ; 
She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice 
Remains in danger of her former tooth. 
But let 

The frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer. 
Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep 
In the affliction of these terrible dreams. 
That shake us nightly : better be with the dead, 
Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace. 
Than on the torture of the mind to lie 
In restless ecstacy. Duncan is in his grave ; 
After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well ; 
Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poison. 
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing. 
Can touch him further ! 

Lady M. Come on ; 
Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks ; 
Be bright and jovial 'mong your guests to-night. 

Macb. So shall I, love ; and so, I pray, be you : 
Let your remembrance apply to Banquo ; 
Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue : 
Unsafe the while, that we 

Must lave our honours in these flattering streams ; 
And make our faces vizards to our hearts. 
Disguising what they are. 

Lady M. You must leave this. 

Macb. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife ! 
Thou know'st, that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. 

Lady M, But in them nature's copy's not eterne. 

Macb. There's comfort yet ; they are assailable ; 
Then be thou jocund : Ere the bat hath flown 
His cloister'd flight ; ere, to black Hecate's summons. 
The shard-borne beetle, with his drowsy hums, 
Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done 
A deed of dreadful note. 

Lady M. What's to be done 1 

Macb. Be innocentof the knowledge, dearestchuck. 
Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, 
Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day ; 
And, wilh thy bloody and invisible hand, 



1 Mur. 
3 Mur. 



Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond 
Which keeps m.e pale ! — Light thickens ; and the crow 
Makes wing to the rooky wood : 
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse ; 
Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse. 
Thou marvell'st at my words : but hold thee still ; 
Things bad begun, make strong themselves by ill : 
So, pr'ythee, go with me. lExeunt. 

SCENE III. — The same. A Park or Lawn, with 
a Gate leading to the Palace, 
Enter three Murderers. 
But who did bid thee join with us ? 

Macbeth. 

2M)(r. He needs notour mistrust; since he delivers 
Our oflices, and what we have to do, 
To the direction just. 

1 Mur. Then stand with us. 
The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day : 
Now spurs the lated traveller apace. 

To gain the timely inn ; and near approaches 
The subject of our watch. 

3 Mur. Hark ! I hear horses. 

Ban. [Within.'] Give us a light there, ho ! 

2 Mur. Then it is he ; the rest 
That are within the note of expectation. 

Already are i'the court. 

1 Mur. His horses go about. 

3 Mur. Almost a mile ; but he does usually. 
So all men do, from hence to the palace gate 
Make it their walk. 

Enter Banquo and Fleance, a Servant with a torch 
preceding them. 

2 Mur. A light, a light ! 

3 Mur. 'Tis he. 
1 Mur. Stand to't. 

Ban. It will be rain to-night. 
1 Mur. Let it come down. [Assaults Banquo. 
Ban. O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly ; 
Thou may'st revenge. — O slave ! 

[-Dies. Fleance and Servant escape. 
3 Mur. Who did stiike out the light? 

1 Mur. Was't not the way 1 
3 Mur. There's but one down ; the son is fled. 

2 Mur. We have lost best half of our affair. 

1 Mur. Well, let's away, and say how much is 
done. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV — A Rooyn of State in the Palace. 
A Banquet prepared. 

Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Rosse, Lenox, 
Lords, and Attendants. 

Macb. You know your own degrees, sit down: at first 
And last, the hearty welcome. 

Lords. Thanks to your majesty. 

Macb. Ourself will mingle with society, 
And play the humble host. 
Our hostess keeps her state ; but, in best time. 
We will require her welcome. 

Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all my friends j 
For my heart speaks they are welcome. 

Enter first Murderer, to the door. 
Macb. See, they encounter thee with their hearts 

thanks : 

Both sides are even : Here I'll sit i'the midst : 
Be large in mirth ; anon, we'll drink a measure 
The table round. — There's blood upon thy face. 
Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then. 
Macb. 'Tis better tiiee without, than he within. 
Is he despatch'd? 

X S 



324 



MACBETH. 



Mur. l\Iy lord, his throat is cut ; that T did for him, 
Macb. Thou art the best o'the cut throats : Yet he's 
That did the like for Fleance : if thou didst it, [good, 
Thou art the nonpareil. 

Mur. Most royal sir, 

Fleance is 'scap'd. [perfect ; 

Macb. Then comes my fit again : I had else been 
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock ; 
As broad, and general, as the casing air : 
But now, I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in 
To saucy doubts and fears. lUit Ikinquo 's safe ? 

Mur. Ay, my good lord : safe in a ditch he bides, 
With twenty trenched gashes on his head ; 
The least a death to nature. 

Macb. Thanks for that : 

There the grown serpent lies ; the worm, that's fled, 
Hath nature that in time will venom breed. 
No teeth for the present. — Get thee gone : to-morrow 
We '11 hear, ourselves again. [Exit IMurderer. 

Ladii M. My royal lord. 

You do not give the cheer ; the feast is sold. 
That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making, 
'Tis given with welcome : To feed, were best at home ; 
From thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony. 
Meeting were bare without it. 

Macb. Sweet remembrancer ! — 

Now, good digestion wait on appetite, 
And health on both ! 
Len. May it please your highness sit ? 

[^The Ghost of Banquo rises, and sits in 
IVIacueth's place. 
Macb. Here had we now our country's honourroof'd, 
Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present ; 
Who may I rather challenge for unkindness 
Than pity for mischance ! 

Rcsse. His absence, sir. 

Lap blame upon his promise. Please it your highness 
To grace us with your royal company ? 
Macb. The table 's full. 
Len, Here 's a place reserv'd, sir. • 

Macb. Where? 

Len. Here.mylord. What is't that moves yourhigh- 
Macb. Which of you have done this? [ness? 

Lords. What, my good lord ! 

Macb. Thou canst not say, I did it : never shake 
Thy gory locks at me. 

Rosse. Gentlemen, rise ; his highness is not well. 
Ladrj M. Sit, worthy friends ; — my lord is often thus. 
And hath been from his youth : 'pray you, keep seat ; 
The fit is momentary ; upon a thought 
He will again be well ; If much you note him. 
You shall offend him, and extend his passion ; 
Feed, and regard him not. — Are you a man ? . 

Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that 
W^hich might appal the devil. 

Lady M. proper stuff ! 

This is the very painting of your fear : 
This is the air-drawn dagger, which-, you said. 
Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and starts, 
(Impostors to true fear) would well become 
A woman's story, at a winter's fire, 
Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself! 
Why do you make such faces'? When all's done. 
You look but on a stool. [say you? 

Macb. Pr'ythee, see there! behold! look! lo! how 
Why, what care I ? If thou canst nod, speak too. — 
If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send 
Those that we bury, back, our monuments 
Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost disappears. 

Ladij M. What ! quite unmann'd in folly ? 

Macb. If I stand here, I saw him. 
Lady M. Fye, for shame ! 



Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden 
Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal ; [time, 
Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd 
Too terrible for the ear : the limes have been, 
Tiiat, when the brains were out, the man would die. 
And there an end : but now, they rise again, 
With twenty mortal nmrders on their crowns. 
And push us from our stools : This is more strange 
Than such a murder is. 

Lady M. My worthy lord. 

Your noble friends do lack you. 



Macb. 



I do forget : — 



Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends ; 
I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing 
To those that know me. Come, love and health to all ; 
Then I'll sit down : — Give me some wine, till full : — 
1 drink to the general joy of the whole table. 

Ghost rises. 

And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss ; 
Would he were here ! to all, and him, we thirst, 
.\nd all to all. 

Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. 

Macb. Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth hide 
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; [thefc ! 
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
Which thou dost glare with ! 

Lady M. Think of this, good peers, 

But as a thing of custom : 'tis no other ; 
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. 

Macb. What man dare, I dare : 
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear. 
The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger. 
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves 
Shall never tremble : Or, be alive again. 
And dare me to the desert with thy sword j 
If trembling I inhibit thee, protest me 
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow ! 

[Ghost disappears. 
Unreal mockery, hence ! — Why, so ; — being gone, 
I am a man again. — Pray you, sit still. 

Ladu M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the 
With most adniir'd disorder. [good meeting, 

Macb. Can such tilings be. 
And overcome us like a summer's cloud, 
Without our special wonder? You make me strange 
Even to the disposition that I owe. 
When now I think you can behold such sights. 
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks. 
When mine are blanch'd witli fear. 

Rosse. What sights, my lord? 

Lady M. I pray you, speak not ; he grows worse and 
Question enrages him: atonce, good night: — [worse; 
Stand not upon the order of your going. 
But go at once. 

Len. Good night, and better health 

Attend his majesty I 

Lady M. A kind good night to all ! 

[Eieunt Lords and Attendants. 

Macb. It will have blood ; they say, blood will have 
blood : 
Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak ; 
Augurs, and understood relations, have 
By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth 
The secret'st man of blood. — What is the night ? 

Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which is 
which. 

Maeb. Howsay'st thou, thatMacduff denies his per- 
At our great bidding ? [son, 

Ladij M. Did you send to him, sir ? 

Macb. I hear it by the way ; but I will send : 
There's not a one of them, but in his house 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



325 



r keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, I 

(Betimes I will,; unto the weird sisters : | 

More shaJ) they speak ; for now I am bent to know, 
by the worst means, the worst: for mine own good, 
All causes shall give way ; I am in blood 
Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more. 
Returning were as tedious as go o'er : 
Strange things I have in head, that will to hand ; 
Which must be acted, ere they may be scarin'd. 

lyidij M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. 

Much. Come, we'll to sleep: My strange and self- 
Is the initiate fear that wants hard use : — [abuse 
We are yet but young ia deed. \^Eieunt. 

SCENE v.— The Heath. Thunder, 
Enter Hecate, meeting the three Witches. 

1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate? you look angerly. 

Hec. Have 1 not reaiion, beldams as you are. 
Saucy, and over-bold 1 How did you dare 
To trade and traffic with Macbeth, 
In fiddles, and affairs of death ; 
And I, the mistress of your charms. 
The close contriver of all harms. 
Was never call'd to bear my J^art, 
Or shew the glory of our artl 
And, which is worse, all you have done, 
Hath been but for a wayward son, 
Spiteful, and wrathful ; who, as others do. 
Loves for his own ends, not for you. 
But make amends now : Get you gone, 
And at the pit of Acheron 
Meet me i' the morning ; thither he 
Will come to know his destiny. 
Your vessels, and your spells, provide. 
Your charms, and every thin^ beside : 
I am for the air ; this night I '11 spend 
Unto a dismal- fatal end. 
Great business must be wrought ere noon : 
Upon the corner of the moon 
There hangs a vaporous drop profound ; 
I '11 catch it ere it come to ground : 
And that, distiil'd by magic slights. 
Shall raise such artificial sprights. 
As, by the strength of their illusion. 
Shall draw him on to his confusion : 
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear 
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear : 
And you all know, security 
Is mortal's chiefest enemy. 

Song. [Within.^ Come away, come away, &c. 
Hark, I am call'd ; my little spirit, see. 
Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Eii(. 

1 Witch. Come, let's make haste: she'll soon be 
back again. lEieunt. 

SCENE VI. — Fores. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Lenox, and another Lord. 

Len ■ My former speeches have but hityour thoughts, 
Which can interpret further : only, I say, [can 

Things have been strangely borne : 'Ihe gracious Dun- 
^Vas pitied of Macbeth : — marry, he was dead : — 
And the right-valiant Banquo walked too late ; 
Whom, you may say, if it please you. I'leance kill'd, 
For Fleance tied. Men must not walk too late. 
Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous 
It was for Malcolm, and for Donalbain, 
To kill their gracious lather 1 damned fact! 
How It did grieve Macbeth 1 did he not straight. 
In pious rage, tlie two delinquents tear. 
That were tne slaves of drink, and thralls of sleep : 



Was not that nobly done ? Ay, and wisely too; 
For 'tv/ould have anger'd any heart alive, 
To hear the men deny it. So that, I say. 
He has borne all things well : and I do think, 
That, had he Duncan's son under his key, 
(As, an't please heaven, he shall not, ) they should find 
What 'twere to kill a father ; so should Fleance. 
But, peace! — for from broad words, and 'cause he fail'd 
His presence at the tyrant's feast, 1 hear, 
Macduff lives in disgrace : Sir, can you tell 
Where he bestows himself? 

Lord. The son of Duncan, 

From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, 
Lives in the English court ; and is receiv'd 
Of the most pious Edward with such grace, 
That the malevolence of fortune nothing 
Takes from his high respect : Thither MacduflF 
Is gone to pray the holy king, on his aid 
To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward: 
That, by the help of these, (with Him above 
To ratify the work,) we rnay again 
Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights ; 
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives ; 
Do faithful homage, and receive free honours. 
All which we pine for now : And this report 
Hath so exaisperate the king, tliat he 
Prepares for some attempt of war. 

l.en. Sent he to Macduff? 

Lord. He did : and with an absolute, Sir, not 1, 
The cloudy messenger turns me his back, 
And hums ; as who should say, You 'II rue the time 
That clogs me with thii antwer. 

l^n. And that well might 

Advise him to a caution, to hold v.hat distance 
His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel 
Fly to the court of England, and unfold 
His message ere he come ; that a swift blessing 
May soon return to this our suffering country 
Under a hand accurs'd ! 

Lord. My prayers with him ! [^Ereanl 



ACT IV. 



In the middle, a 
Thunder, 



SCENE I.— A dark Caie. 
Cauldron boiling. 

Enter the three Witches. 

1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 

2 Witch. Thrice ; and once the hedge-pig whin'd. 

3 Witch. Harper cries: — 'Tis time, 'tis time. 

1 Witch. Round about the cauldron go , 

In the poison'd entrails throw. 

Toad, that under coldest stone. 
Days and nights hast thirty-one ! 
Swelter'd venom sleeping got. 

Boil thou first i' the charmed pot! 
All. Double, double toil and trouble ; 
Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble. 

2 Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake, 
In the cauldron boil and bake : 
Eye of newt, and toe of frog. 
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog. 
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, 
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, 

For a charm of powerful trouble ; 
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 
All. Double, double toil and trouble ; 
Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble. 

3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf; 

Witches mummy ; maw, and gulf, 
Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark ; 



326 

Root of hemlock, digg'd i' the dark ; 

Liver of blaspheming Jew ■ 

Gall of goat, and slips of yew, 

Silver'd in the moon's eclipse ; 

Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lip's ; 

Finger of birth-strangled babe, 

Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, 

Make the gruel thick and slab : 

Add thereto a tiger's chaudron. 

For the ingredients of our cauldron. 
^//.Double, double toil and trouble; 

Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble. 
H Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood, 

Then the charm is firm and good. 

Enter Hecate, and the other three Witches. 
Hec. O, well done ! I commend your pains ; 
And every one shall share i' the gains. 
And now about the cauldron sing, 
Like elves and fairies in a ring. 
Enchanting all that you put in. 
SONG. — Black spirits and white 
Red spirits and grey ; 
Mingle, mingle, mingle, 
You that mingle mau. 
2 Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs. 
Something wicked this way comes : — 
Open, locks, whoever knocks. 

Enter Macbeth. 

Mach. How now, you secret, black, and midnight 
What is 't you do ? [hags ? 

^'^. A deed without a name. 

Macb. I c6njure you, by that which you profess, 
(Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me : 
Though you untie the winds, and let them fight 
Against the churches: though the yesty waves 
Confound and swallow navigation up ; 
Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees blown down ; 
Though castles topple on their warders' heads ; 
Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope 
Their heads to their foundations ; though the treasure 
Of nature's germins tumble all together. 
Even till destruction sicken, answer me 
To what I ask you. 

1 Witch. Speak. 

2 Witch. Demand. 

3 Witch. We'll answer. 

1 Witch. Say, if thou 'dst rather hear it from our 
Or from our masters' ? [mouths. 

Much. Call them, let me see them. 

1 Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten 
Her nine farrow ; grease, that's sweaten 
From the murderer's gibbet, throw 
Into the flame. 
All. Come, high, or low ; 

Thyself, and office, deftly show. 

Thunder. An Apparition of an armed Head rises. 

Mach. Tell me, thou unknown power, 

1 Wilch. He knows thy thought ; 

Hear his speech, but say thou nought. [dufT; 

App. Macbeth ! IMacbeth ! Macbeth! beware Mac- 
Beware the thane of Fife. — Dismiss me :— Enough. 

[^Descends. 

Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution 

thanks; [more: — 

Thou hast harp'd my fear aright : — But one word 

1 Witclt. He will not be commanded: Here's an- 

More potent than the first. [other, 

Thunder. An Apparition of a bloody Child rise.t. 
App. Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth !— 



MACBETH. 



Macb. Had I three ears, 1 *d hear thee. 

^pp. Be bloody, bold, 

And resolute ; laugh to scorn the power of man, 
For none of woman born shall hann JMacbetb. 

[Descends. 

Macb. Then live, Macduff; What need I fear of 
But yet I'll make assurance double sure, [thee ; 
And take a bond of fate : thou shalt not live ; 
That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, 
And sleep in spite of thunder. — What is this. 

Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned, with 
a Tree in his Hand, rises. 
That rises like the issue of a king ; 
And wears upon his baby brow the round 
And top of sovereignty t 

All. Listen, but speak not. 

App. Be lion-mettled, proud ; and take no care 
Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are : 
Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until 
Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill 
Shall come against him. [Descends. 

Macb. That will never be ; 

Who can impress the forest ; bid the tree 
Unfix his earth-bound root? sweet bodements ! good! 
Rebellious head, rise never, till the wood 
Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac'd Macbeth 
Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath 
To time, and mortal custom. — Yet my heart 
Throbs to know one thmg ; Tell me, (if your art 
Can tell so much,) shall Banquo's issue ever 
Reign in this kingdom ? 

All. Seek to know no more. 

Macb. I will be satisfied : deny me this, 
And an eternal curse fall on you ! Let me know : — 
Why sinks that cauldron ! and what noise is this ? 

[Hautboys. 
1 Witch. Show ! 2 Witch. Show ! 3 Witch. Show ! 

All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart ; 
Come like shadows, so depart. 

Eight Kings appear, and pass over the stage in order ; 
the last with a Glass in his Hand ; Ha'sqvo following. 

Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo ; down ! 
Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls : — And thy hair. 
Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first • — 
A third is like the former : — Filthy hags ! 
Why do you shew me this? — A fourth? — Start, eyes! 
What ! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom 1 
Another yet? — A seventh ? — I'll see no more : — 
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass. 
Which shews me many more ; and some I see. 
That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry : 
Horrible sight I — Ay, now, I see, 'tis true ; 
For the blood-bolted Banquo smiles upon me. 
And points at them for his. — What, is this so] 

1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so: — But why 
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly ? — 
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights. 
And shew the best of our delights ; 
1 '11 charm the air to give a sound, 
While you perform your antique round : 
That this great king may kindly say. 
Our duties did his welcome pay. 

[J\Ji(sic. The Witches dance, and vanish. 

Macb. W here are they ? G one ? — Let this pernicious 
Stand aye accursed in the calendar ! — [hour 

Come in, without there ! 

Enter Lenox. 

Len. What's your grace's will ! 

Macb. Saw you the weird sisters ? 

Len. No, my lord. 




MACBETH. 



Macbeth Thou art too like the epint of Banquo . down ! 
Thy crown does sere mine eye-balls. 

Jrt II', Xreue L. 



ACT IV.— SCENE III. 



327 



Macb. Came they not by you T 

Leu. No, indeed, my lord. 

Much. Infected be the air whereon they ride ; 
And diimn'd, all those that trust them! — I did hear 
The galloping of horse : Who was 't came by ? 

Leii. "I'is two or three, my lord, ihatbringyou word, 
Macduff is fled to Kngland. 

Mack. Fled to England t 

Lot. Ay, my good lord. 

Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits : 
The flighty purpose never is o'ertook, 
Unless the deed go with it : From this moment. 
The very firstlings of my heart shall be 
The firstlings of my hand. And even now, 
To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and 
The castle of Macduff I will surprise ; [done : 

Seize upon Fife ; give to the edge o' the sword 
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls 
That trace his line. No boasting like a fool • 
This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool: 
But no more sights ! — Where are these gentlemen'? 
Come, bring me where they aie. l^Eieunt. 

SCENE II.— Fife. A Room in ]Macdufl"s Castle. 
Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Rosse. 

Lady Macd. What had he done, to make him fly the 

Rosse. You must have patience, madam, [land ] 

L. Macd. He had none: 

His flight was madness : When our actions do not, 
Our fears do make us traitors. 

Basse. You know not. 

Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear. 

L. Macd. Wisdom ! to leave his wife, to leave his 
His mansion, and his titles, in a place [babes. 

From whence himself does fly 1 He loves us not ; 
He wants the natural touch : for the poor wren. 
The most diminutive of birds, will fight. 
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. 
All is the fear, and nothing is the love ; 
As little is the wisdom, where the flight 
So runs against all reason. 

Rosse. My dearest coz, 

I pray you, school yourself: But, for your husband. 
He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows 
The fits o' the season. 1 dare not speak much further : 
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors, 
And do not know ourselves ; when we hold rumour 
From what we fear ; yet know not what we fear ; 
But float upon a wild and violent sea. 
Each way, and move. — I take my leave of you : 
Shall not be long but 1 '11 be here again : 
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward 
To what they were before. — JMy pretty cousin, 
Blessing upon you ! 

L. Macd. Father'd he is, and y€t he 's fatherless. 

Rosse. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, 
It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort : 
I take my leave at once. [Exit Rosse. 

L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead ; 
And what will you do now 'i How will you live? 

Son. As birds do, mother. 

L. Maed. What, with wonns and flies ? 

Son. With what I get, I mean ; and so do they. 

L. Macd. Poor bird ! thou 'dst never fear the net. 
The pit-fall, nor the gin. [nor lime. 

Son. Why should 1, mother"! Poorbirds they are not 
My father is not dead, for all your saying, [set for. 

L. Macd. Yes, he is dead ; how wilt thou do for a 
father ? 

Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband? 

L. Msicd. W hy , 1 can buy me twenty at any market. 



Son, Then you '11 buy 'em to sell again. 

L. Macd. Thou speak 'st with all thy wit ; and yet 
With wit enough for thee. [i 'faith. 

Son. Was my father a traitor, mother? 

L. Macd. Ay, that he was. 

Son. What is a traitor ? 

L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies. 

Son. And be all traitors that do so ? 

L. Mucd. Every one that does so, is a traitor, and 
must be hanged. 

Son. And must they all be hanged that swear and lie ? 

L. Macd. Every one. 

Son. Who must hang them? 

L. Macd, Why, the honest men. 

Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools : for there 
are liars and swearers enough to beat the honest men, 
and hang up them. 

L. Macd. Now God help thee, poor monkey ! But 
how wilt thou do for a father ? 

Son. If he were dead, you 'd weep for him : if you 
would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly 
have a new father. 

L, Macd. Poor prattler ! how thou talkest. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Bless you, fairdame! I am not to you known, 
Though in your state of honour I am perfect. 
I doubt, some danger does approach you nearly : 
If you will take a homely man's advice, 
Be not found here ; hence, with your little ones. 
To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage ; 
To do worse to you, were fell cruelty, 
Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you ! 
I dare abide no longer. [Exit Messenger. 

L. Macd. Whither should I fly 1 
I have done no harm. But I remember now 
I am in this earthly world ; where, to do harm. 
Is often laudable ; to do good, sometime, 
Accounted dangerous folly : why then, alas ! 
Do I put up that womanly defence, faces? 

To say, I have done no harm? What are these 

Enter Murderers. 
Mur. W^here is your husband ? 
L. Macd. I hope, in no place, so unsanctified, 
Where such as thou may 'st find him. 

Mur. He 's a traitor. 

Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear 'd villain. 
Mur. What, you egg? [Stabbing him. 

Young fry of treachery ? 

Son, He has kill 'd me, mother : 

Run away, I pray you. [Dies. 

[Exit Lady Macduff, crying murder, 
and pursued by the murderers. 

SCENE III. — England. A RoomintheKing's Palace, 
Enter Malcolm and Macduff. 

Mai. Letusseekoutsome desolate shade, and there 
Weep our sad bosoms empty. 

Macd Let us rather 

Hold fast the mortal sword ; and, like good men, 
Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom : Each new morn, 
'!>:ew widows howl ; new orphans cry ; new sorrows 
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds, 
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out 
Like syllable ot dolour. 

Mai. What I believe, I '11 wail ; 

What know, believe ; and, what I can redress. 
As 1 shall find the time to friend, I will. 
What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance. 
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, 
Was once thought honest, you have lov'd him well ; 



328 



MACBETH. 



He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young.but something 
You may deserve of hiin through me ; and wisdom 
To offer up a weak, poor innocent lamb. 
To appease an angry God. 
Macd. I am not treacherous. 
Mai. But Rlacbeth is. 

A good and virtuous nature may recoil, 
In an imperial charge. But 'crave your pardon ; 
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose : 
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell : 
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, 
Yet grace must still look so. 

Macd. I have lost my hopes. 

Mai. Perchance, even there, where I did find my 
doubts. 
Why in that rawness left you wife, and child, 
(Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,) 
Without leave-taking 1 — I pray you. 
Let not my jealousies be your dishonours. 
Bu^ mine own safeties : — You may be rightly just, 
Whatever I shall think. 

Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country ! 

Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, [wrongs, 
For goodness dares not check thee ! wear thou thy 
Thy title is affeer'd. — Fare thee well, lord : 
I vvould not be the villain that thou think'st 
For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp, 
AnJ the rich East to boot. 

Mai. Be not offended : 

I speak not as in absolute fear of you. 
I think, our country sinks beneath the yoke ; 
It weeps, it bleeds : and each new day a gash 
Is added to her wounds : I think, withal. 
There would be hands uplifted in my right ; 
And here, from gracious England, have I offer 
Of goodly thousands ; But, for all this. 
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head. 
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country 
Shall have more vices than it had before ; 
More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever, 
By him that shall succeed. 

Macd. Wiiat should he be ? 

Mai. It is myself I mean : in whom I know 
All the particulars of vice so grafted, 
That, when they shall be open'd, black IMacbeth 
Will seem as pure as snow ; and tne poor state 
Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd 
With my confineless harms. 

Macd. Not in the legions 

Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd 
In evils, to top Macbeth. 

Mai. I grant him bloody, 

Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, 
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin 
That has a name : But there's no bottom, none. 
In my voluptuousness ; your wives, your daughters, 
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up 
The cistern of my lust ; and my desire 
All continent impediments would o'er-bear. 
That did oppose my will : Belter Macbeth, 
Than such a one to reign. 

Macd. Boundless intemperance 

In nature is a tyranny ; it hath been 
The untimely emptying of the happy throne, 
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet 
To take upon you what is yours : you may 
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty. 
And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood- wink. 
We have willing dames enough ; there cannot be 
That vulture in you, to devour so many 
As will to greatness dedicate themselves. 
Finding it so inclin'd. 



Mai. With this there grows. 

In my most ill-conipos'd affection, such 
A stanchless avarice, that, were I king, 
I should cut off the cobles for their lands ; 
Desire his jewels, and this other's house : 
And my more-having would be as a sauce 
To make me hunger more ; that I should foige 
Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal. 
Destroying them for wealth. 

Macd. This avarice 

Sticks deeper ; grows with more pernicious root 
Than summer- seeding lust ; and it hath been 
The sword of our slain kings : Yet do not fear ; 
Scotland hath foysons to fill up your will. 
Of your mere own : All these are portable. 
With other graces weigh'd. 

Mai. But I have none : The king- becoming graces, 
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness. 
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness. 
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, 
I have no relish of them ; but abound 
In the division of each several crime, 
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I sJsouId 
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell. 
Uproar the universal peace, confound 
All unity on earth. 

Macd. O Scotland ! Scotland ! 

Mai, If such a one befit to govern speak • 
I am as i have spoken. 

Macd. Fit to govern ! 

No, not to live. — O nation miserable. 
With an untitled tyrant, bloody-scepter'd, 
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again? 
Since that the truest issue of thy throne 
By his own interdiction stands accurs'd. 
And does blaspheme his breed ? — Thy royal father 
Was a most sainted king : the queen that bore the€, 
Oft'ner upon her knees than on her feet. 
Died every day she lived. Fare thee well ! 
These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself. 
Have banish'd me from Scotland. — O, my breast, 
Thy hope ends here ! 

Mai. Macduff, this noble passion, 

Child of integrity, hath from my soul 
Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thought.s 
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth 
By many of these trains hath sought to win me 
Into his power ; and modest wisdom plucks me 
From over-credulous haste : But God above 
Deal between thee and me ! for even now 
I put myself to thy direction, and 
Unspeak mine own detraction ; here abjure 
The taints and blames I laid upon myself. 
For strangers to my nature. I am yet 
Unknown to woman ; never was forsworn ; 
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own ; 
At no time broke my faith •, would not betray 
The devil to his fellow ; and delight 
No less in truth, than life : my first false speaking 
Was this upon myself: What I am truly. 
Is thine, and my poor country's, to command • 
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach. 
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men. 
All ready at a point, was setting forth : 
Now we '11 together ; And the chance, of goodness, 
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent ! 
Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at once, 
'Tis hard to reconcile. 

Enter a Doctor. 

Mai. Well ; more anon. — Comes the king forth, 1 
pray you 1 



ACT v.- -SCENE I. 



329 



Doct. Ay, sir . there are a crew of wretched souls, 
That stay his cure : their malady convinces 
The great assay of art ; but, at his touch, 
Such sanctity hath heaven given in his hand, 
They presently amend. 

Mat. I thank you, doctor. [Eiit Doctor. 

Macd. What's the disease he means? 

Mai. Tis call'd the evil : 

A most miraculous work in this good king : 
Which often, since my here-remain in England, 
I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, 
Himself best knows : but strangely-visited people, 
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, 
The mere despair of surgery, he cures ; 
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, 
Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken, 
To the succeeding royalty he leaves 
The healing benediction. With this strange virtue, 
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy ; 
And sundry blessings hang about his throne, 
That speak him full of grace. 

Enter Rosse. 

Macd. See, who comes here ? 

Mai. My countryman ; but yet I know him not 

Macd. My ever gentle cousin, welcome hither. 

Mai. I know him now : Good God, betimes remove 
The means that make us strangers ! 

Rosse. Sir, Amen. 

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did ? 

Rosse. Alas, poor country ; 

Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot 
Be call'd our mother, but our grave : where nothing. 
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile ; 
Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rent the air, 
Are made, not mark'd ; where violent sorrow seems 
A modern ecstacy ; the dead man's knell 
Is there scarce ask'd, for who ; and good men's lives 
Expire before the flowers in their caps. 
Dying, or ere they sicken. 

Macd. O, relation, 

Too nice, and yet too true ! 

Mai. What is the newest grief? 

Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker ; 
Each minute teems a new one. 

Macd. How does my wife 1 

Rosse. Why, well. 

Macd. And all my children 1 

Bnsse. Well too. 

Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace ? 

Rosse. No ; they were well at peace, when I did 
leave them. [it i 

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech ; How goes 

Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings. 
Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour 
Of many worthy fellows that were out ; 
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, 
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot : 
Now is the time of help ; your eye in Scotland 
Would create soldiers, make our women fight 
To doff their dire distresses. 

Mai. Be it their comfort, 

W'e are coming thither : gracious England hath 
Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men ; 
An older, and a better soldier, none 
That Christendom gives out. 

Rosse. 'Would I could answer 

This comfort with the like! But I have words. 
That would be howl'd out in the desert air, 
Where hearing should not latch them. 

Macd. What concern they 1 

The general canse 1 or is it a fee-grief, 



No mind, that's honest, 
though the main part 



Due to some single breast? 

Rosse. 
But in it shares some woe 
Pertains to you alone. 

Macd, If it be mine. 

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. 

-Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, 
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound. 
That ever yet they heard. 

Macd. Humph ! I guess at it. 

Rosse. Your castle is surpriz'd ; your wife, and 
Savagely slaughter'd : to relate the manner, [babes. 
Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer, 
To add the death of you. 

Mai, Merciful heaven ! — 

What, man ! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows ; 
Give sorrow words : the grief, that does not speak. 
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break. 

Macd. iMy children too ? 

Rosse, Wife, children, servants, all 

That could be found. 

Macd. And I must be from thence ! 

]My wife kill'd too ? 

Rosse. I have said. 

Mai, Be comforted : 

Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge. 
To cure this deadly grief. 

Macd. He has no ciiildren.— Ali my pretty ones ? 
Did you say, all ?— 0, hell-kite !— All 1 
What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam. 
At one fell swoop? 

Mai. Dispute it like a man. 

Macd, I shall do so ; 

But I must also feel it as a man : 
I cannot but remember such things were. 
That were most precious to me. — Did heaven look on, 
And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, 
They were all struck for thee ! naught that I am. 
Not for their own demerits, but for mine. 
Fell slaughter on their souls : Heaven rest them now ! 

Mai. Be this the whetstone of your sword : let grief 
Convert to anger ; blunt not the heart, enrage it. 

Macd. O, 1 could play the woman with mine eyes. 

And braggartwith my tongue ! But gentle heaven. 

Cut short all intermission ; front to front. 
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself; 
Within my sword's length set him ; if he 'scape. 
Heaven forgive him too ! 

Mai. This tune goes manly. 

Come, go we to the king ; our power is ready ; 
Our lack is nothing but our leave : Macbeth 
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above [may ; 
Put on their instruments. Beceive what cheer you 
The niglit is long, that never finds the day. [^Eieiint. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. 
Enter aDoctOT of Physic .and a icaitingGent]e\voma.n. 

Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but 
can perceive no truth in your report. When was it 
she last walked ? 

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have 
seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown 
upon her, unlock herc'oset, take forth paper, fold it, 
write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again 
return to bed ; yet all this while in a most fast sleep. 

Doct. A groat perturbation in nature ! to receive 
at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of 
watching. — In tins slumbry agitation, besides her 



3;^o 



MACBETH. 



walking and other actual performances, what, at any j 
time, have you heard her say "! I 

dent. That, sir, which 1 will not report after her. 

Doct. You may, to me; and 'tis most meet you 
should. 

Gent. Neither to you, nor any one ; having no 
witness to confirm my speech. 

Enter Lady Macbeth, uuth a taper, 

Lo you, here she comes ! This is her very guise ; and, 
upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her : stand close. 

Doct. How came she by that light 1 

Gent. Why, it stood by her : she has light by her 
continually ; 'tis her command. 

Doct, You see, her eyes are open. 

Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut. 

Doct. What is it she does now ; Look how she 
rubs her hands. 

Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem 
thus washing her hands ; 1 have known her continue 
in this a quarter of an hour. 

Lady M. Yet here's a spot. 

Doct. Hark, she speaks : I will set down what 
comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more 
strongly. 

Lady M. Out, damned spot ! out, I say ! — One ; 

Two: Why, then 'tis time to do't: Hell is 

murky! — Fye, my lord, fye 1 a soldier, and afeard? 
What need we fear who knows it, when none can call 
our power to account ! — Yet who would have thought 
the old man to have had so much blood in him ] 

Doct. Do you mark that l 

Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife ; Where 

is she now t What, will these hands ne'er be 

clean?— No more o'that, my lord, no more o'that : 
you mar all with this starting. 

Doct. Go to, go to ; you have known what you 
should not. 

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am 
sure of that : Heaven knows what she has known. 

Lady M. Here's tlie smell of the blood still: all 
the peifurac.s of .\rabia will not sweeten this little 
hand. Oh ! oh 1 oli ! 

Doct. What a sigh is there ! The heart is sorely 
charged. 

Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, 
for the dignity of the whole body. 

Doct. Well, well, well, — 

Gent. 'Pray God, it be, sir. 

Doct. This disease is beyond my practice : Yet I 
have known those which have walked in their sleep, 
who have died holily in their beds. 

Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night- 
gown ; look not so pale. — 1 tell you yet again, Ban- 
quo's buried ; he cannot come out of his grave. 

Doct. Even so 1 

Lady M. To bed, to bed ; there's knocking at the 
gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand ; 
What's done, cannot be undone ; To bed, to bed, to 
bed. [Eiit Lady MACUtrn. 

Doct. Will she go now to bed 1 

Gent. Directly. [deeds 

Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad : Unnatural 
Do breed unnatural troubles : Infected minds 
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. 
More needs she the divine, than the physician.— 
God, God, forgive us all ! Look after her ; 
Remove from her the means of all annoyance. 
And still keep eyes upon her : — So, good night : 
My mind she has mated, and amaz'd my sight : 
[ think, but dare not speak. 

Gent. Good night, good doctor. [Eieurit. 



SCENE II The Country near Dunsinane. 

Enter, with drum and colours, Menteth, Cathness, 
Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers. 

Meat. The English power is near, led on by Mal- 
His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff. [colm, 

Revenges burn in them : for their dear causes 
Would, to the bleeding, and the grim alarm. 
Excite the mortified man. 

A }ig. Near Birnam wood 

Shall Me well meet them ; that way are they coming. 

Cath. Who, knows, if Donalbain be with hisbro- 

Len. For certain, sir, he is not : 1 have a file [therl 
Of all the gentry ; there is Siward's son, 
And many unrough youths, that even now 
Protest their first of manhood. 

Ment. What does the tyrant! 

Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies : 
Some say he's mad ; others, that lesser hate him. 
Do call it valiant fury: but, for certain. 
He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause 
Within the belt of rule. 

Ang. Now does he feel 

His secret murders sticking on his hands ; 
Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith -breach; 
Those he commands, move only in command, 
Nothing in love : now does he feel his title 
Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe 
Upon a dwarfish thief. 

Ment. Who then shall blame 

His pester'd senses to recoil, and start. 
When all that is within him does condemn 
Itself, lor being there 1 

Cath. Well, march we on, 

To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd : 
Meet we the medicin of the sickly weal : 
And with him pour we, in our country's purge, 
Each drop of us. 

Len. Or so much as it needs. 

To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds. 
Make we our march towards Birnam. [En, marching- 

SCENE III. — Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. 
Eiitei- Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. 
Mach. Bring me no more reports ; let them fly all ; 
Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, 
I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm ! 
Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know 
All mortal consequents pronounc'd me thus : 
Fear not, Macbeth; no man, that's born of woman, 
Shall e'er have jwwer on thee. Then fly, false thanes. 
And mingle with the English epicures : 
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear. 
Shall never sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear. 

Enter a Servant. 

The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon. 
Where got'st thou that goose look l 

Serv. There is ten thousand ■ 

Macb, Geese, villain? 

Serv. Soldiers, sir. 

Macb. Go, prick thy face, and ever-red thy fear. 
Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch ? 
Death of thy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine 
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face ? 

Serv, The English force, so please you. 

Macb. Take thy face hence.— Seyton! — I am sick at 
When I behold— Seyton, I say ! — This push [heart 
Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now. 
I have liv'd long enough : my way of life 
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf : 
And that which should accompany old age, 



ACT v.— SCENE V. 



331 



As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
I must not look to have ; but, in their stead, 
Curses not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath, 
Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not. 

Seyton ! 

Enter Sevton. 

Sey. What is your gracious pleasure? 

Macb. What news more? 

Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported. 

Macb.VW fight, till from my bones my flesh be hack'd. 
Give me my armour. 

Sey. 'Tis not needed yet. 

Macb. I'll put it on. 
Send out more horses, skirr the country round ; 
Hang those that talk of fear. — Give me mine armour, — 
Hovv does your patient, doctor ? 

Doct. Not so sick, my lord, 

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, 
That keep her from her rest. 

Much. Cure her of that : 

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd ; 
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; 
Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; 
And, with some sweet oblivious antidote. 
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff. 
Which weighs upon the heart ? 

Doct. Therein the patient 

Must minister to himself. 

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it. — 
Come, put mine armour on ; give me my staff: — 
Seyton, send out. — Doctor, the thanes fly from me : — 
Come, sir, despatch: — If thou could'st, doctor, cast 
The water of my land, find her disease, 
And purge it to a sound and pristine health, 
I would applaud thee to the very echo. 
That should applaud again. — Pull't off, I say. — 
What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, [them? 
Would scour these English hence 1 Ilearest thou of 
Doct. Ay, my good lord ; your royal preparation 
Makes us hear something. 

Macb. Bring it after me. 

I will not be afraid of death and bane. 

Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. [Exit, 

Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear. 
Profit again should hardly draw me here. [Exit. 

SCENE IV. 
Countvy near Dunsinane : A Wood in view. 

Enter, with drums and colours, Malcolm, old Siward, 
aiid his Son, Macduff, Menteth, Cathness, An- 
gus, Lenox, Rosse, and Soldiers, marching. 
Mai. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand, 

That chambers will be safe. 

Ment. We doubt it nothing. 

Siw. What wood is this before us 1 
Ment. The wood of Birnam. 

Mai. Let every soldier hew him down a bough. 

And bear't before him ; thereby shall we shadow 

I'he numbers of our host, and make discovery 

Err in report of us. 

.S()/(/. It shall be done. 

Siw. We learn no other, but tlie confident tyrant 

Keeps slill in Dunsinane, and will endure 

Our setting down before't. 

Mill. 'Tis his main hope : 

For where there is advantage to be given. 

Both more and less have given him the revolt ; 

And none serve with him but constrained things. 

Whose hearts are absent too. 

Miicd. Let our just censures 



Attend the true event, and put we on 
Industrious soldiership. 

S"i'. The time approaches, 

That will with due decision make us know 
What we shall say we have, and what we owe. 
Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate ; 
But certain issue strokes must arbitrate: 
Towards which, advance the war. [Exeunt, marching. 

SCENE v.— Dunsinane. Within the Castle. 

Enter, with drums and colours, Macbeth, Seyton, 
and Soldiers. 

Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward walls ; 
The cry is still, Tliey come : Our castle's strength 
Will laugh a siege to scorn : here let them lie. 
Till famine, and the ague, eat them up ; 
Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours. 
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, 
And beat them backward home. What is that noise? 

[A cry within, of women. 

Sey, It is the cry of women, my good lord. 

Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears : 
The time has been, my senses would have cool'd 
To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair 
Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir 
As life were in't: I have supp'd full with honors ; 
Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts. 
Cannot once start me. — Wherefore was that cry ? 

Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead. 

Mac. She should have died hereafter ; 
There would have been a time for such a word. — 
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow 
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day. 
To the last syllable of recorded time ; 
And all our j'esterdays have lighted fools 
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle ' 
Life's but a walking shadow ; a poor player. 
That struts and frets his hour upon the stao-e. 
And then is heard no more : it is a tale 
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
Signifying nothing 

Enter a Messenger. 

Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly. 

Mess. Gracious my lord, 
I shall report that which I say I saw. 
But know not how to do it. 

Macb. Well, say, sir. 

Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, 
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought. 
The wood began to move. 

Macb. Liar, and slave ! [Striking him. 

Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if 't be not so ; 
Within this three mile may you see it coming ; 
I say, a moving grove. 

Macb, If thou speak'st false, 

Upon the next tree shah thou hang alive, 
Till famine cling thee : if thy speech be sooth, 
I care not if thou dost for me as much. — 
I pull in resolution ; and begin 
To doubt the equivocation of the fiend, 
'i'hat lies like truth : Fear not, till Birnam wood 
Do come to Dunsinane ; — and now a wood 
Comes toward Dunsinane. — Arm, arm, and out! — 
If this, which he avouches, does appear. 
There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here. 
I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun. 

And wish the estate o'the world were now undone 

Ring the alarum bell : -Blow wind ! coine, wrack ! 
At least we'll die with harness on our back, f Exeunt, 



332 



MACBETH. 



SCENE VI. — The same. A Plain before the Castle. 

Enter, with drums and colours, Malcolm, oW Siwahd, 
Macduff, &;c. and their Army, viith boughs. 

Mai. Now, near enough ; your leavy screens throw 
down, 
And shew like those you are : — You, worthy uncle, 
Shall with my cousin, your right-noble son, 
Lead our first battle : worthy Macduff, and we, 
Shall take upon us what else remains to do, 
According to our order. 

■Siw. Fare you well. — 

Do we but find the tyrant's power to night. 
Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight. [breath, 

Macd. Make all our trumpets speak ; give them all 
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. 

l^Exeuut. Atarumx continued. 

SCENE Vll. — The sume. Another jmrt of the Plain. 

Enter Macbeth. 

Much. They have tied me to a stake ; I cannot fly. 
But, bear-like, I must fight the course. — What's he, 
That was not born of woman t Such a one 
Am I to fear, or none. 

Enter young Siward. 

Yp. Siw. What is thy name? 

Macb. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it. 

Yo. Siw. No; though thou calj'st thyself a hotter 
Than any is in hell. [name 

Macb. My name's Macbeth. 

Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a 
More hateful to mine ear. [title 

Macb. No, nor more fearful. 

Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant ; with my sword 
I'll prove the lie thou speak'st. 

[They fight, and young Siward is slain. 

Macb. Thou wast born of woman. — 

But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, 
Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. [Exit. 

Alarums. Ejtter Macduff. 
Macd. That way the noise is : Tyrant, shew thy face : 
If thoa be.'st slain, and with no stroke of mine, 
JMy wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still. 
I cannot strike at wretched kernes, whose arms 
Are iiir'd to bear their staves ; either thou, Macbeth, 
Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge, 
I sheathe again undeeded. There thou should'st be ; 
By this great clatter, one of greatest note 
Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune ! 
And more I beg not. [Exit. Alarum. 

Enter Malcolm and old Siward. 

Situ. Thisway, my lord ; the castle's gently render'd : 
The tyrant's people on both sides do fight: 
The noble thanes do bravely in the war ; 
The day almost itself professes yours. 
And little is to do. 

Mai. We have met with foes 

That strike beside us. 

Siw. Enter, sir, the castle. [Exeunt. Alarum. 

Tie-enter Macbeth. 
Mach. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die 
On mine own sword ] whiles I see lives, the gashes 
Do better upon them. 

Re-enter Macih'ff. 

Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn. 

Macb. Of all men else 1 have avoided thee : 
But get thee bacjt, my soul is too much charg'd 
With blood of thine already. 



Macd. I have no words, 

My voice is in my sword ; thou bloodiei villain 
Than terms can give thee out ! [They fight 

Macb. Thou losest labour 

As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air 
W'itli thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed ; 
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests ; 
I bear a charmed life which must not yield 
To one of woman born. 

Macd. Despair thy charm ; 

And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd. 
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb 
Untimely ripp'd. 

Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so. 
For it hath cow'd my better part of man ! 
And be these juggling fiends no more bellev'd, 
Tiiat palter with us in a double sense ; 
That keep the word of promise to our ear, 
And break it to our hope. — I'll not fight with thee. 

Macd. Then yield thee, coward. 
And live to be the show and gaze o'the time. 
We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are, 
Painted upon a pole ; and underwrit. 
Here may you see the tyrant. 

Macb. I'll not yield, 

To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, 
And to be baited with the rabble's curse. 
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, 
And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born. 
Yet I will try the last: Before my body 
I throw my warlike shield : lay on, Macduff; 
And damn'd be him that first cries. Hold, enough. 

[Eieunt, fighting. 

Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter with di-nm and colours, 
Malcolm, old Siward, Rosse, Lenox, Angus, 
Cathness, Men'i;eth, and Soldiers. 

Mai. I would, the friends we mi^s were safe arriv'd. 

Siw. Some must go off; and yet, by these I see. 
So great a day as this is cheaply bought. 

Mai. Macduff is missing, and your noble son. 

Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt: 
He only liv'd bi/l till he was a man ; 
The which no sooner had his powers confirm'd 
In the unshrinking station where he fought, 
But like a man he died. 

Siw. Then he is dead 1 [sorrow 

Rnsse. Ay, and brought off the field : your case of 
Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then 
It hath no end. 

Siw. Had he his hurts before 1 

Rosse. Ay, on the front. 

Siw. W'hy, then, God's soldier be he ! 

Had I as many sons as 1 have hairs, 
I would not wish them to a fairer death : 
And so his knell is knoU'd. 

Mai. He 's worth more sorrow. 

And tliat I '11 spend for him. 

Siw. He 's worth no more , 

They say, lie parted well, and paid his score : 
So, God be with him ! — Here comes newer comfort. 

Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth's head on a pole. 

Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art : Behold, where 
The usurper's cursed head : the time is free : [stands 
I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl, 
That speak my salutation in their minds ; 
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine, — 
Hail, king of Scotland ! 

All.' King of Scotland, hail ! [Flourish. 

Mai. We shall not spend a large expence of time. 



ACT v.— SCENE VII. 



.333 



Before we reckon with your several loves, 
And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen. 
Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland 
In such an honour nara'd. What's more to do, 
Which would be planted newly with the time, — 
As calling home our exil'd friends abroad. 
That fled the snares of watchful tyranny ; 
Producing forth the cruel ministers 



Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen : 
Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands 
Took off her life ; — This, and what needful else 
That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, 
We will perform in measure, time, and place : 
So thanks to all at once, and to each one. 
Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone. 

[^Flourhh, Exeunt. 



This play is deservedly celebrated for the propriety of its 
fictiuiis, auU solemnity, grandeur, ai/d variety of us action ; but 
it has no nice discriminations of character: the events are too 
great to admit the intluence of particular dispositions, and the 
course ot the action necessarily determines the conduct of the 
agents. 

Ihe danger of ambition is well described; and I know not 



■whether it may not be said, in defence of some parts which now 
seem improbable, that, in Shakspeare's time, it was necessary 
to warn credulity against vain and illusive predictions. 

1 he passions are directed to their true end. Lady .Macbeth 
IS merely detested; and though the courage of Macbeth pre- 
serves some esteem, yet every reader rejoices at his fall.— 
Johnson. 



KING JOHN. 



This play appears to have been written in 1596, but was not 
published till l(i23. It was founded on the old play called 
J'/te troublesome leign of King JoAn, which was printed in 15yi, 
and is attributed by Pope, though be Joes not state his au- 
thority, to the joint efforts of Mhakspeare and Uowley. — The 
elder play was twice iiublished with the initials of Shakspeare 
on the title page. Shakspeare has preserved the greatest part 
of the conduct of it, as well as some of the lines. The num- 
ber of quotations from Horace, and similar scraps of learning 
scattered over this piece, ascertain it to have been the work of 
a scholar. It contains likewise a quantity of rhyming Latin, 
and ballad-metre; and in a scene where the Baatard is repre- 



sented as plundering a monastery, there are strokes of humour, 
which seem, from their particular turn, to have been most 
evidently produced by another hand than that of oar author. 

Ul this historical drama there is a subsequent edition in 1611, 
printed for John Helme, whose name appears before none of 
the genuine pieces of .Shakspeare. Mr. Steevens admitted 
this play as our author's own, among the twenty which he 
published from the old editions : he afterwards, perhaps with- 
out sufficient grounds, receded from that opinion. 

The action ot the present tragedy occupies a space of about 
seventeen years; beginning at the thirty-fourth year of King 
John s life. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Kino John. 

Prince Henry, his son ; afterwards King Henry III. 

Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, son of Geffrey, late Duke 

of Bretagne, tlie elder brother of King John. 
William Mareshall, Earl n/' Pembroke. 
Geffrey Fitz-Pf.ter, Earl <)/' Essex, chief justiciary 

of England. 
William LoNGS\vonD, Earl of Salisbury. 
Robert Bigot, Earl of Norfolk. 
Hubert de Burgh, chamberlain to the King. 
Robert Faulconbridge, son q/' Sir Robert Faulcon- 

bridge. 
Philip Faui.conbridoe, his half-brother, bastard son 

to King Richard the First. 
James Gurney, servant to Lady Faulconbridge. 
Peter of Pomfret, a propliet. 
Philip, King of France. 
Lewis, the Dauphin. 
Archduke of Austria. 
Cardinal Paxdvlph, the Pojtes legate. 
Melun, a French lord. 
Chatillon, ambassador from France to King John. 

Elinor, the widoic of King Henry II., and mother if 

King .lohn. 
Constance, mother to Arthur. 
Blanch, daughter to Alphonso, King of C&stWe, and 

niece to King John. 
Lady Faulconbridge, mother to the Bastard and 

Robert Faulconbridge. 

Lords, Ladies, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, 
Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendanls. 

SCENE, — sometimes in England, and 
sometimes iu France. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. 

Northampton.— yl Room of State in the Palace. 

Enter King John, Queen Elinor, Pembroke, Essex, 
S.ALisBUBv, and others, with Chatillon. 

King John. Now, say, CIiatilion,what would France 
with us 1 

Chat. Thus,, after greeting, speaks the king of France, 
In my behaviour, to the majesty. 
The borrow'd majesty of lingland here. 

Eli. A strange beginning ;— borrow'd majesty! 

A'. John. Silence, good mother; hear the embassy. 

Chat. Philip of France, in right and true behalf 
Of thy deceased brotlier Geffrey's son, 
Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful'claiir. 
To this fair island, and" the territories ; 
To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine- 
Desiring thee to lay aside the sword. 
Which sways usurpingly these several titles ; 
And put the same into young Arthur's hand, 
Thy nephew and right royal sovereign. 

K.John. What follows, if we disallow of this? 

Chat. The prcmd controul of fierce and bloody war 
To enforce these rights so forcibly withlield. [blood,' 

K.John. Here have we war for war, and blood for 
Contiolment for controlment : so answer France. 

Chat. Tlien take my king's defiance from my mouth. 
The furthest limit of my embassy. 

K. John. Bearmine to him, and so depart in peace : 
Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France ; 
For ere thou canst report I will be there, 
The thunder of my cannon shall bo heaid : 
So, hence ! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath. 

And sudden presage of your own decay, 

An honourable conduct let him have :— 



334 



KING JOHN. 



Pembroke, look to't : Farewell, Chatillon. 

\_E.teu7^t Chatim.on and PEMnnoKE. 

Eli. 'What now, my son ! have I not ever said, 
How that ambitious Constance would not cease, 
Till she had kindled France, and all the world, 
Upon the right and party of her son? 
This might have been prevented, and made whole, 
With very easy arguments of love ; 
Which now the manage of two kingdoms must 
With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. 

A'. John. Our strong possession, and our right, for us. 

Eli. Your strong possession, much more than your 
Or else it must go wrong with you, and me : [right ; 
So much my conscience whispers in your ear ; 
Which none but heaven, and you, and I, shall hear. 

Enter the Sheriff*)/" Northamptonshire, who 
whispers Essex. 
Essex. My liege, here is the strangest controversy. 
Come from the country to be judged by you. 
That e'er I heard : Shall I produce the men I 

A'. John, Let them approach. — [L'ajt Sheriff. 
Our abbies, and our priories, shall pay 

Re-enter Sheriff, xcith Robert Faulconbridge, and 

Philip, his bastard Brother. 
This expedition's charge. — What men are you? 

Bast. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman, 
Born in Northamptonshire ; and eldest son, 
As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge ; 
A soldier, by the honour-giving hand 
Of Coeurde-lion knighted in the field. 

K. John. What art thoul 

Rob. The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge. 

K. John. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir"! 
You came not of one mother then, it seems. 

Bast. Most certain of one mother, mighty king, 
That is well known : and, as I think, one father : 
But, for the certain knowledge of that truth, 
1 put you o 'er to heaven, and to my mother ; 
Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. 

Eli. Out on thee, rude man ! thou dost shame thy 
And wound her honour with this diffidence, [mother, 

Bast. I, madam "• no, I have no reason for it ; 
That is my brother's plea, and none of mine ; 
The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out 
At least from fair five hundred pound a- year : 
Heaven guard my mother's honour, and my land ! 

K. John. A good blunt fellow: — Why,being younger 
Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance ? [born, 

Bast. I know not why, except to get the land. 
But once he slander 'd me with bastardy: 
But whe'r I be as true begot, or no. 
That still I lay upon my mother's head; 
But, that I am as well begot, my liege, 
(Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me I) 
Compare our faces, and be judge yourself. 
If old sir Robert did beget us both, 
And were our father, and this son like him ; — 

old sir Robert, father, on my knee 

1 give heaven thanks, I was not like to thee. 

A'. Johji. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us 

Eli. He hath a trick of Coeur-de- lion's face, [here! 
The accent of his tongue affecteth him : 
Do you not read some tokens of my son 
In the large composition of this man 1 

A. Johti. ]\Iine eye hath well examined his parts. 

And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak. 

What doth move you to claim your brother's land"! 

Bast. Because he hath a half-face, like my father ; 
With that half-face would he have all my land : 
A half-faced groat five hundred pound a-year ! 

Rub My gracious liege, when that my father liv'd, 



Your brother did employ my father much ; — 

Bast. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land: 
Your tale must be, how he employ'd my mother. 

Rob. And once despatch'd him in an embassy 
To Gennany, there, with the emperor. 
To treat of high affairs touching that time : 
The advantage of his absence took the king, 
And in the mean time sojourn'd at my fatl>«r's ; 
Where how he did prevail, I shame to speak : 
But truth is truth ; large lengths of seas and shores 
Between my father and my mother lay, 
(As I have heard my father speak himself,) 
When this same lusty gentleman was got. 
Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd 
His lands to me ; and took, it, on his death. 
That this, my mother's son, was none of his ; 
And, if he were, he came into tlie world 
Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. 
Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, 
My father's land, as was my father's will. 

A. John. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate ; 
Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him : 
And, if she did play false, the fault was her's ; 
Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands 
That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother. 
Who, as you say, took pains to get this son. 
Had of your father claim'd this son for his ? 
In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept 
This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world ; 
In sooth, he might : then, if he were my brother's. 
My brother might not claim him ; nor your father. 
Being none of his, refuse him : This concludes, — 
My mother's son did get your father's heir ; 
Your father's heir must have your father's land. 

Rob. Shall then my father's will be of no force, 
To dispossess that child which is not his? 

Bast. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, 
Than was his will to get me, as I think. 

Eli. Whether hadst thou rather, — be a Faulcon- 
And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land ; [bridge, 
Or the reputed son of Cceur-de-lion, 
Lord of thy presence, and no land beside ? 

Bast. Madam, an if my brother had my shape, 
And I had his, sir Robert his, like him ; 
And if my legs were two such riding-rods. 
My arms such eelskins stuffd ; my face so thin. 
That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose. 
Lest men should say , Look , where three-farthings goes' 
And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, 
'Would I might never stir from off this place, 
I'd give it every foot to have this face ; 
I would not be sir Nob in any case. 

Eli. I like thee well; Wilt thou forsake thy fortune. 
Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me? 
I am a soldier, and now bound to France. 

Bast. Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance. 
Your face hath got five hundred pounds a-year; 
Yet sell your face for five pence, and 'tis dear. — 
Madam, I'll follow you unto the death. 

Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me thither. 

Bast. Our country manners give our betters way. 

A". John. What is thy name? 

Bast. Philip, my liege ; so is my name begun; 
Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son. 

A'. John. From henceforth bear his name whose form 
thou bear'st : 
Kneel thou down Philip, but arise more great ; 
Arise, sir Richard, and Plantagenet. [hand ; 

Bast. Brother, by the mother's side, give me your 
My father gave me honour, yours gave land : — 
Now blessed be the hour, by night or day. 
When I was got, sir Robert was away. 



ACT II.- SCENE I. 



335 



Eli. The very spirit of Plantagenet!^ 
I am thy grandame, Richard ; call me so. 

Bast. Aladam, by chance, but not by truth: What 
Something about, a little from the right, [though ! 

In at the window, or else o'er the hatch ; 
Who dares not stir by day, must walk by night; 

And have his have, however men do catch 
Near or far oH', well won is still well shot ; 
And I am I, howe'er I was begot. [sire, 

K.John. Go,Faulconbridge ; now hast thou thyde- 
A landless knight makes thee a landed 'squire. — 
Come, madam, and come, llichard ; we must speed 
For France, for France ; for it is more than need. 

BasL. Brother, adieu ; Good fortune come to thee! 
For thou wast got i' the way of honesty. 

[Eieuut all but the Bastard. 
A foot of honour better than I was ; 
But many a foot of hind the worse. 

Well, now can I make any Joan a lady : 

Good den, sir Uichard, — God-a-merc\i , felUnu : — 
And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter : 
For new-made honour doth forget men's names ; 
Tis too respective, and too sociable. 
For your conversion. Now your traveller, — 
He and his tooth -pick at my worship's mess ; 
And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd. 
Why then I suck my teeth, and catechise 

My picked man of countries: Miy dear sir, 

(Thus, leaning on my elbow, I begin,) 
/ shall beseech you, — That is question now; 
And then comes answer like an ABC-book: — 
0, sir, says answer, at your best command; 

At your employment ; at your service, sir : 

No, sir, says question, /, sweet sir, at yours : 

And so, ere answer knows what question would, 

(Saving in dialogue of compliment ; 

And talking of the Alps and Apennines, 

The Pyrenean, and the river Po,) 

It draws toward supper in conclusion so. 

But this is worshipful society, 

And fits the mounting spirit, like myself : 

For he is but a bastard to the time, 

Who doth not smack of observation ; 

(And so am I, whether I smack, or no ;) 

And not alone in habit and device, 

F>xterior form, outward accoutrement ; 

But from the inward motion to deliver 

Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth . 

Which, though I will not practise to deceive. 

Yet to avoid deceit, I mean to learn ; 

For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. — 

But who comes in such haste, in riding robes 1 

What woman-post is this ] hath she no husband, 

That will take pains to blow a horn before hert 

Enter Lady Faitlconbridge, and James Guuney. 

O me ! it is my mother : —How now, good lady 1 
What brings you here to court so hastily? 

Lady F. Whereisthatslave, thy brother? where is 
That holds in chase mine honour up and down? [he? 

Bast. iMy brother Robert ? old sir Robert's son? 
Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man ? 
Is it sir Robert's son, that you seek so? 

Lady F. Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy. 
Sir Robert's son: Why scorn 'st thou at sir Robert? 
He is sir Robert's son? and so art thou. 

Bast. J ames G urney , wilt thou give us leave awhile ? 

Our. Good leave, good Philip. 

Bast. Philip? — sparrow! — James, 

There 's toys abroad ; anon I '11 tell thee more. 

[Exit GunNEY. 
Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son ; 



Sir Robert might have eat his part in me 

Upon Good-friday, and ne'er broke his fast: 

Sir Robert could do wpU ; Marry (to confess !) 

Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it ; 

We know his handy-work ; — Therefore, good mother, 

To whom am I beholden for these limbs I 

Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. 

Lady F. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too, 
Thatforthineowngainshould'stdefend mine honour? 
What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave? 

B«sf. Knight, knight, goodmother, — Basilisco-like: 
What ! I am dubb 'd ; 1 have it on my shoulder. 
But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son ; 
I have disclaim 'd sir Robert, and my land ; 
Legitimation, name, and all is gone : 
Then, good my mother, let me know my father ; 
Some proper man, 1 hope ; Who was it, mother? 

Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridffe? 

Bast. As fuilhfully as I deny the devil. 

Lady F. KingRichardCoeur-de-lion wasthy father: 
By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd 

To make room for him in my husband's bed : 

Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge ! — ■ 

Thou art the issue of my dear offence, 

Which was so strongly urg'd, past my defence. 

Bast. j\ow, by this light, were 1 to get again. 
Madam, 1 would not wish a better father. 
Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, 
And so doth yours : your fault was not your folly : 
Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, — 
Subjected tribute to commanding love, — 
Against whose fury and unmatched force 
The aweless lion could not wage the fi^ht. 
Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's lianJ. 
He, that perforce robs lions of their hearts. 
May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother. 
With all my heart I thank thee for my father ! 
VVho lives and dares but say, thou did'st not well 
\\ hen 1 was got, I'll send his soul to hell. 
Come lady, 1 will shew thee to my kin ; 

And they shall say, when Richard me begot, 
If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin : 

Who says it was, he lies ; I say, 'twas not. lExeunt. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — France. Before the Walls of Anglers. 

Enter on one side, the Archduke of Austria, and 
Forces : on the other, Philip, King p/ France, and 
Forces ; Lewis, Constance, Arthur, and At- 
tendants. 

Lew. Before Anglers well met, brave Austria. — 
Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood, 
Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart, 
And fought the holy wars in Palestine, 
By this brave duke came early to his grave: 
And, for amends to his posterity, 
At our importance hither is he come, 
To spread his colours, boy, in thy beiialf ; 
And to rebuke the usurpation 
Of thy unnatural uncle, English John : 
Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. 
^ Arth. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death. 
The rather, that you give his off'spring life, 
Shadowing their right under your wings of war: 
I give you welcome with a powerless hand. 
But with a heart full of unstained love: 
Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke. 

Leu\ A noble boy ' Who would not do thee right 1 



336 



KING JOHN. 



Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, 
As seal to this indenture of my love ; 
That to my home I will no more return, 
Till Anglers, and the right thou hast in France, 
Together with that pale, that wliite-fac'd shore. 
Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides. 
And coops from other lands her islanders. 
Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main, 
That water-walled bulwark, still secure 
And confident from foieign purposes. 
Even till that utmost corner of the west 
Salute thee for her king : till then, fair boy, 
Will I not think of home, but follow arms. 

Coast. 0, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks, 
Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength. 
To make a more requital to your love. 

Aust. The peace of heaven is theirs, that lift their 
In such a just and charitable war. [swords 

A'. Fill. Well tlien, to work ; our cannon shall be 

Against the brows of this resisting town. [bent 

Call for our chiefest men of discipline. 
To cull the plots of best advantages : — 
We'll lay before this town our royal bones, 
Wade to the market place in Frenchmen's blood. 
But we will make it subject to this boy. 

Cojist. Stay for an answer to your embassy. 
Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood : 
My lord Chatillon may from England bring 
That right in peace, which here we urge in war ; 
And then we shall repent each drop of blood. 
That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. 

Enter Chatillon. 

K, Phi. A wonder, lady! — lo, upon thy wish, 
Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd. — 
What England says, say briefly, gentle lord. 
We coolly pause for thee ; Chatillon, speak. 

Cliat. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege, 
And stir them up agiiinst a mightier task. 
England, impatient i>f your just demands, 
Hath put himself in arms ; the adverse winds, 
^Vhose leisure I have staid, have given him time 
To land his legions all as soon as I : 
His marches are expedient to this town. 
His forces strong, his soldiers confident. 
\\'ith him along is come the mother-queen, 
An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife ; 
With her her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain : 
With them a bastard of the king deceased : 
And all the unsettled humours of the land, — 
Rash, inconsiderate, fiery, voluntaries. 
With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens, — 
Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, 
Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, 
To make a hazard of new fortunes here. 
In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits, 
Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er. 
Did never float upon the swelling tide. 
To do oflfence and scath in Christendom. 
The interruption of their churlish drums \_Drums beat. 
Cuts off more circumstance : they are at hand. 
To parley, or to fight ; therefore, prepare. 

A'. Phi. How much unlook'd-for is this expedition ! 

Aust. By how much unexpected, by so much 
We must awake endeavour for defence ; 
For courage mounteth with occasion : 
Let them be welcome then, we are prepar'd. 

Enter KivG John, Elinor, Blanch, the Bastard, 
Pkmbhoke, and Forces. 

K. John. Peace be to France ; if France in peace 
Our just and lineal entrance to our own! [permit 



If not ; bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven ! 
Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct 
Their proud contempt that beat his peace to heaven. 

K. Phi. Peace be to England ; if that war return 
From France to f^ngland, there to live in peace ' 
England we love ; and, for that England's sake. 
With burden of our armour here we svveat: 
This toil of ours should be a work of lliine 
But thou from loving England art so far, 
That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king. 
Cut oflf the sequence of posterity, 
Outfaced infant state, and done a rape 
Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. 
Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face ; — 
These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his: 
This little abstract doth contain that large. 
Which died in Geffrey ; and the hand of time 
Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. 
That Geft'rey was thy elder brother born, 
And this his son ; England was Geffrey's right, 
And this is Geffrey's : In the name of God, 
How comes it then, that thou art call'd a king, 
When living blood doth in these temples beat. 
Which own the crown that thou o'er-masterestl 

K. John. From whom hast thou this great com- 
mission, France, 
To draw my answer from thy articles'? 

K. Phi. From that supernal judge, that stirs good 
If any breast of strong authority, [thoughts 

To look into the blots and stains of right. 
That judge hath made me guardian to this boy: 
Under whose warrant, I impeach thy wrong ; 
And, by whose help, I mean to chastise it. 

K.John. Alack, thou dost usurp authority. 

A^ Phi. Excuse ; it is to beat usurping down. 

Eli. Who is it, thou dost call usurper, France 1 

Const. Let me make answer ; — thy usurping son. 

Eli. Out, insolent ! thy bastard shall be king; 
That thou may'st be a queen, and check the world! 

Const. My bed was ever to thy son as true. 
As thine was to thy hu^^band : and this boy 
Liker in feature to his father Geffrey, 
Than thou and John in manners ; being as like, 
As rain to water, or devil to his dam. 
My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think. 
His father never was so true begot ; 
It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. 

Eli. There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy 
father. [blot thee. 

Const. There 's a good grandam, boy, that would 

Aust. Peace ! 

Bast. Hear the crier. 

Aust. W^hat the devil art thou? 

Bast- One that will play the devil, sir, with you. 
An 'a may catch your hide and you alone. 
You are the hare of whom the proverb goes. 
Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard ; 
I'll smoke your skin-coat, an 1 catch you right ; 
Sirrah, look to't; i' faith, I will, i' faith. 

Blanch. O, well did he become tliat lion's robe 
That did disrobe the lion of that robe ! 

Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him, 
As great Alcides' shoes upon an ass : — 
But, ass, I'll take that burden from your back ; 
Or lay on that, shall make your shoulders crack. 

Aust. Wliat cracker is this same, that deafs our ears 
With this abundance of superfluous breath'! 

K. Phi. Lewis, determine what we shall do straight. 

Leu;. Women and fools, break off your conference, — 
King John, this is the very sum of all, — 
England, and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, 
In right of Arthur do I chiim of theo: 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



337 



Wilt thou resign t!\em, and lay down thy arms ? 

K.Johu. ]\[y life as soon : — 1 do defy tliee, France. 
Arthur, of Bretague, yield thee to my hand ; 
And, out of my dear love, I'll give thee more 
Than e'er the coward hand of France can win : 
Submit thee, boy. 

Eli. Come to thy grandam, child. 

Const. Do, child, go to it' grandam, child ; 
Give grandam, kingdom, and it' grandam will 
Give it a plum, a cherry, and a tig; 
There's a good grandam. 

Arih. Good my mother, peace ! 

I would, that I were low laid in my grave ; 
L am not worth this coil that's made for me. 

Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps. 
Const. Now shame upon you, whe'r shedoes,or no ! 
His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames. 
Draw those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes, 
Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee ; 
Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd 
To do him justice, and revenge on you. 

Eli. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven andearth! 
Const. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth ! 
Call not me slanderer ; thou, and thine, usurp 
The dominations, royalties, and rights. 
Of this oppressed boy : This is thy eldest son's son, 
Infortunate in nothing but in thee ; 
Thy sins are visited in this poor child ; 
The canon of the law is laid on him. 
Being but the second generation 
Removed from tliy sin conceiving womb. 
A'. John, Bedlam, have done. 
Const. 1 have but this to say, — 

That he's not only plagued for her sin. 
But God hath made lier sin and her the plague 
On this removed issue, plagu'd for her. 
And with lier plague, her sin ; his injury 
Her injury, — the beadle to her sin ; 
All punish'd in the person of this child. 
And all for her ; A plague upon her ! 

Eli. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce 
A will, that bars the title of thy son. 

Const. Ay, who doubtsthat ? a will ! awickedwill; 
A woman's will ; a canker'd grandam's will ! 

K.Fhi. Peace, lady ; pause, or be uiore temperate : 
It ill beseems this presence, to cry aim 
To these ill-tuned repetitions. — 
Some trumpet summons hither to the walls 
These men of Anglers ; let us hear them speak, 
Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. 

Trumpets sound. Enter Citizens upon the walls. 

1 Cit. W'ho is it, that hath warn'd us to the walls ] 

K. Phi. 'Tis F'rancc for England. 

K. John. England, for itself: 

You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects. — 

A'. I'hi. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's sub- 
Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle. [jects, 

A'. John. For our advantage ; — Tlierefore, hear us 
These flags of France, that are advanced here [first. — 
Before the eye and prospect of your town, 
Have hither march'd to your endamagenient : 
The cannons have their bowels full of wrath; 
And ready mounted are they, to spit forth 
Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls : 
All preparation for a bloody siege. 
And merciless proceeding by these French, 
Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates ; 
And, but for our approach, tliose sleeping stones, 
That as a waist do girdle you about, 
By the compulsion of their ordnance 
By this time from their fixed beds of lime 



Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made 
For bloody power to rush upon your peace. 

But, on the sight of us, your lawful king. 

Who painfully, with much expedient march, 

Have brought a countercheck before your gates, 

'J"o saveunscratch'd your city's threaten'd cheeks, — 

Behold, the French, amaz'd, vouchsafe a parle 

An<l now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire. 

To make a shaking fever in your walls, 

They shoot but calm words, folded up in smoke, 

Jo make a faithless error in your ears : 

W hich trust accordingly, kind citizens. 

And let us in, your king ; whose labour'd spirits, 

Forwearied in tliis action of swift speed. 

Crave harbourage within your city walls. 

A'. Philip. When I have said, make answer to us 
Lo, in this right liand, whose protection [both. 

Is most divinely vow'd upon the right 
Of him it holds, stands young Piantagenet ; 
Son to the eider brother of tliis man. 
And king o'er him, and all that he enjoys : 
For this down-trodden equity, we tread 
In warlike march these greens before your town ; 
Being no further enemy to you. 
Than the constraint of hospitable zeal. 
In the relief of this oppressed child, 
Religiously provokes. Be pleased then 
To pay that duty, which you truly owe. 
To him that owes it ; namely, this young prince 
And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear. 
Save in aspect, have all oflence seal'd up ; 
Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent 
Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven ; 
And, witli a blessed and unvex'd retire, 
Witii uuhack'd swords, and helmets all unbruis'd, 
We will bear home that lusty blood again. 
Which here we came to spout against your town, 
And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace. 
But if you fondly pass our proffer'd ofter, 
'Tis not the roundure of your old-fac'd walls 
Can hide you from our messengers of war ; 
Though ail these English, and their discipline. 
Were harbour'd in their rude circumference. 
Then, tell us, shall your city call us lord. 
In that behalf which we have challeng'd if! 
Or shall we give the signal to our rage. 
And stalk in blood to our possession ^ 

1 Cit. In brief, we are the king of England's sub- 
For him, and in his right, we hold this town, [jects; 

A'. John. Acknowledge then the king, and let me in, 

1 Cit. That can we not : but he that proves the king, 
To him will we prove loyal ; till that time. 
Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world. 

A.John. Doth not the crown of England prove the 
And, if not that, I bring you witnesses, [king 1 

Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,^ 

Bust. Bastards, and else. 

K.John. To verify our title with their lives. 

K.Phi. As many, and as well-born bloods as those, — 

Bast. Some bastards too. 

A'. Phi. Stand in liis face, to contradict his claim. 

1 Cit. Till you compound whose right is worthiest, 
We, for the worthiest, hold the right from both. 

K.John. Then God forgive the sin of all those souls. 
That to their everlasting residence. 
Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet. 
In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king I 

A. Phi. Amen, Amen! — Alount chevaliers! to arms! 

Bust. St. George, — that swing'd the dragon, and e'er 
Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, [since. 
Teach us some fence ! — Sirrah, were 1 at home. 
At your den, sirrah, [to Austuia.J with your lioness. 



J3B 



KING JOHN. 



I'd set an ox-head to your lion's hide, 
And make a monster of you. 

Atist. Peace ; no more. 

Bast, O, tremble ; for you hear the lion roar. 

K.John. Up higher to the plain ; where we '11 set 
In best appointment, all our regiments. [forth, 

Bast. Speed then, to take advantage of the fielii. 

K. Phi. It shall be so; — [to Lewis.] and at the 
other hill 
Command the rest to stand. — God, and our light ! 

[^Eieunt. 

SCENE ll.—The same. 

Alarnms and Excursions ; then a Retreat. Enter a 
French Herald, uith trumpets, to the gates. 

F. Her. You men of Angiers, open wide your gTites, 
And let young Arthur, duke of liretagne, in ; 
Who, by- the hand of France, this day hatli made 
Much work for tears in many an English motlier, 
Whose sons lie scatter 'd on the bleeding ground ; 
Manv a widow's husband groveling lies. 
Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth ; 
And victory, with little loss, doth play 
Upon the dancing banners of the French ; 
Who are at hand, triumphantly display "d. 
To enter conquerors, and to proclaim 
Arthur of Bretagne, England's king, and yours. 

Enter an English Herald, uith trumpets. 

E. Her. Rejoice, vou men of Angiers, ring your 
bells; 
King John, your king and England's, doth approach, 
Commander of this hot malicious day ! 
'J'heir armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright. 
Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood ; 
There stuck no plume in any English crest. 
That is removed by a statF of France ; 
Our colours do return in those same hands 
That did display them when we tirst march'd forth ; 
And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come 
Our lusty English, all with purpled hands. 
Died in the dying slaughter of their foes : 
Open vour gates, and give the victors way. 

Cit. Heralds, from off our towers we might behold, 
From first to last, the onset and retire 
Of both your armies ; whose equality 
I3y oar best eves cannot be censu red : [blows ; 

Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd 
Strength match'd with strength, and power conlronted 
Both are alike ; and both alike we like. [power : 
One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even, 
We hold our town for neither ; yet for both. 

Enter, at one side. King Jons, vith his poicer ; 
Elinor, Blasch, and the Bastard: at the other, 
KiXG Philip, Lewis, Austria, and Forces. 

K.John. France, hast tliou yet more blood to cast 
Say, shall the current of our right run on 1 [a\vay ? 
Whose passage, vex'd withthv impediment. 
Shall leave his native channel, and o'erswell 
Widi course disturb'd even thy confining shores ; 
Unless thou let his silver water keep 
A peaceful progress to the ocean- 

A'. Phi. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of 
In this hot trial, more tlian we of France ; [blood, 
Rather, lost more : And by this hand I s-wear. 
That sways the earth this climate overlooks, — 
Before we will lay down our just borne arms. 
We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear. 
Or add a royal number to the dead • 
Gracing tlie scroll, that tells of this vrar's loss. 
With slaughter coupled to tlie name of kings. 



Bast. Ha, majesty ! how high thy glory towers, 
When the rich blood of kings is set on fire ! 
O, now doth death line his dead chaps with steel ; 
The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs ; 
And now he feasts, mouthing the flesh of men. 
In undeiennin'd difierences of kmgs. — 
Whv stand these royal fronts amazed thus ? 
Cry, havoc, kings ! back to the stained field. 
You equal potents, fiery -kindled spirits ! 
Then let confusion of one pan confirm 
The other's peace ; till then, blows, blood, and death ! 
K.John. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit* 
K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England; who's your 

king ? 
1 Cit. The king of England, when we know the king. 
A'. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up his right. 
K John. In us, that are our own great deputj'. 
And bear possession of our person here ; 
Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of vou. 

1 Cit. A greater power than we. denies all this ; 
And, till it be undoubted, we do lock 
Our former scruple in ovir strong-barr'd gates : 
King'd of our fears ; until our fears, resolv'd, 
Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd. 

Bast. By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout 
you, kings : 
And stand securely on their battlements. 
As in a theatre, whence thev gape and point 
At your industrious scenes and acts of death. 
Your royal presences be rul'd by me ; 
Do like the mutines of Jerusalem, 
Be friends a while, and both conjointly bend 
Your sharpest deeds of malice on tliis town : 
By east and west let France and England mount 
Their battering cannon charged to the mouths ; 
Till their soul fearing clamours have brawl'd down 
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city : 
I 'd play incessantly upon these jades. 
Even till unfenced desolation 
Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. 
That done, dissever your united strengths, 
And part your mingled colours once again ; 
Turn face to face, and bloody point to point : 
Then, in a moment, fortune shall call forth 
Out of one side her happy minion ; 
To whom in favour she shall give the day, 
And kiss him with a glorious victory. 
How like you this wild counsel, mighty states ? 
Smacks it not something of the policy 1 
! K.John. Xow,by the sky that hangs above our heads, 
I like it well ; — France, shall we knit our powers, 
And lav thk Angiers even with the ground ; 
Then, after, fight who shall be king of it ? 

Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king, — 
Bein? wrong'd, as we are, by this peevish town, — 
Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, 
As we will ours, against these saucy walls : 
And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, 
Why, then defy each other: and, pell-mell, 
Make work upon ourselves, for heaven, or hell. 
A'. Phi. Let it be so : — Say, where will you assault? 
A'. John. We from the west will send destruction 
Into this city's bosom, 
-■lust. I from the north. 

A'. Phi. Our thunder from the south, 

Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. 

Bast. O prudent discipline ! From north to south ; 
Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth : 

[-■Isirff. 

I '11 stir them to it : — Come, avrzy, away ! [stay, 

1 Cit. Hear us, great kings : vouchsafe a while to 

And I shall shew you peace, and fair faced league ; 



ACT 1I.~SCENE II. 



3.']9 



Win you this city without strose or wound ; 
Rescue those breatliing lives to die in beds, 
That here come sacrifices for the field : 
I'ersever not, but hear nie, mighty kings. 

A. John. Speak on, with favour ; we are bent to hear. 

1 C'it. That daughter there ot'Spain, the lady Blanch, 
Is near to England ; Look ujion the years 
Of Lewis the l^auphin, and that lovely maid : 
If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, 
Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch ? 
If zealous love should go in search of virtue. 
Where should he find it purer than in Blanch ! 
If love ambitious sought a match of birth. 
Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch'! 
Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, 
Is the young Dauphin every way complete : 
If not complete, O say, he is not she ; 
And she again wants nothing, to name want. 
If want it be not, that she is not he : 
He is the half part of a blessed man, 
Left to be finislied by such a she ; 
And she a fair divided excellence, 
Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. 
O, two such silver currents, when they join, 
Do glorify the banks that bound them in : 
And two such shores to two such streams made one. 
Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings, 
I'o these two princes, if you marry them, 
This union shall do more than battery can, 
To our fast-closed gates ; for, at this match, 
With swifter spleen than powder can enforce, 
The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope, 
And give you entrance ; but, without this match. 
The sea enraged is not half so deaf. 
Lions more confident, mountains and rocks 
More free from motion ; no, not Death himself 
In mortal fury half so peremptory, 
As we to keep this city. 

Bast. Here's a stay, 

That shakes the rotten carcase of old Death 
Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed, 
That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks, and seas ; 
Talks as familiarly of roaring lions, 
As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs 1 
What cannoneer begot this lusty blood ? 
He speaks plain cannon, fire, and smoke, and bounce ; 
He gives the bastinado with his tongue ; 
Our ears are cudgel'd ; not a word of his. 
But buffets better than a fist of France : 
Zounds ! I was never so bethump'd with words. 
Since 1 first call'd my brother's father, dad. 

Eli. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match ; 
Give with our niece a dowry large enough : 
For by this knot thou shall so surely tie 
Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown, 
That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe 
The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. 
I see a yielding in the looks of France ; 
Mark, how tliey whisper ; urge them, while their souls 
Are capable of this ambition : 
Lest zeal, now melted, by the windy breath 
Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse, 
Cool and congeal again to what it was. 

1 Cit. Why answer not tlie double majesties 
This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town 1 

K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been forward 
To speak unto this city : What say you ! [first 

K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely 
Can in this book of beauty read, I love, [son. 

Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen : 
For Anjou, and fair Touraine, INIaine, I'oictieis, 
And all that we upon this side the sea 



(Except tliis city now by us besieg'd,) 
Find liable to our crown and dignity. 
Shall gild her bridal bed ; and make her rich 
In titles, honours, and ])roinotions. 
As she in beauty, education, blood. 
Holds hand with any princess of the world. 

K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy ^ look in the lady's 

Lew. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find [face. 
A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, 
The shadow of myself form'd in her eye ; 
Which, being but the shadow of your son. 
Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow : 
I do protest, I never lov'd myself, 
'J'ill now infixed I beheld myself, 
Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. 

[Whispers with Blanch. 

Bast. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye ! — 

Hang'd in tiie frowning wrinkle of her brow ! — - 
And quarter'd in her heart !— he doth espy 

Himself love's traitor : This is pity now, 
That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there should 
In such a love, so vile a lout as he. [be, 

Blanch. My uncle's will, in this respect, is mine. 
If he see aught in you, that makes him like, 
That any thing he sees, which moves his liking, 
I can with ease translate it to my will ; 
Or, if you will, (to speak more properly,) 
I will enforce it easily to my love. 
Further I will not flatter you, my lord, 
'Fhat all I see in you is worthy love, 
Than this, — that nothing do I see in you, 
(Though churlish thoughts themselves should beyour 
That 1 can find, should merit any hate. [judge,) 

A'. Ju}ui. What say these young ones ? What say 
you, my niece 1 

Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to do 
What you in wisdom shall vouchsafe to say. 

K. John. Speak then, prince Dauphin; can you 
love this lady 1 

Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love ; 
For I do love her most unfeignedly. 

K. John. Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, 
Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces, [Maine, 
With her to thee ; and this addition more. 
Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. — 
Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal. 
Command thy son and daughter to join hands. 

A'. Phi. It likes us well ; — Young princes close 
your hands. 

Aust. And your lips too ; for, 1 am well assur'd. 
That I did so, when I was first assur'd. 

A'. Phi. Now, citizens of Anglers, ope your gates. 
Let in that amity which you have made ; 
For at saint Mary's chapel, presently, 
The rites of marriage shall be solemnized. — 
Is not the lady Constance in this troop ? — 
I know, she is not ; for this match, made up. 
Her presence would have interrupted much : 
Where is she and her son ^ tell me, who knows. 

Lew. She is sad and passionate at your highness' tent 

A'. Phi. And, by my faith, this league, that we have 
Will give her sadness very little cure. — [made. 
Brother of England, how may we content 
This widow lady 1 In her right we came ; 
Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way, 
To our own vantage. 

A'. John. We will heal up all, 

For we'll create young Arthur duke ol Bretagne, 
And earl of Richmond ; and this rich fair town 
We'll make him lord of. — Call the lady Constance; 
Some speedy messenger bid her repair 
To our solemnity : — 1 trust we shall 
Y 2 



340 



KING JOHN. 



If not fill up the measure of her will, 
Yet in some measure satisfy her so, 
That we shall stop her exclamation. 
Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, 
To this unlook'd-for unprepared pomp. 

[Exeunt all hut the Bastard. — Tlie 
Citizens retire f rum the walls. 
Bust. IMad world ! mad kings ! mad composition ! 
John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole. 
Hath willingly departed with a part : 
And France, (whose armour conscience buckled on; 
Whom zeal and charity brought to the field. 
As God's own soldier,) rounded in the ear 
AVith that same purpose changer, that sly devil ; 
That broker that still breaks the pate of faith ; 
TJiat daily break-vow ; he that wins of all, 
Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids ;— 
Who having- no external thing to lose 
But the word maid, — cheats the poor maid of that ; 
1'hatsinooth-faced gentleman, tickling commodity, — 
Commodity, the bias of the world ; 
The world, who of itself is peised well, 
JVIade to run even ; upon even ground ; 
Till this advantage, this vile drawing bias, 
This sway of motion, this commodity, 
Makes it take head from all indifferency. 
From all direction, purpose, course, intent: 
And this same bias, this commodity. 
This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, 
Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle Trance, 
Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid. 
From a resolv'd and honourable war. 
To a most base and vile-concluded peace. — 
And why rail I on this commodity 1 
But for because he hath not woo'd me yet : 
Not that 1 have the power to clutch my hand, 
When his fair angels would salute my palm : 
But for my hand, as unattempted yet, 
Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. 
Well, whiles 1 am a beggar, I will rail, 
And say, — there is no sin, but to be rich ; 
And bemg rich, my virtue then shall be, 
I'o say, — there is no vice, but beggary : 
Since kings break faith upon commodity. 
Gain, be my lord ! for I will worship thee ! [Exit. 



ACT III. 

SCENE l.-~The same. The French King's Tent. 
Enter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury. 

Const. Gone to 'oe married ! gone to swear a peace ! 
False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be fi lends! 
Shall Lewis have Blanch ? and Blanch those pro- 
It is not so ; thou hast misspoke, misheard; [vinces? 
Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again : 
It cannot be ; thou dost but say, 'tis so : 
I trust, I may not trust thee ; for thy word 
Is but the vain breath of a common man : 
Believe me, 1 do not believe thee, man ; 
1 have a king's oath to the contrary. 
Thou shall be punish'd for thus frighting me. 
For I am sick, and capable of fears ; 
Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears ; 
A widow, husbandless, subject to fears ; 
A woman, naturally born to fears ; 
And though thou now confess, thou didst but jest, 
With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce, 
I3ut they will quake and tremble all this day. 
What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head? 



Why dost thou look so sadly on my son 1 
What means that hand upon that breast of thmc 1 
W^hy holds thine eye tiiat lamentable rheum, 
Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds "! 
Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words'! 
Then speak again ; not all thy former tale. 
But this one word, whether thy tale be true. 

Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think tliem false, 
That give you cause to prove my saying true. 

Const. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow, 
Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die ; 
And let belief and life encounter so. 
As doth the fury of two desperate men, 
Which, in the very meeting, fall, and die. — 
Lewis marry Blanch ! O, boy, then where art thou "> 
France friend with England 1 what becomes of me ? — 
Fellow, be gone ! I cannot brook thy sight ; 
i This news hath made thee a most ugly man. 

Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done, 
But spoke the harm that is by others done "! 

Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is, 
As it makes harmful all that speak of it. 

Arth, I do beseech you, madam, be content. 

Const. If thou, thatbid'st me be content, were grim, 
Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb. 
Full of unpleasing blots, and sightless stains, 
Lame, foolish, crook'd, swart, prodigious, 
Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-otfending marks, 
I would not care, 1 then would be content ; 
For then I should not love thee ; no, nor thou 
Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. 
But thou art fair ; and at thy birth, dear boy ! 
Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great : 
Of nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast, 
And with the half-blown rose : but fortune, O ! 
She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee; 
She adullera'es hourly with thine uncle John ; 
And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France 
To tread down fair respect of sovereignty. 
And made his majesty the bawd to theirs. 
France is a bawd to fortune, and king John ; 
That strumpet fortune, that usurping John : — 
Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn 1 
Envenom him with words ; or get thee gone. 
And leave these woes alone, which I alone. 
Am bound to under-bear. 

Sal. Pardon me, madam, 

I may not go without you to the kings. 

Const. Thou may'st, thou shalt, 1 will not go with 
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud : [thee : 

For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. 
To me, and to the state of my great grief, 
Let kings assemble, for my grief's so great. 
That no supporter but the huge firm earth 
Can hold it up : here 1 and sorrow sit ; 
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. 

[She throws herself on the ground. 

Enter King John, King Philip, Lewis, Blanch, 
Elinor, Bastard, Austria, and Attendants. 

A'. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter ; and this blessed 
Ever in France shall be kept festival : [<lay» 

To solemnize this day, the glorious sun 
Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist ; 
Turning, with splendour of his precious eye. 
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold : 
The yearly course, that brings this day about, 
Shall never see it but a holyday. 

Const. A wicked day, and not a holyday ! — [Rising. 
WHiat hath this day deserv'd 1 what hath it done : 
That it in golden letters should be set. 
Among the high tides, in the kalendar ! 



ACT III— SCENE I. 



341 



Nay, neither, turn this day out of the week ; 
This day of shame, op]iressioii, perjury : 
Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child 
Pray, that their burdens may not fall this day, 
Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd : 
But on this day, let seamen fear no wreck ; 
No bargains break, that are not this day made : 
This day, all things begun come to ill end ; 
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change ! 

A'. Phi. i?y heaven, lady, you shall have no cause 
To curse the fair proceedings of this day : 
Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty ? 

Const. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit, 
Resemblingmajesty ; which, being touch'd, and tried. 
Proves valueless : You are forsworn, forsworn ; 
You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, 
But now in arms, you strengthen it with yours : 
The grappling vigour and rough frown of war, 
Is cold in amity and painted peace. 
And our oppression hath made up this league : — 
Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjured kings ! 
A widow cries ; be husband to me, heavens ! 
Let not the hours of this ungodly day 
Wear out the day in peace ; but, ere sunset. 
Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings ! 
Hear me, O, hear me ! 

Aiist. Lady Constance, peace. 

Const. War ! war ! no peace ! peace is to me a war 

Lymoges ! O Austria ! thou dost shame 

That bloody spoil: Thou slave, thou wretch, thou 

Thou little valiant, great in villany ! [coward ; 

Thou ever strong upon the stronger side ! 

Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight 

But when her humorous ladyship is by 

To teach thee safety ! thou art perjur'd too. 

And sooth'st up greatness. What a fool art thou, 

A ramping fool ; to brag and stamp, and swear, 

Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave. 

Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side 1 

Been sworn my soldier ? bidding me depend 

Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength 1 

And dost thou ni)w fall over to my foes f 

Thou wear a lion's hide ! dofl" it for shame, 

And hang a calf 's-skin on those recreant limbs. 

Anst. O, that a man should speak those words to me! 

Bus<. And hang a calf 's-skin on those recreant limbs. 

Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life. 

-Rasf. And hang acalf 's-skin on those recreant limbs. 

K.John. We like not this : thou dost forget thyself. 

Enter Pandulpii. 

A'. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the pope. 
Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven I 
To thee, king .lohn, my holy errand is. 

1 Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal. 
And from pope Innocent the legate here, 
Do, in his name, religiously demand. 

Why thou against the church, our holy mother, 
So wilfully dost spurn ; and, force perforce. 
Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop 
Of Canterbury, from that holy see ? 
This, in our 'foresaid holy father's name. 
Pope Innocent, 1 do demand of thee. 

K.John. What earthly name to interrogatories, 
Can task the free breath of a sacred king ? 
Thou canst not, cardinal, flevise a name 
So slisrht, unworthv, and ridiculous, 
To charge me to an answer, as the pope. 
Tell him this tale ; and from the mouth of Englaml, 
Add thus much more, — That no Italian priest 
Shall tithe or toll in our dominions ; 
But as we under heaven are supreme head, 



So, under him, that great supremacy, 
^Vhere we do reign, we will alone uphold, 
Without the assistance of a mortal hand : 
So tell the pope ; all reverence set apart. 
To him, and his usurp'd authority. 

A'. PJii. Brother of I^ngland, you blaspheme in this. 

K. John. Though you, and all the kings of Christen- 
Are led so grossly by this meddling priest, [dom, 
Dreading the curse that money may buy out ; 
And, by the merit of vile go'd, dross, dust, 
Purchase corrupted pardon of a man. 
Who, m that sale, sells pardon from himself; 
Though you, and all the rest, so grossly led. 
This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish ; 
Yet T, alone, alone do me oppose 
Against the pope, and count his friends my foes. 

Pand. Then by the lawful power that I have, 
Thou shalt stand curs'd, and ex'communicate : 
And blessed shall he be, that doth revolt 
From his allegiance to an heretic ; 
And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, 
Canoniz'd, and worship'd as a saint, 
That takes away by any secret course 
Thy hateful life. 

Const. O, lawful let it be, 

That I have room with Rome to curse awhile! 
Good father cardinal, cry thou, amen, 
To my keen curses : for, without my wrong. 
There is no tongue hath power to curse him right. 

Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse. 

Const. And for mine too ; when law can do no right. 
Let it be lawful, that law bar no wrong : 
Law cannot give my child his kingdom here ; 
For he, that holds his kingdom, holds the law : 
Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong. 
How can the law forbid my tongue to curse 1 

Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse. 
Let go the hand of that arch -heretic ; 
And raise the power of France upon his head. 
Unless he do submit himself to Rome. [hand. 

Eli. Look'st thou pale, France? do not let go thy 

Const. Look to that, devil I lest that France repent. 
And, by disjoining hands, he '11 lose a soiil. 

Anst. King Philip, listen to the cardinal. 

Bast And hang a calf 's-skin on his recreant limbs. 

Aust. Well, ruffian, 1 must pocket up these wrongs, 
Because 

Bast. Your breeches best may carry them. 

A'. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal ■? 

Const. \Vhat should he say, but as the cardinal 1 

Lew. Bethink you, father; for the dift'erence 
Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome, 
Or the light loss of Kugland for a friend : 
Forego the easier. 

Blanch. That 's the curse of Rome. 

Const. O Lewis, stand fast; the devil tempts thee 
In likeness of a new untrinimed bride. [here, 

I Blanch. The lady Constance speaks not from her 
'But from her need. [faith 

Const. O, if thou grant my need. 

Which only lives but by the death of faith. 

That need must needs infer this principle, 

That faith would live again by death of need ; 

O, then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up; 

Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down. 

A. John. The king is mov'd, and answers not to this. 

Const. O, be removed from him, arul answer well 

Aust. Do so, king Philip ; hang no more in doubt. 

Bi(»7. Hang nothing but a calf's- skin, most sweet lout 

A'. Phi. 1 am perplex'd, and know not what to say. 

Pnnd. What canst thou say, but will perplex thee 
If thou stand excommunicate, and curs'd 1 [more, 



3J2 



KING JOHN. 



A'. Phi. Good reverend father, make my person 
And tell me, how you would bestow yourself, [yours. 
This royal hand and mine are newly knit : 
And the conjunction of our inward souls 
^larried in league, coupled and link'd together 
With all reHgious strength of sacred vows ; 
The latest breath that gave the sound of words, 
Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love, 
Between our kingdoms, and our royal selves ; 
And even before this truce, but new before, — 
No longer than we well could wash our hands, 

To clap this royal bargain up of peace, 

Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and over-stain'd 

With slaughter's pencil ; where revenge did paint 

The fearful difference of incensed kings : 

And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood. 

So newly joined in love, so strong in both, 

Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regreet ? 

Play fast and loose with faith 1 so jest with heaven. 

Make such unconstant children of ourselves, 

As now again to snatch our palm from palm ; 

Unswear faith sworn ; and on the marriage bed 

Of smiling peace to march a bloody host. 

And make a riot on the gentle brow 

Of true sincerity 1 O holy sir, 

]\Iy reverend father, let it not be so : 

Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose 

Some gentle order ; and then we shall be bless'd 

To do your pleasure, and continue friends. 

Pand. All form is formless, order orderless. 
Save what is opposite to England's love. 
Therefore, to arms, be champion of our church ! 
Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse, 
A mother's curse, on her revolting son. 
France, thou may'st hold a serpent by the tongue, 
A cased lion by the mortal paw, 
A fasting tiger safer by the tooth, 
Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold. 

A'. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith. 

Pand. So makest thou i'aith an enemy to faith ; 
And, like a civil war, set'st oath to oath. 
Thy tongue against thy tongue. O let thy vow 
First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd ; 
That is, to be the champion of our church ! 
What since thou swor'st. is sworn against thyself, 
And may not be ])erformed by thyself: 
For that, which thou hast sworn to do amiss. 
Is not amiss when it is truly done ; 
And being not done, where doing tends to ill, 
The truth is then most done not doing it 
The better act of purposes mistook 
Is, to mistake again ; though indirect, 
Yet indirection thereby grows direct, 
And falsehood falsehood cures ; as fire cools fire, 
Within the scorched veins of one new burn'd. 
It is religion, that doth make vows kept ; 
But thou hast sworn against religion ; 
By what thou swear'st, against the thing thou swear'st; 
And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth 
Against an oath : The truth thou art unsure 
To swear, swear only not to be forsworn ; 
Else what a mockery should it be to swear 1 
But thou dost swear only to be forsworn ; 
And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear. 
Therefore, thy latter vows, against thy first, 
[s in thyself rebellion to thyself: 
And better conquest never canst thou make. 
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts 
Against those giddy loose suggestions : 
Upon which better part our prayers come in. 
If thou vouchsafe them : but, if not, then know, 
The peril of our curses light on thee ; 



So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them ofT, 
But, in despair, die under their black weight. 

Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion ! 

Bast. Will 't not be ? 

Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine'! 

Lew. Father, to amis ! 

Blanch. Upon thy wedding day? 

Against the blood that thou hast married 1 
What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men? 
Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drums, — 
Clamours of hell, — be measures to our pomp'' 

husband, hear me ! — ah, alack, how new 

Is husband in my mouth ! — even for that name. 
Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce, 
Upon my knee 1 beg, go not to arms 
Against mine uncle. 

Const. O, upon my knee, 

Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee. 
Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom 
Fore- thought by heaven. 

Blanch. Now shall 1 see thy love ; W^hat motive may 
Be stronger with thee than the name of wife 1 

Const. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds. 
His honour: O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour' 

Lew. I muse, your majesty doth seem so cold, 
^^ hen such profound respects do pull you on. 

Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head. 

K.Phi. Thou shalt not need: — England, I'll fall from 

Const. fair return of banish'd majesty! [thee. 

Eli. O foul revolt of French inconstancy ! 

K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within 
this hour. 

Bast. Old time the clock setter, that bald sexton 
Is it as he will? well then, France shall me. [time, 

Blanch. The sun 's o'ercast with blood : Fair day. 
Which is the side that I must go withal ? [adieu ' 

1 am with both : each army hath a hand ; 
And, in their rage, I having hold of both. 
They whirl asunder, and ilismember me. 
Husband, I cannot pray that thou may'st win , 
Uncle, I needs must pray that thou may'st lose ; 
Father, I may not wish the fortune thine ; 
Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive . 
Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose ; 
Assured loss, before the match be play'd. 

Lew. Lady, with me ; with me thy fortune lies. 
Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there my life 

dies. 
K. Jo]in. Cousin, go draw our puissance together. — 

[Exit Bastard. 
France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath ; 
A rage, whose heat hath this condition. 
That nothing can allay, nothing but blood. 
The blood, and dearest valu'd blood, of France. 
A'. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou 
shalt turn 
To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire : 
Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. 

K. John. No more than he that threats. — To arms 
let's hie ! [Eieunt. 

SCENE II. — The same. Plains near Anglers. 

Alantms; Excursions. Enter the Jia.sta.T(]i, mth 
Austria's head. 

Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous 
Some airy devil hovers in the sky, [hot; 

And pours down mischief. Austria's head, lie there; 
While Philip breathes. 

Enter King John, Arthur, and Hubert. 
K. John. Hubert, keep this boy : — Philip, make up j 



ACT III.— SCENE IV^. 



343 



My mother is assailed in our tent, 
And ta'ea, I fear. 

Bast. Wy lord, I rescu'd her ; 

Iler highness is in safety, fear you not : 
But on, my liege ; for very little pains 
Will bring this labour to an happy end. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The same. 

Alarums; Excursions; Retreat. Enter Kino John, 
Elinor, Arthur, the Bastard, Hubert, and Lords. 

K. John. So shall it be ; your grace shall stay be- 
hind, [To Elinor. 
So strongly guarded. — Cousin, look not sad : 

[To Arthur. 
Thy grandam loves thee ; and thy uncle will 
As dear be to thee as thy father was. 

Arth. O, this will make my mother die with grief. 

K. John. Cousin, [to the Bastard.] away for Eng- 
land ; haste before : 
And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags 
Of hoarding abbots ; imprison'd angels 
Set thou at liberty : the fat ribs of peace 
jyiust by the hungry now be fed upon : 
Use our commission in his utmost force. 

Bast. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back, 
When gold and silver becks me to come on. 
I leave your highness : — Grandam, I will pray 
(If ever I remember to be holy,) 
For your fair safety ; so I kiss your hand. 

Eli. Farewell, my gentle cousin. 

A^ John. Coz, farewell. [Exit Bastard. 

Eli. Come hither, little kinsman ; hark, a word. 
[She takes Arthur aside. 

K.John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, 
W^e owe thee much ; within this wall of flesh 
There is a soul, counts thee her creditor. 
And with advantage means to pay thy love : 
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath 
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. 
Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say, — 
But I will fit it with some better time. 
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd 
To say what good respect I have of thee. 

Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty. 

A'. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say 
so yet : 
But thou shalt have : and creep time ne'er so slow, 
Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. 
I had a thing to say, — But let it go : 
The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, 
Attended with the pleasures of the world, 
Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds, 
To give me audience : — If the midnight bell 
Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 
Sound one unto the drowsy race of night ; 
If this same were a church-yard where we stand, 
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ; 
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy. 
Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thi-ck ; 
(Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins, 
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes, 
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, 
A passion hateful to my purposes ;) 
Or if that thou could'st see me without eyes, 
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply 
W^ithout a tongue, using conceit alone, 
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words ; 
Then, in despite of brooded watchful day, 
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts : 
But ah, I will not : — Yet 1 love thee well ; 
And, by my troth, I tiiiuk, thou lov'st me well. 



Huh. So well, that what you bid me undertake. 
Though that my death were adjunct to my act, 
By lieaven, I'd do't. 

A^. John. Do not I know, thou would'st? 

Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye 
On yon young boy ; I'll tell thee what, my friend. 
He is a very serpent in my way ; 
And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread. 
He lies before me : Dost thou understand me l 
Thou art his keeper. 

Huh. And I will keep him so, 

That he shall not offend your majesty. 

A'. John. Death. 

Hub. My lord I 

K. John. A grave. 

Hub. He shall not live. 

K. John. Enough. 

I could be merry now : Hubert, I love thee. 
Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee : 

Remember. Madam, fare you well : 

I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty. 

Eli. My blessing go with thee I 

K. John. For England, cousin, go : 

Hubert shall be your man, attend on you 
With all true duty. — On toward Calais, ho ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — The same. The French King's Tent, 

Enter King PniLir, Lewis, Pandulph, and 
Attendants. 

A". Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, 
A whole armado of convicted sail 
Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship. 

Fund. Courage and comfort ! all shall yet go well. 

A. Phi, Whatcan gowell, whenwe have run so ill ! 
Are we not beaten ? Is not Anglers lost ? 
Arthur ta'en prisoner 1 divers dear friends slain ; 
And bloody England into England gone, 
O'erbearing interruption, spite of France ? 

Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified : 
So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd, 
Such temperate order in so fierce a cause. 
Doth want example : Who hath read, or heard, 
Of any kindred action like lO this 1 

K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this 
So we could find some pattern of our shame, [praise, 

Enter Constance. 

Look, who comes here ! a grave unto a soul ; 
Holding the eternal spirit, against her will. 
In the vile prison of afflicted breath : — 
I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. 

Const. Lo, now ! now see the issue of your peace ! 

K. Phi. Patience, good lady ! comfort, gentle 
Constance ! 

Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress. 
But that which ends all counsel, true redress. 
Death, death : — O amiable lovely death ! 
Thou odoriferous stench ! sound rottenness ! 
Arise forth from the couch of lasting night. 
Thou hate and terror to prosperity, 
And I will kiss thy detestable bones ; 
And put my eye-balls in thy vanity brows ; 
And ring these fingers with thy household worms ; 
And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust. 
And be a carrion monster like thyself: 
Come, grin on me ; and I will think thou smil'st, 
And buss thee as thy wife ! Misery's love, 
O, come to me ! 

A'. Phi. O fair affliction, peace. 

Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry :— 
O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth ' 
Then with a passion would I shake the world ; 



344 



KING JOHN. 



And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy. 
Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, 
Which scorns a modern invocation. 

Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. 

Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so ; 
1 am not mad : this hair I tear, is mine ; 
My name is Constance ; I was Geffrey's wife ; 
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost : 
I am not mad ; — I would to heaven I were ! 
For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: 
O, if I could, what grief should I forget! — 
Preach some philosophy to make me mad, 
And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal ; 
For, being not mad, but sensible of grief. 
My reasonable part produces reason 
How I may be deliver'd of these woes, 
And teaches me to kill or hang myself: 
If I were mad, I should forget my son ; 
Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he ; 
I am not mad ; too well, too well 1 feel 
The different plague of each calamity. 

K. Phi. Bind up those tresses : O, what love I note 
In the fair multitude of those her hairs! 
Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen. 
Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends 
Do glew themselves in sociable grief; 
Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, 
Sticking together in calamity. 

Const. To England, if you will. 

K. Phi. Bind up your hairs. 

Const. Yes, thati will ; And wherefore will 1 do it ? 
I tore them from their bonds ; and cried aloud, 

that these hands could so redeem mii son, 
As theif have given these hairs their liberty ! 
But now I envy at their liberty, 

And will again commit them to their bonds. 

Because my poor child is a prisoner. 

And, father cardinal, 1 have heard you say. 

That we shall see and know our friends in heaven : 

If that be true, I shall see my boy again ; 

For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child, 

To him that did but yesterday suspire, 

'I here was not such a gracious creature born. 

But now will canker sorrow eat my bud, 

And chase the native beauty from his cheek, . 

And he will look as hollow as a ghost ; 

As dim and meagre as an ague's fit ; 

And so he'll die ; and, rising so again. 

When I shall meet him in the court of heaven 

1 shall not know him : therefore never, never 
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. 

Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. 

Const. He talks to me, that never had a son. 

A'. Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of your child. 

Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, 
liies in his bed, walks up and down with me ; 
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, 
Kemembers me of all his gracious parts. 
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; 
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief. 
Fare you well : had you such a loss as I, 
I could give better comfort then you do. — 
I will not keep this form upon my head, 

[Tearing off her head-dress. 
When there is such disorder in my wit. 
O lord ! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son ! 
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world ! 
My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure ! [Exit. 

A'. Fh), I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. 

[Eiit. 

Leu\ There's nothing in this world, can make me 
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, [joy : 



Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ; 

And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste, 

That it yields naught, but shame, and bitterness. 

Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease. 
Even in the instant of repair and health, 
The fit is strongest ; evils, that take leave, 
On their departure most of all shew evil : 
What have you lost by losing of this day 1 

Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. 

Pand. If you had won it, certainly, you had. 
No, no : when fortune means to men most good. 
She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 
'lis strange to think how much king John liath lost 
In this which he accounts so clearly won : 
Are not you griev'd, that Arthur is his prisoner ? 

Lew. As heartily, as he is glad he hath him. 

Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood. 
Now hear me speak, with a prophetic spirit ; 
For even the breath of what I mean to speak 
Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub. 
Out of the path which shall directly lead 
Thy foot to England's throne ; and, therefore, mark. 
John hath seiz'd Arthur ; and it cannot be. 
That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins. 
The misplac'd John should entertain an hour. 
One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest: 
A scepter, snatch'd with an unruly hand. 
Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd . 
And he, that stands upon a slippery place. 
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up : 
That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall ; 
So be it, for it cannot be but so. 

Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall J 

Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch your wife. 
May then make all the claim that Arthur did. 

Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. 

Pand. How green are you , and fresh in this old world! 
John lays your plots ; the times conspire with you : 
For he, that steeps his safety in true blood. 
Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue. 
This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts 
Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal ; 
That none so small advantage shall step forth. 
To check his reign, but they will cherish it ; 
No natural exhalation in the sky. 
No scape of nature, no distemper'd day. 
No common wind, no customed event. 
But they will pluck away his natural cause. 
And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs. 
Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven. 
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John. 

Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life, 
But hold himself safe in his prisonment. 

Pand, O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach, 
If that young Arthur be not gone already. 
Even at that news he dies ; and then the hearts 
Of all his people shall revolt from him. 
And kiss the lips of unacquainted change ; 
And pick strong matter of revolt, and wrath. 
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John. 
Methinks, 1 see this hurly all on foot ; 
And, O, what better matter breeds for you. 
Than I have nam'd ! — The bastard Faulconbndge 
Is now in England, ransacking the church, 
Offending charity : If but a dozen French 
Were there in arms, they would be as a call 
To train ten thousand English to their side ; 
Or, as a little snow, tumbled about, 
Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin, 
Go with me to the king : 'Tis wonderful. 
What may be wrought out of their discontent ; 
Now that their souls are topfull of oifencp 



ji\\f"«iii,iir '^^ " 




KING JOHN 

Arthttr. O, save me, Hutert, save me ! my eyes are out. 
Even with the fierce looks of these hloody men. 



Act IV., Scou 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



345 



For England go ; I will whet on the king. 

Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions : Let us go : 
If you say, ay, the king will not say, no. Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— Northampton. A Room in the Castle. 
Enter Hubert aiid Two Attendants. 

Hub. Heat me these irons hot ; and, look thou stand 
Within the arras : when 1 strike my foot 
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth : 
And bind the boy, which you shall find with me. 
Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. 

1 Attend. I hope yourwarrant will bear out the deed. 

Huh. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : look 
to't. — [E.xcuHt Attendants. 

Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. 

Enter AnxnuR. 

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. 
Hub. Good morrow, little prince. 

Arth. As little prince (having so great a title 
To be more piince,) as may be. — You are sad. 
Hub. Indeed, 1 have been merrier. 
Arth. Mercy on me ! 

Methinks, no body should be sad but I : 
Yet, I remember, when I was in France, 
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, 
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 
So 1 were out of prison, and kept sheep, 
I should be as merry as the day is long ; 
And so I would be here, but that I doubt 
My uncle practises more harm to me : 
He is afraid of me, and I of him : 
Is it my fault that I was Gefl'rey's son 1 
No, indeed, is 't not ; And I would to heaven, 
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 
Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : 
Therefore I will be sudden and despatch. [Aside. 
Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day : 
In sooth, I would you were a little sick ; V 

That I might sit all night, and watch with you : 
I warrant, I love you more than you do me. 

Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom. — 
Read here, young Arthur. \_Shewing a yuper.^ How 
now, foolish rheum ! [^Adde. 

Turning dispiteous torture out of door ! 
I must be brief ; lest resolution drop 

Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. 

Can you not read it ] is it not fair writ 1 

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: 
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes 1 
Hub. Young boy, I must. 
Arth. And will you? 

Hub. And I will. 

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did 
I knit my handkerchief .about your brows, [but ake, 
(The best 1 had, a princess wrought it me,) 
And I did never ask it you again : 
And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour. 
Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time ; 
Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief ? 
Or, what good love may 1 perform for you ? 
Many a poor man's son would have lain still. 
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 
But you at your sick service had a prince. 
Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love, 
And call it, cunning ; Do, an if you will : 



If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill. 
Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes? 
These eyes, that never did, nor never shall. 
So much as frown on you ? 

Huh. I have sworn to dc it ; 

And with hot irons must I burn them out. 

Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it ! 
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot. 
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 
And quench his fiery indignation. 
Even in the matter of mine innocence : 
Nay, after tiiat, consume away in rust. 
But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron ? 
An if an angel should have come to me. 
And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
I would not have.believ'd no tongue, but Hubert's. 

Hub. Come forth. {^Stamps. 

He-enter Attendants, with cords, irons, ^c. 

Do as I bid you do. 

Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes are out, 
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 

Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. 

Arth. Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough ? 
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! 
Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away, 
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word. 
Nor look upon the iron angerly : 
Thrust but these men away, and I '11 forgive you, 
Whatever torment you do put me to. 

Huh. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him. 

1 Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed. 

\_Exeunt Attendants. 

Arth. Alas I I then have chid away my friend ; 
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart : — 
Let him come back, that his compassion may 
Give life to yours. 

Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 

Arth. Is there no remedy ? 

Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. 

Artli. O heaven ! — that there were but a mote in 
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, [yours, 
Any annoyance in that precious sense ! 
Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there, 
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 

Hub. Is this your promise? goto, hold your tongue. 

Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
IMust needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : 
Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert ! 
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue. 
So I may keep mine eyes ; O, spare mine eyes ; 
Though to no use, but still to look on you ! 
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold. 
And would not harm me. 

Hub. I can heat it, boy. 

Arth. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with grief. 
Being create for comfort, to be us'd 
In undeserv'd extremes : See else yourself; 
There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, 
And strew'd repentant asiies on his head. 

Hub, But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 

Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, 
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert : 
Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; 
And, like a dog tiiat is compell'd to fight. 
Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. 
All things, that you- should use to do me wrong, 
Deny their office •• only you do lack 



346 



KING JOHN. 



That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron extends, 
Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. 

Hub. Well, see to live, 1 will not touch thine eyes 
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : 
Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, 
With this same very iron to burn them out. 

Arlh. O, now you look like Hubert '. all this while 
You were disguised. 

Hub. Peace : no more. Adieu. 

Your uncle must not know but you are dead : 
I 'U fill these dogged spies with false reports. 
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, 
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, 
Will not oflend thee. 

Arth. heaven!— I thank you, Hubert. 

Hub. Silence; no more: Go closely in with me. 
Much danger do 1 undergo for thee \_Exeunt. 

SCENE II. 

The same. — A Room of State in the Palace. 

Enter King John, crowned ; Pembroke, Salisbury, 
and other Lords. The Kino takes his State. 

K. John. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd. 
And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. 

Pern. This once again, but that your highness pleas'd, 
W^as once superfluous : you were crown'd before, 
And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off; 
The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt ; 
Fresh expectation troubled not the land. 
With any long'd-for change, or better state. 

SaL rherefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, 
To guard a title that was rich before, 
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily. 
To throw a perfume on the violet, 
To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light 
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, 
Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess. 

Pern. But that your royal pleasure must be done. 
This act is as an ancient tale new told ; 
And, in the last repeating, troublesome, 
Being urged at a time unseasonable. 

SuL In this, the antique and well-noted face 
Of plain old form is much disfigured ; 



Your safety, for the wiiich myself and them 
Bend their best studies, ) heartily request 
The enfranchisement of Arthur ; whose restraiqt 
Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent 
To break into thi^ dangerous argument,— 
If, what in rest you have, in right you hold. 
Why then your fears, (which, as they say, attend 
The steps of wrong,) should move you to mew up 
Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days 
With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth 
The rich advantage of good exercise ? 
That the time's enemies may not have this 
To grace occasions, let it be our suit. 
That you have bid us ask his liberty ; 
Which for our goods we do no further ask. 
Than whereupon our weal, on you depending, 
Counts it your weal, he have his liberty. 

A'. John. Let it be so; 1 do commit his youth 

Enter Hubert. 

To your direction. — Hubert, what news with you 1 
Pem. This is the man should do the bloody deed 
He shew'd his warrant to a friend of mine : 
The image of a wicked heinous fault 
Lives in his eye ; that close aspect of his 
Does shew the mood ol a much-troubled breast , 
And I do fearfully believe, 'tis done. 
What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. 

SaL The colour of the king doth come and go. 
Between his purpose and his conscience, 
Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set : 
His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. 

Pem. And, when it breaks, 1 fear, will issue thence 
The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. 

K.John. Wecannot hold mortality's strong hand:— 
Good lords, although my will to give is living. 
The suit which you demand is gone and dead : 
He tells us, Arthur is deceas'd to-night. 

SaL Indeed, we fear'd, his sickness was past cure. 
Pem. Indeed, we heard how near his death he was, 
Before the child himself felt he was sick : 
This must be answer'd, either here, or hence. 

A. Ji>/u).W hy do you bend such solemn brows on me? 
Think you, I bear the shears of destiny ! 
Have I commandment on the pulse of life 1 

SaL It is apparent foul-play ; and 'tis shame, 
That greatness should so grossly offer it : 
So thrive it in your game ! and so farewell. 

Pem. Stay yet, lord Salisbury ; I'll go with thee, 
And find the inheritance of this poor child, 
His little kingdoih of a forced grave. 
That blood, which ow'd the breadth of all this isle, 
Three foot of it doth hold : Bad world the while 1 
I'his must not be thus borne : this will break out 
To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt. 

[^Exeunt Lords 
A'. John, They burn in indignation ; 1 repent ; 
There is no sure foundation set on blood ; 



And, like a shifted wind unto a sail. 

It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about ; 

Startles and frights consideration ; 

Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, 

For putting on so new a fashion'd robe. 

Pem. When vvorki'i<>n strive to do better than well. 
They do confound their skill in covetousness : 
And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault. 
Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse ; 
As patches, set upon a little breach. 
Discredit more in hiding of the fault, 
Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. 

SaL To this effect, before you were new-crown'd. 
We breath'd our counsel : but'it pleas'd your highness No certain lifeachiev'd by others' death 

To overbear it ; and we are all well pleas'd ; 
Since all and every part of what we would. 
Doth make a stand at what your highness will. 

A'. John. Some reasons of this double coronation 
I have possess'd you with, and think them strong ; 
And more, more strong, (when lesser is my fear,) 
I shall indue you with : jMean time, but ask 
What you would have reform'd, that is not well; 
And well shall you perceive, how willingly 
I will both hear and grant you your requests. 

Pem. Then I, (as one that am the tongue of these. 
To sound the purposes of all their hearts,) 
Both for myself and them, (but, chief of all, 



Enter a Messenger. 

A fearful eye thou hast ; Where is that blood. 

That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks 1 

So foul a sky clears not without a storm : 

Pour down thy weallier: — How goes all in France? 

M^is.FroniFrancetu England. — Never such a powei 
For any foreign preparation, 
Was levied in the body of a land ! 
The copy of your speed is learn'd by them ; 
For, when you should be told they do prepare. 
The tidings come, that they are all arriv'd. 

A. Jo/i7i.O, where hath our intelligence beendrunk? 



ACT IV.— SCEiNE II. 



347 



^Vhere hath it slept? Where is my mother s care? 
That such an army could be drawn in France, 
And she not hear of it ? 

Mess. ]\Iy liege, her ear 

Is stopp'd with dust ; the first of April, died 
Your noble mother : And, as I hear, my lord, 
The lady Constance in a frenzy died 
Three days before : but this from rumour's tongue 
I idly heard ; if true, or false, I know not. 

A". John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion! 
O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd 
My discontented peers ! — What ! mother dead? 
How wildly then walks my estate in France ! — 
Under whose conduct came those powers of France, 
That thou for truth giv'st out, are landed here ? 

Mess. Under the IJauphin. 

Enter the Bastard and Pkteu ij/Tomfret. 

K. John. Thou hast made me giddy 

With these ill tidings. — Now, what says the world 
To your proceedings ! do not seek to stuff 
My head with more ill news, for it is liill. 

Bast. But, if you be afeard to hear the worst, 
Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head. 

A'. John. Bear with me, cousin, for 1 was amaz'd 
Under the tide : but now I breathe again 
Aloft the flood ; and can give audience 
To any tongue, speak it of what it will. 

Bimi. How I have sped among the clergymen, 
The sums I have collected shall express. 
But, as I travelled hither through the land, 
I find the people strangely fantasied ; 
Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams ; 
Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear : 
And here's a prophet, that 1 brought with me 
From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found 
With many hundreds treading on his heels ; 
To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes, 
That, ere the next .Ascension-day at noon, 
Your highness should deliver up your crown. 

K. Jo/iu. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so? 

Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so. 

A'. John. Hubert, away with him ; imprison liim; 
And on that day at noon, whereon, he says, 
I shall yield up my crown, let him he hang'd: 
Deliver him to safety, and return. 
For I must use thee. — O my gentle cousin, 

[Eaif Hi'iiEUT, with Peter. 
Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd? 

Bast. The French, my lord ; men'smouths arefuHof 
Besides, I met lord Bigot, and lord Salisbury, [it: 
(With eyes as red as new enkindled fire,) 
And others more, going to seek the grave 
Of Arthur, who, they say, is kill'd to-night 
On your suggestion. 

A'. John. Gentle kinsman, go. 

And thrust thyself into their companies : 
I have a way to win their loves again ; 
Bring them before me. 

Bast. I will seek them out. 

K.John.'Szy, but nuke haste; the better foot before. 
0, let me have no subject enemies, 
Wlien adverse foreigners affright my towns 
With dreadful pomp of stout invasion ! — 
Be iMercury, set feathers to thy heels ; 
And Hy, like thought, from them to roe again. 

Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. 

[Eiit. 

K.Jnha. Spoke like aspriteful noble gentleman. — 
Go after him ; for he, perhaps, shall need 
Some messenger betwixt me and the peers ; 
And be liiuu he. 



Mess. With all my heart, my liege. [Exit. 

K. John. JVIy mother dead! 

Re-enter Hubert. 

Huh. My lord, they say, five moons were seen to- 
Four fixed; and the fifth did whirl about [flight : 
The other four, in wond'rous motion. 

A'. John. Five moons ? 

Huh. Old men, and beldams, in the streets. 

Do prophesy upon it dangerously : 
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths: 
And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, 
And whisper one another in the ear ; 
And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist ; 
Whilst he, that hears, makes fearful action. 
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. 
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus. 
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool. 
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news ; 
^Vho, with his shears and measure in his hand, 
Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste 
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) 
Told of a many thousand warlike French, 
That were embatteled and rank'd in Kent : 
Another leanunwash'd artificer 
Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. 

A'. Joint. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these 
Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death I [fears i 
Thy hand hath murder"d him : 1 liad mighty cause 
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. 

Hub. Had none, my lord ! why, did you not provoke 

K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended [me ? 
By slaves, that take their iiumours for a warrant 
To break within the bloody house of life • 
And, on the winking of authority. 
To understand a law ; to know the meaning 
Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns 
More upon humour than advis'd respect. 

Huh. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. 

K. John. O, when the 1 ast account 'twixt heaven and . 
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal [earth 
Witness against us to damnation ! 
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds. 
Makes deeds ill done ! Hadest not thou been by, 
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd. 
Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame, 
This murder had not come into my mind : 
But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect. 
Finding thee fit for bloody villany, 
Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger, 
I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death ; 
And thou, to be endeared to a king. 
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. 

Hub. My lord, 

A'. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a 
When I spake darkly what I purposed ; [pause, 

Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face. 
And bid me tell my tale in express words ; 
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off. 
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me : 
But thou didst understand me by ray signs. 
And didst in signs again parley with sin ; 
Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent. 
And, consequently, tliy rude hand to act 
The deed, w hicli both our tongues held vile to name. — 
Out of my sight, and never see me morel 
My nobles leave me ; and my state is brav'd, 
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers; 
Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, 
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, 
Hostility and civil tumult reigns 
Between my conscience, and my cousin's death. 



348 



KING JOHN. 



Huh. Arm you against your other enemies, 
I'll make a peace betwixt your soul and you. 
Young Arthur is alive: This hand of mine 
Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, 
Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. 
Within this bosom never entered yet 
The dreadful notion of a murd'rous thought, 
And you have slauder'd nature in my form : 
Which howsoever rude exteriorly, 
Is yet the cover of a fairer mind 
Than to be butcher of an innocent child. 

A'. John. Doth Arthur live! O, haste thee to the 
Throw this report on their incensed rage, [peers, 
And make them tame to their obedience ! 
Forgive the comment that my passion made 
Upon thy feature ; for my rage was blind. 
And foul imaginary eyes of blood 
Presented thee more hideous than thou art. 
O, answer not; but to my closet bring 
The angry lords, with all expedient haste : 
I c6njure thee but slowly ; run more fast. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 111.— The same. Before the Ccistle. 
Enter Arthur, on the walls, 

Arih. The wall is high; and yet will I leap down: — 
Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not ! — 
There's few, or none, do know me ; if they did. 
This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite. 
I am afraid ; and yet I'll venture it. 
If I get down, and do not break my limbs, 
I'll find a thousand shifts to get away : 
As good to die, and go, as die, and stay. [Leaps down. 
O me ! my uncle 's spirit is in these stones : — 
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones! 

[Dies. 
Enter Pemhroke, Salishury, and Bigot. 

Sai. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund's-Bury; 
It is our safety, and we must embrace 
This gentle offer of the perilous time. 

Pern. Who brought that letter from the cardinal 1 

Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of France ; 
Whose private with me, of the Dauphin's love, 
Is much more general than these lines import. 

Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him tiien. 

Sal. Or, rather then set forward : for "twill be 
Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet. 

Enter the Bastard. 

Bast. Oncemoreto day well met, distemper'dlords ! 
The king, by me, requests your presence straight. 

Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us ; 
We will not line his thin bestained cloak 
With our pure honours, nor attend the foot 
That leaves the print of blood where-e'er it walks : 
Return, and tell him so ; we know the worst, [best. 

Bast. Whate'eryou think, good words, I think, were 

Sal. Our griefs, and not oiir manners, reason now. 

Bast. But there is little reason in your grief ; 
Therefore, 'twere reason, you had manners now. 

Pern. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. 

Bast. 'Tis true ; to hurt his master, no man else. 

Sal. This is the prison : What is he lies here "! 

[Seeing Artiu'R. 

Pern. O death, made proud with pure and princely 
The earth had not a hole to hide this deed, [beauty ! 

Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done. 
Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. 

Big. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave. 
Found it too precious-princely for a grave. 

Sal. Sir Richard, what think you"! I lave you beheld, 
Or have you read, or heard ! or could you think ? 



Or do you almost think, although you see, 
That you do see 1 could thought, witliout this object, 
Form such another ! this is the very top. 
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest. 
Of murder's arms : this is the bloodiest shame, 
The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroke. 
That ever wall-eye'd wrath, or staring rage. 
Presented to the tears of soft remorse. 

Pern. All murders past do stand excus'd in this: 
And this so sole, and so unmatchable. 
Shall give a holiness, a purity. 
To the yet-unbegotten sin of times ; 
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, 
Exampled by this heinous spectacle. 

Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work ; 
The graceless action of a heavy hand. 
If that it be the work of any hand. 

Sal. If that it be the work of any hand T — 
We had a kind of light, what would ensue : 
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand : 
The practice, and the purpose, of the king : — 
From whose obedience 1 forbid my soul, 
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life 
And breathing to his breathless excellence 
•The incense of a vow, a holy vow ; 
Never to taste the pleasures of the world, 
Never to be infected with delight. 
Nor conversant with ease and idleness. 
Till I have set a glory to this hand. 
By giving it the worship of revenge. 

Pern. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy words. 

Enter Hubert. 

Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you : 
Arthur doth live ; the king hath sent for you. 

Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death : — 
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone ! 

Huh. I am no villain. 

Sal. Must I rob the lawl [Draviing his swm-d. 

Bast. Your sword is bright, sir ; put it up again. 

Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murderer's skin. 

Huh. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, I say ; 
By heaven, I think, my sword's as sharp as yours : 
I would not have you, lord, forget yourself, 
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence ; 
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget 
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility. 

Big. Out, dunghill ! dar'st thou brave a nobleman ">. 

Huh. Not for my life : but yet I dare defend 
My innocent life against an emperor. 

Sal. Thou art a murderer. 

Hub. Do not prove me so ; 

Yet, I am none: Whose tongue soe'er speaks false. 
Not truly speaks ; who speaks not truly, lies. 

Pern. Cut him to pieces. 

Bast. Keep the peace, I say. 

Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. 

Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury: 
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot. 
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, 
I '11 strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime ; 
Or I '11 so maul you and your toasting-iron. 
That you shall think the devil is come from hell. 

Big. What wilt thou do renowned Faulconbridge? 
Second a villain and a murderer 1 

Hub. Lord Bigot, 1 am none. 

Big. Who kill'd this piinee'? 

Hub. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well ; 
I honour'd him, I lov'd him ; and will weep 
My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss. 

Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, 
For villany is not without such rlieura ; 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



349 



And he long traded in it, makes it seem 
Like rivers of remorse and innocency. 
Away, with me, all you whose souls abhor 
The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house ; 
¥oT I am stifled with the smell of sin. 

Big. Away, toward Bury, to the dauphin there ! 

Fern. I'liere, tell the king, he may inquire us out. 

[^Exeunt Lords. 

Bdst. Here's a good world ! — Knew you of this fair 
Bevond the infinite and boundless reach [work? 

Of iiiercy, if thou didst this deed of death. 
Art thou damn'd, Hubert. 

//(//). Do but hear me, sir. 

Bast. Ha! I '11 tell thee what ; 
Thou art damn'd as black — nay, nothing is so black; 
Thou art more deep damn'd than prince Lucifer : 
There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell 
As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. 

Hub. Upon my soul, 

J3</4t. If thou didst but consent 

To this most cruel act, do but despair. 
And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread 
That ever spider twisted from her womb 
Will serve to strangle thee ; a rush will be 
A beam to hang thee on ; or would'st thou drown thy- 
Put but a little water in a spoon, [self. 

And it shall be as all the ocean, 

Enough to stille such a villain up. 

I do suspect thee very grievously. 

Hub. If 1 in act, consent, or sin of thought 
Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath 
Which was embounded in this beauteous clay, 
Let hell want pains enough to torture me ! 
I left him well. 

Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms. — 

I am amaz'd. methinks : and lose my way 
Among the thorns and dangers of this world. — 
How easy dost thou take all England up I 
From forth this morsel of dead royalty. 
The life, the right, and truth of all this lealra 
Ls fled to heaven ; and England now is left 
To tug and scamble, and to part by the teeth 
The unowed interest of proud-swelling state. 
Now, for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty, 
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest. 
And snarlelh in the gentle eyes of peace : 
Now powers from home, and discontents at home, 
IMeet in one line ; and vast confusion waits 
(As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,) 
The eminent decay of wrested pomp. 
Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can 
Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child, 
And follow me with speed ; I '11 to the king : 
A thousand businesses are brief in hand. 
And heaven itself doth frown upon tJie land. [E,reu?if. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — The same. A Room m the Palace. 

Enter KixG John, PAN'Dui.ni uith the crown, 
and Attendants. 

A'. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand 
The circle of my glory. 

Panii. Take again [Giving John the croicn. 

From this my hand, as holding of the pope. 
Your sovereign greatness and authority. [French ; 

A'. John. Now keep your holy word : go meet tlie 
And from his holiness use all your power 
To stop their marches, 'fore we are inllam'd. 



Our discontented counties do revolt ; 
Our people quarrel with obedience ; 
Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul. 
To stranger blood, to foreign royalty. 
This inundation of mistemper'd humour 
Rests by you only to be qualified. 
I Then pause not ; for the present time's so sick, 
That present medicine must be min-ister'd. 
Or overthrow incurable ensues. 

Band. It was my breath that blew this tempest up, 
Upon your stubborn usage of the pope : 
But, since you are a gentle convertite. 
My tongue shall hush again this storm of war. 
And make fair weather in your blustering land. 
On this Ascension-day, remember well, 
Upon your oath of service to the pope. 
Go I to make the French lay down their arms. [Exit. 
K.John. IsthisAscensionday"! Did not the prophet 
Say, that, before Ascension-day at noon, 
jMy crown 1 should give off! Even so I have . 
I did suppose, it should be on constraint ; 
But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary. 

Enter the Bastard. 

Bust. All Kent hath yielded ; nothmg there holds out, 
But Dover castle : London hath receiv'd, 
Like a kind host, the dauphin ard his powers : 
Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone 
To offer service to your enemy ; 
And wild amazement hurries up and down 
The little number of your doubtful friends. 

A'. John. Would not my lords return to me again. 
After they heard young Arthur was alive 1 

Bast. They found him dead, and cast into the streets; 
An empty casket, where the jewel of life 
By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away. 

A'. John. That villain Hubert told me he did live. 

Bast, So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew. 
But wherefore do you droop ! why look you sad 1 
Be great in act, as you have been in thought; 
Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust, 
Govern the motion of a kingly eye : 
Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire ; 
Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow 
Of bragging horror : so shall inferior eyes. 
That borrow their behaviours from the great. 
Grow great by your example, and put on 
The dauntless spirit of resolution. 
Away ; and glister like the god of war. 
When he intendeth to become the field : 
Shew boldness and aspiring confidence. 
What, shall they seek the lion in his den, 
And fright him there? and make him tremble there! 
O, let it not be said ! — Forage, and run 
To meet displeasure further from the doors ; 
And grapple with him, ere lie comes so nigh. 

h.John. The legate of the pope hath been with me. 
And 1 have made a happy peace with him • 
And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers 
Led by the Dauphin. 

Bast. inglorious league ' 

Shall we, upon the footing of our land. 
Send fair-play orders, and make compromise. 
Ipsinuation, parley, and ba.sc truce. 
To arms invasive ! shall a beardless boy 
A cocker'd silken wanton brave our fields. 
And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil. 
Mocking the air with colours idly spread. 
And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms . 
Perchance, the cardinal cannot make your peace; 
Or if he do, let it at least be said. 
They saw we had a purpose of defence. 



350 



KING JOHN. 



K.John. Have ^hou the ordering of this present 

time. 
Bast. Away tlien, with good courage ; yet, I know, 
Our party may well meet a prouder Toe. l^EieuiU. 

.SCENE II.— ii Plain, near St. Edmund's-Bury. 

Enter in arms, Lewis, Salishuby, Melun, 
Pembroke, Bigot, and Soldiers. 

Lew. My lord Melun, let this be copied out. 
And keep it safe for our remembrance : 
Return the precedent to these lords again ; 
That, having our fair order vviitten down, 
Both they, and we, perusing o'er these notes, 
May know wherefore we took tlie sacrament. 
And keep our faiths firm and inviolable. 

Sal. Upon our sided it never shall be broken. 
And, noble dauphin, albeit we swear 
A voluntary zeal, and unurg'd faith, 
To your proceedings ; yet, believe nie, prince, 
I am not glad that such a sore of time 
Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt. 
And heal the inveterate canker of one wound. 
By making many: O, it grieves my soul, 
That 1 raiist draw this metal from my side 
To be a widow-maker ; O, and there, 
Where honourable rescue, and defence. 
Cries out upon the name of Salisbury : 
But such is the infection of the time. 
That, for the health and physic of our right, 
We cannot deal but with the very hand 
Of stein injustice and confused wrong. — • 
And i:>'t not pity, O my grieved friends ! 
That we, the sons and children of this isle, 
Were born to see so sad an hour as this : 
Wherein we step after a stranger march 
Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up 
Her enemies' ranks, (I must withdraw and weep 
Upon the spot of this enforced cause,) 
To grace the gentry of a land remote, 
And follow unacquainted colours here? 
What, here"!— 0, nation, that thou could'st remove! 
That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about, 
Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself. 
And grapple thee unto a pagan shore ; 
Where these two Christian armies might combine 
The blood of malice in a vein of league. 
And not to spend it so unneighbourly ! 

Lew. A noble temper dost thou shew in this; 
And great affections, wrestling in thy bosom. 
Do make an earthquake of nobility. 
O, wliat a noble combat hast thou fought, 
Between compulsion, and a brave respect ! 
Let me wipe off this honourable dew. 
That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks : 
My heart iiath melted at a lady's tears, 
Being an ordinary inundation ; 
But this effusion of such manly drops. 
This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul. 
Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd 
Than had 1 seen the vanity top of heaven 
Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors. 
Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury, 
And with a great heart heave away this storm ; ' 
Commend these waters to those baby eyes. 
That never saw the giant world enrag'd ; 
Nor met with fortune other than at feasts. 
Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossiping 
Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep 
Into the purse of rich prosperity. 
As Lewis himself: — so, nobles, shall you all. 
That knit your sinews to the strength of mine. 



Enter Pandulph, attended. 

And even there, methinks, an angel spake : 
Look, where the holy legate comes apace, 
To give us warrant from the hand of heaven ; 
And on our actions set the name of right. 
With holy breath. 

Pand. Hail, noble prince of France : 

The next is this, — king John hath reconcil'd 
Himself to Rome ; his spirit is come in. 
That so stood out against the holy church, 
The great metropolis and see of Rome : 
Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up, 
And tame the savage spirit of wild war ; 
That, like a lion fosl'er'd up at hand, 
It may lie gently at the foot of peace. 
And be no further harmful than in show. 

Lew. Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back ; 
I am too high-born to be propertied, 
To be a secondary at controul. 
Or useful serving-man, and instrument. 
To any sovereign state throughout the world. 
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars 
Between this chiistis'd kingdom and myself. 
And brought in matter that should feed this fire ; 
And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out 
With that same weak wind which enkindled it. 
You taught me how to know the face of right. 
Acquainted me with interest to this land. 
Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart ; 
And come you now to tell me, John hath made 
His peace with Rome ! What is that peace to me . 
I, by the honour of my marriage-bed. 
After young Arthur, claim this land for mine ; 
And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back. 
Because that John hath made his peace with Rome? 
Am I Rome's slave 1 What penny hath Rome borne, 
A'^hat men provided, what munition sent. 
To underprop this action'' is't not 1, 
That undergo this charge 1 who else but I, 
And such as to my claim are liable. 
Sweat in this business, and maintain this war 1 
Have I not heard these islanders shout out, 
Vive le roy ! as I have bank'd their towns 1 
Have I not here the best cards for the game. 
To win this easy match play'd for a crown 1 
And shall I now give o'er the yielded set 1 
No, on my soul, it never shall be said. 

Pand. You look but on the outside of this work. 

Lew. Outside, or inside, I will not return 
Till my attempt so much be glorified 
As to my ample hope was promised 
Before 1 drew this gallant head of war, 
And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world, 
To outlook conquest, and to win renown 
Even in the jaws of danger and of death. — 

l^Triimpet sounds. 
What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us ? 

Enter the Bastard, attended. 

Bast. According to the fair play of the world. 

Let me have audience ; I am sent to speak • 

JNIy holy lord of Milan, from the king 
I come, to learn how you have dealt for him ; 
And, as you answer, 1 do know the scope 
And warrant limited unto my tongue. 

Pan. The dauphin is too wilful opposite, 
And will not temporize with my entreaties ; 
He flatly says, he'll not lay down his arms. 

Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd, 
The youth says well: — Now hear our English king; 
For thus his royalty doth speak in me. 
He IS prepar'd ; and reason too, he should : 



ACT V.—SCENE IV, 



351 



This apish and unmannerly approach, 

This harness'd masque, and unadvised revel, 

This unhair'd sauciness, and boyish troops, 

The king doth smile at ; and is well piepar'd 

To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms. 

From out the circle of his territories. 

That hand, which had the strength, even at your door. 

To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch ; 

To dive, like buckets, in concealed wells ; 

To crouch in litter of your stable planks ; 

To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks ; 

To hug with swine ; to seek sweet safety out 

In vaults and prisons ; and to thrill, and shake, 

Even at the crying of your nation's crow. 

Thinking his voice an armed Englishman ; — 

Shall that victorious hand be feebled here. 

That in your chambers gave you chastisement ? 

No : Know, the gallant monarch is in arms ; 

And like an eagle o'er his aiery towers, 

To souse annoyance that comes near his nest. — 

And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts. 

You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb 

Of your dear motiier England, blush for shame: 

For your ov/n ladies, and pale-visag'd maids, 

Like Amazons, come tripping after drums ; 

Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change, 

Their neelds to lances, and their gentle hearts 

To fierce and bloody inclination. 

Lew. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace; 
We grant, thou canst outscold us : fare thee well ; 
We hold our time too precious to be spent 
With such a brabbler. 

Pand. Give me leave to speak. 

Bait. No, I will speak. 

Lew. We will attend to neither: — 

Strike up the drums ; and let the tongue cf war 
Plead for our interest, and our being here. 

Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten will cry out ; 
And so shall you, being beaten: Do but start 
An eciio with the clamour of thy drum. 
And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd 
That shall reverberate all as loud as thine ; 
Sound but another, and another shall, 
As lo\id as thine, rattle the welkin's ear. 
And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder : for at hand 
(Not trusting to this halting legate here. 
Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need,) 
Is warlike John ; and in his forehead sits 
A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day 
To feast upon whole thousands of the French. 
Lew. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out. 
Bast. And thou shaltiindit, dauphin, do not doubt. 

l^Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Tfte same. A Field of Battle. 

Alarums. Enter King John and Hubeut. 

K.John. How goes the day with usl O, tell me, 

Hubert. 
Huh. Badly, I fear : How fares your majesty ? 
K. Joint. 'J'iiis fever, that hath troubled me so long, 
Lies heavy on me ; O, my heart is sick ! 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. I\Iy lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulcon- 
Desires your majesty to leave the field ; [bridge, 
And send him word by me, which way you go. 

K.John. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey 
there. 

Mess. Be of good comfort ; for the great supply. 
That was expected by the dauphin here, 
Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin's sands. 



This news was brought to Richard but even now : 
The i rench fight coldly, and retire themselves. 
K.JiiIin. Ah me! this tyrant fever burns me up. 

And will not let me welcome this good news. 

Set on toward Swinstead : to my litter straight ; 
Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. lE.iei/nt. 

SCENE IV. ■ 

The same. — Another part of the same. 
Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, Bigot, and others. 
Sal. I did not think the king so stor'd with friends. 
Pern, Up once again ; put spirit in the French • 
If they miscarry, we miscarry too. 

Sal That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, 
In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. [fi^d. 

Pern. They say, king John, sore sick, hath left the 

Enter Mei.un, uounded, and led hi^ Soldiers. 

Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. 

Sal. When we were happy, we had other names. 

Pern. It is the count JMelun. 

Sal. Wounded to death. 

Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold; 
Unthread the rude eye of rebellion. 
And welcome home again discarded faith. 
Seek out king John, and fall before his feet ; 
For, if the Fiench be lords of this loud day. 
He means to recompense the pains you take. 
By cutting off your heads : Thus hath he sworn, 
And I with him, and many more with me, 
Upon the altar at Saint Edmund's-Bury ; 
Even on that altar, where we swore to you 
Dear amity and everlasting love. 

Sal. May this be possible! may this be true ? 

Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view. 
Retaining but a quantity of life ; 
Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax 
Resolveth from its figure 'gainst the fire ? 
What in the world should make me now deceive, 
Since 1 must lose the use of all deceit 1 
^Vhy should I then be false ; since it is true. 
That I must die here, and live hence by truth 1 
I say again, if Lewis do win the day. 
He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours 
Behold another day break in the east : 
But even this night, — whose black contagious breath 
Already smokes about the burning crest 
Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun, — 
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire ; 
Paying the fine of rated treachery, 
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives. 
If Lewis by your assistance win the day. 
Commend me to one Hubert, with your king ; 
The love of him, — and this respect besides. 
For that my grandsire was an Englishman, — 
Awakes my conscience to confess all this. 
In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence 
From forth the noise and rumour of the field ; 
Where I maj think tlie remnant of my thoughts 
In peace, and pan this body and my soul 
With contemplation and devout desires. 

Sal. We do believe thee, — And beshrew my soul 
But I do love the favour and the form 
Of this most fair occasion, by the which 
\Ve will untread the steps of damned flight ; 
And, like a bated and retired flood. 
Leaving our rankness and irregular course, 
Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'il. 
And calmly run on in obedience, 

Even to our ocean, to our great king John. 

My arm shall give thee help to bear lliee hence ; 



352 



KING JOHN. 



For I do see the cruel pangs of death 

Right in thine eye. — Away, my friends ! New flight ; 

And happy newness, that intends old right. 

[Eieunt, leading ()^']Melun. 

SCENE V. — The same. The French Camp. 

'Enter Lewis and his Train. 

Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to 
set ; 
But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush, 
When the English measur'd backward their own 
In faint retire : O, bravely came we off, [ground, 
When with a volley of our needless shot. 
After such bloody toil, we bid good night ; 
And wound our tatter'd colours clearly up. 
Last in the field, and almost lords of it ! 

Enter a Messenger, 

Mes. Where is my prince, the dauphin ? 

Lew. Here : — What news 1 

Mess. The count ]\Ielun is slain ; the English lords, 
By his persuasion, are again fallen off: 
And your supply, which you have vvish'd so long, 
Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands. 

Leiv. Ah, foul shrewd news ! — Beshrew thy very 
I did not think to be so sad to-night, [heart! 

As this hath made me. — Who was he, that said, 
King John did fly, an hour or two before 
The stumbling night did part our weary powers'! 

Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. 

Lew. Well ; keep good quarter, and good care to- 
The day shall not be up so soon as I, [fight ; 

To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. \_Exetuit. 

SCENE VI. — An open Plare in the neighbourhood 
of Swinstead-Abbey. 

Enter the Bastard and Hubert, meeting. 

Hub. Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I 

Bast. A friend. — Wliat art thou ■? [shoot. 

Huh. Of the part of England. 

Bast. Whither dost thou go ? 

Hub. What's that to thee? Why may I not demand 
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine? 

Bast. Hubert, I think. 

Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought : 

I will, upon all hazards, well believe 
Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well : 
Who art thou ! 

Bast. Who thou wilt: an if thou please, 

Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think 
I come one way of the Plantagenets. 

Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, andeyeless night, 
Have done me shame: — Brave soldier, pardon me, 
That any accent, breaking from thy tongue. 
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. 

Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what news 
abroad ? 

Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night. 
To find you out. 

Bast. Brief, then; and what's the news? 

Hub. 0, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night. 
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. 

Bast. Shew me the very wound of this ill news ; 
I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it. 

Hah. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk : 
I left him almost speechless, and broke out 
To acquaint you with this evil ; that you might 
The better arm you to the sudden time, 
Than if you had at leisure known of this. 

Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to him? 



Hub. A monk, I tell you ; a resolved villain^ 
Whose bowels suddenly burst out : the king 
Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover. 

Bust. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty? 

Hub. Why, know you not? the lords are all come 
And brought prince Henry in their company ; [back, 
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them. 
And they are all about his majesty. 

Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven, 

And tempt us not to bear above our power ! 

I '11 tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night, 

Passing these flats, are taken by the tide. 

These Lincoln washes have devoured them ; 

IMyself, well- mounted, hardly have escap'd. 

Away, before ! conduct me to the king ; 

I doubt, he will be dead, or ere I come. [Exeunt. 

SCENE YIl.— The Orchard of Swinstead Abbey 

Enter Prince Henrv, SALisnunv, and Bioot. 

P. Hen. It is too late ; the life of all his blood 
Is touch'd corruptibly ; and his pure brain 
(Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,) 
Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, 
Foretel the ending of n ortality. 

Enter Pembroke. 

Prm. His highness yet doth speak ; and holds belief 
Tliat, being brought into the open air, 
It would allay the burning quality 
Of that fell poison which assaileth him. 

P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here. — 
Doth he still rage? [Eiit Bigot. 

Pern. He is more patient 

Than when you left him ; even now he sung. 

P. Hen. O vanity of sickness ! fierce extremes, 
In their continuance, will not feel themselves. 
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts. 
Leaves them insensible ; and his siege is now 
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds 
With many legions of strange fantasies ; 
Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, 
Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death should 

I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, [sing. 

Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death ; 
And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings 
His soul and body to their lasting rest. 

Sal. Be of good comfort, prince ; for you are born 
To set a form upon that indigest. 
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude 

Re-enter Bigot and Attendants, who bring in 
King John, in a chair. 

K.John. Ay, marry, nowmysoul hath elbow-room; 
It would not out at windows, nor at doors. 
There is so hot a summer in my bosom. 
That all my bowels crumble up to dust : 
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen 
Upon a parchment ; and against this fire 
Do I shrink up. 

P. Hen. How fares your majesty ? 

A'. John. Poison'd, — ill fare ; — dead, forsook, cast 
And none of you will bid the winter come, [off: 
To thrust his icy fingers in my maw ; 
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course 
Through my burn'd bosom ; nor entreat the north 
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips. 
And comfort me with cold : — I do not ask you much, 
I beg cold comfort ; and you are so strait. 
And so ingrateful, you deny me that. 

P. Hen. O. that there were some virtue in my tears, 
That might relieve you ! 

A'. John. The salt in them is hot. — 



ACT v.— SCENE VII. 



3oa 



Within me is a hell ; and there the poison 
Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize 
On unreprievable condemned blood. 

Enter the Bastard. 

Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, 
And spleen of speed to see your majesty. 

K.John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye : 
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd ; 
And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail. 
Are turned to one thread, one little hair : 
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, 
Which holds but till thy news be utter'd ; 
And then all this thou see'st is but a clod. 
And module of confounded royalty. 

Bast. The dauphin is preparing hitherward ; 
Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him : 
For, in a night, the best part of my power, 
As I upon advantage did remove, 
Were in the washes, all unwarily, 
Devour'd by the unexpected flood. [T/ie King dies. 

Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear. 
My liege! my lord! — But now a king, — now thus. 

P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. 
What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, 
When this was now a king, and now is clay 1 

Bast. Art thou gone so 1 I do but stay behind. 
To do the office for thee of revenge ; 
And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven. 

As it on earth hath been thy servant still. 

Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres. 

Where be your powers 1 Shew now your mended faiths ; 

And instantly return with me again. 

To push destruction, and perpetual shame. 

Out of the weak door of our fainting land : 

Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought ; 

The dauphin rages at our very heels. 

Sal. It seems, you know not then so much as we : 



The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, 
Who half an hour since came from the dauphin ; 
And brings from him such ofl["ers of our peace 
As we with honour and respect may take. 
With purpose presently to leave this war. 

Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees 
Ourselves well sinewed lo our defence. 

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already ; 
For many carriages he hath despatch'd 
To the seaside, and put his cause and quarrel 
To the disposing of the cardinal. 
With whom yourself, myself, and other lords. 
If you think meet, this afternoon will post 
To c6nsummate this business happily. 

Bast. Let it be so: — And you, my noble prince, 
With other princes that may best be spar'd. 
Shall wait upon your father's funeral. 

P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be mterr'd ; 
For so he will'd it. 

Bast. Thither shall it then. 

And happily may your sweet self put on 
The lineal state and glory of the land ! 
To whom, with all submission, on my knee, 
I do bequeath my faithful services 
And true subjection everlastingly. 

Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, 
To rest without a spot for evermore. 

P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you 
And knows not how to do it, but with tears, [thanks. 

Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe. 
Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. — 
This England never did, (nor never shall,) 
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, 
But when it first did help to wound itself. 
Now these her princes are come home again. 
Come the three corners of the world in arms, 
And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us rue, 
If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt. 



The tragedy of Kinf; John, though not written with the utmost 
power of Shaksneare, isvaried with a very pleasing interchange 
of incidents and characters. The lady's grief is very affecting ; 
and the character of the Bastard contains that mixture of great- 
ness and levity which this author delighted to exhibit.— John- 
son. 



To these remarks of Dr. Johnson, it may be added, that the 
prief of Constance for the loss of Arthur, is probably indebted 
for much of its characteristic truth to the calamity which 
Shaltspeare had himself sustained by the death of his only son, 
who had attained the age of twelve, and died the year this play 
was produced. 






.^.^^^.^1.^..- ... — ^.*— 



THE LIFE AND DEATH OF 

KING RICHARD II. 



This play which Mr. Malone supposes to have been written 
in 1593, was published in quano no less than five several 
times during our autlior's lite. The first edition was in 15y7, 
without the scene of deposing Richard, which was first in- 
serted in the edition of 1(308. 

It has been supposed by Ur. Farmer, that there was a play on 
the subject anterior to that of Shakspeare, because he found 
in Lord Bacon, in the arraignments of Cnjfe and Mend, vol. 
iv. p. 320, of Mallet's edition, that, " 1 he alternoon before 
the rebellion, Merick, with a great number of others, that 
afterwards were all in the action, had procured to be played 
before them the i)lav of deposing hmg Richard the Seciind ; 
when it was told him by one of the players, that the play 



was old, and they should have loss in playing it, becRtise few 
would come to it, there was forty shillings extraordinary given 
to play, and so thereupon played it was." 

This passage does not, however, necessarily refer to a drama 
older than Shakspeare's. In the year lOOK the actors would 
be very naturally inclined to consider a play as out of date, 
which had been produced in 1593, and performed till the cu- 
riosity of the town had become exhausted. 

The action of this play comprises little more than two years. 
It begins with Bolingbroke's,appealing the duke of Norfolk, 
on the accusation of high-treason, which occurred in 1.39!'>, 
and closes with the death of hing Richard, which took place 
in the end of the year 1400. 



PERSONS RErRESENTED. 



King Richard the Second. 

Edmund of Langley, Duke o/" York ; ) uncles to 
John OF Gaunt, jDu/c«o/ Lancaster ; S f//e King. 
Henby, surnamed Bolinbiioke, Duhe of Hereford, 

son to John of Gaunt ; afterivnrds King Henry IV. 
Di'KE OF Ai'siEitLE, snn to the Duke of York. 
Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. 
Duke of Surrey. 
Earl of Salisbury. 
Earl Berkeley. 

Bushy, Bagot, Green, creatures to King Richard. 
Earl of Northumberland. 
Henry Percy, his son. 
Lord Ross. 
Lord Willoughby. 
Lord Fitzwater. 
Bishop of Carlisle. 
Abbot of Westminster. 
Lord Marshal ; and another Lord. 
Sir Pierce of Exton. 
Sir Stephen Scroop. 
Captain of a band of Welchmen. 

Queen to King Richard. 
Duchess of Gloster. 
Duchess of York. 
Lady attending on the Queen. 

Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Two Gardeners, 
Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants, 

SCENE, — dispei-sedly in England and Wales. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Richard, attended ; John of Gaunt, 
and other Nobles, with him. 

K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lan- 
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, [caster. 
Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son ; 
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal. 
Which then our leisure would not let us hear. 
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray. 

Gaunt. I have, jny liege. 

K. Rich. Tell me moreover, hast thou sounded him. 
If he appeal the duke on ancient malice ; 
Or worthily, as a good subject should, 
On some known ground of treachery in him ? 

Gaimf. As near as I could sift him on that argu- 
On some apparent danger ceen in him, [ment, — 
Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. 



K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face to face, 
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear 
The accuser, and the accused, freely speak : — 

[^Exeunt some Attendants, 
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, 
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. 

Re-enter Attendants, with Bolingbroke and 
Norfolk. 

Boling. Many years of happy days befal 
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege ! 

Nor. Each day still better other's happiness ; 
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, 
Add an immortal title to your crown ! 

K. Rich. We thank you both : yetone but flattersus, 
As well appeareth by the cause you come ; 
Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. — 
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object 
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray 1 

Boling. First, (heaven be the record to my speech ' ) 
In the devotion of a subject's love. 
Tendering the precious safety of my prince, 
And free from other misbegotten hate. 
Come I appellant to this princely presence. — 
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee. 
And mark my greeting well ; for what 1 speak, 
My body shall make good upon this earth. 
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. 
Thou art a traitor and a miscreant ; 
Too good to be so, and too bad to live ; 
Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky. 
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. 
Once more, the more to aggravate the note. 
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat ; 
And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere 1 move, 
What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may 
, prove. 
Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal ; 
'Tis not the trial of a woman's war. 
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues. 
Can arbitrate tliis cause betwixt us twain : 
The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this, 
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast. 
As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say : 
First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs ine 
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech ; 
Which else would post, until it had return'd 
These terms of treason doubled down his throat. 
Setting aside his high blood's royalty, 
And let him be no kinsman to my liege, 
I do defy him, and I spit at him ; 
Call him — a slanderous coward, and a villain : 
Which to maintain, I would allow him odds 3 
And meet him were I tied to run a-foct 



ACT I. -SCENE I. 



355 



Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, 
Or any other ground inhabitable 
Wherever Englishman durst set his foot. 
Mean time, let this defend my loyalty, — 
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. 

Baling'. Pale trembling coward, here I throw my 
Disclaiming here the kindred of the king ; [gage, 
And lay aside my high blood's royalty, 
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except : 
If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength, 
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop, 
By that, and all the rites of knighthood else. 
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm. 
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. 

Nor, I take it up ; and, by that sword I swear, 
Which gently lay'd my knighthood on my shoulder, 
[ '11 answer thee in any fair degree, 
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial : 
And, when I mount, alive may I not light, 
If I be traitor, or unjustly fight ! 

A". Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's 
It must be great, that can inherit him [charge 1 

So much as of a thought of ill in him. [true ; — 

Boling. Look, what I speak my life shall prove it 
That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles. 
In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers ; 
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments. 
Like a false traitor, and injurious villain. 
Besides I say, and will in battle prove, — 
Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge 
That ever was survey "d by English eye, — 
That all the treasons, for these eighteen years 
Complotted and contrived in this land. 
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. 
Further I say, — and further will maintain 
Upon his bad life, to make all this good, — 
That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death ; 
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries ; 
And, consequently, like a traitor coward, 
Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of blood : 
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries. 
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, 
To me, for justice, and rough chastisement ; 
And, by the glorious worth of my descent, 
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. 

A'. Ilicli. How high a pitch his resolution soars ! — 
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this ? 

Nor. O let my sovereign turn away his face, 
And bid his ears a little while be deaf, 
Till I have told this slander of his blood, 
How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar. 

A'. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears: 
Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, 
(As he is but my father's brother's son,) 
Now by my scepter's awe I make a vow. 
Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood 
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize 
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul ; 
He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou ; 
Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow. 

Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart. 
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest ! 
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais, 
Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers ; 
The other part reserv'd I by consent ; 
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt. 
Upon remainder of a dear account, 
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen : 

Now swallow down that lie. ForGloster'sdeath, — 

I slew him not ; but to my own disgrace. 
Neglected my sworn duty in that case. — 
For you, my noble lord of Lancaster, 



The honourable father to my foe, 

Once did I lay in ambush for your life, 

A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul : 

But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament, 

I did confess it ; and exactly begg'd 

Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had it. 

This is my fault : As for the rest appeal'd, 

It issues from the rancour of a villain, 

A recreant and most degenerate traitor : 

Which in myself I boldly will defend ; 

And interchangeably hurl down my gage 

Upon this overweening traitor's foot. 

To prove myself a loyal gentleman 

Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom : 

In haste whereof, most heartily I pray 

Your highness to assign our trial day. 

K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me; 
Let's purge this choler without letting blood : 
This we prescribe, though no physician ; 
Deep malice makes too deep incision : 
Forget, forgive ; conclude, and be agreed ; 
Our doctors say, this is no month to bleed. — 
Good uncle, let this end where it begun ; 
We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son. 

Gawnf.Tobe a make-peace shall becomemyage: — 
Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage. 

K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his. 

Gaunt. When, Harry 1 wheni 

Obedience bids, I should not bid again. 

K, Rich. Norfolk, throw down ; we bid ; there is 
no boot. 

Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot : 
My life thou shall command, but not my shame : 
The one my duty owes ; but my fair name, 
(Despite of death, that lives upon my grave,) 
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. 
I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here ; 
Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear ; 
The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood 
Which breath'd this poison. 

K. Rich. R'^ge must be withstood : 

Give me his gage : — Lions make leopards tame. 

Nor. Yea, but not change their spots : take but my 
And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, [shame, 
The purest treasure mortal times afford, 
Is — spotless reputation ; that away. 
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay. 
A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest 
Is — a bold spirit in a loyal breast. 
Mine honour is my life ; both grow in one ; 
Take honour from me, and my life is done : 
Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try ; 
In that I live, and for that will I die. [begin 

K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage ; do you 

Boling. O, God defend my soul from such foul sin ! 
Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight 1 
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my hught 
Before this outdar'd dastard ? Ere my tongue 
Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong, 
Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear 
The slavish motive of recanting fear ; 
And spit it bleeding, in his high disgrace. 
Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. 

[Eait Gaunt. 

A''. Rich. We were not bound to sue, but to command: 
Which since we cannot do to make you friends. 
Be ready, as your lives shall answer it. 
At Coventry, upon saint Lambert's day ; 
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate 
The swelling difference of your settled hate ; 
Since we cannot atone you, we shall see 
Justice design the victor's chivalry. — 
Z i 



356 



KING RICHARD 11. 



Lord marshal, command our officers at arms 

Be ready to direct these home-alarms. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 11.— The same. A Boom in the Duhe 
of Lancaster's Palace. 

Enter Gaunt, and Duchess o/"Gloster. 

Gaunt. Alas ! the part I had in Gloster's blood 
Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims, 
To stir against the butchers of his life. 
But since correction lieth in those hands, 
Which made the fault that we cannot correct, 
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven ; 
Who when he sees the hours ripe on earth, 
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. 

Duck. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur 1 
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire 1 
Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, 
Were as seven phials of his sacred blood. 
Or seven fair branches springing from one root : 
Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, 
Some of those branches by the destinies cut : 
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster, — 
One phial full of Edward's sacred blood, 
One flourishing branch of his most royal root, — 
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt ; 
Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded. 
By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe, 
Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine: that bed, that womb, 
That mettle, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee, 
Made him a man; and though thou liv'st, and breath'st, 
Yet art thou slain in him : thou dost consent 
la some large measure to thy father's death, 
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die. 
Who was the model of thy father's life. 
Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair : 
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, 
Thou shew'st the naked pathway to thy life, 
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee ■ 
That which in mean men we entitle — patience. 
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. 
What shall I say 1 to safeguard thine own life. 
The best way is — to 'venge my Gloster's death. 

Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel ; for heaven's sub- 
His deputy anointed in his ^.ight, [stitute, 

Hath caus'd his death : the which if wrongfully. 
Let heaven revenge ; for I may never lift 
An angry arm against his minister. 

Duch. Where then, alas! may I complain myself! 

Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and de- 
fence. 

Duch. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. 
Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold 
Our cousin Hereford and fell jMowbray fight : 
O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, 
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast ! 
Or, if misfortune miss the first career. 
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, 
That they may break his foaming courser's back, 
And throw the rider headlong in the lists, 
A caitifl" recreant to my cousin Hereford ! 
Farewell, old Gaunt ; thy sometime brother's wife, 
With her companion grief must end her life. 

Gaunt. Sister, farewell : I must to Coventry : 
As much good stay with thee, as go with me ! 

Duch. Yet one word more ; — Grief boundeth 
where it falls, 
Not with the empty hoUowness, but weight : 
I take my leave before I have begun ; 
For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. 
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York. 
Lo, this is all :— Nay, yet depart not so ; 



Though this be all, do not so quickly go ; 

I shall remember more. Bid him^O, what? — 

With all good speed at Flashy visit me. 

Alack, and what shall good old York there see, 

But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls. 

Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones ? 

And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans ^ 

Therefore commend me ; let him not come tliere. 

To seek out sorrow that dwells every where : 

Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die ; 

The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. [Eieurii. 

SCENE III. — Gosford Green, vear Coventry. 

Lists set out, and a Throne. Heralds, <Sfc. attending. 

Enter the Lord Rlarshal and Aumerle. 

Mar. My lord Auraerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd 1 

Anm. Yea, at all points ; and longs to enter in. 

Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, 
Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. 

Aum. Why then, the champions are prepar'd and 
For nothing but his majesty's approach. [stay 

Flourish of trumpets. Enter King Richard, who takes 
his seat on his throne ; Gaunt, o«d several Noble- 
men, who take their places. A trumpet is sounded, 
and answered by another trumpet within. Then enter 
Norfolk, in armour, preceded by a Herald. 

A'. Jiich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion 
The cause of his arrival here in arms : 
Ask him his name ; and orderly proceed 
To swear him in the justice of his cause. [art, 

Mar. In God's name, and the king's, say who thou 
And why thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arms : 
Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel : 
Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath ; 
And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour ! 

AW. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Nor- 
Who hither come engaged by my oath, [fo^k, 

(Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate !) 
Both to defend my loyalty and truth, 
To God, my king, and my succeeding issue. 
Against the duke of Hereford that appeals me ; 
And, by the grace of God, and this my arm. 
To prove him, in defending of myself, 
A traitor to my God, my kmg, and me : 
And, as 1 truly fight, defend me heaven ! 

[He takes his seat. 

Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolingbroke, in armour ; 
preceded by a Herald. 

K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms. 
Both who he is, and why he cometh hither 
Thus plated in habiliments of war ; 
And formally according to our law 
Depose him in the justice of his cause. [hither. 

Afar. Whatis thy name? and wherefore com'st thou 
Before King Richard, in his royal lists ? 
Against whomcomest thou? and what's tny quarrel? 
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven ! 

Baling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
Am I ; who ready here do stand in arms. 
To prove, by heaven's grace, and my body's valour. 
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, 
That he's a traitor, foul and dangerous. 
To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me ; 
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! 

Mar. On paia of death, no person be so bold, 
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists ; 
Except the marshal, and such officers 
Appointed to direct these fair designs. 



ACT I.— SCENE III. 



357 



Bflibig. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's 
And bow my knee before liis majesty : [lianj, 

For Mowbray, and myself, are like two men 
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage ; 
Then let us take a ceremonious leave. 
And loving farewell, of our several friends, [ness. 
Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your high- 
And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave 

A'. Rich. We will descend, and fold him inour arms. 
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, 
So be thy fortune in this royal fight ! 
Farewell, my blood ; which if to-day thou shed, 
Lament we niay, but not revenge thee dead. 
Botiiig O, let no noble eye profane a tear 
For me, if I be gor'd with iNIowbi-ay's spear ; 
As confident, as is the falcon's flight 

Against a bird, do 1 with Mowbray fight. 

My loving lord, [to Lord Marshal.] 1 take my leave of 
Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle : — [you ; 
Not sick, although 1 have to do with death ; 

But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. 

Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet 

The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet : 

Othou, theearthl^'author of mybtood, — [To Gaunt. 

Whose yotithfu! spirit, in me regenerate, 

Doth with a two- fold vigour lift me up 

To reach at victory above my head, — 

Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers ; 

And with thy blessings steel my lance's point. 

That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat. 

And furbish new the name of .Tohn of Gaunt, 

Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son. 

Gaiuit. Heaven in thy good cause make thee pros- 
Be swift like lightning in the execution ; [perous ! 
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, 
Fall like amazing tliunder on the casque 
Of thj' adverse pernicious enemy : 
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. 
Boling. IMine innocency, and Saint George to 
thrive. [He takes his seat. 

Nor. [IUsing.'\ However heaven, or fortune, cast 
my lot, 
There lives, or dies, true to king Richard's throne, 
A loyal, just, and upright gentleman . 
Never did captive with a freer heart 
Cast ofF his chains of bondage, and embrace 
His golden uncontroU'd enfranchisement, 
More than my dancing soul doth celebrate 
This feast of battle with mine adversary — 
Most mighty liege, — and my companion peers, — 
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years : 
As gentle and as jocund, as to jest. 
Go I to fight ; Truth hath a quiet breast. 
K. Rich. Farewell, my lord ; securelv I espy 

Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. 

Order the trial, marshal, and begin. 

[T/?e King ami the Lords retarn (o their seats. 

Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 

Receive thy lance ; and God defend the right ! 

Baling. IRisiiig.'] Strong as a tower of hope, 1 cry 

— amen. fduke of Norfolk. 

Mar. Go bear this lance [tn an OfHcer.] toThomas, 

1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, 
On pain to be found false and recreant. 
To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas i\Iowbray, 
A traitor to his God, his king, and him, 
And dares him to set forward to the fight. 

2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of 
On pain to be found false and recreant, [Norfolk, 
Both to defend himself, and to approve 
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 



To God, his sovereign, and to him, disloyal ; 
Courageously, and with a free desire. 
Attending but the signal to begin. 

Mar. Sound trumpets ; and set forward, combat- 
ants. [^ charge soundea. 
Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down, [spears, 
A'. Ricli. Let thein lay by their helmets and their 

And both return back to their chairs again : 

Withdraw with us : — and let the trumpets sound. 
While we return these dukes what we decree. — 

[A long Jlourish. 
Draw near [To the Combatants. 

And list what with our council we have done. 
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd 
With that dear blood which it hath fostered ; 
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect 
Of civil wounds plough 'd up with neighbours' swords; 
[And for we think the eagle-winged pride 
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts. 
With rival hating envy, set you on 
To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle 
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep ;] 
Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd drums. 
With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, 
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, 
JMight from our quiet confines fright fair peace. 
And make us wade even in our kindred's blood ; — 

Therefore, we banish you our territories : 

You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death. 
Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields. 
Shall not regreet our fair dominions. 
But tread the stranger paths of banishment. ' [be, — 
Boling. Your will be done: this must my comforl 
That sun, that warms you here, shall shine on me; 
And those his golden beams, to you here lent, 
Shall point on me, and gild my banishment. 

A'. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, 
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce : 
The sly slow hours shall not determinate 
The dateless limit of thy dear exile ; — 
The hopeless word of — never to return 
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. 

Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, 
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth : 
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim 
As to be cast forth in the common air. 
Have I deserved at your highness' hand. 
The language I have learn'd these forty years. 
My native English, now I must forego": 
And now my tongue's use is to me no more, 
Than an unstringed viol, or a harp ; 
Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up. 
Or, being open, put into his hands 
That knows no touch to tune the harmony. 
Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, 
Doubly portcullis'd, with my teeth, and lips ; 
And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance 
Is made my gaoler to attend on me. 
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, 
Too far in years to be a pupil now ; 
What is thy sentence then, but speechless death, 
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath 1 

A'. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate ; 
After our sentence plaining comes too late. 

Nor. Then thus 1 turn me from my country's light. 
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. [ Retiring, 
K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee. 
Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands ; 
Swear by the duty that you owe to heaven, 
(Our part therein we banish with yourselves,) 
To keep the oath that we administer : — 
You never shall (so help you truth and heaven !) 



;358 



KING RICHARD II. 



Embrace each other's love in banishment ; 

Nor never look upon each other's face ; 

Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile 

This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate ; 

Nor never by advised purpose meet, 

To plot, contrive, or complot any ill, 

'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. 

Baling. I swear. 

Nor. And I, to keep all this. 

Baling. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy ; — 
By this time, had the king permitted us, 
One of our souls had wander'd in the air, 
Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh. 
As now our flesh is banish'd from this land : 
Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm ; 
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along 
The clogging burden of a guilty soul. 

Nor. No, Bolingbroke ; if ever I were traitor. 
My name be blotted from the book of life. 
And I from heaven banish'd, as from hence! 
But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know ; 
And all too soon, I fear, the kins shall rue.^ 
Farewell, my liege : — Now no way can I stray ; 
Save back to England, all the world's my way. [ Exit. 

K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes 
I see thy grieved heart ; thy sad aspect 
Hath from the number of his banish'd years 
Pluck'd four away ; — Six frozen winters spent, [ment. 
Return [toBoi.iNc] with welcome home from banish- 

Bolina. How Ions a. time lies in one little word! 
Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs, 
End in a word ; Such is the breath of kings. 

Gaunt. I thank my liege, that, in regard of me. 
He shortens four years of my son's exile : 
But little vantage shall I reap thereby ; 
For, ere the six years, that he hath to spend, 
Can change their moons, and bring their times about, 
My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light. 
Shall be extinct with age, and endless night ; 
My inch of taper will be burnt and done. 
And blindfold death not let me see my son. 

K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. 

Gaunt. But not a minute, kmg, that thou canst give : 
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow. 
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow: 
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age. 
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage ; 
Thy word is current with him for my death : 
But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. 

K.Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice. 
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave ; 
Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower 1 

Gaunt. Things sweet to taste, prove in digestion sour. 
You urg'd me as a judge ; but I had rather. 
You would have bid me argue like a father : — 
O, had it been a stranger, not my child. 
To sooth his fault I should have been more mild : 
A partial slander sought I to avoid. 
And in the sentence my own life destroy 'd. 
Alas, I look'd, when some of you should say, 
1 was too strict, to make mine own away ; 
But you gave leave to mine unwilling tongue. 
Against my will, to do myself this wrong, 

A'. Rich. Cousin, farewell: — and, uncle, bid him so; 
Six years we banish him, and he shall go. 

[Flourish. Exeunt K. Hichard and Train. 

Aum. Cousin, farewell: what presence must not 
From where you do remain, let paper shew, [know, 

Mar. Rly lord, no leave take 1 ; for I will ride 
As far as land will let me, by your side. [words, 

Gaicnt. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy 
That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends ■? 



BoUng. I have too few to take my leave of you. 

When the tongue's office should be prodigal 
I'o breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. 

Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. 

Baling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. 

Gaunt. What is six winters? they are quickly gone. 

Baling. Tomeninjoy; butgrief makes one hour ten. 

Gaunt. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure. 

Baling. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so. 
Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. 

Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps 
Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set 
The precious jewel of thy home-return. 

Baling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make 
W^ill but remember me, what a deal of world 
I wander from the jewels that I love : 
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood 
To foreign passages ; and in the end. 
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else 
But that 1 was a journejTnan to grief? 

Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits. 
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens • 
Teach thy necessity to reason thus ; 
There is no virtue like necessity. 
Think not, the king did banish thee ; 
But thou the king : Woe doth the heavier sit. 
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. 
Go, say — I sent thee forth to purchase honour. 
And not — the king exil'd thee : or suppose, 
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air. 
And thou art flying to a fresher clime. 
Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it 
To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st. 
Suppose the singing birds, musicians ; 
The grass whereon thoutread'st, the presence strew'd; 
The flowers, fair ladies ; and thy steps, no more 
Than a delisrhtful measure, or a dance : 
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite 
The man that mocks at it, and sets it light. 

Baling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand. 
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ? 
Or cloy the hungry edge of apjietite. 
By bare imagination of a feast? 
Or wallow naked in December snow. 
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? 
O, no ! the apprehension of the good. 
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse : 
Fell sorrow's tooth did never rankle more, 
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore. 

Gaunt, Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy 
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay, [way : 

Baling. Then, England's ground, farewell ; sweet 
soil, adieu ; 
IMy mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet ! 

Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, 

Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. 

[EjeitnJ. 

SCENE lY.— The same. A Roam in the King's Castle. 

Enter King Richard, Bacot, and Green j 

Av^iERVK following. 

K. Rich. We did observe.— Cousin Aumerle, 
How far brought you high Hereford on his way ? 

Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him sa, 
But to the next high way, and there I left him. [shed? 
A'. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears were 
Aum. 'Faith, not byme, except the northeastwind. 
Which then blew bitterly against our faces, 
Awak'd the sleeping rheum ; and so, by chance, 
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. 

A'. Rich . What said ouicousin,whenyou parted with 
Aum. Farewell : [him ? 



ACT II.- SCENE I. 



359 



And, for my heart disdained that my tongue 
Should so profane the word, that taught me craft 
To counterfeit oppression of such grief, 
That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. 
Marry .would the word farewell have lengthen'd hours, 
And added years to his short banishment, 
He should have had a volume of farewells ; 
But, since it would not, he had none of me. 

K, Rich. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, 
When time shall call him home from banishment. 
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. 
Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, 
Observ'd his courtship to the common people : — 
How he did seem to dive into their hearts. 
With humble and familiar courtesy ; 
What reverence he did throw away on slaves ; 
Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of smiles, 
And patient underbearing of his fortune. 
As 'twere, to banish their affects with him. 
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench ; 
A brace of draymen bid — God speed him well, 
And had the tribute of his supple knee, 
With — Thanks, 11VJ countrxjinen, my loving friends ; — 
As were our England in reversion his. 
And he our subjects' next degree in hope, [thoughts. 

Green. Well, he's gone; and with him go these 
Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland ; — 
Expedient manage must be made, my liege ; 
Ere further leisure yield them further means, 
For their advantage, and your highness' loss. 

K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war. 
And, for our coffers — with too great a court, 
And liberal largess, — are grown somewhat light. 
We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm ; 
The revenue whereof shall furnish us 
For our affairs in hand : If that come short, 
Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters ; 
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich. 
They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold, 
And send them after to supply our wants ; 
For we will make for Ireland presently. 

Etiter Bushy. 

Bushy, what news ? 

Bushy. Old .John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord ; 
Suddenly taken ; and hath sent post-haste. 
To entreat your majesty to visit him. 

K. Rich. Where lies he 1 

Bushy. At Ely-house. 

K. Rich. 'Novf put it, heaven, in his physician'smind. 
To help him to his grave immediately ! 
The lining of his coffers shall make coats 
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. — 
Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him : 
Pray God, we may make haste, and come too late ! 

[^Eieuut, 

ACT II. 

SCENE I London. A Room in Ely House. 

Gaunt on a couch ; the Duke of York, and others 
standing by him. 

Gaunt. Will the king come 1 that I may breathe my 
In wholesome counsel to his unstaied youth. [last 

York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your 
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. [breath ; 

Gaunt. O, but they say, the tongues of dying men 
Enforce attention, like deep harmony ; 
Where words are scarce, they are seldom spentin vain ; 
For they breathe truth , that breathe their words in pain. 
lie, that no more must say, is listen'd more 



Than they whom youth and ease have taugh t to glose ; 
More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before ; 

The setting sun, and music at the close. 
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last ; 
Writ in remembrance, more than things long past : 
Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear. 
My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. 

York. No ; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, 
As, praises of his state : then, there are found 
Lascivious metres ; to whose venom sound 
The open ear of youth does always listen : 
Report of fashions in proud Italy ; 
Whose manners still our tardy apish nation 
Limps after in base imitation. 
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, 
(So it be new, there's no respect how vile,) 
That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears 1 
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard. 
Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. 
Direct not him, whose way himself will choose ; 
'Tis breath thou lackest, and that breath wilt thou lose , 

Gaunt. JMethinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd ; 
And thus, expiring, do foretel of him : 
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last ; 
For violent fires soon burn out themselves ; 
Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short ; 
He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes ; 
With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder • 
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant. 
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. 
This royal throne of kings, this sceptr'd isle, 
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 
This other Eden, demi-paradise ; 
This fortress, built by iVature for herself, 
Against infection, and the hand of war : 
This happy breed of men, this little world ; 
This precious stone, set in the silver sea. 
Which serves it in the office of a wall, 
Or as a moat defensive to a house. 
Against the envy of less happier lands ; 
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, 
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, 
Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth. 
Renowned for their deeds as far from home, 
(For Christian service, and true chivalry,) 
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, 
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son : 
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land. 
Dear for her reputation through the world. 
Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it,) 
Like to a tenement, or pelting farm : 
England, bound in with the triumphant sea, 
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege 
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame. 
With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds ; 
That England, that was wont to conquer others, 
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself: 
O, would the scandal vanish with my life. 
How happy then were my ensuing death ! 

Enter Kino Richard and Queen ; Aumerle, Bushy, 
Green, Bagot, Ross, and Willoughby. 

yoWc.The king is come : deal mildly with his youth ; 
For young hot colts, being rag'd, do rage the more. 

Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? 
■K, Rich. What comfort, man ] How is't with aged 
Gaunt? 

Gaunt. O, how that name befits my composition? 
Old Gaunt, indeed ; and gaunt in being old . 
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast ; 
And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt ? 
For sleeping England long time have 1 watc'd j 



v" 



:mo 



KING RICHARD II 



Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt : 
The pleasure, that some fathers feed upon. 
Is my strict fast, I mean — my children's looks ; 
And, therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt ; 
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, 
Whose hollow womb inlierits nought but bones. 

K. Rich, Can sick men play so nicely with their 
names '< 

Gatint. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: 
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, 
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee, [live ? 

K. llich. Should dying men flatter with those that 

Gaitiit. No, no ; men living flatter those that die. 

K. Kic/i. Thou, now a dying, say 'st thou flatter'stme. 

Gaunt. Oh I no ; thou diest, though I the sicker be. 

K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. 

Gannc. Now, He that made me, knows I see thee ill 
111 in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. 
Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land, 
Wherein thou liesl in reputation sick: 
And thou, too careless patient as thou art, 
Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure 
Of those physicians that first wounded thee: 
A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, 
Whose compass is no bigger than thy head ; 
And yet, incaged in so small a verge. 
The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. 
O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye. 
Seen how his son's son siiould destroy his sons, 
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame; 
Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, 
Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. 
Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, 
It were a shame, to let this land by lease : 
But, for thy world, enjoying but this land, 
Is it not more than shame, to shame it so 1 
Landlord of England art thou now, not king: 
Thy state of law is bond-slave to the law ; 
And thou 

K, Rich. a lunatic lean-witted fool, 

Presuming on an ague's privilege, 

Dar'st with thy frozen adnionition 

Make pale our cheek ; chasing the royal blood, 

With fury, from his native residence. 

Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, 

Wert tliou not brother to great Edward's son, 

This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head. 

Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders. 

Gaunt. 0, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, 
For that I was his father Edward's son ; 
That blood already, like the pelican. 
Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd : 
My brother Gloster, plain well meaning soul, 
(Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls!) 
May be a precedent and witness good, 
That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: 
Join with the present sickness that I have; 
And thy unkindness be like crooked age. 
To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower. 
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee !— 
These words hereafter thy tormentors be ! — 
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave : 
Love they to live, that love and honour have. 

[Exit, borne out lii) his Attendants. 

K.Rich. And let themdie, thatageandsuUenshave; 
for both hast thou, and both become the grave. 

York. 'Beseecli your majesty, impute his words 
To wayward sickliness and age in him : 
He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear 
As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here. 

A'. Rich, llight ; you say true : as Hereford's love. 
As theirs, so mine ; and all be as it is. [so his : 



Enter Northumberland. 

North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your 

K. Rich. What says he now 7 [majesty 

North. Nay, nothing; all is said 

His tongue is now a stringless instrument; 
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. 

York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so .' 
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. 

A'. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he , 
His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be : 

So much for that. Now for our Irish wars : 

We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns ; 

Which live like venom, where no venom else, 

But only they, hath privilege to live. 

And for these great affairs do ask some charge. 

Towards our assistance, we do seize to us 

The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables. 

Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. 

York. How long shall 1 be patient"! Ah, how long 
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong 1 
Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment, 
NotGaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs. 
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke 
About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, 
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek. 
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. — 
I am the last of noble Edward's sons, 
Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first; 
In war, was never lion rag'd more fierce, 
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild. 
Than was that young and princely gentleman : 
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, 
Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours ; 
But, when he frown'd, it was against the French, 
And not against his friends : his noble hand 
Did win what he did spend, and spent not tiiat 
Which his triumphant fatiier's hand had won : 
His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood, 
]5ut bloody with the enemies of his kin. 
O, Richard ! York is too far gone with grief. 
Or else he never would compare between. 

A'. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter"? 

Yin-k, O, my liege. 

Pardon me, if you please ; if not, I pleas'd 
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. 
Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands, 
1'he royalties and rights ofbanish'd Hereford? 
Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live? 
Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true ? 
Did not the one deserve to have an heir? 
Is not his heir a well-deserving son? 
Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time 
His charters, and his customary rights ; 
Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day ; 
Be not thyself, for how art thou a king. 
But by fair sequence and succession? 
Now, afore God (God forbid, I say true !) 
If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights. 
Call in the letters patents that he hath 
By his attornies general to sue 
His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, 
You pluck a thousand dangers on your head. 
You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts. 
And prick my tender patience to those thoughts 
Which honour and allegiance cannot think. 

K.Rich. Think what you will; we seize into our 
His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands, [hands 

York. I'll not be by, the while : My liege, farewell : 
What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell ; 
But by bad courses may be understood. 
That their events can never fall out good, [Exit, 



ACT II.— SCENE II. 



301 



K.Rich. Go, Bushy, to tlie earl of Wiltshire 
Bid him repair to us to Ely-house, [straight ; 

To see tliis business : To-morrow next 
We will for Ireland ; and 'tis time, I trow ; 
And we create, in absence of ourself. 
Our uncle York lord governor of England, 

For he is just, always lov'd us well. 

Come on, our queen : to-morrow must we part ; 
Be merry, for our time of stay is short. [F/imiis/i. 
[Exeunt King, Quuen, Bushy, Aumehle, 
Green, and Bagot. 

North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead. 

Ross. And living too ; for now his son is duke. 

Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue. 

North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. 

Ross. My heart is great ; but it must break with 
Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue, [silence, 

North. Nay, speak thy mind ; and let him ne'er 
speak more. 
That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm ! 

Willo. Tends that thou'dst speak, to the duke of 
If it be so, out with it boldly, man ; [Hereford ? 
Quick is mine ear, to hear of good towards him. 

Ross. No good at all, that 1 can do for him ; 
Unless you call it good, to pity him. 
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. 

North. Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame, such wrongs 
In him a royal prince, and many more [are borne, 
Of noble blood in this declining land. 
The king is not himself, but basely led 
By flatterers ; and what they will inform, 
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us ail. 
That will the king severely prosecute 
'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. 

Ross. The commons hath he pill'd with grievous 
And lost their hearts : the nobles hath he fin'd [taxes, 
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. 

Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd ; 
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what ; 
But what, o'God's name, doth become of thisl 

North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he 
But basely yielded upon compromise [hath not, 
That which his ancestors achieved with blows : 
More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars. 

Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. 

Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken 
man. [him. 

North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over 

Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars. 
His burdenous taxations notwithstanding. 
But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. 

North. His noble kinsman : most degenerate king! 
But lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing. 
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm : 
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails. 
And yet we strike not, but securely perish. 

Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer : 
And unavoided is the danger now. 
For suffering so the causes of our wreck. 

North. Not SO ; even through the hollow eyes of 
I spy life peering ; but I dare not say [death. 

How near the tidings of our comfort is. [ours. 

Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost 

Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland : 
We three are but thyself; and, speaking so. 
Thy words are but as thoughts ; therefore, be bold. 

Nortli. Tlien thus : — I have from Port le Blanc, a 
In Bntanny, receiv'd intelligence, [bay 

That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham, 
[The son of Richard earl of Arundel,] 
Tiiat late broke from the duke of f>xeter. 
His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury, 



Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston, 

Sir John Norberry, sir Robert Waterton, and Frances 

Quoint, 

All these, well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne, 
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war. 
Are making hither with all due expedience. 
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore : 
Perhaps, they had ere this ; but that they stay 
The first departing of the king for Ireland. 
If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke. 
Imp out our drooping country's broken wing. 
Redeem from broken pawn the blemish 'd crown, 
Wipe off the dust that hides our scepter's gilt, 
And make high majesty look like itself. 
Away, with me, in post to Ravenspurg : 
But if you faint, as fearing to do so. 
Stay and be secret, and myself will go. [fear. 

Ross. To horse, to horse ! urge doubts to them that 
Willo. Hold out my horse, and 1 will first be 
there. [Exeunt, 

SCENE II. — The same. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot. 

Biishfi. Aladam, your majesty is too much sad : 
You promis'd, when you parted with the king. 
To lay aside life-harming heaviness. 
And entertain a cheerful disposition. 

Queen. To please the king, I did ; to please myself, 
I cannot do it; yet I know no cause 
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, 
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest 
As my sweet Richard : Yet, again, methinks. 
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, * 
Is coining towards me ; and my inward soul 
With nothing trembles ■ at sometliing it grieves. 
More than with parting from my lord the king. 

Bushii. Each substance of a grief hatli twenty sha- 
Which shew like grief itself, but are not so: [dows, 
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears. 
Divides one thing entire to many objects ; 
Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon, 
Shew nothing but confusion; ey'd awry. 
Distinguish form : so your sweet majesty, 
Looking awry upon your lord's departure. 
Finds shapes of griefs, more than himself, to wail ; 
Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows 
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen. 
More than your lord's departure weep not; more's 
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, [not seen : 
Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary. 

Queen. It may be so ; but yet my inward soul 
Persuades me, it is otherwise: Howe'erit be, 
I cannot but be sad: so heavy sad. 

As — though, in thinking, on no thought I think, 

Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. 

Bushy. *Tis nothingbutconceit, my gracious lady. 

Queen. 'Tis nothing less : conceit is still deriv'd 
From some fore-father grief ; mine is not so ; 
For nothing hath begot my something grief ; 
Or something hath the nothing that 1 grieve ; 
'Tis in reversion that I do possess ; 
But what it is, that is not yet known ; what 
I cannot name ; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. 

Enter Gheen. 

Green. God save your majesty! — and well met. 
gentlemen, 
I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. 

Queen. Why hop'st thou so 1 'tis better hope he is, 
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope ; 
Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd 1 



302 



KING RICHARD II. 



GreeJi. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his 
And driven into despair an enemy's hope, [power, 
Who strongly hath set footing in this land : 
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself. 
And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd 
At Ravenspurg. 

Queen. Now God in heaven forbid! 

Green. 0, madam, 'tis too true; and that is worse, — 
ThelordNorthumberland, his young sonHenry Percy, 
The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, 
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. 

Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Northum- 
And all the rest of the revolting faction [beriand, 
Traitors 1 

Green. We have : whereon the earl of Worcester 
Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship. 
And all the household servants fled with him 
To Bolingbroke. 

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe. 
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir : 
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy ; 
And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother. 
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. 

Bushy. Despair not, madam. 

Queen. Who shall hinder me'? 

I will despair, and be at enmity 
With cozening hope ; he is a flatterer, 
A parasite, a keeper-back of death. 
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, 
Which false hope lingers in extremity. 

Enter York. 

Green. Here comes the duke of York. 

Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck ; 

O, full of careful business are his looks ! 

Uncle, 

For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words. 

York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts : 
Comfort's in heaven ; and we are on the earth. 
Where nothing lives, but crosses, care, and grief. 
Your husband he is gone to save far off, 
"Vyhilst others come to make him lose at home : 
Here am I left to underprop his land ; 

Who, weak with age, cannot support myself: 

Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made ; 
Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came. 

York. He was "! — Why, so ! — go all which way it 
The nobles they are fled, the commons cold, [will ! — 

And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. 

Sirrah, 

Get thee to Flashy, to my sister Gloster ; 
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound : 
Hold, take my ring. 

Serv. My lord, 1 had forgot to tell your lordship : 
To-day, as 1 came by, I called there ; — 
But 1 shall grieve you to report the rest. 

York. What is it, knave 1 

Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. 

York. God for his mercy ! what a tide of woes 
Comes rushing on this woeful land at once 1 
I know not what to do : — I would to God, 
(So my untruth had not provok'd him to it,) 
The king had cut off" my head with my brother's. — 
What, are there no posts despatch'd for Ireland? — 
How shall we do for money for these wars ! — 
Come, sister, — cousin, 1 would say : pray, pardon 
me. — [some carts, 

Go, fellow, [fo the Servant ] get thee home, provide 
And bring away the armour that is there. — [Ei. Serv. 



Gentlemen, will you go muster men? if I know 
How, or which way, to order these aff"air3, 
Thus disorderly thrust into my hands. 
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ; — 
The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath 
And duty bids defend ; the other again, 
Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd ; 
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. 
Well, somewhat we must do. — Come, cousin, I'll 
Dispose of you : — Go, muster up your men, 
And meet me presently at Berkley-castle. 

I should to Flashy too ; 

But time will not permit ; — All is uneven, 
And every thing is left at six and seven. 

[^Exeunt York and Queen. 

Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, 
But none returns. For us to levy power, 
Froportionable to the enemy. 
Is all impossible. 

Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love. 
Is near the hate of those love not the king. 

Bagot. And that's the wavering commons : for their 
Lies in their purses ; and whoso empties them, [love 
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. 

Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con- 
demn'd. 

Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we. 
Because we ever have been near the king. 

Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol 
The earl of Wiltshire is already there. [castle ; 

Bushy. Thither will I with you: for little oifico 
The hateful commons will perform for us ; 
Except, like curs, to tear us all to pieces. — 
Will you go along with us 1 

Bagot. No ; I'll to Ireland to his majesty. 
Farewell : if heart's presages be not vain. 
We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. 

Bushy. That 's as York thrives to beat back Bo- 
lingbroke. 

Green. Alas, poor duke ! the task he undertakes 
Is — numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry ; 
Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. 

Bushy. Farewell atonce ; foronce, forall, and ever. 

Green. Well, we may meet again. 

Bagot. I fear me, never. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— T/ie wilds in Glostershire. 

Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland, 
with Forces. 

Baling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now 1 

North. Believe me, noble lord, 
I am a stranger here in Glostershire. 
These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways. 
Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome : 
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, 
Making the hard way sweet and delectable. 
But, I bethink me, what a weary way 
From Ravenspurg to Cotswold, will be found 
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company ; 
Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd 
The tediousness and process of my travel : 
But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have 
The present benefit which I possess : 
And hope to joy, is little less in joy. 
Than hope enjoy 'd : by this the weary lords 
Shall make their way seem short ; as mine hath done 
By sight of what I have, your noble company. 

Boling. Of much less value is my company. 
Than your good words. But who comes here ? 

Ente^ Harry Percy. 
North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, 



ACT II.-SCENE III. 



aG.i 



Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. — 
Harry, how fares your uncle? [health of you. 

Fercij. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his 

North. Why, is he not with the queen ! 

Percy. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the court. 
Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd 
The household of the king. 

North. What was his reason t 

He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake together. 
Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. 
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, 
To offer service to the duke of Hereford ; 
And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover 
What power the duke of York had levied there ; 
Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg. 

North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, boy '! 

Perci). No, my good lord ; for that is not forgot. 
Which ne'er I did remember : to my knowledge, 
I never in my life did look on him. [duke. 

North. Then learn to know him now ; this is the 

Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, 
Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young ; 
Which elder days shall lipen, and confirm 
To more approved service and desert. 

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy ; and be sure, 
I count myself in nothing else so happy, 
As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends ; 
And, as my fortune ripens with thy love. 
It shall be still thy true love's recompense : 
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. 

Ni/i-th. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir 
Keeps good old York there, with his men of war ? 

Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees. 
Mann'd with three hundred men, as 1 have heard; 
And initarethelordsofYork, Berkley, andSeymour ; 
None else of name, and noble estimation. 

Enter Ross and Willoughby. 

North. Here come the lords of Ross and Willoughby, 
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. 

Boiing. Welcome, my lords : I wot your love pur- 
A banish'd traitor ; all my treasury [sues 

Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd. 
Shall be your love and labour's recompense. 

Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord. 

Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. 

Boling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor, 
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years. 
Stands for my bounty. But who comes here 1 

Enter Berkley. 

North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. 

Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you. 

Boling. RIy lord, my answer is — to Lancaster; 
And I am come to seek that name in England: 
And I must find that title in your tongue. 
Before I make reply to aught you say. 

Berk. Mistake me not, my lord ; 'tis not my mean- 
To raze one title of your honour out : — [ing, 
To you, my lord, I come, (what lord you will,) 
From the most gracious regent of this land, 
The duke of York ; to know, what pricks you on 
To take advantage of the absent time. 
And fright our native peace with self-born arms. 

Enter York, attended, 
Boling. Ishall not needtransportmy words byyou ; 
Here comes his grace in person. — My noble uncle ! 

[Kneels. 
Forfe. Shew me thy humble heart, and not thy knee. 
Whose duty is deceivable and false. 
Boling My gracious uncle '. 



York. Tut, tut ! 
Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle 
I am no traitor's uncle ; and that word— grace, 
In an ungracious mouth, is but profane. 
Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs 
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground T 
15ut then more why ; — Why have they dar'd to march 
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom. 
Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war. 
And ostentation of despised arms ? 
Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence ? 
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind. 
And in my loyal bosom lies his power. 
Were I but now the lord of such hot youth. 
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself. 
Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men. 
From forth the ranks of many thousand French ; 
O, then, how quickly should this arm of mine. 
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee. 
And minister correction to thy fault! 

Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault ; 
On what condition stands it, and wherein ? 

York. Even in condition of the worst degree, — 
In gross rebellion, and detestsd treason : 
Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come. 
Before the expiration of thy time. 
In braving arms against thy sovereign. 

Bo/JH^. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford : 
But as I come, 1 come for Lancaster. 
And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace. 
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye 
You are my father, for, methinks in you 
I see old Gaunt alive ; O, then, my father ! 
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd 
A wand'ring vagabond ; my rights and royalties 
Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away 
To upstart unthrifts? VVherefore was I born? 
If that my cousin king be king of England, 
It must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster. 
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman ; 
Had you first died, and he been thus trod down. 
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father. 
To rouse his wrongs, and chase them to the bay. 
I am denied to sue my livery here. 
And yet my letters-patent give me leave : 
My father's goods are all distrain'd, and sold ; 
And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd. 
What would you have me do ? I am a subject. 
And challenge law : Attornies are denied me ; 
And therefore personally I lay my claim 
To my inheritance of free descent. 

A^)/t/i. The noble duke hath been too much abus'd. 

Boss. It stands your grace upon, to do him right. 

Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great. 

York. My lords of England, let me tell you this, — 
I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs. 
And labour'd all I could to do him right: 
But in this kind to come, in braving arms. 
Be his own carver, and cut out his way. 
To find out right with wrong, — it may not be ; 
And you that do abet him in this kinil. 
Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all. 

North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming is 
But for his own : and, for the right of that, 
We all have strongly sworn to give him aid ; 
And let him ne'er see joy, that breaks that oath. 

York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms j 
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, 
Because my power is weak, and all ill left : 
But, if I could, by llim that gave me life, 
1 would attach you all, and make you stoop 
Unto the sovereign mercy of the kinc ; 



364 



KING RICHARD II. 



But, since I cannot, be it known to you, 
I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well ; — 
Unless you please to enter in the castle, 
And there repose you for this night. 

Baling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept. 
But we must win your grace, to go with us 
To Bristol castle; which, they say, is held 
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices, 
The caterpillars of the commonwealth. 
Which 1 have sworn to weed, and pluck away. 

York. It may be, 1 will go with you : — but yet I'll 
For I am loath to break our country's laws, [pause ; 
Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are : 
Things past redress, are now with me past care. 

l^ilieunt. 

SCENE IV.— ^ Camp in Wales. 
Enter Salisbury and a Captain. 

Cap. My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days, 
And hardly kept our countrymen together, 
And yet we hear no tidings from the king ; 
Therefore we will disperse ourselves : farewell. 

Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman ; 
The king reposeth all his confidence 
In thee. 

Cap. 'Tis thought the king is dead ; we will not stay. 
The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd. 
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven ; 
The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth. 
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change ; 
Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap, — 
The one in fear to lose what they enjoy, 
The other, to enjoy by rage and war : 
These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. — 
Farewell ; our countrymen are gone and fled. 
As well assur'd, Richard their king is dead. [Ert't. 

Sal. Ah, Richard ! with the eyes of heavy mind, 
I see thy glory, like a shooting star. 
Fall to the base earth from the firmament ! 
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, 
Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest ; 
Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes ; 
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Eiit, 



ACT III. 

SCENE I.— Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol. 

EjiterBoLiNGBROKE, YoRK, Nothumberland.Percy, 
WiLi.ouGHBY, Ross : Officers behind, with Bushy 
and Green, prisoners. 
Baling. Bring forth these men. — 
Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your souls 
(Since presently your souls must part your bodies,) 
With too much urging your pernicious lives. 
For 'twere no charity : yet, to wash your blood 
From off my hands, here, in the view of men, 
I will unfold some causes of your death. 
You have misled a prince, a royal king, 
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, 
By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean. 
You have, in manner, with your sinful hours, 
Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him ; 
Broke the possession of a royal bed. 
And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks 
With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs. 
Myself — a prince, by fortune of my birth ; 
Near to the king in blood ; and near in love. 

Till you did uiake him misinterpret me, 

Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries. 
And sigh'd mv English breath in foreign clouds, 



Eating the bitter bread of banishment : 
Whilst you have fed upon my seignories, 
Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods ; 
From my own windows torn my household coat, 
Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign — 
Save men's opinions, and my living blood, — 
To shew the world I am a gentleman. 
This, and much more, much more than twice all this, 
Condemns you to the death : — See them deliver'd over 
To execution and tlie hand of death. 

Biishij. IMore welcome is the stroke of death to me. 
Than Bolingbroke to England. — Lords, farewell. 

Green. My comfort is, — that heaven will take our 
And plague injustice with the pains of hell, [souls, 

Baling. My lord Northumberland, see them de- 
spatch'd. 
[Exeunt NoRTHUM. and others, with Prisoners. 
Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house : 
For heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated : 
Tell her, I send to her my kind commends ; 
Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. 

York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd 
With letters of your love to her at large. 

Bo/iHg. Thanks, gentle uncle. — Come, lords, away ; 
To fight with Glendower and his complices ; 
Awhile to work, and, after, holiday. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE U.—The Coast of Wales. A Castle in View. 

Flourish : Drums S) Trumpets. Eiiter King Richard, 
Bishop of Carlisle, Aumekle, and Soldiers. 

K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand ? 

Aum. Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace the air. 
After late tossing on the breaking seas ? 

K. Rich. Needs must I like it well ; I weep for joy. 

To stand upon my kingdom once again. 

Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand. 
Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs : 
As a long parted mother with her child 
Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting ; 
So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth. 
And do thee favour with my royal hands. 
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth. 
Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense : 
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom. 
And heavy gaited toads, lie in their way : 
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet. 
Which with usurping steps do trample thee. 
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies : 
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flowei. 
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder ; 
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch 
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. — 
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords ; 
This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones 
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king 
Shall falter under foul rebellious arms, [you king, 
Bishop. Fear not, my lord ; that Power, that made 
Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all. 
The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd. 
And not neglected ; else, if heaven would 
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse ; 
The proffer'd means of succour and redress. 

Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss; 
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, 
Grows strong and great, in substance, and in friends. 
K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin ! know'st thou not, 
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid 
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world. 
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen. 
In murders, and in outrage, bloody here ; 
But when, from under this terrestrial ball. 



ACT III. -SCENE II. 



366 



He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, 

And darts his light through every guilty hole, 

Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, 

The cloak of night being pluck'd from ofi' their backs. 

Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves'! 

So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, — 

Who all this while hath revell'd in the night. 

Whilst we were wand'ring with the antipodes, — 

Shall see us rising in our throne the east. 

His treasons will sit blushing in his face, 

Not able to endure the sight of day, 

But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin. 

Not all the water in the rough rude sea 

Can wash the balm from an anointed king : 

The breath of worldly men cannot depose 

The deputy elected by the Lord : 

For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd. 

To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, 

God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay 

A glorious angel : then, if angels fight, 

Weak men must fall ; for heaven still guards the right. 

Enter Salisbury. 

Welcome, my lord "! How far off lies your power ? 

Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord. 
Than this weak arm : Discomfort guides my tongue. 
And bids me speak of nothing but despair. 
One day too late, I fear, my noble lord. 
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth : 
O, call back yesterday, bid time return. 
And thou shait have twelve thousand fighting men. 
To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late, 
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state ; 
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead. 
Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd and fled, [pale 1 

Aum. Comfort, my liege : why looks your grace so 

A'. Rich, But now, the blood of twenty thousand men 

Did triumph in my face, and they are fied ; 
And, till so much blood thither come again. 

Have I not reason to look pale and dead "! 
All souls that will be safe, fly from my side ; 
For time hath set a blot upon my pride. 

Aum. Comfort, my liege ; remember who you are. 

K. Rich. I had forgot myself : Am I not king 1 
Awake thou sluggard majesty ! thou sleep'st. 
Is not the king's name forty thousand names 1 
Arm, arm, my name ! a puny subject strikes 
At thy great glory. — Look not to the ground, 
Ye favourites of a king ; Are we not high 1 
High be our thoughts : I know, my uncle York 
Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who 
Comes here 1 

Enter Scroop. 

Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege, 
Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him. 

A'. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd ; 
The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold. 
Say, is my kingdom lost 1 why, 'twas my care ; 
And what loss is it, to be rid of care 1 
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we 1 
Greater he shall not be ; if he serve God, 
We '11 serve him too, and be his fellow so : 
Revolt our subjects ; that we cannot mend ; 
They break their faith to God, as well as us : 
Cry, woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay ; 
The worst is — death, and death will have his day. 

Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so arm'd 
To bear the tidings of calamity. 
Like an unseasonable stormy day. 
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, 
As if the world were all dissolved to tears ; 
So high above his limits swells the rage 



Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land 

With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel. 

White beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps 

Against thy majesty ; boys, with women's voices, 

Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints 

In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown : 

Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows 

Of double-fatal yew against thy state ; 

Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills 

Against thy seat : both young and old rebel. 

And all goes worse than I have power to tell. 

A'. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale so ill. 
W'here is the earl of Wiltshire 1 where is Bagof? 
W^hat is become of Bushy'! where is Green? 
That they have let the dangerous enemy 
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps ? 
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. 
I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke. 

Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed, 
my lord. [demption ! 

K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without re- 
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man ! 
Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart' 
Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas ! 
Would they make peace 1 terrible hell maLe war 
Upon their spotted souls for this offence I 

Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his property. 
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate : — 
Again uncurse their souls , their peace is made 
With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse. 
Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound. 
And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground [dead? 

Auin. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wiltshire, 

Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their heads. 

Aum. Where is the duke my father with his power 1 

K.Rich. Nomatterwhere; of comfort no man speak: 
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs ; 
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes 
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. 
Let's choose executors, and talk of wills : 
And yet not so, — for what can we bequeath. 
Save our deposed bodies to the ground 1 
Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, 
And nothing can we call our own, but death ; 
And that small model of the barren earth, 
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 
i For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground. 
And tell sad stories of the death of kings : — 
How some have been depos'd, some slain in war. 
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed ; 
Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd ; 
All murder'd :— For within the hollow crown. 
That rounds the mortal temples of a king. 
Keeps death his court : and there the antic sits. 
Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp ; 
Allowing him a breath, a little scene 
To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks ; 
Infusing him with self and vain conceit, — 
As if this flesh, which walls about our life. 
Were brass impregnable, and, humour'd thus, 
Comes at the last, and with a little pin 
Bores throutch his castle wall, and — farewell king:! 
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood 
With solemn reverence ; throw away respect. 
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty. 
For you have but mistook me all this while : 
I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief. 
Need friends : — Subjected thus. 
How can you say to me — I am a king 1 

Car. My lord, wise men ne'er wail their present 
But presently prevent the ways to wail. [woes. 

To fear the foe, since fear oppresseih strength. 



366 



KING RICHARD II. 



Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, 
And so your follies fight against yourself. 
Fear, and be slain ; no worse can come, to fight : 
And fight and die, is death destroying death ; 
Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath. 

Aiim. My father hath a power, inquire of him; 
And learn to make a body of a limb, [broke, I come 

A'. Ricli. Thou chid'st me well : — Proud Boling- 
To change blows with thee for our day of doom. 
This a-jue-fit of fear is over-blown ; 

An easy task it is, to win our own. 

Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power'? 
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. 

Scrnop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky 

The state and inclination of the day : 
So may you by my dull and heavy eye, 

My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. 
I play the torturer, by small and sinall. 
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken : — 
Your uncle York hath join'd with Bolingbroke ; 
And all your northern castles yielded up, 
And all your southern gentlemen in arms 
Upon his party. 

K. Rich. Thou hast said enough. 

Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth 

[To AuMEULE. 

Of that sweet way I was in to despair ! 

What say you now 1 What comfort have we now 1 

By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly, 

That bids me be of comfort any more. 

Go to Flint castle ; there I '11 pine away ; 

A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. 

That power I have, discharge ; and let them go 

To ear the land that hath some hope to grow. 

For I have none : — Let no man speak again 

To alter this, for counsel is but vain. 

Aum. My liege, one word. 

K. Rich. He does me double wrong. 

That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. 
Discharge my followers, Ice them hence ; — Away, 
From Richard's night, to Bolingbroke's fair day. 

[^Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Wales. Before Flint Castle. 

Enter, with drum and colours, BoLiNcnnoKE and 
Forces ; York, Northumberland, and others. 

Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn, 
The Welshmen are dispers'd ; and Salisbury 
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed. 
With some few private friends, upon this coast. 

North. The news is very fair, and good, my lord ; 
Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head. 

York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland, 
To say — king Richard : — Alack the heavy day. 
When such a sacred king should hide his head ! 

North . Your grace mistakes me ; only to be brief. 
Left I his title out. 

York. The time hath been, 

Would you have been so brief with him, he would 
Have been so brief with you, to shorten you. 
For taking so the head, your whole head's length. 

Boling. Mistake not, uncle, further than you should. 

York.Ta.ke not, good cousin, further than you should. 
Lest you mis-take: The heavens are o'er your head. 

Boling. I know it, uncle ; and oppose not 
Myself against their will. — But who comes here 1 

Eiiter Percy. 

Well, Harry; what, will not this castle yield? 
Percy. The castle royally is mann'd my lord, 
Against thy entrance. 



Boling. Royally! 
Why, it contains no king"! 

Percy. Yes, my good lord, 

It doth contain a king ; king Richard lies 
Within the limits of yon lime and stone : 
And with him are the lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury, 
Sir Stephen Scroop ; besides a clergyman 
Of holy reverence, who, I cannot learn. 

North. Belike, it is the bishop of Carlisle. 

Boling. Noble lord. [To North. 

Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle ; 
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle 
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver. 
Harry Bolingbroke 

On both iiis knees, doth kiss king Richard's hand ; 
And sends allegiance, and true faith of heart, 
To his most royal person : hither come 
Even at his feet to lay my arms and power ; 
Provided that, my banishment repeal'd. 
And lands restor'd again, be freely granted : 
If not, I'll use the advantage of my power. 
And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood, 
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen : 
The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke 
It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench 
The fresh green lap of fair king Richard's land, 
My stooping duty tenderly shall shew. 
Go, signify as much ; while here we march 
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. — 

[North, advances to the castle, with a truwpet. 
Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum. 
That from the castle's totter'd battlements 
Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. 
Methinks, king Richard and myself should meet 
^Vith no less terror than the elements 
Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock 
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven 
Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water:' 
The rage be his, while on the earth I rain 
My waters; on the earth, and not on him. 
March on, and mark king Richard how he looks. 

A parle sounded, and answered by another trumpet 
within. Flourish. Entei'ont/iewa/Zs King Richard, 
the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, Scroop, aitd 
Salisbury. 

York. See, see, king Richard doth himself appear, 
As doth the blushing discontented sun. 
From out the fiery portal of the east ; 
When he perceives the envious clouds are bent 
To dim his glory, and to stain the track 
Of his bright passage to the Occident. 
Yet looks he like a king ; behold, his eye. 
As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth 
Contiouling majesty ; Alack, alack, for woe. 
That any harm should stain so fair a show ! 

A'. Rich. We are amaz'd ; and thus long have we 
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, [stood 

[To Northumberland. 
Because we thought ourself thy lawful king : 
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget 
To pay their awful duty to our presence 1 
If we be not, shew us the hand of God 
That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship ; 
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone 
Can gripe the sacred handle of our scepter. 
Unless, he do profane, steal, or usurp. 
And though you think, that all, as you have done 
Have torn their souls, by turning them from us, 
And we are barren, and bereft of friends ;- — 
Yet know, — my master, God omnipotent. 
Is mustering in his clouds, on our behalf 



ACT III.— SCENE IV. 



367 



Armies of pestilence ; and thev shall strike 
Your children yet unborn, and unbegot, 
That lift your vassal hands against my head, 
4nd threat the glory of my precious crown. 
Tell Bolingbroke, (foryond', metlimks, lie is,; 
That every stride he makes upon my land, 
Is dangerous treason : He is come to ope 
The purple testament of bleeding war ; 
But ere the crown he looks for live in peace. 
Ten thousand bloody crowas of mothers' sons 
Shall ill become the flower of England's face ; 
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace 
To scarlet indignation, and bedew 
Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood. 

North. The king of heaven forbid, our lord the king 
Should so with civil and uncivil arms 
Be rush'd upon ! Thy thrice-noble cousin, 
Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand ; 
And by the honourable tomb he swears. 
That stands upon thy royal grandsire's bones ; 
And by the royalties of both your bloods. 
Currents that spring from one most gracious head ; 
And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt ; 
And by the worth and honour of himself. 
Comprising all that may be sworn or said, — 
His coming hither hath no further scope, 
Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg 
Enfranchisement immediate on his knees ; 
Which on thy royal party granted once. 
His glittering arms he will commend to rust, 
His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart 
To faithful service of your majesty. 
This swears he, as he is a prince, is just ; 
And, as 1 am a gentleman, 1 credit him. 

K. Rich. Northumberland, say,— thus the king re- 
His noble cousin is right welcome hither ; [turns ;— 
And all the number of his fair demands 
Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction : 
With all the gracious utterance thou hast. 
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.— 
We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not, [To Auiw. 
To look so poorly, and to speak so fair ! 
Shall we call back Northumberland, and send 
Defiance to the traitor, and so die ] 

Aum. No, goodmy lord ; let's fight with gentle words. 
Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords. 
A'. lUch. O God! O God! that e'er this tongue of 
That laid the sentence of dread banishment [mine. 
On yon proud man, should take it off again 
With words of sooth ! O, that 1 were as great 
As is my grief, or lesser than my name ! 
Or that 1 could forget what I have been ! 
Or not remember what I must be now I 
Swell'stthou, proud heart ■? I'll give theescope to beat, 
Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. 
Aum. Northumberland comes back from Boling- 
broke. 
K. Rich. What must the king do now! Musthesub- 
The king shall do it. Must he be depos'd \ [mit] 
The king shall be contented : Must he lose 
The name of king f o' God's name, let it go : 
I '11 give my jewels, for a set of beads ; 
Mv gorgeous palace, for a hermitage ; 
My gay apparel, for an alms-man's gown ; 
My figur'd goblets, for a dish of wood; 
My scepter, for a palmer's walking-staff; 
My subjects, for a pair of carved saints ; 
And my large kingdom for a little grave, 
A little little grave, an obscure grave :— 
Or I'll be buried in the king's highway. 
Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet 
May hourly trample on their sovereign's head : 



For on my heart they tread, now whilst 1 live ; 
And, buried once, why not upon my head ' 



Aumerle, thou weep'st ; My tender-hearted cousin!— 
We '11 make foul weather with despised tears ; 
Our sighs, and they, shall lodge the summer corn, 
And make a dearth in this revolting land 
Or shall we play the wantons with our woes. 
And make some pretty match with shedding tears ? 
As thus ;— To drop them still upon one place, 
Till they have fretted us a pair of graves 
Within the earth ; and, therein laid, — There lies 
Two kinsmen, di'^Z'i iheir <rraves with vteqnng eyes? 
Would not this ill do well ?— Well, well, 1 see 
I talk but idly, and you mock at me.— 
Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland, 
What says king Bolingbroke l will his majesty 
Give Richard leave to live till Richard die 1 
You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says— ay 

North. My lord, in the base court he doth attend 
To speak with you ; may 't please you to come down ■? 
K.Rich. Down, down, Icome jlikeglistenng Phae- 
W^ anting the manage of unruly jades. [ton, 

[North, retires to Boi.ing. 
In the base court ■! Base court, where kings grow base. 
To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. 
In the base courtl Comedown? Down, court! down 

king ! 
For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should 
sing. [Eaeiin(,_/riim above. 

Boling. What says his majesty 1 
North. Sorrow and grief of heart 

Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man : 
Yet he is come. 
Enter King Richard, and his Attendants belmo. 
Boling. Stand all apart. 

And shew fair duty to his majesty. 

My gracious lord,— [Kneeling 

K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee. 
To make the base earth proud with kissing it : 
Me rather had, my heart might feel your love, 
Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. 
Up, cousin, up ; your heart is up, I know, 
Thus high at least, [touching his own head.] although 
your knee be low. 
Bnling. My gracious lord, 1 come butformine own. 
K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all. 
Boling. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord. 
As my true service shall deserve your love, [have, 
K. Rich. Well you deserve :— They well deserve to 
That know the strong'st and surest way to get. — 
Uncle, give me your hand : nay, dry your eyes ; 
Tears shew their love, but want their remedies. — 
Cousin, I am too young to be your father. 
Though you are old enough to be my heir. 
What you will have, I'll give, and willing toof 
For do we must, what force will have us do. — 
Set on towards London :— Cousin, is it so 1 
Boling. Yea, my good lord. 

K. Rich. Then I must not say, no. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. 
Langley. — The Duke of York's Garden. 
Enter the Quken and two Ladies. 
Queen. What sport shall we devise here in this gar- 
To drive away the heavy thought of care ■• [den ? 
1 Larfv. Madam, we'll play at bowls. 
Queen. 'Twill make me think, 

The world is full of rubs, and that my fortune 
Runs 'gainst the bias. 

1 Lady. Madam, we will dance. 



368 



KING RICHARD II. 



Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight, 
When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief: 
Therefore, no dancing, girl ; some other sport. 

1 Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales. 

Queen. Of sorrow, or of joy 1 

] Lady. Of either, madam. 

Queen. Of neither, girl : 

For if of joy, being altogether wanting. 
It doth remember me the more of sorrow ; 
Or if of grief, being altogether had. 
It adds more sorrow to my want of joy : 
For what I have, I need not to repeat ; 
And what I want, it boots not to complain. 

1 Lady. Madam, I'll sing. 

Queen, 'lis well., that thou hast cause ; [weep. 
But thou should'st please me better, would'st thou 

1 Lady. I couldweep, madam, would itdo you good. 

Queen. And I could weep, would weeping do me 
And never borrow any tear of thee. [good, 

But stay, here come the gardeners : 
Let's step into the shadow of these trees. — 

Enter a Gardener and two Servants. 
My wretchedness unto a row of pins, 
They'll talk of state : for every one doth so 
Against a change : Woe is forerun with woe. 

[Queen and Ladies retire. 

Gard. Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks. 
Which, like unruly children, make their sire 
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight ; 
Give some supportance to the bending twigs. — 
Go thou, and like an executioner, 
Cut oft' the heads of too- fast-growing sprays, 
That look too lofty in our commonwealth : 

All must be even in our government. 

You thus employ 'd, I will go root away 
The noisome weeds, that without profit suck 
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. 

1 Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a pale. 
Keep law and form, and due proportion. 
Shewing, as in a model, our firm estate 1 
When our sea-walled garden, the whole land. 
Is full of weeds ; her fairest flowers chok'd up, 
Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd, 
Her knots disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs 
Swarming with caterpillars'? 

Card. Hold thy peace : — 

He that hath sufTer'd this disorder'd spring, 
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf: 
The weeds, that his broad -spreading leaves did shelter. 
That seem'd in eating him to hold him up. 
Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke ; 
I mean the earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. 

1 Serv. What, are they dead ? 

Gai-d. They are ; and Bolingbroke 

Hath seiz'd the wasteful king. — Oh! what pity is it. 
That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land, 
As we this garden ! We at time of year 
Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees ; 
Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood, 
With too much riches it confound itself : 
He had done so to great and growing men, 
They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste 
Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches 
We lop away, that beadng boughs may live : 
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown. 
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down. 

1 Serv. What, think you then, the king shall be de- 
pos'd 1 

Card. Depress'd he is already ; and depos'd, 
'Tis doubt, he will be : Letters came last night 
To a dear friend ot the good duke of York's, 



That tell black tidings. 

Queen. O, I am press'd to death, 

Through want of speaking ! — Thou, old Adam's like- 
ness, \_Comingfrom her concealment. 
Set to dress this garden, how dares 
Thy harsh-rude tongue sound this unpleasing news? 
What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee 
To make a second fall of cursed man 1 
Why dost thou say, king Richard is depos'd ? 
Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth. 
Divine his downfal? Say, where, when, and how, 
Cam'st thou by these ill-tidings 1 speak, thou wretch. 

Gard. Pardon me, madam : little joy have I, 
To breathe this news: yet, what I say is true. 
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold 
Of Bolingbroke ; their fortunes both are weigh'd : 
In your lord's scale is nothing but himself. 
And some few vanities that make him light ; 
But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, 
Besides himself, are all the English peers. 
And with that odds he weighs king Richard down. 
Post you to London, and you '11 find it so : 
I speak no more than every one doth know. 

Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot. 
Doth not thy embassage belong to me, 
And am I last that knows if! O, thou think'st 
To serve me last, that 1 may longest keep 
Thy sorrow in my breast. — Come, ladies, go, 
To meet at London London's king in woe. — 
What, was I born to this ! that my sad look 
Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke? 
Gardener, for telling me this news of woe, 
I would, the plants thou graft'st, may never grow. 
lEieunt Queen and Ladies. 

Gard. Poor queen ! so that thy state might be no 
I would my skill were subject to thy curse. — [worse, 
Here did she fall a tear ; here, in this place, 
I '11 set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace : 
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen. 
In the remembrance of a weeping queen. lExeunt. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— London. Westminster Hall. The Lards 
spiritual on the right side of the throne ; the Lords 
temporal on the left ; the Commons below. 

Enter Boi.iNGunoKE, Aumerle, Surrey, Northum- 
berland, Percy, FiTzwATER,a;iot/i«r Lord, Bishop 
OF Carlisle, Abbot of Westminster, and At- 
tendants. Officers behind with Bagot. 

Baling. Call forth Bagot : 

Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind ; 
What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death ; 
Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd 
The bloody office of his timeless end. 

Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Aumerle. 

Baling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon thatman. 

Bagot. My lord Aumerle, Iknowyour daring tongue 
Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. 
In that dead time when Gloster's death was plotted, 
I heard you say, — 7s not my arm of length. 
That reachethfrom the restful English court 
As far as Calais, to my uncle's head? 
Amongst much other talk, that very time, 
I heard you say, that you had rather refuse 
The offer of an hundred thousand crowns. 
Than Bolingbroke's return to England ; 
Adding withal, how blest this land would be, 
In this your cousin's death. 

Aum. Princes, and noble lords, 



ACT IV.-SCENE I. 



369 



What answer shall T make to this base man 1 
Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars, 
On equal terms to give him chastisement ? 
Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd 

With the attainder of his sland'rous lips. 

There is my gage, the manual seal of dealli, 
That marks thee out for hell : I say, thou liest, 
And will maintain, what thou hast said, is false. 
In thy heart-blood, though being all too base 
To stain the temper of my knightly sword. 

Baling. Bagot, forbear, thou shalt not take it up. 

Aitin. Excepting one, I would he were the best 
In all tliis presence, that hath mov'd me so. 

Fltz. If that thy valour stand on sympathies, 
There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine: 
By that fair sun that shews me where thou stand'st, 
I heard thuo say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, 
That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death. 
If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest ; 
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, 
Where it was forg'd, with my rapier's point. 

Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day. 

Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour. 

Aum. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this. 

Percy. Aumerle, thou liest ; his honour is as true. 
In this appeal, as tliou art all unjust: 
And, that thou art so, there 1 throw my gage. 
To prove it on thee to the extremest point 
Of mortal breathing; seize it, if thou dar'st. 

Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off, 
And never brandish more revengeful steel 
Over the glittering helmet of my foe ! 

Lord. I take the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle ; 
And spur thee on with full as many lies 
As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear 
From sun to sun : there is my honour's pawn ; 
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 

Aum. Who sets me else ? by heaven, I'll throw at all . 
I have a thousand spirits in one breast, 
To answer twenty thousand such as you. 

Surrei). My lord Fitzwater, I do remember well 
The very time Aumerle and you did talk. 

Fitz. My lord, 'tis true: you were in presence then; 
And you can witness with me, this is true. 

Surreu. As false.by heaven, as heaven itself is true. 

Fitz. Surrey, thou liest. 

Surrey. Dishonourable boy ! 

That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword, 
That it shall render vengeance and revenge. 
Till thou the lie-giver, and that lie do lie 
In earth as quiet as thy father's scull. 
In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn ; 
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 

Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse ! 
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, 
I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, 
And spit upon him, whilst I say, he lies. 
And lies, and lies : there is my bond of faith. 
To tie thee to my strong correction. — 
As I intend to thrive in this new world, 
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal : 
Besides, I heard the banish'd iS'orfolk say, 
That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men 
To execute the noble duke at Calais. 

Aum. Some honest Christian trustme with agage. 
That Norfolk lies : here do I throw down this, 
If he may be repeal'd to try his honour. 

Boliu^. These differences shall all rest under gage. 
Till Norfolk be repeal'd : repeal'd he shall be, 
And, though mine enemy, restor'd again 
To all his land and seignories ; when he's return 'd, 
Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. 



C(f. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen.-- 
IMany a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought 
For Jesu Christ ; in glorious Christian field 
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross 
Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens 
And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself 
I'o Italy ; and there, at Venice, gave 
His body to that pleasant country's earth. 
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, 
Under whose colours he had fought so long. 
Boling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead 1 
Car. As sure as I live, my lord. [bosom 

Boling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to tiio 
Of good old Abraham ! — Lords appellants, 
Your differences shall all rest under gage. 
Till we assign you to your days of trial. 

Enter YonK, attended. 

York. Great duke of Lancaster, I come to thee 
From plume-pluck'd Richard ; who with willing soul 
Adopts thee heir, and his high scepter yields 
To the possession of thy royal hand : 
Ascend his throne, descending now from him, — 
And long live Henry, of that name the fourth ! 

Boling. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne. 

Car. Marry, God forbid! — 
Worst in this royal presence may I speak, 
Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. 
Would God, that any in this noble presence 
Were enough noble to be upright judge 
Of noble Richard ; then true nobless would 
Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. 
What subject can give sentence on his king 1 
.And who sits here, that is not Richard's subjec 
Thieves are not judg'd, but they are by to hear, 
Aithough apparent guilt be seen in them : 
And shall the figure of God's majesty. 
His captain, steward, deputy elect. 
Anointed, crowned, planted many years, 
Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath, 
And he himself not present 1 O, forbid it, God, 
That, in a Christian climate, souls refin'd 
Should shew so heinous, black, obscene, a deed ' 
I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, 
Stirr'd up by heaven thus boldly for his king. 
My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king. 
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king : 
And if you crown him, let me prophesy, — 
The blood of English shall manure the ground, 
And future ages groan for this foul act ; 
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, 
And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars 
Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound ; 
Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny, 
Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd 
The field of Golgotha, and dead men's sculls. 
O, if you rear this house against this house, 
It will the woefullest division prove. 
That ever fell upon this cursed earth : 
Prevent, resist it, let it not be so, 
Lest children's children, cry against you — woe ! 

North. Well have you argu'd, sir ; and for your 
Of capital treason we arrest you here: — [pains 
i\Iy lord of Westminster, be it your charge 
To keep him safely till his day of trial. — 
May't please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit ? 

Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view 
He may surrender ; so we shall proceed 
Without suspicion. 

York, I will be his conduct. \_Eiit. 

Baling. Lords, you that are here under our arrest 
Procure your sureties for your days of answer : — 
2 A 



370 



KING RICHARD II. 



Little are we beholden to your love, [To Carlisle. 
And little looked for at your helping hands. 

Re-enter York, with King Richard, and Officers 
bearing the crown, Sjc, 

K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, 
Before I have shook off the regal thoughts 
Wherewith 1 reign'd f I hardly yet have learn'd 
To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee : 
Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me 
To this submission. Yet I well remember 
'I'he favours of these men : Were they not mine 1 
Did they not sometime cry, all hail ! to me ? 
So Judas did to Christ : but he, in twelve, [none. 
Found truth in all, but one ; I, in twelve thousand, 
God save the king ! — Will no man say, amen 1 
Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen. 
God save the king ! although I be not he ; 
And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. — • 
To do what service am I sent for hither 1 

York. To do that office of thine own good will, 

Which tired majesty did make thee offer, 

The resignation of tliy state and crown 

To Henry Bolingbroke. [the crown ; 

A. Rich. Give me the crown : — Here, cousin, seize 
Here, on this side, my hand ; on that side, thine. 
Now is this golden crown like a deep well. 
That owes two buckets filling one another ; 
The emptier ever dancing in the air. 
The other down, unseen, and full of water : 
That bucket down, and full of tears am I, 
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. 

Billing. I thought you had been willing to resign. 

K.Rich. My crown, I am, but still my griefs are mine: 
You may my glories and my state depose, 
But not my griefs ; still I am king of those, [crown. 

BoLing. Part of your cares you give me with your 

A'. Rich. Your cares set up, do not pluck my cares 
My care is — loss of care, by old care done ; [down. 
Your care is — gain of care, by new care won ; 
The cares I give, I have, though given away ; 
They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. 

Baling. Are you contented to resign the crown ? 

A'. Rich . Ay , no ; — no, ay ; — for I must nothing be; 
Therefore no, no, for I resign to thee. 
Now mark me how I will undo myself: — 
I give this heavy weight from off my head, 
And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand. 
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart ; 
With mine own tears I wash away my balm. 
With mine own hands I give away my crown, 
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, 
With mine own breath release all duteous oaths: 
All pomp and majesty I do forswear ; 
My manors, rents, revenues, I forego ; 
My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny: 
God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me ! 
God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee ! 
Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd ; 
And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd! 
Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit, 
And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit ! 
God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says, 
And send him many years of sunshine days ! 
What more remains ? 

North. No more, but that you read [Offering a paper. 
These accusations, and these grievous crimes. 
Committed by your person and your followers 
Against the state and profit of this land ; 
That, by confessing them, the souls of men 
May deem that you are worthily depos'd. 

A'. Rich. Must I do so 1 and must I ravel out 



My weav'd-up follies? Gentle Northumberland, 

If thy offences were upon record, 

Would it not shame thee, in so fair a troop, 

i'o read a lecture of them ? If thou would'st. 

There should'st thou find one heinous article, — 

Containing the deposing of a king, 

And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, — 

Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven . — 

Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me. 

Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, — 

Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your handsj 

Shewing an outward pity ; yet you Pilates 

Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross, 

And water cannot wash away your sin. 

North. My lord, despatch ; read o'er these articles. 

A'. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see: 
And yet salt water blinds them not so much, 
But they, can see a sort of traitors here. 
Nay, if I turn mine ej'es upon myself, 
I find myself a traitor with the rest : 
For I have given here my soul's consent. 
To undeck the pompous body of a king ; 
Make glory base ; and sovereignty a slave ; 
Proud majesty, a subject ; state, a peasant. 

North. My lord, [man, 

K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught, insulting 
Nor no man's lord ; I have no name, no title, — 
No, not tiiat name was given me at the font, — 
But 'tis usurp'd : — Alack the heavy day. 
That I have worn so many winters out. 
And know not now what name to call myself! 
0, that I were a mockery king of snow. 
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, 
To melt myself away in water-drops ! — 
Good king, — great king, — (and yet not greatly good,^ 
An if my word be sterling yet in England, 
Let it command a mirror hither straight : 
That It may shew me what a face I have. 
Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. 

Baling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking-glass 

[Eiit an Attendant 

North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth 
come. [hell. 

K. Rich. Fiend! thou torment'st me ere I come to 

Baling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland. 

North. The commons will not then be satisfied. 

7v. Rich. They shall be satisfied : I'll read enough. 
W'hen I do see the very book indeed 
Where all my sins are writ, and that's — myself. 

Re-enter Attendant, with a glass. 

Give me that glass, and therein will I read. 

No deeper wrinkles yet ? Hath sorrow struck 

So many blows upon this face of mine. 

And made no deeper wounds? — 0, flattering glass. 

Like to my followers in prosperity. 

Thou dost beguile me ! Was this face the face, 

That every day under his household roof 

Did keep ten thousand men ? Was this the face, 

That, like the sun, did make beholders wink? 

Was this the face, that faced so many follies. 

And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke? 

A brittle glory shineth in this face : 

As brittle as the glory is the face ; 

[Dashes the glass against the ground. 
For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers. — 
Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, — 
How soon my sorrow hath dectroy'd my face. 

Boling. The shadow of your sorr»w hath destroy'd 
The shadow of your face. 

K. Rich. Say that again. 

The shadow of my sorrow 1 Ha ! let's see •— 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



371 



'Tis very true, .ny grief lies all within ; 
And these external manners of lament 
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, 
Tliat swells with silence in the tortur'd soul ; 
There lies the substance : and I thank thee, king, 
For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st 
Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way 
How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, 
And then be gone, and trouble you no more. 
Shall I obUin it ? 

Bol'ing. Name it, fair cousin. 

K.Rich. Faircousin ? Why , I am greater than a king: 
For, when I was a king, my fletterers 
Were then but subjects ; being now a subject, 
I have a king here to my flatterer. 
Being so great, I have no need to beg. 

Boliug. Yet ask. 

K. Rich. And shall I have 1 

Boling. You shall. 

K. Rich. Then give me leave to go. 

Boling. Whither"? [sights. 

A'. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your 

Baling. Go, some of you, convej'him to the Tower. 

K.Uich. O.good! Convey! — Conveyers are you all. 
That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. 

[Exeunt K. Richard, some Lords, and a Guard. 

Boling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down 
Our coronation : lords, prepare yourselves. 

[Exeunt all but the Abbot, Bishop of 
Carlisle, and Aumehle. 

Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. 

Car. The woe's to come ; the children yet unborn 
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. 

Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot 
To rid the realm of this pernicious blotl 

Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein, 
You shall not only take the sacrament 
To bury mine intents, but also to effect 
Whatever I shall happen to devise : — 
I see your brows are full of discontent. 
Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears ; 
Come home with me to supper ; I will lay 
A plot shall shew us all a merry day. [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — London. A Street leading to the Tower. 

Enter Queen and Ladies. 

Queen. This way the king will come; this is the way 
To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower, 
To whose flint bosom my condemned lord 
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke : 
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth 
Have any resting for her true king's queen. 

Enter King Richard and Guards. 
But soft, but see, or rather do not see. 
My fair rose wither : Yet look up; behold ; 
That you in pity may dissolve to dew. 
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. ^ 
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand ; 
Thou map of honour ; thou king Richard's ton)b, 
And not king Richard ; thou most beauteous inn. 
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee. 
When triumph is become an alehouse guest ? 

K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so. 
To make my end too sudden : learn, good soul. 
To think our former state a happy dream ; 
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are 
Shews us but this : I am sworn brother, sweet, 



To grim necessity ; and he and I 
Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France 
And cloister thee in some religious house : 
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown. 
Which our profane hours here have stricken down. 

Qxeen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind 
Transform'd, and weaken 'd 1 Hath Bolingbroke 
Depos'd thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heartl 
The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw, / 

And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage 
To be o'erpower'd ; and wilt thou, pupil-like, 
Take thy correction mildly 1 kiss the rod ; 
And fawn on rage with base humility, 
Which art a lion, and a king of beasts'! 

K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed ; if aught but 
I had been still a happy king of men. [beasts, 

Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France: 
Think, I am dead ; and that even here thou tak'st, 
As from my deathbed, my last living leave. 
In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire 
With good old folks ; and let them tell thee tales 
Of woeful ages, long ago betid : 
And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief, 
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me. 
And send the hearers weeping to their beds. 
For why, the senseless brands will sympathize 
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue, 
And, in compassion, weep the fire out: 
And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, 
For the deposing of a rightful king. 

Enter Northumbeiiland, attended. 

North. My lord, themind of Bolingbroke ischang'd; 

You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. 

And, madam, there is order tii'en for you ; 
With all swift speed you must away to France. 

A'. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladderwherevvithal 
The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne, — 
The time shall not be many hours of age 
More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head. 
Shall break into corruption: thou shalt think. 
Though he divide the realm, and give thee half, 
It is too little, helping him to all ; 
And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way 
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, 
Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way 
To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. 
The love of wicked friends converts to fear ; 
That fear, to hate ; and hate turns one, or both, 
To worthy danger, and deserved death. 

North. JMy guilt be on my head, and there an end. 
Take leave, and part ; for you must part forthwitli. 

A'. Rich. Doubly divorc'd ] — Bad men, ye violate 
A twofold marriage ; 'twixt my crown and me ; 
And then, betwixt me and my married wife. — 
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me ; 
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made. — 
Part us, Northumberland ; I towards the north. 
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime ; 
My wife to France ; from whence, set forth in pomp. 
She came adorned hither like sweet May, 
Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day. 

Queen. And must we be divided 1 must we part? 

A'. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart 
from heart. 

Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. 

North. That were some love, but little policy. 

Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go. 

A'. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one woe. 
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here ; 
Better far ofl^, than — near, be ne'er the near'. 
Go, count thy way with sighs ; I, mine witli groans 
2 A 8 



372 



KING RICHARD II. 



Queen So longest way shall have the longest moans. 

A'. Rich. Twice forone step I'll groan, the way being 
And piece the way out with a heavy heart. [short, 
Come, come, in wooing sorrow, let's be brief. 
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. 
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and doubly part ; 
Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart. [Tliey kiss. 

Queen, Give me mine own again; 'twere no good 
part. 
To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart. \^Kiss again. 
So, now I have mine own again, begone, 
'I'hat I may strive to kill it with a groan. 

K. Rich.\We make woe wanton with this fond delay : 
Once more, adieu ; the rest let sorrow say. [^Exeunt, 

SCENE II. 

TTie same. — A Room in the Dnhe of York's Palace. 
Enter York and his Duchess. 

Duch.My lord, you told me you would tell the rest. 
When weeping made you break the story ofl' 
Of our two cousins coming into London. 

York. Where did I leave 1 

Duch. At that sad stop, my lord, 

Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops. 
Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head. 

York. Then,asl said, theduke, great Eolingbroke, 
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed. 
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, — 
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course. 
While all tonguescried — God savethee, Bolingbroke! 
You would have thought the very windows spake. 
So many greedy looks of young and old 
Through casements darted their desiring eyes 
Upon his visage ; and that all the walls, 
AVitli painted imag'ry, had said at once, — 
.7esu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke! 
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning. 
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, 
Bespake them thus, — I thank you, countrymen : 
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. 

X)«c/i. Alas, poor Richard ! where rides he the while ? 

York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men. 
After a well-grac'd actor leaves ihe stage, 
Are idly bent on him that enters next, 
Thinking his prattle to be tedious : 
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes 
Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save him ; 
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : 
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; 
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, — 
His face still combating with tears and smiles, 
'J'he badges of his grief and patience, — 
That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd 
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, 
And barbarism itself have pitied him. 
But heaven hath a hand in these events ; 
To whose high will we bound our calm contents. 
To Bohngbroke are we sworn subjects now. 
Whose state and honour I for aye allow. 

Enter Aumerle. 

Duch. Heie comes my son Aumerle. 

York. Aumerle that was ; 

But that is lost, for being Richard's friend, 
.And, madam, you must call him Rutland now : 
I am in parliament pledge for his truth, 
And lasting fealty to the new-made king. 

Duch. Welcome, my son : Who are the violets now. 
That strew the green lap of the new-come spring'? 

Au7n. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not : 
God knows, 1 h.ad as lief be none, as one. 



Fw/c .Well, bear you well, in this new spring of time, 
Lestyoubecropp'd before youcome toprime. [umphs? 
What news from Oxford? hold those justs and tri- 

Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. 

York. You will be there, I know. 

Atirn. If God prevent it not ; I purpose so. 

York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy bo- 
Yea, look'st thou pale 1 let me see the writing, [som 1 

Anm, My lord, 'tis nothing. 

York. No matter then who sees it • 

I will be satisfied, let me see the writing. 

Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me; 
It is a matter of small consequence. 
Which for some reasons I would not have seen. 

Fo)7c. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. 
I fear, I fear, — 



Duch, 



W'hat should you fear ? 



'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into 
For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day. 

Y'ork. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond 
That he is bound to "? Wife, thou art a fool. — 
Boy, let me see the writing. [it. 

Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me ; I may not shew 

York, I will be satisfied ; let me see it, I say. 

\_Snatches it, and reads. 
Treason ! foul treason ! — villain ! traitor ! slave I 

Duch. What is the matter, my lord? 

York. Ho! who is within there? [Enter a Servant.] 
Saddle my horse. 
God for his mercy ! what treachery is here! 

Duch. Why, what is it, my lord ■? 

FocA-. Give me my boots, I say ; saddle my horse: — 
Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth, 
I will appeach the villain. [Eji it Servant. 

Duch. What's the matter ? 

York. Peace, foolish woman. 

Duch. I will not peace : — What is the matter, son? 

Aum. Good mother, be content ; it is no more 
Than my poor life must answer. 

Duch, Thy life answer? 

Re-enter Servant, with boots. 

York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king. 

Duch. Strike him, Aumerle. — Poor boy, thou art 
amaz'd : 
Hence, villain : never more come in my sight. — 

[To the Servant. 

York. Give me my boots, I say. 

Duch, Why, York, what wilt thou do ? 
W^ilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own ? 
Have we more sons 1 or are we like to have ? 
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time? 
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age. 
And rob me of a happy mother's name ? 
Is he not like thee 1 is he not thine own ? 

York. Thou fond mad woman. 
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy ? 
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, 
And interchangeably set down their hands. 
To kill the king at Oxford. 

Duch. He shall be none ; 

We'll keep him here : Then what is that to him ? 

York, Away, 
Fond woman ! were he twenty times my son 
I would appeach him. 

Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him, 

As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful. 
But now I know thy mind ; thou dost suspect. 
That I have been disloyal to thy bed. 
And that he is a bastard, not thy son : 
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind: 
He is as like thee as a man may be. 



ACT v.— SCENE III. 



373 



Not like to me, or any of my kin. 
And yet I love him. 

Ycirk. JMake way, unruly woman. [Erit. 

£)uc/(. After, Aumerle ; mount thee upon his horse ; 
Spur, post ; and get before him to the kinor, 
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse tlee. 
I'll not be long behind ; though I be old, 
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York : 
And never will I rise up from the ground. 
Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee : Away ; 
Begone. [Ei«i<nt, 

SCENE III — Windsor. A Room in the Castle. 
Enter Bolinguroke, as King ; Percy, and ether Lords. 

Baling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son 1 
'Tis full three months, since I did see him last: — 
If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. 
I would to Gwl, my lords, he might be found: 
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, 
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent, 
With unrestrained loose companions ; 
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, 
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers ; 
\^'hile he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy, 
Takes on the point of honour, to support 
So dissolute a crew. 

i'(?rc(/.My lord, some two days since 1 saw the prince; 
And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. 

Boling. And what said the gallant? 

Percy. His answer was, — he would unto the stews ; 
And from the common'st creature pluck a glove, 
And wear it as a favour ; and with that 
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. 

Baling. As dissolute, as desperate: yet, through both 
I see some sparkles of a better hope. 
Which elder days may happily bring forth. 
But who comes here 1 

Enter Aumerle, hastily. 

Aiim. Where is the king ■? 

Boling. What means 

Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly 1 

.4«m. God save your grace. I do beseech your majesty. 
To have some conference with your grace alone. 

Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here 
alone. — [^Eieuut Percy and Lords. 

What is the matter with our cousin now 1 

Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, 

\_Kneels, 
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth. 
Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak. 

Baling. Intended, or committed, was this fault? 
If but the first, how heinous ere it be. 
To win thy after-love, I pardon thee. 

Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key, 
That no man enter till my tale be done. 

Baling. Have thy desire. [Avmerle luchs the daor. 

York. [ Within.} My liege, beware ; look to thyself; 
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. 

Baling, ^'illain, I '11 make thee safe. ^Drawing. 

Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand. 
Thou hast no cause to fear. 

York. ^Within.] Open the door. Secure, fool-hardy 
Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face? [king: 
Open the door, or 1 will break it open. 

[Bolingbroke opens the door. 

Enter York. 

Boling. WMiat is the matter, uncle ? speak ; 
Recover breath ; tell us how near is danger. 
That we may arm us to encounter it. 

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shaltknow 
The treason that my haste forbids me shew. 



Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise past : 
I do repent me ; read not my name there. 
My heart is not confederate with my hand. 

York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it down. — 
I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king ; 
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence : 
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove 
A serpent that will sling thee to the heart. 

Baliyig. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy! — 

loyal father of a treacherous son ! 

Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain, 
From whence this stream through muddy passages, 
Ilath held his current, and defil'd himself! 
Thy overflow of good converts to bad ; 
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse 
This deadly blot in thy digressing son. 

JV//c. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd ; 
And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, 
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. 
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, 
Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies : 
'I'hou kill'st me in his life ; giving him breath, 
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. 

Duch. [Witliin.] What ho, my liege I for God's 
sake let me in. [eager cry ! 

Baling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this 

Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king; 'tis I. 
Speak with me, pity me, open the door: 
A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. 

Baling. Our scene is alter'd, — from a serious thinc', 
And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King. — 
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in ; 

1 know, she 's come to pray for your foul sin. 

York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray. 
More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may. 
This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound ; 
This, let alone, will all the rest confound. 

Enter Duch ESS. 

Duch. king, believe not this hard-hearted man, 
Love, loving not itself, none other can. 

York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make 
Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? [here ? 

Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gentle 
liege. [Kneels. 

Baling. Rise up, good aunt. 

Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech : 

For ever will I kneel upon my knees. 
And never see day that the happy sees. 
Till thou give joy ; until thou bid me joy. 
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. 

Aiim. Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee. 

[Kneel s 

York. Against them both, my true joints bended be. 

[Kneeli. 
Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace ! 

Duch. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his face ; 
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest ; 
His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast ; 
He prays but faintly, and would be denied ; 
VVe pray with heart, and soul, and all beside : 
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know ; 
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow : 
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ; 
Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity. 
Our prayers do out-pray his ; then let them have 
That mercy, which true prayers ought to have. 

Baling. Good aunt, stand up. 

Duch. Nay, do not say — stand up ; 

But pardon, first; and afterwards, stand up. 
An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teacli. 
Pardon — should be the first word of thy speech. 



374 



KING RICHARD II. 



I never long'd to hear a word till now ; 
Say — pardon, king ; let pity teacli thee how : 
The word is short, but not so short as sweet ; 
No word like, pardon, for kings' mouths so meet. 

York. Speak it in French, king ; say, pardonnez inny. 

Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy 1 
Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord. 
That set'st the word itself against the word ! — 
Speak, pardon, as 'tis current in our land ; 
The chopping French we do not understand. 
Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there : 
Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear ; 
That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, 
Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse. 

Bnling. Good aunt, stand up. 

Duch. I do not sue to stand. 

Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. 

Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. 

Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee ! 
Yet am I sick for fear : speak it again ; 
Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain, 
But makes one pardon strong. 

Billing. With all my heart 

I pardon him. 

Duch. A god on earth thou art. 

Boliiig. But for our trusty brother-in-law, — and the 
With all the rest of that consorted crew, — [abbot, 
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. — 
Good uncle, help to order several powers 
To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are : 
They shall not live within this world, I swear. 
But I will have them, if I once know where. 
Uncle, farewell, — and cousin too, adieu : 
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. 

Duch. Come, my old soil ;— I pray God make thee 
new. lExeutit. 

SCENE IV. 
Enter Exton and a Servant. 

T.xton. Didst thou not mark the king, what words he 
spake "! 
Bave I no friend will rid me of this living fear? 
Was it not so ! 

Serv. Those were his very words. 

Exton. Have I no friend? quoth he: he spake it 
And urg'd it twice together ; 'did he not 1 [twice, 

Serv. He did. 

Eiton. And speaking it, he wistfully look'd on me ; 
As who should say, — I would, thou wert the man 
That would divorce this terror from my heart ; 
IVleaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go ; 
1 am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. lEieunt. 

SCENE v.— Pomfret. The Dungeon of the Castle. 
Enter King Richard. 

7v. Bich. I have been studying how I may compare 
This prison, where 1 live, unto the world : 
And, for because the world is populous. 
And here is not a creature but myself, 
1 cannot do it ; — Yet 1 '11 hammer it out. 
l\Iy brain I'll prove the female to my soul ; 
]My soul, the father : and these two beget 
A generation of still breeding thoughts, 
And these same tiiou^hls people this little world ; 
In humours, like the jwople of this world, 
For no thought is contented. The better sort, — 
As thoughts of things divine, — are intermix'd 
With scruples, and do set the word itself 
Against the word : 

As thus,— Come, little ones; and then again,— 
It is as hard to come, as for a camel 



To thread the -postern of a needle's eye. 

Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot 

Unlikely wonders : how these vain weak nails 

May tear a passage through the flinty ribs 

Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls ; 

And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. 

Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves, — 

That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, 

Nor shall not be the last ; like silly beggars. 

Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shzime, — 

That many have, and others must sit there : 

And in this thought they find a kind of ease. 

Bearing their own misfortune on the back 

Of such as have before endur'd the like. 

Thus play I, in one person, many people. 

And none contented : Sometimes am I king ; 

Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar. 

And so I am : Then crushing penury 

Persuades me I was better when a king ; 

Then am I king'd again : and, by-and-by. 

Think that I am unking'd by BoHngbroke, 

And straight am nothing : — But, whate'er I am. 

Nor I, nor any man, that but man is, 

With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd 

"With being notliing. — ^lusic do I hear] [Music 

Ha, ha ! keep time : — How sour sweet music is. 

When time is broke, and no proportion kept ! 

So is it in the music of men's lives. 

And here have I the daintiness of ear. 

To check time broke in a disorder'd string ; 

But, for the concord of my state and time. 

Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. 

1 wasted time, and now doth time waste me. 

For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock : 

My thoughts are minutes ; and, with sighs, they jar 

Tlieir watches on to mine eyes, the outwaid watch 

Whereto my finger, like a dial's point. 

Is pointing still, in cleaning them from tears. 

Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is, 

Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart. 

Which is the bell : So sighs, and tears, and groans. 

Shew minutes, times, and hours : — but my time 

Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy. 

While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock. 

This music mads me, let it sound no more ; 

For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits. 

In me, it seems it will make wise men mad. 

Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me ! 

For 'tis a sign of love ; and love to Richard 

Is a strange brooch in this all hating world. 

Enter Groom. 

Groom. Hail, royal prince ! 

A'. Rich. Thanks, noble peer ; 

The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. 
What art thou ? and how comest thou hither. 
Where no man never comes, but that sad dog 
That brings me food, to make miifortune live ? 

Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, 
When thou wert king ; who, travelling towards York, 
With much ado, at length have gotten leave 
To look upon my sometime master's face. 
O, how it yern'd my heart, when I beheld 
In London streets tliat coronation day. 
When Bolingbroke "rode on roan Barbary! 
That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid ; 
That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd ! 

K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary ? Tell me, gentle 
How went he under him ? [friend. 

Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground. 

A'. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his 
That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand ; [back ! 



i;i!:!i5'*''"'t;!'t 



W "/■ 






J. J. 

lH'il if 









; * 




KING- RICHARD 11. 

K. Richard, Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. 

Aci v.. Scene 6, 



ACT v.— SCENE VI. 



375 



This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. 
Would he not stumble 1 Would he not fall down, 
(Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck 
Of that proud man, that did usurp his back 1 
Forgiveness, horse ! why do I rail on thee. 
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man, 
Was born to bear 1 I was not made a horse ; 
And yet I bear a burden like an ass, 
Spur-gall'd, and tir'd by jauncing Boliugbroke. 

Enter Keeper, ivith a dish. 
Keep. Fellow, give place ; here is no longer stay. 

[To the Groom. 

K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away 

Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart 

shall say. [Exit. 

Keep. My lord, wilt please you to fall tol 

K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. 

Keep. My lord, I dare not ; sir Pierce of Exton, who 

Lately came from the king, commai;ds the contrary. 

A'. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and 

Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [thee! 

[^Beats the Keeper. 
Keep. Help, help, help ! 

Enter Exton, and Servants, armed. 
K. Rich. How now? what means death in this 
rude assault 1 
Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. 
[Snatcliing a weapon, and killing one. 
Go thou, and fill another room in hell. 

[He kills another, f/ie« Exton strikes him down. 
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire. 
That staggers thus my person. — Exton , thy fierce hand 
Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. 
Mount, mount, my soul ! thy seat is up on high ; 
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. 

[Dies. 
Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood : 
Both have I spilt ; O, would the deed were good ! 
For now the devil, that told me — I did well, 
Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell. 
This dead king to the living king I'll bear; — 
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. [Ex. 

SCENE VI — Windsor. A Room in the Castle. 

Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke and York, with 
Lords and Attendants. 

Baling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear 
Is — that the rebels have consum'd with fire 
Our town of Cicester in Glostershire ; 
But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not. 

Enter Northumberland. 
W^elcome, my lord ? What is the news 1 



North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happi- 
The next news is, — I have to London sent [ness 
The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent 
The manner of their taking may appear 
At large discoursed in this paper here. 

[Presenting a paper. 

Baling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; 
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. 

Enter Fitzwater. 

Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London 
The heads of Brocas, and sir Bennet Seely ; 
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors, 
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. 

Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; 
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. 

Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle. 

Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster, 
With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy, 
Hath yielded up his body to the grave ; 
But here is Carlisle living, to abide 
Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. 

Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom : — 
Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, 
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life ; 
So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife : 
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been. 
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. 

Enter Exton, with Attendants bearing a cojjin. 

Elton. Great king, within this coflSn I present 
Thy buried fear ; herein all breathless lies 
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, 
Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. 

Boling. Exton, I thank thee not ; for thou hast 
A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, [wrought 
Upon my head, and all this famous land. [deed. 

Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this 

Boling. They love not poison that do poison need, 
Nor do I thee ; though I did wish him dead, 
I hate the murderer, love him murdered. 
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, 
But neither my good word, nor princely favour : 
With Cain go wander through the shade of night, 

And never shew thy head by day nor light. 

Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe. 

That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow . 

Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, 

And put on sullen black, incontinent ; 

I'll make a voyage to the Holy land. 

To wash this blood off from my guilty hand : — 

March sadly after ; grace my mournings here. 

In weeping after this untimely bier. [Exeunt. 



* This play is extracted from the Chronicle of Ilolinshed, in 
which many passages may be found which ^ihakspcare has, with 
very little alteration, iratisplanted into his scenes; particularly 
ospeeoh of the bishopof Carlisle, in Uefinceof King Kicharii's 
unalienable riKht, and immunity from human jurisdiction. 

Jonson, who.in his Catiline M\ii^ejanns. has inserted many 
speeches from the Konian historians, was perhaps induced to 
that practice by the example of Shakspeare, who had condescend- 
ed sometimes to copy more ignoble writers. But Shakspeare 
had more of his own than Jonson ; and, if he sometimes was 
willing to spare bic labour, sbeued, by what he perfuriued dt 



other times, that his extracts were made by choice or idleness 
rather than necessity. 

Ihis play is one of those which Shakspeare has apparently re- 
vised ; but as success in works of invention is not always pro- 
liortionatc to labour, it is not finished at last with the hap])y 
force of some other of his tragedies, nor can be said much to 
affect the passions, or enlarge the understaading. — Johnson. 

the notion that .Shakspe.-ire revised this play, though it has 
long prevailed, appears to me extremely doubtful ; or, to peak 
more plainly, 1 tlo not believeit.— Xai.ONE. 



FIRST PART OF 

KING HENRY IV. 



This exquisite play was entered at Stationers' Hall, Feb. 25, 
1597 ; and was printed in quarto the following year. The 
transactions contained in it are comprised within the period 
of about ten months. The action commences with the news 
brought of Hotspur having defeated the Scots under Archi- 
bald earl of Douglas, at Holmedon (or llalidown-hill), which 
battle was fought on Iloly-rood day (the 14th of September), 
1402 ; and it closes with the defeat and death of Hotspur at 
Shrewsbury ; which engagement happened on Saturday the 
21st of July (the eve of isaintMary Magdalen), in the year 1403. 



" Shakspeare has," says Dr. Johnson, " apparently designed a 
regular connexion of these dramatic histories, from Richard 
the Second, to Henry the fifth. King Henry, at the end of 
Richard the Second, declares his purpose to visit the Holy 
Land, which he resumes in the first speech of this play. The 
complaint made by King Henry in the last act of Richard the 
Second, of the wildness of his son, prepares the reader for 
the frolics which are here to be recounted, and the charac- 
ters which are now to be exhibited." 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



r, I 



sons to the King. 



King Henry the Fourth. 

Henry, Prince of Wales, 

Prince John of Lancaster, 

Earl OF Westmoreland, | . .^^^^ ^^ j^^ j^j 

Sir Walter Blunt, S 

Thomas Percy, Earl ofWorcester. 

Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland. 

Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his son. 

Edmund Mortimer, Earl o/' March. 

Scroop, Archbishop of York. 

Sir Michael, a friend of the Archbishop. 

Archibald, Earl of Douglas. 

Owen Glendower. 

Sir Richard Vernon. 

Sir John Falstaff. 

PoiNS. 

Gadshill. 

Peto. 

Bardolph. 

Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer. 
Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, and wife to 

Mortimer. 
Mrs. Quickly, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. 

Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamherlain,Brawers, 
Two Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants, 

SCENE,— England. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir Walter 
Blunt, and others. 

K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with care. 
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant. 
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils 
To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote. 
No more the thirsty entrance of this soil 
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood ; 
No more siiall trenching war channel her fields. 
Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs 
Of hostile paces : those opposed eyes. 
Which, — like the meteors of a troubled heaven, 
All of one nature, of one substance bred,— — 
Did lately meet in the intestine shock 
And furious close of civil butchery, 
Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks, 
IMarch all one way ; and be no more oppos'd 
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies : 
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, 
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends. 



As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, 
(Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross 
We are impressed and engag'd to fight,) 
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy ; 
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb 
To chase these pagans, in those holy fields, 
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet. 
Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd 
For our advantage, on the bitter cross. 
But this our purpose is a twelvemonth old. 
And bootless 'tis to tell you, — we will go ; 
Therefore we meet not now :— Then let me hear 
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, 
What yesternight our council did decree, 
In forwarding this dear expedience. 

West. My liege, this haste was hot in question. 
And many limits of the charge set down 
But yesternight : when, all athwart, there came 
A post from Wales, louden with heavy news ; 
Whose worst was, — that the noble Rlortimer, 
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight 
Against the irregular and wild Glendower, 
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken. 
And a thousand of his people butchered : 
Upon those dead corpse there was such misuse. 
Such beastly, shameless transformation. 
By those Welshwomen done, as may not be, 
Without much shame, re-told or spoken of. 

A'. Hen. It seems then, that the tidings of this broil 
Brake off our business for the Holy land. 

West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious 
For more uneven and unwelcome news [lord ; 

Came from the north, and thus it did import. 
On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there, 
Young Hany Percy, and "brave Archibald. 
That ever-valiant and approved Scot, 
At Holmedon met, 

Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour ; 
As by discharge of their artillery, 
And shape of likelihood, the news was told ; 
For he that brought them, in the very heat 
And pride of their contention did take horse. 
Uncertain of the issue any way. 

A'. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend, 
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, 
Stain'd with the variation of each soil 
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours ; 
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news, 
The earl of Douglas is discomfited ; 
Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and- twenty knights, 
Balk'd in their own blood, did sir Walter see 
On Holmedon's plains : Of prisoners, Hotspur took 
Mordake the earl of Fife, and eldest son 
To beaten Douglas ; and the earls of Athol, 
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith. 



ACT I.— SCENE II. 



377 



And is not this an honourable spoil ? 
A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not'' 

West. In faith. 
It is a conquest for a prince to boa<t of. 

K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st 
In envy that my lord Northumberland [me sin 

Should be the father of so blest a son : 
A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue; 
Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant ; 
Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride: 
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him. 
See riot and dishonour stain the brow 
Of my young Harry. 0, that it could be prov'd. 
That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd 
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay. 
And call'd mine — Percy, his — Plantagenet! 
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. 
But let him from my thoughts: — What think you, coz', 
Of this young Percy's pride 1 the prisoners, 
Which he in this adventure hath surpriz"d, 
To his own use he keeps ; and sends me word, 
I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife. 

West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester, 
Malevolent to you in all aspects ; 
Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up 
The crest of youth against your dignity. 

K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this : 
And, for this cause, awhile we must neglect 
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. 
Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we 
Will hold at Windsor, so inform the lords : 
But come yourself with speed to us again ; 
For more is to be said, and to be done, 
Than out of anger can be uttered. 

West. I will, my liege. [Exeuyit 

SCENE II. — The same. Another Room in the Palace. 
Enter Henky, Prince o/" Wales, and Falstaff. 

Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad 7 

P. Hen. Thou art so fat wilted, with drinking of 
old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and 
sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast for- 
gotten to demand that truly which thou would'st 
truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the 
time of the day? unless hours were cups of sack, and 
minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, 
and dials the signs of leaping houses, and the blessed 
sun himself a fair hot wench in flame colour'd tafi'ata ; 
I see no reason, why thou should'st be so superfluous 
to demand the time of the day. 

Fal. Indeed, you come near me, now, Hal : for we, 
that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars ; 
and not by Phoebus, — he, that loandering kniglit so 
fair. And, 1 pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art 
king, — as, God save thy grace, (majesty, I should 
say ; for grace thou wilt have none,) 

P. Hen. What! none? 

FuL No, by my troth ; not so much as will serve 
to be prologue to an egg and butter. 

P. Hen. Well, how then! come, roundly, roundly. 

Fal- Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, 
let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be 
called thieves of the day's beauty ; let us be — Diana's 
foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the 
moon : And let men say. we be men of good govern- 
ment ; being governed as the sea is, by our noble and 
chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance 
we — steal. 

P. Hen. Thou say'st well ; and it holds well too : 
for the fortuue of us, that are the moon's men, doth 
ebb and &ov, like the sea; being governed as the sea 



is, by the moon. As, for proof, now: A purse of 
gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night, and 
most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got 
with swearing — lay by ; and spent with crying — bring 
in : now, in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder: 
and, by and by, in as high a flow as the ridge of the 
gallows. 

Fal. By the lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not 
my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench ? 

P. Hen. As the honey df Hybla, my old lad of the 
castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe 
of duiance 1 

Fal. IIow now, how now, mad wag 1 what, in thy 
quips, and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to 
do with a buff jerkin? 

P. Hen. Why, wiiat a pox have I to do with my 
hostess of the tavern ! 

Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning 
many a time and oft 

P. Hen. Did 1 ever call for thee to pay thy part? 

Fal. No ; 1 '11 give thee thy due, thou hast paid all 
there. 

P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin 
would stretch ; and, where it would not, 1 have used 
my credit. 

Fal. Yea, and so used it, that were it not here ap- 
parent that thou art heir apparent, — But, I pr'ythee, 
sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in Eng- 
land when thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed 
as it is, with the rusty curb of old father antic the 
law ? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. 

P. Hen. No; thou shalt. [judge. 

Fal. Shall I? O rare! by the Lord, I'll be a brave 

P. Hen. Thou judgest false already ; I mean, thou 
shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become 
a rare hangman. 

Fal. Well, Hal, well ; and in some sort it jumps 
with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I 
can tell you. 

P. Hen. For obtaining of suits ? 

Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits : whereof the hang- 
man hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood I am as melan- 
choly as a gib cat, or a lugged bear. 

P. Hen. Or an old lion ; or a lover's lute. 

Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. 

P. Hen. What say'st thou to a hare, or the melan- 
choly of Moor-ditch ? 

Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes ; and 
art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest, — sweet 
young prince, — But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no 
more with vanity. I would to God, thou and I knew 
where a commodity of good names were to be bought; 
An old lord of the council rated me the other day in 
the street about you, sir ; but I marked him not : and 
yet he talked very wisely; but I regarded him not: 
and yet he talked wisely, and in the street too. 

P. Hi:n. 'i'hou didst well ; for wisdom cries out m 
the streets, and no man regards it. 

Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration- and art, in- 
deed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much 
harm ujjon me, Hal, — God forgive thee for it! Be- 
fore I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing ; and now am 
I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one 
of the wicked I must give over this life, and I will 
give it over ; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain ; 
I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. 

P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, 
.Tack? 

Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I do 
not, call me villain, and bafHe me. 

P. Hen. 1 see a good amendment of life in thee ; 
from praying, to purse-lakmg. 



378 



KING HENRY IV.— PART I. 



Enter Ppins, at a distance 

Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal ; 'tis no sin 
for a man to labour in his vocation. Poins ! — Now 
shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if 
men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were 
hot enough for him 1 This is the most omnipotent 
villain that ever cried, Stand, to a true man. 

P. Hen. Good-morrow, Ned. 

Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. — What says mon- 
sieur Remorse ! What says sir John Sack-and-Sugar'! 
Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, 
that thou soldest him on Good-friday last, for a cup 
of Madeira, and a cold capon's leg 1 

P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall 
have his bargain ; for he was never yet a breaker of 
proverbs, he will give the devil his due. 

Poins. Then art tliou damn'd for keeping thy word 
with the devil. 

P. Hen. Else he had been damn'd for cozening the 
devil. 

Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morn- 
ing, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill : There are 
pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and 
traders riding to London with fat purses: I have vi- 
sors for you all, you have horses for yourselves ; 
Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester ; I have bespoke 
supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap ; we may do it 
as secure as sleep : If you will go, I will stuff your 
purses full of crowns ; if you will not, tarry at home, 
and be hanged. 

Fal. Hear me, Yedward ; if I tarry at home and 
go not, I'll hang you for going. 

Poins. You will, chops 1 

Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one ? 

P. Hen. Who, I rob 1 I a thief! not I, by my faith. 

Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good 
fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood 
royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. 

P. Hen. Well, then, once in my days 1 '11 be a 
mad cap. 

Fal. Why, thaf's well said. 

P. Hen. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. 

Fal. By the Lord, I 'U be a traitor then, when thou 
art king. 

P. Hen. I care not. 

Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and 
me alone ; I will lay him down such reasons for this 
adventure, that he shall go. 

Fal. AVell, may'st thou have the spirit of persua- 
sion, and he the ears of profiting, that what thou 
speakest may move, and what he hears may be be- 
lieved, that the true prince may (for recreation sake) 
prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time 
want countenance. Farewell: you shall find me in 
Eastcheap. 

P. Hen, Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell 
All-hallown summer ! [Eiil F.^lstaff. 

Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with 
us to-morrow ; 1 have a jest to execute, that I cannot 
manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gads- 
hill, shall rob those men that we have already way- 
laid ; yourself, and I, will not be there : and when 
they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, 
cut this head from my shoulders. 

P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in setting 
forth ? 

Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them, 
and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at 
our pleasure to fail : and then will they adventure 
upon the exploit themselves: which they shall have 
no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them. 



P. Hen. Ay, but 'tis like, that they will know us. 
by our horses, by our habits, and by every other ap- 
pointment, to be ourselves. 

Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie 
them in the wood ; oar visors we will change, after 
we leave them ; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckiam 
for the nonce, to inmask our noted outward garments. 

P. Hen. But, I doubt, they will be too hard for us. 

Poins, Well, for two of them, I know them to be 
as true-bred cowards as ever turned back ; and for 
the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, 1 '11 
forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the 
incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will 
tell us, when we meet at supper : how thirty, at least, 
he fought with ; what wards, what blows, what ex- 
tremities he endured ; and, in the reproof of this, lies 
the jest. 

P. Hen. Well, I '11 go with thee ; provide us all 
things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in 
Eastcheap, there I '11 sup. Farewell. 

Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit Poins. 

P. Hen. I know you all, and will awhile uphold 
The unyok'd humour of your idleness ; 
Yet herein will I imitate the sun ; 
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 
To smother up his beauty from the world. 
That when he please again to be himself. 
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, 
]5y breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him. 
If all the year were playing holidays. 
To sport would be as tedious as to work ; 
But, when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come. 
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. 
So, when tiiis loose behaviour 1 throw off, 
And pay the debt I never promised, 
By how much better than my word I am. 
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes ; 
And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, 
My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, 
Shall shew more goodly, and attract more eyes. 
Than that which hath no foil to set it off. 
I '11 so offend, to make offence a skill ; 
Redeeming time, when men think least I will. [ Eiit. 

SCENE III. — The same. Another Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry, Northumrerland, Wohcester, 
HoTsruR, Sir Walter Blunt, and others, 

K, Hen, Myblood hath been too cold and temperate. 
Unapt to stir at these indignities, 
And you have found me ; for, accordingly. 
You tread upon my patience : but, be sure, 
I will from henceforth rather be myself. 
Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition ; 
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down. 
And therefore lost that title of respect, 
W^hich the proud soul ne'er pays, but to the proud. 

fFo'-. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves 
The scourge of greatness to be used on it ; 
And that same greatness too which our own hands 
Have holp to make so portly. 

North. My lord, — 

A'. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone, fori see danger 
And disobedience in thine eye : O, sir. 
Your presence is too bold and peremptory. 
And majesty might never yet endure 
I'he moody frontier of a servant brow. 
You have good leave to leave us ; when we need 
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. — 

\_Ex'it Worcester. 
You were about to speak. [To North 



ACT I.— SCENE III. 



379 



North. Yea, my good lord. 

Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded, 
Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, 
Were, as lie says, not with such strength denied. 
As is deliver'd to your inajesty : 
Either envy, therefore, or misprision 
is guilty of this fault, and not my son. 

Hot. My liege, 1 did deny no prisoners. 
But, I remember, when the fight was done. 
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil. 
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword. 
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd. 
Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reap'd, 
Shew'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ,• 
He was perfumed like a milliner ; 
And 'twixt his finger and his thum he held 
A pouncet box, which ever and anon 

He gave his nose, and took't away again ; 

Who, therewith angry, when it next came there. 

Took it in snuff: — and still he smil'd and talk'd ; 

And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by. 

He call'd them — untaught knaves, unmannerly. 

To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 

Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 

With many holiday and lady terms 

He question'd me ; among the rest, demanded 

My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. 

I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold, 

To be so pestered with a popinjay, 

Out of my grief and my impatience, 

Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what ; 

He should, or he should not ; — for he made me mad 

To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet. 

And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman. 

Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the mark!) 

And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth 

Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise ; 

And that it was great pity, so it was. 

That villanous salt-petre should be digg'd 

Out of the bowels of the harmless earth. 

Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd 

So cowardly ; and, but for these vile guns. 

He would himself have been a soldier. 

This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, 

I answer'd indirectly, as I said ; 

And, I beseech you, let not his report 

Come current for an accusation. 

Betwixt my love and your high majesty. 

BtuiH. The circumstance consider'd, good my lord. 
Whatever Harry Percy then had said. 
To such a person, and in such a place. 
At sucli a time, with all the rest re-told, 
IMay reasonably die, and never rise 
To do him wrong, or any way impeach 
What then he said, so he unsay it now. 

K. Hen. \\'hy, yet he doth deny his prisoners ; 
But with proviso, and exception, — 
That we, at our own charge, shall ransome straight 
His brother-in-law, the foolish ]Mortimer ; 
Who, on my soul, hatli wilfully betray'd 
The lives of those that he did lead to fight 
Against the great magician, damn'd Glendovver; 
AVhose daughter, as we hear, tiie earl of March 
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers then 
Be emptied, to redeem a traitor home 1 
Shall we buy treason 1 and indent with fears, 
When they have lost and forfeited themselves 1 
No, on the barren mountains let him starve ; 
For I shall never hold that man my friend. 
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost 
To ransome home revolted Mortimer. 
Hot. Revolted Mortimer ! 



He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, 

But by the chance of war ; — To prove that true. 

Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds. 

Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took, 

When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank. 

In single opposition, hand to hand. 

He did confound the best part of an hour 

In changing hardiment with great Glendower : 

Three times they breath'd, and three times did they 

Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood ; [drink. 

Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, 

Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds. 

And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank 

Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. 

Never did bare and rotten policy 

Colour her working with such deadly wounds ; 

Nor never could the noble Mortimer 

Receive so many, and all willingly : 

Then let him not be slander'd with revolt. 

K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie 
He never did encounter with Glendower ; [him. 

I tell thee. 

He durst as well have met the devil alone, 
As Owen Glendower for an enemy. 
Art not ashamed 1 But, sirrah, henceforth 
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer : 
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means. 
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me 
As will displease you. — My lord Northumberland, 
We licence your departure with your son : — 
Send us your prisoners, or you '11 hear of it. 

[Eieunt King Henry, Blunt, and Train. 

Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them, 
I will not send them : — I will after straight, 
And tell him so ; for I will ease my heart, 
Although it be with hazard of my head. 

Koith. What, drunk with choler 1 stay, and pause 
Here comes your uncle. [awhile ; 

lie-enter Worcester. 

Hot. Speak of Mortimer ? 

'Zounds, I will speak of him ; and let my soul 
Want mercy, if I do not join with him : 
Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins. 
And shed my blood drop by drop i' the dust. 
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer 
As high i'the air as this unthankful king. 
As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. 

North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew 
mad. [To Worcester. 

Wor. Who struck this heat up, after I was gone? 

Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners; 
And when I urg'd the ransome once again 
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale ; 
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death. 
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. 

Il'or. 1 cannot blame him : Was he not proclaim'd. 
By Richard that dead is, the next of blood ? 

Noi-th. He was ; 1 heard the proclamation 7 
And then it was, when the unhappy king 
( Whose wrongs in us God pardon !) did set forth 
Upon his Irish expedition ; 
From whence he, intercepted, did return 
J'o be depos'd, and, shortly, murdered. [mouth 

Wor. And for whose death, we in the world's wide 
Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of. 

Hot. But, soft, 1 pray you ; Did king Richard then 
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer 
Heir to the crown 1 

North. He did ; myself did hear it. 

Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king, 
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv d. 



:mo 



KING HENRY IV.— PART I. 



But shall it be, that you, — that set the crown 
Upon the liead of this forgetful man ; 
And, for his sake, wear the detested blot 
Of murd'rous subornation, — shall it be, 
That you a world of curses undergo ; 
Being the agents, or base second means, 
Tlie cords, the ladder, or the iiangman rather ? — 
O, pardon me, that I descend so low, 
Tn show the line, and the predicament, 
Wherein you range under this subtle king — 
Shall It, for shame, be spoken in these days, 
Or fill up chronicles in time to come. 
That men of your nobility and power, 
Did 'gage them both in an unjust behalf, — 
As both of you, God pardon it! have done, — 
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose. 
And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke ? 
And shall it, in more shame, be further spoken, 
That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook oft" 
By him, for whom these shames ye underwent] 
No ; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem 
Your banish'd honours, and restore yourselves 
Into the good thoughts of the world again : 
Revenge the jeering, and disdain'd contempt. 
Of this proud king ; who studies, day and night, 
To answer all the debt he owes to you. 
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths. 
Therefore, I say, 

Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more ; 

And now I will unclasp a secret book. 
And to your ([uick-conceiving discontents 
1 'U read you matter deep and dangerous j 
As full of peril, and advent'rous spirit, 
As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud, 
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 

Hot. If he fall in, good night ; — or sink or swim ; — 
Send danger from the east unto the west, 
So honour cross it from the north to south, 
And let them grapple ;— O ! the blood more stirs. 
To rouse a lion, than to start a hare. 

North. Imagination of some great exploit 
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. 

Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap. 
To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon ; 
Or dive into the bottom of the deep. 
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, 
And pluck up drowned honour by the locks ; 
So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear, 
Without corrival, all her dignities : 
But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship! 

Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here, 
But not the form of what he should attend. — 
Good cousin, give me audience for a while. 

Hot. 1 cry you mercy. 

Wor. Those same noble Scots, 
That are your prisoners, 

Hot. I '11 keep them all ; 

By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them : 
No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not : 
I '11 keep them, by this hand. 

Wor. You start away, 

And lend no ear unto my purposes. — 
Those prisoners vou shall keep 

Hot. ' Nay, I will; that's flat-— 

He said, he would not ransome JMortimer ; 
Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer; 
But I will find him when he lies asleep. 
And in his ear I'll holla — Mortimer! 
Nay, 

I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak 
Nothing but ftlortimer, and give it him. 
To keep his anger still in motion. 



Wor, Heai you, 

Cousin ; a word. 

Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy, 
Save how to gall and pinch this BolingbiOKe 
And that same sword-and buckler prince of Wales, 
But that I think his father ioves him not, 
And would be glad he met with some mischance, 
I'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale. 

Wor. Farewell, kinsman ! 1 will talk to you, 
When you are better temper'd to attend. 

North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool 
Art thou, to break into this woman's mood ; 
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own? 

Hot. Why, look you, 1 am whipp'd and scourg'd 
with rods. 
Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear 
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. 
In Richard's time, — What do you call the place'' — 
A plague upon 't! — it is in Gloucestershire ; — 
'Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept ; 
His uncle York : — where I first bow'd my knee 
Unto this king of smiles, this I'olingbroke, 
When you and he came back from Ravenspurg. 

North. At Berkley castle. 

Hot. You say true : 

\^'hy, what a candy deal of courtesy 

I'his fawning greyhound then did proffer me ! 

Look, — when his infant fortune came to age, 

And, gentle Harri/ Percy, — and, kind cousin, — 

O, the devil take such cozeners ! — God forgive me — 

Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. 

Wor. Nay, if you have not, to 't again ; 
We'll stay your leisure. 

Hot. I have done, i 'faith. 

Wor. Then once more to your Scottis-h prisoners. 
Deliver them up without their ransome straight, 
And make the Douglas' son your only mean 
For powers in Scotland ; which, — for divers reasons, 
\Vhich I shall send you written, — be assur'd. 
Will easily be granted. — You, my lord, — 

[To NomilUMBERLAND. 

Your son in Scotland being thus employ 'd, — 
Shall secretly into the bosom creep 
Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd, 
The archbishop. 

Hot. Of York, is't not? 

Wor. True ; who bears hard 
His brother's death at liristol, the lord Scroop. 
I speak not this in estimation. 
As what I think might be, but what I know 
Is ruminated, plotted, and set down ; 
And only stays but to behold the face 
Of that occasion that shall bring it on. 

Hot. I smell it ; upon my life, it will do well. 

North. Before the game's a foot, thou still let'st slip. 

Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot :— 
And then the power of Scotland, and of York, — 
To join with Mortimer, ha? 

Wor, And so they shall. 

Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. 

Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed, 
To save our heads by raising of a head : 
For, bear ourselves as even as we can, 
The king will always think him in our debt ; 
And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, 
Till he hath found a time to pay us home. 
And see already, how he doth begin 
I'o make us strangers to liis looks of love. 

//()(. He does, he does; we'll be reveng'd on him 

Wor. Cousin, farewell ; — No further go in this 
Than I by letters shall direct your course. 
1 When time is ripe, (which will be suddenly •") 



ACT II.— SCENE II. 



381 



I'll steal to Gleiidower, and lord Rlortiiner ; 
Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once, 
(As I will fashion it,) sliall happily meet, 
To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, 
Which now we hold witli much uncertainty, [trust. 
North. Farewell, good brother : we shall thrive, 1 
Hot. Uncle, adieu : — C), let the hours be short. 
Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport 1 

[Eieuiit. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I.— Rochester. An Inn Yard. 
Enter a Carrier, with a lantern in his hand. 

1 Car. Heigh ho ! An 't be not four by the day, 
I'll be hanged : Charles' wain is over the new chim- 
ney, and yet our horse not packed. V\ hat, ostler ! 

Ost. [It'ii//()t.] Anon, anon. 

1 Car. 1 i)r'ythee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a 
few flocks in the point ; the poor jade is wrung in 
the withers out of all cess. 

Enter another Carrier. 

2 Car. Pease and beans are as dank here as a 
dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades the 
bots : this house is turned upside down, since Robin 
Ostler died. 

1 Car. Poor fellow ! never joyed since the price 
of oats rose ; it was the death of him. 

2 Car. I think, this be tlie most villainous house 
in all London road for fleas : I am stung like a tench. 

1 Car. Like a teach ? by the mass, there is ne'er 
a king in Christendom could be better bit than 1 have 
been since the first cock. 

2 Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jorden, and 
then we leak in your chimney ; and your chamber- 
lie breeds fleas like a loach. 

1 Car. What, ostler ! come away, and be hanged, 
come away. 

2 Car. 1 have a gammon of bacon, and two razes 
of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing-cross. 

1 Car. 'Odsbody ! the turkies in my pannier are 
quite starved. — What, ostler I — A plague on thee ! 
hast thou never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? 
An 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to break the 

f)ate of thee, 1 am a very villain. — Come, and be 
langed :— Hast no faith in thee ? 

Entei Gadshill. 

Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock? 
1 Car. I think it be two o'clock. 
Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my 
gelding in tlie stable. 

1 Car, Nay, soft, I pray ye; I know a trick worth 
two of that, i'faith. 

Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thine. 

2 Car. Ay, when ? canst tell ? — Lend me thy lan- 
fcni, quoth a? — marry, I'll see thee hanged first. 

Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to 
come to London ? 

2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, 
I warrant thee. — Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll call 
up the gentlemen ; they will along with company, 
for they have great charge. [^Exeunt Carriers. 

Gads. What, ho ! chamberlain ! 

Cham. [Within.] At hand, quoth pick-purse. 

Gads. 'I'hat's even as fair as — at hand, quoth the 
chamberlain : for thou variest no more from picking 
of purses, than giving direction doth from labouring ; 
thou lay'st the plot how. 



Enter Chamberlain. 

Cham. Good morrow, master Gadshill. It hold.s 
current, that 1 told you yesternight : There's a fiank- 
lin in the wild of Kent, hath brought three hundred 
marks with him in gold : I heard him tell it to one of 
his company, last night at supper; a kind of auditor ; 
one that hatli abundance of charge too, God knows 
what. Tliey are up already, and call for e^gs and 
butter: 'i'liey will away presently. 

Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with saint Nicholas' 
clerks, I'll give thee this neck. 

Cham. No, I'll none of it : I pr'ythee, keep that 
for the hangman ; for, I know, thou worship'st saint 
Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may. 

Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman 1 
if I hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows : for, if I 
hang, old sir .lohn hangs with me ; and, thou know- 
est, he's no starveling. Tut! there are other Trojans 
that thou dreamest not of, the which, for sport sake, 
are content to do the profession some grace ; that 
would, if matters should be looked into, for their own 
credit sake, make all whole. I am joined with no 
foot land-rakers, no long-staff, sixpenny strikers ; 
none of tliese mad, niustachio purple-hued malt- 
worms : but with nobility, and tranquillity ; burgo- 
masters, and great oneyers ; such as can hold in ; 
such as will strike sooner than speak, and speak 
sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray: And 
yet I lie ; for they pray continually to their saint, 
the commonwealth ; or, rather, not pray to her, but 
prey on her ; for they ride up and down on her, and 
make her their boots. 

Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots? M^ill 
she hold out water in foul way ? 

Gads. She will, she will ; justice hath liquored 
her. We steal as in a castle, cock-sure ; we have 
the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible. 

Cham. Nay, by my faith ; I think you are more 
beholden to the night, than to fern-seed, for your 
walking invisible. 

Gads. Give me thy hand : thou shalthave a share 
in our purchase, as I am a true man. 

Chum. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a 
false thief 

Gads. Go to ; Homo is a common name to all 
men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the 
stable. Farewell, you muddy knave. [^Exeant, 

SCENE II.— 7'/ie Road by Gadshill. 

Enter Prince Henry and Poins ; Bardolph and 
PiiTO, at some distance. 

Poins. Come, shelter, shelter ; I have removed 
Falstaff's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet. 
P. Hen. Stand close. 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fill. Poins ! Poins, and be hanged ! Poins ! 

P. Hen. Peace, ye fat kidneyed rascal ; What a 
brawling dost thou keep ! 

Fal. Where's Poins, Hal ? 

P. Hen. He is walked up to the top of the hill ; 
I'll go seek him. [Pretends to seek Poins. 

Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thiefs company : 
the rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I know 
not where. If I travel but four foot by the squire 
further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt 
not but to die a fair death for all this, if I 'scape hang- 
ing for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his com- 
pany hourly any time this two-and-twenty years ; and 
yet I am bewitched with the rogue's company, if 



382 



KING HENRY IV.— PART I. 



the rascal have not given me medicines to make me 
love hiui, I'll be hanged ; it could not be else ; 1 have 
drunk medicines. — Poins ! — Hal ! — a plague upon 
you both ! — Bardolph ! — Peto I — I'll starve, ere I'll 
rob a foot further. An 'twere not as good a deed as 
drink, to turn true man, and leave these rogues, 1 am 
the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight 
yards of uneven ground, is threescore and ten miles 
afoot with ine ; and the stony-hearted villains know 
it well enough : A plague upon't, when thieves can- 
not be true to one another ! ['Aei/ irhistle.] Whew ! 
■ — A plague upon you all ! Give me my horse, you 
rogues ; give me my horse, and be hanged. 

P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-guts ! lie down ; lay thine 
ear close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear 
the tread of travellers. 

Fill. Have you any levers to lift me up again, 
being down 1 'Sblood, I'll not bear mine own flesh 
so far afoot again, for all the coin in thy father's ex- 
chequer. What a plague mean ye to colt me thus? 

P. Hen. Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art 
uncolted. 

Fill. I pr'ythee, good prince Hal, help me to my 
horse, good king's son. 

P. Hen. Out, you rogue ! shall I be your ostler 1 

Fal. Go, hang thyself in thy own heir-apparent 
garters ! If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An 1 have 
not ballads made on you all, and sung to filthy tunes, 
let a cup of sack be my poison : When a jest is so 
forward, and afoot too, — I hate it. 
Eriter Gadshill. 

GaJs. Stand. 

Fal. So 1 do, against my will. 

Poins. O, 'tis our setter : I know his voice. 
Enter Bardommi. 

Bard. What news 1 

Gads. Case ye, case ye ; on with your visors ; 
there 's money of the king's coming down the hill ; 
'tis going to the king's exchequer. 

Fal. Vou lie, you rogue ; 'tis going to the king's 
tavern. 

Gads. There's enough to make us all. 

Fal. To be hanged. 

P. Hen. Sirs, you four shall front them in the nar- 
row lane ; Ned Poins and I will walk lower : if they 
'scape from your encounter, then tney light on us. 

Peto. How many be there of them ? 

Gads. Some eight, or ten. 

Fal. Zounds, will they not rob us 1 

P. Hen. What, a coward, sir John Paunch ? 

Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grand- 
father : but yet no coward, Hal. 

P. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof. 

Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the 
hedge ; when thou need'st him, there thou shalt find 
him. Farewell, and stand fast. 

Fal. Now cannoti strike him.if Ishouldbehanged. 

P. Hen. Ned, where are our disguises'? 

Poins. Here, hard by ; stand close. 

[Exeunt P. Henry and Poins. 

Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say 
1 ; every man to his business. 

Enter Travellers. 

1 T'-av. Come, neighbour ; the boy shall lead our 
horses down the hill : we'll walk afoot awhile, and 
ease our legs. 

Thieves. Stand. 

Trav. Jesu bless us ! 

Fal. Strike ; down with them ; cut the villains' 
throats : Ah ! whoresoncaterpillars! bacon fedknaves! 
they hate us youth : down with them ; fleece them. 



1 Trav. O.weareundone, both we and ours, forever. 

Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves ; Are ye undone? 

No, ye fat chuffs ; I would your store were here ! Or,, 

bacons, on! What, ye knaves'! young men must live: 

You are grand jurors are ye 1 We'll jure ye, i'faith. 

[Exeunt Fai.s. 6;c. driving t/^e Travellers out. 

Re-enter Prince Henry and Poins. 

P. Hen. The thieves have bound the true men • 
Now could thou and 1 rob the thieves, and go mer- 
rily to London, it would be argument for a week, 
laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever. 

Poins. Stand close, I hear them coming. 

Re-enter Thieves. 
Fal Come, my masters, let us share, and then to 
horse before day. An the prince and Poins be not 
two arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring : there's 
no more valour in that Poins, than in a wild duck. 
P. Hen. Your money. [Rushing out uvon them. 
Poins. Villains. 

[As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins 5et 
upon them. Falstaff, after a blow or two, 
and the rest, run away, leaving their booty be- 
hind them.^ 
P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse: 
The thieves are scatter'd, and possess'd with fear 
So strongly, that they dare not meet each other ; 
Each takes his fellow for an officer. 
Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, 
And lards the lean earth as he walks along : 
W^er't not for laughing, I should pity him. 

Poins. How the rogue roar'd ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Warkworth. A Rocm in the Castle. 
Enter Hotspur, reading a letter. 

But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be 

well contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear 
your house — He could be contented, — Why is he not 
then "! In respect of the love he bears our house :— 
he shews in this, he loves his own barn better than 
he loves cur house. Let me see some more. The 
purpose yon undertake, is dangerous; — Why, that's 
certain , 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to 
drink : but I tell you, my lord fool, outof this nettle, 
danger, we pluck this flower, safety. The purpose 
you undertake, is dangerous ; the friends you have 
named, nncertain ; the time itself, unsorted ; and your 
whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an 
opposition. — Say you so, say you so '? I say unto you 
again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. 
What a lack-brain is this ? By the Lord, our plot is 
a good plot as ever was laid ; our friends true and 
constant: a good plot, good friends, and full of ex- 
pectation : an excellent plot, very good friends. What 
a frosty-spirited rogue is this 1 Why, my lord of York 
commends the plot, and the general course of the 
action. 'Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I 
could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not 
my father, my uncle, and myself! lord Edmund Rlor- 
timer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is 
there not, besides, the Douglas 1 Have I not all their 
letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next 
month ? and are they not, some of them, set for- 
ward already ! What a pagan rascal is this 1 an in- 
fidel ! Ha ! you shall see now, in very sincerity of 
fear and cold heart, will he to the king, and lay 
open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself, 
and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed 
milk with so honourable an action! Hang him ! Let 
him tell the king : We are prepared : I will set for- 
ward to-night. 



ACT II.— SCENE IV. 



383 



Enter Lady Percy. 

How now, Rate] I must leave you within these two 
hours. 
Lady. O, my good lord, why are you thus alone? 
For what offence have I, this fortnight, been 
A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed ? 
Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee 
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? 
Why dost thou bend tliine eyes upon the earth ; 
And start so often when thou sit'st alone ? 
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks ; 
And given my treasures, and my rights of thee, 
To thick-ey'd musing, and curs'd melancholy 1 
In thy faint slumbers, I by thee have watch'd, 
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars : 
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed ; 
Cry, Courage! — to thejield! And thou hast talk'd 
Of sallies, and retires ; of trenches, tents, 
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets ; 
Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin ; 
Of prisoners' ransome, and of soldiers slain, 
And all the 'currents of a heady fight. 
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at wai. 
And thus hath so bestir'd thee in thy sleep, 
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow. 
Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream : 
And in thy face strange motions have appear'd. 
Such as we see when men restrain their breath 
On some great sudden haste. O, what portents are 
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, [these? 
And I must know it, else he loves me not. 

Hot. What, ho ! is Gilliams with the packet gone ? 

Enter Servant. 

Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago. [sheriff"? 

Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the 

Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now. 

Hot. What horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not? 

Serv. It is, my lord. 

Hot, That roan shall be my throne. 

Well, Twill back him straigiit : O e^perance! — 
Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. [Exit Servant. 

Lady. But hear you, my lord. 

Hot. What say 'st, my lady ? 

Lady. What is it carries you away ? 

Hot. My horse, 

My love, my horse. 

Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape! 
A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen. 
As you are toss'd with. In faith, 
I '11 know your business, Harry, that I will. 
I fear, my brother iNIortimer doth stir 
About his title ; and hath sent for you, 
To line his enterprize : But if you go 

Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. 

Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me 
Directly to this question that I ask. 
fn faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry, 
An if thou wilt not teil me all things true. 

Hot. Away, 
Away, you trifler ! — Love? — I love thee not, 
[ care not for thee, Kate : this is no world. 
To play with mammets, and to tilt with lips : 
We must have bloody noses, and crack'd crowns. 
And pass them current too. — Gods me, my horse! — 
What say'st ihou, Kate? what would'st thou have 
with me ? 
Lady. Do you not love me? do you not, indeed ? 
Well, do not then ; for, since you love me not, 
I will not love myself. Do you not love me ! 
Nay, tell me, if you speak in jest, or no, 
Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride ? 



And when I am o'horse-back, I will swear 
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate; 
I must not have you henceforth question me 
Whitlier I go, nor reason whereabout: 
^yhither I must, I must ; and, to conclude, 
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. 
I know you wise ; but yet no further wise, 
Than Harry Percy's vvife : constant you are ; 
But yet a woman: and for secrecy, 
No lady closer ; for I well believe. 
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know j 
And so far will 1 trust thee, gentle Kate ! 

Lady. How ! so far ? 

Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate ; 
Whither I go, thither shall you go too ; 
To day will 1 set forth, to-morrow you. — 
Will this content you, Kate ? 

Lady. It must, of force. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. 

Eastcheap. — A Room in the Boar's Head Tavern. 

Enter PaiycE. Henky and Poixs. 

P. Hen. Ned, pr'ythee, come out of that fat room, 
and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. 
Poins. Where hast been, Hal? 
P. Hen. With tiiree or four loggerheads, amongst 
three or four score hogsheads. 1 have sounded the 
very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn 
brother to a leash of drawers ; and can call them all 
by theirchristian names, as— Tom, Dick, and Francis. 
They take it already upon their salvation, that, though 
I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of 
courtesy; and tell me, flatly I am no proud Jack, 
likeFalstaff"; but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a 
good boy, — by the Lord, so they call me ; and when 
I am king of England, I shall command all the good 
lads in Eastcheap. They call — drinking deep, dying 
scarlet ; and when you breathe in your watering, they 
cry — hem ! and bid you play it off. — To conclude, I 
am so good a proficient in one quarter of an houi, 
that I can drink with any tinker in his own lano-uao-e 
during my life. 1 tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much 
honour, that thou wert not with me in this action. 
But, sweet Ned, — to sweeten which name of Ned, I 
give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now 
into my hand by an under-skinker; one that never 
spake other English in his life, than — Eight shiUingi 
and sixpence, and Fo it are welcome; with this shrill 
addition, — Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint of bastard 
in the Half-moon, or so. But, Ned, to drive away 
the time till Falstaft" come, I pr'ythee, do thou stand 
in some by-room, while I question my puny drawer, 
to what end he gave me the sugar ; and do thou never 
leave calling— Francis, that his tale to me may be 
nothing but — anon. Step aside, and I '11 shew thee 
a precedent. 

Poins. F>ancis! 

P. Hen. Thou art perfect. 

Poins. Francis ! [Exit Poivs. 

Enter Francis. 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. — Look down into tlie 
pomegranate, Ralph. 

P. Hen. Come hither, F'rancis. 

Frati. ISIy lord. 

P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis? 

Fran. Forsooth, five year, and as much as to— 

Poins. []Vithin.] FVancis ! 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 

P. Hen. Five years ! by'rlady, a long lease for tho 



304 



KING HENRY IV.— PART I. 



clinking of pewter. But, Francis, daresl thou be so 
valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, and 
to shew it a fair pair of heels, and run from it? 

Fran. O lord, sir ! I'll be sworn upon all the books 
in England, I could find in my heart — 

Poins. [^Within.] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 

P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis? 

Fran. Let me see, — About Michaelmas next I 
shall be — 

Poins. [Within-I Francis ! 

Fran. Anon, sir, — Pray you, stay a little, my lord. 

P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis : For the sugar 
thou gavest me, — 'twas a pennyworth, was't not '( 

Fran. O lord, sir ! I would, it had been two. 

P, Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound : 
ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it. 

Poins, [Within. \ Francis! 

Fran Anon, anon. 

P. Hen. Anon, Francis? No, Francis: but to- 
morrow, Francis ; or, Francis, on Thursday ; or, in- 
deed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis, — 

Fran. My lord 1 

P. //e7i. Wilt thou rob this leathern jerkin, crystal 
button, nott-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis- 
garter, smooth- tongue, Spanish-pouch, — 

Fran, lord, sir, who do you mean 1 

P. Hen. Why, then, your brown bastard is your 
only drink : for, look you, Francis, your white can- 
vas doublet will sully : in Barbary, sir, it cannot 
come to so much. 

Fran. What, sir? 

Poins. [Within.] Francis! 

P, Hen. Away, you rogue ; Dost thou not hear 

them call? [Here they both call him; the Drawer 

stands amazed, not knowing which way to go. 

Enter Vintner. 

Vint. What! stand's! thou still, and hear'st such 
a calling? Look to the guests within. [Exit Fran.] 
My lord, old sir John, with half a dozen more, are 
at the door ; Shall I let them in ? 

P, Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open 
the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins ! 

Re-enter Poins, 

Poins, Anon, anon, sir, 

P, Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff, and the rest of the thieves 
are at the door ; Shall we be merry ? 

Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark 
ye; What cunning match have you made with this 
jest of the drawer ? come, what's the issue 1 

P. He7i. I am now of all humours, that have shewed 
themselves humours, since the old days of goodman 
Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock 
at midnight. [Re-enter Francis, with wine.] W^hat's 
o'clock, J>ancis 1 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 

P, Hen. That ever this fellow should have fewer 
words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman I — 
His industry is — up-stairs, and down stairs; his elo- 
quence, the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of 
Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the north ; he that kills 
me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, 
washes his hands, and says to his wife, — Fye upon 
this quiet life ! I want work. Omy sweet Harry, says 
she, how many hast thou killed to-day ? Give my roan 
horse a drench, says he ; and answers, Some fourteen, 
an hour after ; a trifle, a trijie. I pr'ythee, call in 
Falstaff: I'll play Percy, and that damned brawn 
shall play dame ^lortimer his wife. Rivo, says the 
drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow. 



Enter Falstaff, Gadsiiili, Bardolph, and Peto. 

Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been? 

Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say , and a vengeance 
too I marry, and amen ! — Give me a cup of sack, boy. 
■Ere I lead this life long, I'll sewnetherstocks, and 
mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all 
cowards ! — Give me a cup of sack, rogue. — Is there 
no virtue extant ? [He drinks. 

P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of 
butter? pitiful -hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet 
tale of the son ! if thou didst, then behold that com- 
pound. 

Fal. You rogue, there is lime in this sack too ; There 
is nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man : 
Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime 
in it : a villanous coward. — Go thy ways, old Jack ; 
die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be 
not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a 
shotten herring. There live not three good men un- 
hanged in England ; and one of them is fat, and grows 
old : God help tiie while ! a bad world, I say ! I 
would I were a weaver ; I could sing psalms or anv 
thing : A plague of all cowards, I say still. 

P. Hen. How now, woolsack? what mutter youl 

Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy 
kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy sub- 
jects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I'll never 
wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales ' 

P. Hen. Why, you whoreson round man ! what' 
the matter? 

Fat. Are you not a coward? answer me to that; 
and Poins there ? 

Poins. 'Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, 
I'll stab thee. 

Fal. I call thee coward! I'll see thee damned ere 
I call thee coward : but I wouldgiveathousandpound, 
I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight 
enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your 
back : Call you that, backing of your friends ? A 
plague upon such backing ! give me them that will 
face me. Give me a cup of sack : — I am a rogue, if 
I drunk to-day, 

P, Hen. O villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped since 
thou drunk'st last. 

Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards, 
still say I, [He drinks. 

P. Hen. What's the matter? 

Fal. What's the matter ? there be four of us here 
have ta'en a thousand pound this morning. 

P. Hen. Where is it. Jack ? where is it ? 

Fal. Where is it ? taken from us it is ; a hundred 
upon poor four us. 

P. Hen. What, a hundred, man ? 

Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half- sword with 
a dozen of them two hours together, I have 'scap'd 
by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the 
doublet ; four, through the hose ; my buckler cut 
through and through ; my sword hacked like a hand- 
saw, ecce sigymm. 1 never dealt better since I was a 
man : all would not do. A plague of all cowards ! 

Let them speak : if they speak more or less than 
truth, they are villains, and the sons of darkness. 

P, Hen. Speak, sirs ; how was it ? 

Gads. We four set upon some dozen, 

Fal. Sixteen, at least, my lord. 

Gads. And bound them, 

Peto. No, no, they were not bound. 

Fal, You rogue, they were bound, every man of 
them ; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. 

Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresli 
men set upon iis, 



ACT II.— SCENE IV. 



385 



Fnl. Aad unbound the rest, and then come in tne 
other. 

P. Hen. What, fought ye v/lih them all ? 

Fal. All ? I know not what ye call, all ; but if I 
fought not with fifty of them, 1 am a bunch of radish : 
if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old 
Jack, then am I no two-legged creature. 

Poins. Pray God, you have not murdered some 
of them. 

Fal. Nay, that's past praying for : I have peppered 
two of them : two, I am sure, 1 have paid ; two rogues 
in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, — if I tell 
thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou know- 
e5t my old ward:— here I lay, and thus I bore my 
point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me, 

P. Hen- What, four i thou said'st but two, even now. 

Fal. Four, Hal ; I told thee four. 

Poins. Ay, ay, he said four. 

Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust 
at me. I made me no more ado, but took all their 
seven points in my target, thus. 

P. Hen. Seven? why, there were but four, even now. 

Fal. In buckram. 

PoiTis. Ay, four, in buckram suits. 

Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. 

P. Hen. Pr'ythee, let him alone ; we shall have 
more anon. 

Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal ? 

P. Hen. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. 

Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These 
aine in buckram, that I told thee of, 

P. Hen. So, two more already. 

Fal. Their points being broken, 

Po/jw. Down fell their hose. 

Fal. Began to give me ground : But I followed 
me close, came in foot and hand ; and, with a thought, 
seven of the eleven I paid. 

P. Heiu. O monstrous! eleven buckram men grown 
out of two ! 

Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three mis- 
begotten knaves, in Kendal green, came at my back, 
and let drive at me; — for it was so dark, Hal, that 
thou could'st not see thy hand. 

P. Hen. These lies are like the father that begets 
them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, 
thou clay-brained guts ; thou knotty-pated fool : 
thou whoreson, obscene, greasy tallow-keech, 

Fal. What, art thou mad ? art thou mad ] is not 
the truth, the truth 1 

P. Hen. Why, how could'st thou know these men 
in Kendal green, when it was so dark thou could'st 
not see thy hand ? come tell us your reason ; What 
sayest thou to this 1 

Poins. Come, your reason. Jack, your reason. 

Fal. What, upon compulsion ] No ; were I at the 
strappado, or all the racks in the world, 1 would not 
tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on com- 
pulsion ! if reasons were as plenty as blackberries, I 
would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I. 

P. Hen. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin ; this 
sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse back- 
breaker, this huge hill of flesh ; 

Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried 
neat's-tongue, bull's-pizzle, you stock-fish, — ^O; for 
breath to utter what is like thee! — you tailor's yard, 
you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck ; — 

P. Hen. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again : 
and when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, 
hoar me speak but this. 

Poins. Mark, Jack. 

P. Hen. We two saw you four set on four ; you 
bound them, and were masters of their wealth. 



IMark now, how plain a tale shall put you down. — • 
Then did we two set on you four: and, with a word, 
out-faced you from your prize, and have it ; yea, and 
can shew it you here in the house : — and, FalstalF, 
you carried your guts away as nimbly, with as quick 
dexterity, and roared for mercy, and sliU ran and 
roared, as ever I heard bull calf. What a slave art 
thou, to hack thy sword as thou hast done ; and then 
say, it was in fight! What trick, what device, wiial 
starting-hole, canst thou now find out, to hide thee 
from this open and apparent shame 1 

Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack; What trick hast 
thou now 1 

Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye, as well as he that 
made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters : Was it for me, 
to kill the heir apparent 1 Should I turn upon the 
true prince? Why, thou knowest, I am as valiant as 
Hercules: but beware instinct; the lion will not 
touch the true prince. Instinct is a great matter : I 
was a coward on instinct. I shall think the better of 
myself, and thee, during my life ; I, for a valiant lion, 
and thou, for a true prince. But, by the Lord, lads, 

I am glad you have the money. Hostess, clap to 

the doors ; watch to-night, pray to-morrow. — Gal- 
lants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good 
fellowship come to you ! What, shall we be merry ] 
shall we have a play extempore ? 

P. Hen, Content; — and the argument shall be, 
thy running away. 

Fal. Ah ! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me. 

Enter Hostess. 

Host. JMy lord the prince, 

P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess 1 what 
say'st thou to me ? 

Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the 
court at door, would speak with you : he says, he 
comes from your father. 

P. Hen. Give him as much as will make him a 
royal man, and send him back again to my mother. 

Fal. What manner of man is he 1 

Host. An old man. 

FaL What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight' 
— Shall I give him his answer ? 

P. Hen. Pr'ythee, do. Jack. 

Fal. 'Faith, and I'll send him packing. [E.iit. 

P. Hen. Now, sirs ; by'r lady, you fought fair ; — 
so did you, Peto ; — so did you, Bardolph: you are 
lions too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not 
touch the true prince ; no, — fye ! 

Bard. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run. 

P. Hen. Tell me now in earnest, how came Fal- 
stafTs sword so hacked ? 

Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger ; and 
said, he would swear truth out of England, but he 
would make you believe it was done in fight ; and 
persuaded us to do the like. 

Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear- 
grass, to make them bleed ; and then to beslubber 
our garments with it, and to swea.- it was the blood 
of true men. I did that I did no* this seven year 
before, I blushed to hear his monstrous devices. 

P. Hen. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack 
eighteen years ago, andwert taken with the manner, 
and ever since thou hast blush'd extempore : Thou 
hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet ihou ran'st 
away ; What instinct hadst thou for it ? 

Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors ? do you 
behold these exhalations '{ 

P. Hen. 1 do. 

Bard. What think you they portend ? 

P. Hen. Hot livers and cold purses. 
2 U 



:m6 



KING HENRY IV.— PART I. 



Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. 
P. Hen. No, if rightly taken, halter. 

Re-enter Falstaff. 

Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How 
now, my sweet creature of bombast 1 How long is't 
ago. Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee ? 

Fal. My own knee ? when I was about thy years, 
Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist ; I could 
have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring : A plague 
of sighing and grief ! it blows a man up like a bladder. 
'J'here's villainous news abroad: here was sir John 
J3racy from your fa'her ; you must to the court in 
the morning. That same mad fellow of the North, 
Percy; and he of Wales, that gave Amaimon the 
bastinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore the 
devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh 
hook, —What, a plague, call you him 1 

Poins. O, Glendower. 

Fal. Owen, Owen ; the same , — and his son-in-law, 
]\Iortimer ; and old Northumberland ; and that 
sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs ©'horse- 
back up a hill perpendicular. 

F. Hen. He that rides at high speed, and with his 
pistol kills a sparrow flying. 

Fal. You have hit it. 

P. Hen. So did he never the sparrow. 

F'al. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him : 
he will notjun. 

P. lien. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise 
him so for runninjr. 

o 

Fal. O' horseback, ye cuckoo ! but, afoot, he will 
not budge a foot. 

P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. 

Fill. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there 
too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue caps 
more: Worcester is stolen away to-night ; thy father's 
beard is turned white with the news ; you may buy 
land now as cheap as stinking mackarel. 

P. Hen. ^Vhy then, 'tis like, if there come a hot 
June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy 
maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds. 

F'al. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true ; it is like, 
we shall have good trading that way. — But, tell me, 
Hal, art thou not horribly afeard "! thou being heir 
apparent, could the world pick thee out three such 
enemies again, as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, 
and that devil Glendower] Art thou not horribly 
afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at itl 

P. Hen. Not a whit i' faith; I lack some of thy 
instinct. 

Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, 
when thou comest to thy father : if tiiou love me, 
practise an answer. 

P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father, and examine 
me upon the particulars of my life. 

Fal. Shall 1 1 content : — This chair shall be my 
state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my 
crown. 

P. Henry. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy 
golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious 
ricn crown, for a pitiful bald crown ! 

F-il. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of 
theo, now shalt thou be moved. — Give me a cup of 
sack, to make mine eyes look red, that it may be 
thought I have wept ; for I must speak in passion, 
and 1 will do it in king Cambyses' vein. 

P. Hen. Well, here is my leg. 

Fal. And here is my speech : — Stand aside, nobility. 

Host. This is excellent sport, i'faith. [vain. 

Fal. W^eep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are 

Host. the father, how he holds his countenance ! 



FaLForGod'ssake, lords, conveymytristfu! queen 
For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. 

Host. O rare ! he doth it as like one of these hai- 
lotry players, as I ever see. 

Fal. Peace, good pint-pot ; peace, good tickle- 
brain. — Harry, I do not only marvel where thou 
spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied: 
for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, 
tlie faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is waLted, 
the sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I have 
partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion ; but 
cliiefly avillainous trick of thine eye, and a foolish 
hanging of tliy nether lip, that doth warrant roe. If 
then thou be son to me, here lies the point ; — VVhy, 
being son to me, art tliou so pointed af! Shall the 
blessed sun of heaven prove a miclier, and eat black- 
berries ? a questiop not to be asked. Shall the son 
of E^ngland prove o thief, and take purses ? a ques- 
tion to be asked. There is a thing, Harry, vvhich thou 
hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our 
land by the name of pitch : this pitch, as ancient 
writers do report, doth defile ; so doth the company 
thou keepest : for, Harry, now I do not speak to tliee in 
drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion ; 
not in words only, but in woes also : — And yet there 
is a virtuous man, whom 1 have often noted in thy 
company, but I know not his name. 

P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your ma- 
jesty ? 

F'al. A good portl)' man, i'faith, and a corpulent ; 
of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble 
carriage ; and, as 1 think, his age some fifty, or by'r- 
lady, inclining to threescore ; and now I remember 
me, his name is Falstaff: if that man should be lewdly 
given, he deceiveth me ; for, Harry, I see virtue in 
his looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, 
as the fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak 
it, there is virtue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the 
rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, 
tell me, where hast thou been this month ? 

P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king 1 Do thou 
stand for me, and I'll play my father. 

F'al. Depose me 1 if thou dost it half so gravely, 
so majestically both in word and matter, hang me up 
by the heels for a rabbit-sucker, or a poulter's hare. 

P. Hen. Well, here I am set. 

Fal. And here I stand : — judge, my masters. 

P. Hen. Now, Harry? whence come you? 

Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. 

P. Hen. The complaints I hear of thee are 'grievcu.-;. 

Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false : — nay, I'll 
tickle ye for a young prince, i'faith. 

P. Hen. Swcarest thou, ungracious boy? hence- 
forth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried 
away from grace : there is a devil haunts thee, in the 
likeness of a fat old man : a tun of man is thy com- 
panion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk- of 
humours, that boltinghutch of beastliness, that swoln 
parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that 
stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree 
o.K with the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, 
that grey inicjuity, that father ruffian, that vanity in 
years! Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and 
drink it ? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a 
capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but in craft? 
wherein crafty, but invillany? wheremvillainous, 
but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing ' 

Fal. 1 would, your grace would take me with you ; 
Whom rueans your grace ? 

P. Hen. That villanous abominable misleader of 
youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. 

Fal. My lord, the man I know. 



/ 
/ I 

\ 




KING- HENRY IV.— PART I. 

Fai,stafp. Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy 
time, l;ut also how thou art accompanied. 

Avi ir. Xcene -L 



i 



r= 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 



387 



P. Hm. I know, thou dost. 

Fa^ l^ul to say, I know more harm in him than 
in myself, were to say more than I know. That he 
is old, (the more the pity,) hiswliite hairs do witness 
it : but that he is (saving your reverence,) awhore- 
niaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a 
fault, God help the wicked ! If to be old and merry 
be a sin, then many an old host that I know, is 
damned : if to be fat, be to be hated, then Pharaoh's 
lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord ; banish 
Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins : but for sweet 
Jack Falstaff, kind Jack FalstafF, true Jack Falstaff, 
valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being 
as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banisli not him thy Harry's 
company, banish not him thy Harry's company ; ba- 
nish plump Jack, and banish all the world. 

P. Hen. I do, I will. [A knocking beard. 

[^Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and BAnoOLPii. 

Re-enter Bardolph, rn7ini7ig. 

Bard. O, my lord, my lord ; the sheriff, with a 
most monstrous watch, is at the door. 

FaL Out, you rogue ! play out the play : I have 
much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff. 

Re-enter Hostess, hastily. 

Host. Jesu, my lord, my lord ! 

Fai. Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddle- 
stick : What's the matter ? 

Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door ; 
they are come to search the house ; Shall I let them in? 

FciL Dost thou hear, Hal 1 never call a true piece 
of gold, a counterfeit : thou art essentially mad, 
without seeming so. 

P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without in- 
stinct. 

FaL I deny your major : if you will deny the she- 
riff, so ; if not, let him enter : if I become not a cart 
as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up ! 
I hope, I shall as soon be strangled with a halter, as 
another. 

P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras ; — the rest 
walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true face, 
and good conscience. 

Fal. Both wiiich I have had : but their date is out, 
and therefore I'll hide me. 

[Eieunt all but the PniNCE and Poins. 

P. Hen. Call in the sheriff. 

Enter Sheriff and Carrier. 

Now, master sheriff; what's your will with mel 

Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry 
Hath follow'd certain men unto this house. 

P. Hen. What men? 

Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord; 
A gross fat man. 

Car. As fat as butter. 

P. Hen. The man, I do assure you, is not here ; 
For I myself at this time have employ'd him. 
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee. 
That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time, 
Send him to answer thee, or any man. 
For any thing he shall be charg'd withal : 
And so let me entreat you leave the house. 

Sher. I will, my lord : There are two gentlemen 
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. 

P. Hen. It may be so : if he have robb'd these men. 
He shall be answerable ; and so, farewell. 

Sher. Good nigiit, my noble lord. 

P. Hen. I think it is good morrow ; Is it ntit 1 

Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. 
[EreuJit Sheriff and Carrier. 



well 



P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as 
Paul's. Go, call him forth. 

Poins. Falstaff! — fast asleep behind the arras, and 
snorting like a horse. 

P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath : Search 
his pockets. [Poins searches.] What hast thou found ' 

P(ii)i.s. Nothing but papers, my lord. 

P. Hen. Let's see wlial they be : read them 

Poins. Item, A capon, 2s. 2d. 
Item, Sauce, 4(/. 
Item, Sack, two gallons, .5s. Sd. 
Item, Anchovies, and sack after supper, 2s. 6d. 
Item, Bread, a halfpenny. 

P. Hen. O monstrous ! but one half-pennyworth 
ofbread to this intolerable deal of sack I — What there 
is else keep close ; we'll read it at more advantage : 
there let him sleep till day. I'll to the court in the 
morning : we must all to the wars, and thy place 
shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a 
charge of foot ; and, I know his death will be a 
march of twelve-score. The money shall be paid 
back again with advantage. Be wi'h me betimes in 
the mornino ; and so sood morrow Poins. 

Poins. Good morrow, good my lord. \_Eieunt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. 

Bangor. — A Room in the Archdeacon's Houte. 

Enter Hotspuu, WoncESTEn, Mortimer, 
and Glendoweu. 

Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure, 
And our induction full of prosperous hope. 

Hot. Lord Mortimer, — and cousin Glendower, — 

Will you sit down 1 

And, uncle Worcester : — A plague upon 't ' 
I have forgot the map. 

Giend. No, here it is. 

Sit, cousin Percy ; sit, good cousin Hotspur . 
For by that name as oft as Lancaster 
Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale, and, with 
A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven. 

Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears 
Owen Glendower spoke of. 

Glend. I cannot blame him ; at my nativity, 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes. 
Of burning cressets ; and, at my birth. 
The frame and huge foundation of the earth 
Shak'd like a coward. 

Hot, ^^ hy, so it would have done 

At the same season, if your mother's cat had 
But kittened, though yourself had ne'er been born. 

Glend. I say, the earth did shake when I was born. 

Hot. And I say, the earth was not of my mind. 
If you suppose, as fearing you it shook. [tremble. 

Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did 

Hot. O then the earth ishook to see the heavens on 
And not in fear of your nativity. [fire. 

Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth 
In strange eruptions : oft the teeming earth 
Is with a kind of cholic pinch'd and vex'd 
By the imprisoning of unruly wind 
Within her womb ; which, for enlargement striving 
Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down 
Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth. 
Our grandam earth, having this distemperature. 
In passion shook. 

Glend, Cousin, of many men 

I do not bear these crossings. Give rae leave 
2 B a 



388 



KING HENRY IV.— PART I. 



To tell you once again, — that at my birth, 

The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes ; 

The goals ran from the mountains, and the herds 

AVere strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. 

These signs have mark'd me extraordinary ; 

And all the courses of my life do shew, 

I am not in the roll of common men. 

Where is he living, — clipp'd in with the sea 

That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales, — 

Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me 1 

And bring him out, that is but woman's son, 

Can trace me in the tedious ways of art. 

And hold me pace in deep experiments.* 

Hot. I tliink there is no man speaks better Welsh : — 
I will to dinner. 

Mart. Peace, cousin Percy : you will make him mad. 

Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. 

Hot. Why, so can I ; or so can any man : 
But will they come, when you do call for them ? 

Glend Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command 
The devil. 

Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil. 
By telling truth; Tell truth, and shame the devil. — 
If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, 
And I'll be sworn, 1 have power to shame him hence. 
O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil. — 

Mort. Come, come. 
No more of this unprofitable chat. [head 

Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made 
Against liiy power : thrice from the banks of Wye, 
And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him 
Bootless home, and weather-beaten back. 

Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too ! 
How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name 1 

Glend. Come, here's the map ; Shall we divide our 
According to our threefold order ta'en ? [right, 

Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it 
Into three limits, very equally : 
England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, 
By south and east, is to my part assign'd : 
All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore, 
And all the fertile land witiiin that bound. 
To Owen Glendovver : — and, dear coz, to you 
The remnant northward, lying off from Trent. 
And our indentures tripartite are drawn : 
Which being sealed interchangeably, 
(A business that this night may execute,) 
To morrow, cousin Percy, you, and 1, 
And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth, 
To meet your father, and the Scottish power. 
As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. 
My father Glendower is not ready yet. 
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days : — 
Within that space, [to Glend.] you may have drawn 

together 
Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen. 

Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, lords. 
And in my conduct shall your ladies come : 
From whom you now must steal, and take no leave; 
For there will be a world of water shed. 
Upon the parting of your wives and you. 

Hot. Methinks, my moiety, north from Burton here, 
In quantity equals not one of yours : 
See how this river comes me cranking in. 
And cuts me, from the best of all my land, 
A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out. 
I'll have the current in this place damm'd up •. 
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run. 
In a new channel, fair and evenly: 
[t shall not wind with such a deep indent, 
To rob me of so rich a bottom here. 

Glend. Wot wind? it shall, it must: you see, it doth. 



Mort. Yea, 
But mark how he bears his course, and runs me up 
With like advantage on the other side ; 
Gelding the opposed continent as much, 
As on the other side it takes from you. 

Tl'or. Yea, but a little charge will trench him Ijere, 
And on this north side win this cape of land , 
And then he runs straight and even. 

Hot. I'll have it so ; a little charge will do it. 

Glend. I will not have it alter 'd. 



Hot. 



Will not 



you 



Glend. No, nor you shall not. 

Hot. Who shall say me nay 1 

Glend. Why, that will I. 

Hot. Let me not understand you then, 

Speak it in Welsh. 

Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you. 
For I was train'd up in the English court : 
Where, being but young, I framed to the harp 
Many an English ditty, lovely well. 
And gave the tongue a helpful ornament ; 
A virtue that was never seen in you. 

Hot. Marry, and I'm glad oft with all my heart : 
I had rather be a kitten and cry — mew. 
Than one of these same metre ballad mongers : 
I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd, 
Or a dry wheel grate on an axletree ; 
And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, 
Nothing so much as mincing poetry ; 
'Tis like the forc'd gate of a shuffling nag. 

Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. ' 

Hot. I do not care : I'll give thrice so much land 
To any well-deserving friend : 
But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me, 
I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair. 
Are the indentures drawn ? shall we be gone? 

Glend. The moon shines fair, you may away by 
I'll haste the writer, and, withal, [night 

Break with your wives of your departure hence : 
I am afraid, my daughter will run mad, 
So much she dotetli on her i\Iortimer. [E,ri< 

Mort. Fye, cousin Percy ! how you cross my father 

Hot. I cannot choose : sometimes he angers me, 
With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant. 
Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies ; 
And of a dragon and a finless fish, 
A clip-wing'd griihn, and a moulten raven, 
A couching lion, and a ramping cat. 
And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff 
As puts me from my faith. I tell you what, — 
He held me, but last night, at least nine hours. 
In reckoning up the several devils' names. 
That were his lackeys : 1 cried, humph, — and well 

—go to,~ 
But mark'd him not a word. O, he's as tedious 
As is a tired horse, a railing wife ; 
Worse than a smoky house : — I had rather live 
With cheese and garlic, in a windmill, far. 
Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me, 
In any summer house in Cliristendom. 

Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman ; 
Exceedingly well read, and profited 
In strange concealments ; valiant as a lion. 
And wond'rous affable ; and as bountiful 
As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin 1 
He holds your temper in a high respect. 
And curbs himself even of his natural scope. 
When you do cross his humour ; 'faith, he does 
I warrant you, that man is not alive, 
Might so have tempted him as you have done, 
Without the taste of danger, and reproof ; 
But do not use it oft, let me entreat you. 



i 



ACT III.— SCENE II. 



389 



Wor. In faith, mj' lord, you are too wilful-blame ; 
And since your coming hither, have done enough 
To put him quite beside his patience. 
You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault: 
Though sometimes it shew greatness, courage, blood, 
(And that's the dearest grace it renders you,) 
Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, 
Defect of manners, want of government. 
Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain : 
The least of which, haunting a nobleman, 
Loseth men's hearts ; and leaves behind a stain 
Upon the beauty of all parts besides. 
Beguiling them of commendation. [speed ! 

Hut. Well, I am school'd ; good manners be your 
Here come our wives, and let us take our leave. 

Re-enter Glen dower, with the Ladies. 

Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers me, — 
My wife can speak no English, I no Welsli. 

Gleiid. My daughter weeps ; she will not part with 
She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars. [yo'>^' 

Mort. Good father, tell her, — thatshe, and my aunt 
Shall follow in your conduct speedily. [Percy, 

[Glendower speaks to his daughter in Welsh, 
and she answers him in the same. 

Glend. She's desperate here ; a peevisK self-will'd 

One no persuasion can do good upon. [harlotry, 

{_Lady M. speaks to Mortimer in Welsh. 

Mort. I understand thy looks : that pretty Welfeh 
Which thou pourestdown from these swelling heavens, 
I am too perfect in ; and, but for shame. 
In such a parley would 1 answer thee. 

[Lady M. spealcs. 
I understand thy kisses, and thou mine, 
And that's a feeling disputation : 
But 1 will never be a truant, love. 
Till 1 have learn'd thy language : for thy tongue 
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, 
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower. 
With ravishinjr division, to her lute. 

Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad. 

[Ladii M. speaks again. 

Mor. O, I am ignorance itself in this. 

Glend. She bids you 
Upon the wanton rushes lay you down. 
And rest your gentle liead upon her lap, 
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you, 
And on your eye-lids crown the god of sleep, 
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness ; 
IMaking such difference 'twi.xt wake and sleep. 
As is the difference betwixt day and night. 
The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team 
Begins his golden progress in the east. 

Mort. With all my heart I'll sit, and hear her sing : 
B3' that time will our book, I think, be drawn, 

Glend. Do so ; 
And those musicians that shall play to you, 
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence ; 
Yst straight they shall be here : sit, and attend. 

Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: 
Come, quick, quick ; thatlmay laymy head in thy lap. 

Ladu I'. Go, ye giddy goose. 

Glendower speaks some Welsh words, and then 
the Music ])lays. 

Hot. Now I perceive, the devil understands Welsh ; 
And 'tis no marvel, he 's so humorous. 
By'r-lady, he 's a good musician. 

Lady P. Then should you be nothing but musical ; 
for you are altogether governed by humours. Lie 
Still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh. 

Hot. I had rather hear Ludii, my brach, bowl in Irish. 



Lady P. Would'st thou have thy head broken '* 

Hot. No. 

Lady P. Then be still. 

Hot. Neither ; 'tis a woman's fault. 

Lady P. Now God help thee! 

Hot'. To the Welsh lady's bed. 

Lady P. What's that I 

Hot. Peace ! she sings. 

A Welsh SONG, sung by Lady M. 

Hot. Come, Kate, I '11 have your song too. 

Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth. 

Hot. Not yours, in good sooth ! 'Heart, you sweat 
like a comfit-maker's wife ! Not you, in good sooth ; 
and. As true as I live ; and. As God shall mend me ; 
and. As sure as day : 

And giv'st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths, 
As if thou never walk'dst further than Finsbury. 
Swear me, Kate, like a lady, as thou art, 
A good mouth-filling oath ; and leave in sooth, 
And such protest of pepper-gingerbread. 
To velvet-guards, and sunday-citizens. 
Come, sing. 

Lady P. I will not sing. 

Hot. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red- 
breast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I '11 
avvay within these two hours ; and so come in when 
ye will. [Exit. 

Glend. Come, come, lord Mortimer ; you are as slow, 
As hot lord Percy is on fire to go. 
By this our book's drawn ; we'll but seal, and then 
To horse immediately. 

Mort. With all my heart. \^Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — London. A Uoom in the Palace. 
Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales, and Lords. 

K, Hen. Lords, give us leave ; the Prince of Wales 
and I 
Must have some conference : But be near at hand. 
For we shall presently have need of you. — [£x. Lords. 
J know not whether God will have it so. 
For some displeasing service I have done. 
That, in his secret doom, out of my blood 
He '11 breed revengeraent and a scourge for me ; 
But thou dost, in thy passages of life, 
Make me believe, — that thou art only mark'd 
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven. 
To punish my mis-treadings. Tell me else. 
Could such inordinate, and low desires. 
Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts 
Such barren pleasures, rude society. 
As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to. 
Accompany the greatness of thy blood, 
And hold their level with thy princely heart? 

P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would, I could 
Quit all offences with as clear excuse. 
As well as, I am doubtless, I can puro-e 
Myself of many 1 am charg'd withal : 
Vet such extenuation let me beg. 
As, in reproof of many tales devis'd, — 
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,— 
By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers, 
I may, for some things true, wherein my youth 
ilath faulty wander'd and irregular, 
Find pardon on my true submission. 

K. Hen. God pardon thee! — yet let me wondei. 
At thy affections, which do hold a wing [Harry, 

Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. 
Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost. 
Which by thy younger brother is supplied; 
And art almost an alien to the hearts 



390 



KING HENRY IV. -PART I. 



Of all the court and princes of my blood : 

The hope and expectation of thy time 

Is ruin'd ; and the soul of every man 

Prophetically does foretliink thy fall. 

Had I so lavish of my presence been. 

So common-hackney 'd in the eyes of men. 

So stale and cheap to vulgar company ; 

Opinion, that did help me to the crown. 

Had still kept loyal to possession ; 

And left me in reputeless banishment, 

A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood. 

By being seldom seen, I could not stir. 

But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at : 

That men would tell their children. This is he ; 

Others would say, — Where? which is BoUngbroke? 

And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, 

And dress'd myself in such humility. 

That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, 

Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths, 

Even in the presence of the crowned king. 

Thus did I keep my person fresh, and new ; 

My presence, like a robe poniilical. 

Ne'er seen, but wonder'd at : and so my state, 

Seldom, but sumptuous, shewed like a feast ; 

And won, by rareness, such solemnity. 

The skipping king, he ambled up and down 

With shallow jesters, and rash bavin wits. 

Soon kindled, and soon burn'd : carded his state ; 

Mingled his royalty with capering fools ; 

Had his great name profaned with their scorns : 

And gave his countenance, against his name, 

To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push 

Of every beardless vain comparative : 

Grew a companion to the common streets, 

EnfeofF'd himself to popularity : 

That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, 

They surfeited with honey ; and began 

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little 

More than a little is by much too much. 

So, when he had occasion to be seen, 

He was but as the cuckoo is in June, 

Heard, not regarded ; seen, but with such eyes, 

As, sick and blunted with community. 

Afford no extraordinary gaze, 

Such as is bent on sun-like majesty 

When it shines seldom in admiring eyes : 

But rather drowz'd, and hung their eye- lids down, 

Slept in his face, and render'd such aspect 

As cloudy men use to their adversaries ; 

Bein^ with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full. 

And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou : 

For thou hast lost thy princely privilege, 

With vile participation ; not an eve 

But is a-weary of thy common sight. 

Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more ; 

Which now doth that I would not have it do, 

Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. 

P. Hen. 1 shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, 
Be more myself. 

A'. Hen. For all the world, 

As thou art to this hour, was Richard then 
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg ; 
And even as I was then, is Percy now. 
Now by my sceptre, and my soul to boot, 
He hath more worthy interest to the ptate. 
Than thou, the shadow of succession : 
For, of no right, nor colour like to right, 
He doth fill fields with harness in the realm : 
Turns head against the lion's armed jaws ; 
And, being no more in debt to years than thou. 
Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on, 
To bloody battles, and to bruising anus. 



What never-dying honour hath he got 

Against renowned Douglas ; whose higli deeds, 

Whose hot incursions, and great name in aiins. 

Holds from all soldiers chief majority. 

And military title capital, 

Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ? 

Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing clothes. 

This infant warrior in his enterprizes 

Discomfited great Douglas : ta'en him once, 

Enlarg'd him, and made a friend of him. 

To fill the mouth of deep defiance up, 

And shake the peace and safety of our throne. 

And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland, 

The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, 

Capitulate against us, and are up. 

But wherefore do I tell these news to thee 1 

Why, Harry, do 1 tell thee of my foes. 

Which art my near'st and dearest enemy ? 

Thou that art like enough, — tlirough vassal fear. 

Base inclination, and the start of spleen, 

To fight against me under Percy's pay, 

To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns. 

To shew how much degenerate thou art. 

P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find it so; 
And God forgive them, that have so nmch sway'd 
Your majesty's good thoughts away from me ! 
I will redeem all this on Percy's head, 
And, in the closing of some glorious day, 
Be bold to tell you, that I am your son ; 
When 1 will wear a garment all of blood, 
And stain my favours in a bloody mask, 
Which, wasli'd away, shall scour my shame with it. 
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, 
T'hat this same child of honour and renown, 
This gallant Hotspur, this all- praised knight. 
And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet 
For every honour sitting on his helm, 
'Would they were multitudes ; and on my head 
My shames redoubled ! for the time will come, 
That I shall make this northern youth exchange 
His glorious deeds for my indignities. 
Percy is but my factor, good my lord. 
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf; 
And I will call him to so strict account. 
That he shall render every glory up, 
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time. 
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. 
This, in the name of God, I promise here : 
The which if he be pleas'd I shall perform, 
1 do beseech your majesty, may salve 
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance : 
If not, the end of life cancels all bands ; 
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths, 
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. 

A'. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this :— 
Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust, hereiu. 

Enter Bi-unt. 

How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed. 

Blunt. So hath the business that 1 come to speak of, 
Lord ISlortimer of Scotland hath sent word, — 
That Douglas, and the English rebels, met. 
The eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury 
A mighty and a fearful liead they are. 
If promises be kept on every hand, 
As ever oifer'd foul play in a stata. ^ 

A'. Hen. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to- day, 
With him my son, lord John of Lancaster ; . 
For this advertisement is five days old : — 
On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set 
Forward ; on Tliursday, we ourselves will march : 
Our meeting is Bridi^north : and, Harry, you 



i 



ACT III.— SCENE III. 



391 



Shall march through Gloslershlre ; by which account, 
Our business valued, some twelve days hence 
Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet. 
Our hands are full of business : let's away ; 
Odvantage feeds him fat, while men delay. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. 
Eastcheap. — A Room in the Boar's Head Tavern. 

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 
Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since 
this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle! 
Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose 
gown ; 1 am wither'd like an old apple- John. Well, 
I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some 
liking ; I shall be out of heart siiortly, and then 1 shall 
have no strength to repent. An 1 have not forgotten 
what the inside of a church is made of, I am a pepper- 
corn, a brewer's horse : the inside of a church ! Com- 
pany, villanous company, hath been the spoil of me. 
Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live 

long- 

Fal. Why, there is it: — come, sing me a bawdy 
song ; make me merry. I was as virtuously given, 
as a gentleman need to be ; virtuous enough : swore 
little ; diced, not above seven times a week ; went 
to a bawdy-house, not above once in a quarter — of 
an hour ; paid money that I borrowed, three or four 
times ; lived well, and in good compass : and now I 
live out of all order, out of all compass. 

Bard. Why you are so fat. sir John, that you must 
needs be out of all compass ; out of all reasonable 
compass, sir John. 

Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my 
life : Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern 
in the poop, — but 'tis in the nose of thee ; thou art 
the knight of tiie burning lamp. 

Bard. Why, sir John, my face does you no harm. 

Fal. No, I'll be sworn ; I make as good use of it 
as many a man doth of a death's head, or a memento 
mori: I never see thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, 
and Dives that lived in purple ; for there he is in his 
robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given 
to virtue, I would swear by thy face ; my oath should 
be, by this fire : but thou art altogether given over ; 
and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son 
of utter darkness. When thou ran'st up Gads-hill 
in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou 
hadst been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there's 
no purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual 
triumph, an everlasting bonfire-ligiit! thou hast saved 
me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking 
with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern : but 
the sack that thou hast drunk me, would have bought 
me lights as good cheap, at the dearest chandler's in 
Europe. 1 have maintained that salamander of yours 
with fire, any time this two and thirty years ; Heaven 
reward me for it ! 

Bard. 'Sb!ood,I would myfacewere in your belly ! 

Fat. God-a-mercy ! so should 1 be sure to be heart- 
burned. 

Enter Hostess. 
How now, dame Partlet the hen 1 have you inquired 
yet, who picked my pocket? 

Host. Wiiy, sir John ! what do you think, sir John? 
do you think 1 keep thieves in my house ? I have 
searched, I have inquired, so has my husband, man 
by man, boy by boy, servant by servant : the tithe of 
a hair was never lost in my house before. 

Fal. You lie, hostess ; Bardolph was shaved, and 
lost many a hair : and I'll be sworn, my pocket was 
picked ; Go to, you are a woman, go. 



Host. Who, I ? I defy thee : I was never called so 
in mine own house before. 

Fal. Go to, 1 know you well enough. 

Host. No, sir John ; you do not know me, sir John : 
I know you, sir John : you owe me money, sir John, 
and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it : I 
bought you a dozen of shirts to' your back. 

Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas : I have given them 
away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters 
of tiiem. 

Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight 
shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, sir 
John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money lent 
you, four and twenty pound. 

Fal. He had his part of it ; let him pay. 

Host. He ? alas, he is poor ; he liath nothing. 

Fal. How ! poor? look upon his face ; What call 
you rich ? let them coin his nose, let them coin his 
cheeks; I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make 
a younker of me ? shall I not take mine ease in mine 
inn, but I shall have my pocket picked ? I have lost 
a seal-ring of my grandfather's, worth forty mark. 

Hast. O Jesu ! 1 have heard the prince tell him, 
I know not how oft, that that ring was copper. 

Fal. How ! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup ; and, 
if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he 
would say so. 

Enter Prince Henry and Poins, marching. Fal- 
STAFF meets the Princk, playing on his truncheon, 
like ajife. 

Fal. How now, lad ? is the wind in that door, 
i'faith? must we all march? 

Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion. 

Host. My lord, I pray you, hear me. 

P. Hen. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly? How 
does thy husband ? 1 love him well , he is an honest man. 

Host. Good my lord, heaT me. 

Fal. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me. 

P. Hen. What sayest thou. Jack ? 

Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the 
arras, and had my pocket picked : this house isturned 
bawdy-house, they pick pockets. 

P. Hen. What didst thou lose. Jack ? 

Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds 
of forty pound apiece, and a seal-ring of my grand- 
father's. 

P. Hen. A trifle, some eight-penny matter. 

Host. So I told him, my lord ; and I said, I heard 
your grace say so : And, my lord, he speaks most 
vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is ; and 
said he would cudgel you. 

P. Hen. What! he did not? 

Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood 
in me else. 

Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed 
prune ; nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn 
fox ; and for womanhood, maid Marian may be the 
deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go. 

Host. Say, what thing? what thing? 

Fat. What thing? why, a thing to thank God on. 

Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I would 
thou should'st know it ; I am an honest man's wife : 
and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave 
to call me so. 

Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast 
to say otherwise. 

Host. Say, what beast, thou knave thou? 

Fal. What beast? why an otter. 

P. Hen. An otter, sir John! why an otter? 

Fal. Why ? she 's neither fish nor flesh ; a man 
knows not where to have her. 



392 



KING HENRY IV.- PART I. 



Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so ; thou 
or any man knows where to have me, thou knave thou! 

P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess ; and he slanders 
thee most grossly. 

Host. So he doth you, my lord ; and said this other 
day, you ought him a thousand pound. 

P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound? 

Fal. A thousand pound, Hal ? a million : thy love 
is worth a million ; thou owest me thy love. 

Hnst. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said, 
he would cudgel you. 

Fal. Didl, Bardolph? 

Mard. Indeed, sir John, you said so. 

Fal. Yea ; if he said, my ring was copper. 

P. Hen. I say, 'tis copper : Darest thou be as good 
as thy word now? 

Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but 
man, I dare: but, as thou art prince, I fear thee, as 
1 fear the roaring of the lion's whelp. 

P. Hen. And why not, as the lion ? 

Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the lion : 
Dost thou think, I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? 
nay, an 1 do, I pray God, my girdle break! 

P. Hen. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall 
about thy knees! But, sirrah, there's no room for 
faith, truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine ; it 
is all filled up with guts and midriff. Charge an 
honest woman with picking thy pocket ! Wliy, thou 
whoreson, impudent, embossed rascal, if there were 
any thing in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, me- 
morandums of bawdy-houses, and one poor penny- 
worth of sugar-candy, to make thee long winded ; if 
thy pocket were enriched withany other injuries but 
these, I am a villain. And yet you will stand to it ; 
you will not pocket up wrong : Art thou not ashamed ? 

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest, in the 
state of innoeency, Adam fell ; and what should poor 
Jack Falstaffdo, in the days of villany ? Thou seest 
1 have more flesh than another man ; and therefore 

more frailty. You confess, then, you picked my 

pocket ? 

P. Hen. It appears so by the story. 

Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee : Go, make ready 
breakfast; love thy husband, look to thy servants, 
cherish thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable to 
any honest reason : thou seest I am pacified. — Still? 
— Nay, pr'ythee, be gone. [Exit Hostess.] Now, 
Hal, to the news at court : For the robbery, lad, — 
How is that answered ? 

P. Hen. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good 
angel to thee : — The money is paid back again. 

Fal. 0, 1 do not like that paying back, 'tis a double 
labour. 

P. Hen. I am good friends with my father, and may 
do any thing. 

Fal. Rob me the exchequer, the first thing thou 
doest, and do it with unwashed hands too. 

Bard. Do, my lord. 

P. Hen, I have procured thee. Jack, a charge of foot. 

Fal. I would, it had been of horse. Where shall 
I find one that can steal well ? O for a fine thief, of 
the age of two and twenty, or thereabouts ! I am 
heinously unprovided. Well God be thanked for these 
rebels, they offend none but the virtuous ; I laud them, 
I praise them. 

P. Hen. Bardolph. 

Bard. My lord. 

P. Hen. Gobearthisletter to lord John of Lancaster, 
]My brother John ; this to my lord of Westmoreland. — 
Go, Poins, to horse, to horse : for thou, and I, 

Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time. 

Jack, 



Meet me to-morrow i'the Temple-hall : 

At two o'clock i'the afternoon : 

There shalt thou know thy charge; and there receive 

Money, and order for their furniture. 

The land is burning ; Percy stands on high ; 

And either they, or we, must lower lie. 

[Exeunt Prince, Poins, and Bardolph. 

Fal. Rare words I brave world ! Hostess, my 

breakfast ; come : — 
O, I could wish, this tavern were my drum. [Eiil. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — The Ttehel Camp near Shrewsbury. 
Enter Hotspur, Worckster, and Douglas. 

Hot. Well said, my noble Scot: If speaking truth, 
In this fine age, were not thought flattery. 
Such attribution should the Douglas have. 
As not a soldier of this season's stamp 
Should go so general current through the world. 
By heaven, I cannot flatter ; I defy 
The tongues of soothers ; but a braver place 
In my heart's love, hath no man than yourself: 
Nay, task me to the word : approve me, lord. 

Doug. Thou art the king of honour: 
No man so potent breathes upon the ground, 
But I will beard him. 

Hot. Do so, and 'tis well : — 

Enter a Messenger, with letters. 

What letters hast thou there? — I can but thank you. 

Mess. These letters come from your father, — 

Hot. Letters from him ! why comes he not himself? 

Mess. He cannot come, my lord ; he 's grievous sick. 

Hot. 'Zounds ! how has he the leisure to be sick. 
In such a justling time? Who leads his power? 
Under whose government come they along? 

Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. 

Wor. I pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed? 

Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth ; 
And at the time of my departure thence. 
He was much fear'd by his physicians. [Exit. 

Wor. I would the state of time had first been whole. 
Ere he by sickness had been visited ; 
His health was never better worth than now. 

Hot. Sick now! droop now! this sickness doth m- 
The very life-blood of our enterprize : ("feci 

'Tis catching hither, even to our camp. 

He writes me here, — that inward sickness — 

And that his friends by deputation could not 

So soon be drawn ; nor did he think it meet. 

To lay so dangerous and dear a trust 

On any soul remov'd, but on his own. 

Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, — 

That with our small conjunction, we should on. 

To see how fortune is dispos'd to us ; 

For, as he writes, there is no quailing now ; 

Because the king is certainly possess'd 

Of all our purposes. What say you to it? 

Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us. 

Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd oflT:— 
And yet, in faith, 'tis not ; his present want- 
Seems more than we shall find it: — Were it good. 
To set the exact wealth of all our states 
All at one cast ? to set so rich a main 
On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? 
It were not good : for therein should we read 
The very bottom and the soul of hope ; 
The very list, the very utmost bound 
Of all our fortunes. 



ACT IV.- SCENE II. 



:w3 



Dotip 



'Faith, and so we should ; 



Where now remains a sweet reversion ; 

We may boldly spend upon the hope of what 

Is to come in : 

A comfort of retirement lives in this. 

Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, 
If that the devil and mischance look big 
Upon the maidenhead of our aflairs. 

Wnr. But yet, I would your father had been here. 
The quality and hair of our attempt 
JJrooks no division : It will be thought 
By some, that know not why he is away, 
'J'hat wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike 
Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence ; 
And think, how such an apprehension 
Way turn the tide of fearful faction, 
And breed a kind of question in our cause : 
For, well you know, we of the oflering side 
IMust keep aloof from strict arbitrenient ; 
And stop all sight-iioles, every loop, from whence 
'I'lie eye of reason may pry in upon us : 
This absence of your father's draws a curtain, 
That shews the ignorant a kind of fear 
Before not dreamt of. 

Hot. You strain too far. 

I, rather, of his absence make this use ; — 
It lends a lustre, and more great opinion, 
A larger dare to our great enterprize, 
Tlipn if the earl were here : for men must think, 
If we, without his help, can make a head 
To push against the kingdom ; with his help. 
We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down. — 
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. 

Doug. As heart can think : there is not such z. word 
Spoke of in Scotland, as this term of fear. 

Enter Sir Richard Vernon. 

Hot. My cousin Vernon ! welcome, by my soul. 

Ver. Pray God, my news be worth a welcome, lord. 
The earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, 
Is marching hitherwards ; with him, prince John. 

Hot. No harm : What more ? 

Ver. And further, I have learn'd, — 

The king himself in person is set forth. 
Or hitherwards intended speedily. 
With strong and mighty preparation. 

Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, 
Th.e nimble-footed mad-cap prince of Wales. 
And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside. 
And bid it pass 1 

Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms. 

All plum'd like estridges, that with the wind 
Bated, like eagles having lately bath'd ; 
Glittering in golden coats, like images ; 
As full of spirit as the month of May, 
And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer ; 
AVanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. 
I saw young Harry, — with his beaver on. 
His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arrn'd, — 
Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, 
And vaulted witli such ease into his seat, 
As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, 
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, 
And witc'h the world with noble horsemanship. 

Hot. No more, no more; worse than the sun in ^larch. 
This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come ; 
They come like sacrifices in their trim. 
And to the fierce-ey'd maid of smoky war. 
All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them ; 
The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit. 
Up to liie ears in blood. I am on fire. 
To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh. 



And yet not ours : — Come, let me take my horse, 

Who is to bear me, like a thunderbolt. 

Against the bosom of the prince of Wales : 

Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, 

Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse. — 

0, that Glendower were come! 

Ver. There is more news : 

I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along. 
He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. 

Doug. That's the worst tidings that I hear of yet. 

Wor, Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. 

Hot. What may tlie king's whole battle reach unto 1 

Ver. To thirty thousand. 

Hot. Forty let it be 5 

My father and Glendower being both away. 
The powers of us may serve so great a day. 
Come, let us make a muster speedily: 
Doomsdav is near ; die all, die merrily. 

Dong. Talk not of dying ; I am out of fear 
Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year. 

[ Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A public Road near Coventry. 

Enter Falstaff iind Baudolph. 

Fill. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry ; fill me 
a bottle of sack : our soldiers shall march through : 
we'll to Sutton-Colefield to-night. 

Bard. Will you give me money, captain? 

Fal. Lay out, lay out. 

Bard. This bottle makes an angel. 

Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour ; and if it 
make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coinage. 
Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end. 

Bard. I will, captain : farewell. [Exit. 

Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a 
souced gurnet. I have misused the king's piess 
damnably. I have got, in e.':change of a hundred and 
fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press 
me none but good householders, yeomen's sons : in- 
quire me out contracted bachelors, such as had been 
asked twice on the bans ; such a commodity of warm 
slaves, as had as lief hear the devil as a drum ; such 
as fear the report of a caliver, worse than a struck 
fowl, or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed me none but 
such toasts and butter, with hearts in their bellies no 
bigger than pins' heads, and they have bought out 
their services ; and now my whole charge consists ot 
ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of com- 
panies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted 
cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked his sores : and 
such as, indeed, were never soldiers ; but discarded 
unjust serving-men, younger sons to younger brothers, 
revolted tapsters, and ostlers trade-fallen; the cankers 
of a calm world, and a long peace ; ten times more 
dishonourable ragged than an old faced ancient: and 
such have I, to fill up the rooms of them that have 
bought out their services, that you would think, that 
I had a hundred and fifty tattered prodigals, lately 
come from swine keeping, from eating draflT and husks. 
A mad fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had 
unloaded all the gibbets, and pressed the dead bodies. 
No eye hath seen such scare-crows. I'll not march 
tlirough Coventry with them, that's flat ; — Nay, and 
the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they 
had gyves on ; for, indeed, I had the most of them 
out of prison. There's but a shirt and a half in all 
iny company; and the half- shirt is two napkins, tacked 
together, and thrown over the shoulders like a herald's 
coat without sleeves ; and the shirt, to say the truth, 
stolen from my host at Saint Alban's, or the red-nose 
innkeeper of Daintry: But that's all one ; they '11 
find linen enough on every hedge. 



39i 



KING HENRY IV.— PART I. 



Enter Prince Heniiy and Westmoiieland. 

P. Hen. How now, blown Jack 1 how now quilt ? 

Fal. What, HaH How now, mad wag? what a 
devil dost thou in Warwickshire 1 — My good lord of 
Westmoreland, I cry you mercy ; 1 thought, your 
honour had already been at Shrewsbury. 

West. 'Faith, sir John, 'tis more than time that I 
were there, axid you too ; but my powers are there 
already: The king, 1 can tell you, looks for us all ; 
we must away all night. 

Fal. Tut, never fear me ; I am as vigilant, as a 
cat to steal cream. 

P. Hen. I think, to steal cream indeed ; for thy 
theft hath already made thee butter. But tell me. 
Jack ; Whose fellows are these that come after] 

Fal. r>line, Hal, mine. 

P. Hen. I did never see such pitiful rascals. 

Fal. Tut, tut ; good enough to toss : food for pow- 
der, food for powder ; they '11 fill a pit, as well as 
better: tush, man, mortal men, mortal men. 

West. Ay, but, sir John, methinks they are exceed- 
ing poor and bare ; too beggarly, 

Fal. 'Faith, for their poverty, — I know not where 
they had that: and for their bareness, — 1 am sure 
they never learned that of me. 

P. Hen. No, I '11 be sworn; unless you call three 
fingers on the ribs, bare. But, sirrah, make haste : 
Percy is already in the field. 

Fal. What, is the king encamped. 

West. Heis, sir John; 1 fear, we shall stay toolong. 

Fal. Well, 
To the latter end of a fray , and the beginning of a feast. 
Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest. [Eieunt. 

SCENE III.— The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. 
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Dougeas, and Vernon. 

Hot. We'll fight with him to-night. 

War. It may not be. 

Dong. You give him then advantage. 

Ver. Not a whit. 

Hot. Why say you so 1 looks he not for supply ? 

Ver. So do we. 

Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtful. 

Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd ; stir not to-night. 

Ver. Do not, my lord. 

Doug. You do not counsel well ; 

You speak it out of fear, and cold heart. 

Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas : by my life, 
(And I dare well maintain it with my life,) 
If well-respected honour bid me on, 
I hold as little counsel with weak fear. 
As you, my lord, or any Scot that lives : — 
Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle, 
Which of us fears. 

Doug. Yea, or to- night. 

Ver. Content 

Hot. To-night, say I. 

Ver. Come, come, it may not be. 

I wonder much, being men of such great leading. 
That you foresee not what impediments 
Drag back our expedition : Certain horse 
Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up : 
Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day ; 
And now their pride and mettle is asleep. 
Their courage with hard labour tame and dull. 
That not a horse is half the half himself. 

Hot. So are the horses of the enemy 
In general, journey-baited, and brought low ; 
The better part of ours is full of rest. 

Wor. The number of the king exceedeth ours 
For God's sake, cousin, stay fill all come in. 

[T/te trumpet sounds a parley. 



Enter Sir Walter Blunt 

Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the king, 
If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect. 

i-/i)i. Welcome, sir Waiter Blunt; And 'would to God, 
You were of our determination ! 
Some of us love you well : and even those some 
Envy your great deserving, and good name ; 
Begause you are not of our quality. 
But stand against us like an enemy. 

Blunt. And God defend, but still I should stand so. 
So long as, out of limit, and true rule. 
You stand against anointed majesty ! 
But, to my charge. — The king hath sent to know 
The nature of your griefs ; and whereupon 
You conjure from the breast of civil peace 
Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land 
Audacious cruelty : If that the king 
Have any way your good deserts forgot, — 
Which he confesseth to be manifold, — 
He bids you name your griefs ; and with all speed, 
Vou shall have your desires, with interest ; 
And pardon absolute for yourself, and these. 
Herein misled by your suggestion. 

Hot. 'I'he king is kind ; and, well we know, the king 
Knows at what time to promise, whcii to pay. 
My father, and my uncle, and myscM 
Did give him that same royalty he wears : 
And, — when he was not six and twenty strong. 
Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, 
A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home, — 
My father gave him welcome to the shore : 
And, — when he heard him swear and vow to God, 
He came but to be duke of Lancaster, 
To sue his livery, and beg his peace ; 
With tears of innocency, and terms of zeal, — 
My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd. 
Swore him assistance, and perform'd it too. 
Now, when the lords, and barons of the realm 
Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him. 
The more and less came in with cap and knee ; 
Met him in boroughs, cities, villages ; 
Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes. 
Laid gifts before him, proflTer'd him their oaths. 
Gave him their heirs ; as pages follow'd him. 
Even at the heels, in golden multitudes 
He presentfy, — as greatness knows itself, — 
Steps me a little higher than his vow 
Made to my father, while his blood was poor. 
Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurg ; 
And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform 
Some certain edicts, and some strait decrees. 
That lie too heavy on the commonwealth : 
Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep 
Over his country's wrongs ; and, by this face, 
This seeming brow of justice, did he win 
The hearts of all that he did angle for. 
Proceeded further ; cut me oflf the heads 
Of all the favourites, that the absent king 
In deputation left behind him here, 
When he was personal in the Irish war. 

Blunt. Tut, 1 come not to hear this. 

Hot. Then, to the point. 

In short time after, he deposed the king ; 
Soon after that, deprived him of his life ; 
."Ind, in the neck of that, task'd the whole state : 
To make that worse, sutl'er'd his kinsman March 
(Who is, if every owner were well plac'd, 
Indeed his king,) to be incag'd in Wales, 
riiere without ransome to lie forfeited : 
Disgrac'd me in my happy victories ; 
Sought to entrap me by intelligence : 
Rated my uncle from the council-board ; 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



395 



In rage dismiss'd my father from the court ; 
Broke oath on oath, committed wrong- on wrong : 
And, in conclusion, drove us to seek out 
This head of safety ; and, withal, to pry 
Into his title, the which we find 
Too indirect for long continuance. 

Blunt. Sliall I return this answer to the king? 

Hot. Not so, sir Walter ; we'll withdraw awhile. 
Go to tlie king ; and let there be impawn'd 
Some surety for a safe return again. 
And in the morning edily shall mine uncle 
Bring him our purposes : and so farewell. 

Blunt. I would, you would accept of grace and love. 

Hot, And, may be, so we shall. 

Blunt. 'Pray heaven, you do ! lEieunt. 

SCENE IV. 

York. — A Room in the Archbishop's House. 
Enter the Archbishop o/' Ycirk, and a Gentleman. 

Arch. Hie, good sir iMichael ; bear this sealed brief, 
With winged haste, to the lord mareschal ; 
This to my cousin Scroop ; and all the rest 
'J'o vv'hora they are directed : if you knew 
How much they do import, you would make haste. 

Gent. My good lord, 
I guess their tenor. 

Arch. Like enough, you do. 

To-morrow, good sir Michael, is a day, 
Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men 
Must "bide the touch : For, sir, at Shrewsbury, 
As I am truly given to understand. 
The king, with mighty and quick-raised power, 
fleets with lord Harry : and I fear, sir Michael, — 
W'hat with the sickness of Northumberland, 
(Whose power was in the first proportion,) 
And what with Owen Glendower's absence, thence, 
(Who with them was a rated sinew too. 
And comes not in, o'er-ruled by prophecies,) — 
I fear, the power of Percy is too weak 
To wage an instant trial with the king. 

Gent. Why,goodmy lord, you need not fear ; there's 
And lord Mortimer. [Douglas. 

Arch. No, Mortimer's not there. [Percy, 

Gent. But there is Mordake, Vernon, lord Harry 
And there 's my lord of Worcester ; and a head 
Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. 

Arch. And so there is: but yet the king hath drawn 
The special head of all the land together ; — ■ 
The prince of Wales, lord John of Lancaster, 
The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt; 
And many more cor-rivals, and dear men 
Of estimation and command in arms. [pos'd. 

Gent. Doubt not, my lord, tliej shall be well op- 

Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 'tis to fear ; 
And, to prevent the worst, sir IMichael, speed : 
For, if lord Percy thrive not, ere the king 
Dismiss his power, he means to visit us, — 

For he hath heard of our confederacy, 

And 'tis but wisdom to make strong agamst him ; 
Therefore, make haste : 1 must go write again 
To other friends ; and so farew'' ,.< iMichael. 

[^Exeunt, severallu. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — The King's Camp neur Shrewsbury. 

Enter King Henry, Puincf. Hknry, Prince John 
of Lancaster, Sir VVai.teh Blunt, and Hir John 
Fai.stafk. 
K. Uea. How bloodily the sun begins to peer 



Above yon busky hill the day looks pale 
At his distemperature. 

P- Hen. The southern wind 

Doth play the trumpet to his purposes ; 
And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves, 
Foretels a tempest, and a blustering day. 

A'. Hen. Then with the losers let it sympathize ; 
For nothing can seem foul to those that win. — 

Trumpet. Enter Worcester and Vernon. 

How now, my lord of Worcester 2 'tis not well. 
That you and I should meet upon such terms 
As now we meet : you have deceiv'd our trust ; 
And made us doff our easy robes of peace, 
To crusli our old limbs in ungentle steel : 
That is not well, my lord, this is not well. 
What say you to't ! will you again unknit 
This cluulish knot of all-abhorred warl 
And move in that obedient orb again, 
Where you did give a fair and natural light ; 
And be no more an exhal'd meteor, 
A prodigy of fear, and a portent 
Of broached mischief to the unborn times I 

Wor. Hear me, my liege : 
For mine own part, I could be well content 
To entertain the lag end of my life 
With quiet hours ; for, 1 do protest, 
I have not sought the day of this dislike. 

K Hen. You havenot sought it! how comes it then 1 

Fill. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it. 

P. Hen. Peace, chewet, peace. 

Wor. It pleas'd your majesty, to turn your looks 
Of favour, from myself, and all our house ; 
And yet I must remember you, my lord. 
We were the first and dearest of your friends. 
For you, my staff' of office did I break 
In Richard's time , ana posted day and night 
To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand, 
When yet you were in place and in accoun* 
Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. 
It was myself, my brother, and his son, 
That brought you home, and boldly did outdare 
The dangers of the time : You swore to us, — 

And you did swear that oath at Doncaster, 

That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state ; 

Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right. 

The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster : 

To this we swore our aid. But, in short space, 

It rain'd down fortune showering on your head ; 

And such a flood of greatness fell on you, — 

What with our help ; what with the absent king ; 

What with the injuries of a wanton time ; 

The seeming sufferances that you had borne ; 

And the contrarious winds, that held the kii;g 

So long in his unlucky Irish wars. 

That all in England did repute him dead, — 

And, from this swarm of fair advantages, 

You took occasion to be quickly woo'd 

To gripe the general sway into your hand : 

Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster ; 

And, being fed by us; you us'd us so 

As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, 

Useth the sparrow : did oppress our nest ; 

Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk. 

That even our love durst not come near your sio-ht, 

For fear of swallowing ; but with nimble wing 

We were enforc'd, for safety sake, to fly 

Out of your sight, and raise this present head ■ 

Whereby we stand opposed by sucli means 

As you yourself have forg'd against yourself; 

By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, 

And violation of all faith and troth 



a9(i 



KING HENRY IV.— PART I. 



Sworn to us in your younger enterpnze. 

A'. H^n. These things, indeed, you iiave articulated, 
Proclaim'd at market crosses, read in churches ; 
To face the garment of rebellion 
With some fine colour, that may please the eye 
Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents, 
Which gape and ruo the elbow, at the news 
Of hurlyburly innovation : 
And never yet did insurrection want 
Such water-colours, to impaint his cause ; 
Nor moody beggars, starving for a time, 
Of pellmell havoc and confusion. 

P. Hen. In both our armies, there is many a soul 
Shall pay full dearly for this encounter. 
If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew. 
The prince of Wales doth join with all tlie world 
In praise of Henry Percy: By my hopes, — 
This present enterprize set oft" his head, — 
I do not think a braver gentleman, 
IMore active-valiant, or more valiant-young, 
]\Iore daring, or more bold, is now alive, 
To grace this latter age with noble deeds. 
For my part, I may speak it to my shame, 
I have a truant been to chivalry ; 
And so, T hear, he doth account me too: 

Yet this before my father's majesty, ■ 

I am content, that he shall take tiie odds 
Of his great name and estimation ; 
And will, to save the blood on either side. 
Try fortune with him in a single fight. 

K. Hen- And, prince of Wales, so dare we venture 
Albeit, considerations infinite [thee. 

Do make against it :— No, good Worcester, no. 
We love our people well ; even those we love, 
That are misled upon your cousin's part : 
And, will they take the offer of our grace, 
Both he. and they, and you, ^ea, every man 
Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his: 
So tell your cousin, and bring me word 
What he will do : — But if he will not yield. 
Rebuke and dread correction wait on us, 
And they shall do their office. So, be gone ; 
We will not now be troubled with r^ply : 
We offer fair, take it advisedly. 

[Eieiuit WoRCESTEu and Vernon. 

P. Hen. It will not be accepted, on my life : 
The Douglas and the Hotspur both together 
Are confident against the world in arms. 

K. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge; 
For, on their answer, will we set on them : 
And God befriend us, as our cause is just ! 

[Exeunt King, Blvnt, and Phince John. 

Fill. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and 
bestride me, so ; 'tis a point of friendship. 

P. Hen. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that 
friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell. 

Ful. I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well. 

P. Hen. Why, thou owest God a death. [Exit, 

Fill. 'Tis not due yet ; I would be loath to pay him 
before his day. What need I be so forward with him 
that calls not on me? Well, 'tis no matter; Honour 
pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour pricks me off" 
when 1 come on] how then! Can honour set to a 
leg 1 No. Or an arm 1 No. Or take away the grief 
or a wound! No. Honour hath no skill in surgery 
then? No. What is honour ? A word. What is in 
that word, honour? What is that honour? Air. A 
trim reckoning! — Who hath it? He ►hat died o' Wed- 
nesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? 
No. Is it insensible then ? Yea, to the dead. But 
will it not live with the living ? No. Why ? Detrac- 
tion will not suffer it:— therefore I'll none of it: 



Honour is a mere scutcheon, and so ends my cate- 
chism. l^ExU 
SCENE II.— T/ie Rebel Camp. 

Enter Worcesteh and Veunon. 

Wor. O, no, my nephew must not know, sir Richard, 
The liberal kind off"er of the king. 

Fer. "J'were best, he did. 

iVor. Then are we all undone 

It is not possible, it cannot be. 
The king should Keep his word in loving us ; 
He will suspect us still, and find a time 
To punish this offence in other faults: 
Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes : 
For treason is but trusted like the fox ; 
Who, ne ersotame, so cherish'd, and lock'd up. 
Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. 
Look how we can, or sad, or merrily. 
Interpretation will misquote our looks ; 
And we shall feed like oxen at a stall. 
The better cherish'd, still the nearer death. 
RIy nephew's trespass may be well forgot. 
It hath the excuse of youth, and heal of blood : 
And an adopted name of privilege, — 
A hare-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen : . 
All his ofl^ences live upon my head. 
And on his father's ; — we did train him on ; 
And, his corruption being ta'en from us. 
We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. 
Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know. 
In any case, the offer of the king. 

Ver. Deliver what you will, I'll say, 'tis so 
Here comes your cousin. 

Enter Hotspuu and Dougi-as ; and Officers and 
Soldiers, behind. 

Hot. Hy uncle is leturn'd : — Deliver up 
My lord of Westmoreland. — Uncle, what news? 

Wor. The king will bid you battle presently. 

Dong. Defy him by the lord of Westmoreland. 

Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. 

Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. [Ei. 

Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the king. 

Hot. Did you beg any ? God forbid ! 

Wor. I told him gently of our grievances. 
Of his oath-breaking ; which he mended thus, — • 
By now forswearing that he is forsworn : 
He calls us rebels, traitors ; and will scourge 
With haughty arms this hateful name in us. 

Re-enter Douglas. 

Dii»n-. Arm, gentlemen; toarms! fori have thrown 
A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth. 
And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did bear it; 
Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on 

Wor. The prince of Wales stepp'd forth before the 
And, nephew, challeng'd you to single fight, [king. 

Hot. O, 'would the quarrel lay upon our heads ; 
And that no man might draw short breath to-day. 
But I, and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me, 
How shew'd his tasking ? seem'd it in contempt ? 

Ver. No, by my soul ; I never in my life, 
Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly. 
Unless a brother should a brother dare 
To gentle exercise and proof of arms. 
He gave you all the duties of a man ; 
Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue ; 
Spoke your deservings like a chronicle ; 
JNIaking you ever better than his praise, 
By still dispraising praise, valued with you : 
And, which became him like a prince indeed. 
He made a blushing cital of himself ; 



J 



ACT v.— SCENE IV. 



.39: 



And chid his truant youth with such a grace, 

As if he master'd there a double spirit, 

Of teaching, and of learning, instantly. 

There did lie pause ; But let me tell the world, — 

If he outlive the envy of this day, 

England did never owe so sweet a hope, 

So njuch misconstrued in his wantonness. 

Hot. Cousin, I think, thou art enamoured 
Upon his follies ; never did 1 hear 
Of any prince, so wild, at liberty : — 
15ut, be he as he will, yet once ere night 
1 will embrace him with a soldier's arm. 

That he shall shrink under my courtesy. 

Arm, arm, with speed : And, fellows, soldiers, 

Better consider what you have to do, [friends. 

Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue, 
Can lift youi blood up with persuasion. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, here are letters for you. 
Hot. I cannot read them now. — 

gentlemen, the time of life is short ; 

To spend that shortness basely, were too long, 

If life did ride upon a dial's point, 

Still ending at the arrival of an hour. 

An if we live, we live to tread on kings ; 

If die, brave death, when princes die with us ! 

Now for our conscience, — the arms are fair. 

When the intent of bearing them is just. 

Enter another Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, prepare ; the king comes on apace. 

Hot. I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale, 
For I profess not talking ; only this — 
Let each man do his best ; and here draw I 
A sword, whose temper 1 intend to stain 
With the best blood that I can meet withal 
In the adventure of tliis perilous day. 
Now, — Esperance ! — Percy ! — and set on. — 
Sound all the lofty instruments of war. 
And by that music let us all embrace : 
For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall 
A second time do sucii a courtesy. 

[The trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt. 

SCENE III.— P^am near Shrewsbury. 

Excursions, and parties Jighting. Alarum to the battle. 
Then enter Douglas and Blunt, meetins- 

Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus 
Thou Grossest me ? VVhat honour dost thou seek 
Upon my head 1 

Doug. Know then, my name is Douglas ; 

And I do haunt thee in the battle thus, 
Because some tell me that thou art a king. 

Blunt. They tell thee true. 

Doug. The lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought 
Thy likeness ; for, instead of thee, king Harry, 
The sword hath ended him : so shall it thee. 
Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. 

Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot ; 
And thou shalt find a king that will reveno-e 
Lord Stafford's death. [Theyjight, &; Blunt is slain. 

Enter Hotspuk. 

Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Ilolmedon 

1 never had triumph'd upon a Scot. [thus, 

Doug. All's done, all's won ; here breathless lies 
Hot. Where 1 [the king. 

Doug. Here. 
Hot. This, Douglasl no, I knov^ this face full well: 



A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt ; 
Semblably furnish'd like the king himself. 

Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes ! 
A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear. 
Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king? 

Hot, The king hath many marching in his coats. 

Doug. Now, by my sword, I vvill kill all his coats ; 
I'll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece, 
Until Imeet the king. 

Hot. Up, and away ; 

Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. [Eieunt. 

Other Alarums. Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Though I could 'scape shot-free at London, 
I fear the shot here : here's no scoring, but upon the 
pate. — Soft! who art thou"! Sir Walter Blunt; — 
there's honour for you : Here's no vanity '—1 am as 
hot as molten lead, and as heavy too : God keep lead 
out of me ! I need no more weight than uiy own 
bowels. — I have led my raggamuffins where they are 
peppered : there's but three of my hundred and fifty 
left alive ; and they are for the town's end, to beg 
during life. But who conies here 1 

Enter Prince Henrv. 

P. Hen. What, stand'st thou idle here? lend me 
Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff [thy sword : 
Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, [sword. 

Whose deaths are unreveng'd : Pr'ythee, lend me thy 

Fal. O Hal, I pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe 
awhile. — Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms, 
as I have done this day. 1 have paid Percy, 1 have 
made him sure. 

P. Hen. He is, indeed : and living to kill thee. 
Lend me thy sword, I pr'ythee. 

Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, 
thou get'st not my sword ; but take my pistol, if thou 
wilt. 

P. Hen. Give it me : What, is it in the case ? 

Fal. Ay, Hal ; 'tis hot, 'tis hot ; there's that will 
sack a city. [The Prince draws out a bottle of sack. 

P. Hen. What, is't a time to jest and dally now ? 
[Throws it at him, and e.rit. 

Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If 
he do come in my way, so : if he do not, if I come 
in his willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. I 
like not such grinning honour as sir Walter hath : 
Give me life: which if I can save, so ; if not, honour 
comes unlocked for, and there's an end. [Exit 

SCENE IV — Another part of the Field. 

Alarums. Excursions. Enter the King, Prince 
Henry, Prince John, and Westmoreland. 

K. Hen. I pr'ythee, 
Harry, withdraw thyself ; thou bleed'st too much •— 
Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. 

P. .John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. 

P. Hen. I do beseech your majesty, make up. 
Lest your retirement do amaze your friends. 

A'. Hen. I will do so : — 
My lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent. 

West. Come, my lord, I will lead you to your tent. 

P. Hen. Lead me, my lord 1 1 do not need your help: 
And heaven forbid, a shallow scratch should drive 
The prince of Wales from such a field as this ; 
Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on. 
And rebels' arms triumph in massacres ! 

P.John. We breathe too long :— Come, cousin 
Westmoreland, 
Our duty this way lies : for God's sake come. 

[Eieunt Prince John and Wesi.morklanp. 



398 



KING HENRY IV.— PART I. 



p. Hen. By heaven, thou hast deceiv'd me, Lan- 
I did not think thee lord of such a spirit : [caster, 
Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John ; 
But now, I do respect thee as my soul. 

A'. Hen. I saw him hold lo?d Percy at the point, 
With lustier maintenance than I did look for 
Of such an ungrowu warrior, 

P. Hen. O, this boy, 

Lends mettle to us all. [Exit. 

Alarums. Enter Douci.as. 

Dotig. Another King! they grow like Hydras' 
I am the Douglas, fatal to all those [heads : 

That wear those colours on them. — What art thou, 
That counterfeit'st the person of a king ? 

£. Hen. The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves 
So many of his shadows thou hast met, [at heart, 
And not the very king. 1 have two boys, 
Seek Percy, and thyself, about the field: 
But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, 
I will assay thee ; so defend thyself. 

Dang. I fear, thou art another counterfeit ; 
And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king : 
But mine, I am sure, thou art, whoe'er thou be, 
And thus I win thee. 

[They fight ; the King being in danger, enter 
Prince Henry. 

P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art 
Never to hold it up again ! the spirits [like 

Of Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms : 
It is the prince of Wales, that threatens thee ; 
W^ho never promiseth, but he means to pay. 

[They fight ; Douglas ^le.?. 
Cheerly, my lord ; How fares your grace 1 — 
Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent. 
And so hath Clifton ; I'll to Clifton straight. 

K. Hen. Stay, and breathe awhile : 
Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion ; 
And shew'd, thou mak'st some tender of my life. 
In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. 

P. Hen. heaven ! they did me too much injury. 
That ever said, I hearken'd for your death. 
If it were so, I might have let alone 
The insulting hand of Douglas over you ; 
Which would have been as speedy in your end. 
As all the poisonous potions in the world, 
And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son. 

K. Hen. Make up to Clifton, I'll to sir Nicholas 
Gawsey. [£iit King Henry. 

Enter Hotspur. 

Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. 

P. Here. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name. 

Hot. My name is Harry Percy. 

P. Hen. Why, then I see 

A very valiant rebel of the name. 
I am the prince of Wales ; and think not, Percy, 
To share with me in glory any more : 
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere ; 
Nor can one England brook a double reign, 
Of Harry Percy, and the prince of Wales. 

Hot. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come 
To end the one of us ; And 'would to God, 
Thy name in arms were now as great as mine ! 

P Hen. I'll make it greater, ere I part from thee ; 
And all the budding honours on thy crest 
I'll crop to make a garland for my head. 

Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities. [They fight. 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. W^ell said, Hal ! to it, Hal !— Nay, you shall 
find no boy's play here, I can tell you. 



Enter Dovcj. AS ; he fights with Tai^statv, who fiilh 
do^vn as if' he ivere dead, and eiit Douglas. Hot- 
spur is wounded and falls. 

Hot. 0, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth . 
I better brook the loss of brittle life. 
Than those proud titles thou hast won of me ; [flesh ; 
They wound my thoughts, worse than thy sword my 
But thought's the slave of life, and life, time's fool ; 
And time, that takes survey of all the world. 
Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy. 
But that the earthy and cold hand of death 
Lies on my tongue : — No, Percy, thou art dust. 

And food for [Dies. 

P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy: Fare thee well, 
great heart! — 
Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk ! 
When that tiiis body did contain a spirit, 
A kingdom for it was too small a bound ; 
But now, two paces of the vilest earth 
Is room enough : — This earth, that bears thee dead 
Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. 
If thou wert sensible of courtesy, 
1 should not make so dear a show of zeal : — 
But let my favours hide thy mangled face ; 
And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself 
For doing these fair rites of tenderness. 
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven ! 
Thy ignomy sleep with thee in the grave. 
But not remember'd in thy epitaph ! — 

[He sees Falstaff on the ground 
What ! old acquaintance ! could not all this flesh 
Keep in a little life 1 Poor Jack, farewell ' 
I could have better spar'd a better man. 
O, I should have a heavy miss of thee. 
If I were much in love with vanity. 
Death hath not struck so fat a deer to day. 
Though many dearer in this bloody fray : — 
Enibowell'd will I see thee by and by : 
Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exn. 

Fal. [Rising siouly.] Embowell'd ! if thou em- 
bowel me to-day, I'll give you leave to powder me, 
and eat me too, to-morrow. 'Sblood, 'twas time to 
counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me 
scot and lot too. Counterfeit? I lie, I am no coun- 
terfeit : To die is to be a counterfeit; for he is but 
the counterfeit of a man, who hath not the life of a 
man: but to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby 
liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and per- 
fect image of life indeed. The better part of valour 
is — discretion ; in the which better part I have saved 
my life. 'Zounds, I am afraid of this gunpowder 
Percy, though he be dead : How, if he should coun- 
terfeit too, and rise ! I am afraid, he would prove the 
better counterfeit. Therefore I'll make him sure : 
yea, and I 11 swear I killed him. Why may not he 
rise, as well as I ? Nothing confutes me but eyes, 
and nobody sees me. Therefore, sirrah, [stabbing 
him.~\ with a new wound in your thigh, come you 
along with me. [Takes Hotspur on his back. 

Re-enter Prince Henhy and Prince John. 

P. Hen. Come, brother John, full bravely hast thou 
Thy maiden sword. [flesh 'd 

F. John. But, soft ! whom have we here 1 

Did you not tell me this fat man was dead ? 

P. Hen. I did ; I saw him dead, breathless and 

Upon the ground. [bleeding 

Art thou alive 1 or is it phantasy 
That plays upon our eye-sight 1 I pr'ythee, speak ; 
We will not trust our eyes, without our ears : — 
Thou art not what thou seem'st. 

Fal. No, that's certain ; I am not a double man : 



ACT v.— SCENE V. 



399 



but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack. There 
is Percy : [ihrouing the bodii ilown.] if your father 
will do me any honour, so ; if not, let him kill the 
next Percy himself. I look to be either earl or duke, 
I can assure you. 

P. Hen. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee 
dead. 

Fal. Didst thou? — Lord, lord, how this world is 
given to lying ! — I grant you I was down, and out 
of breath ; and so was he : but we' rose both at an 
instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock. 
If 1 may be believed, so ; if not, let them, that should 
reward valour, bear the sin upon their own heads, 
ril take it u])on my death, I gave him this wound in 
the thigh : if the man were alive, and would deny it, 
1 would make him eat a piece of my sword. 

P. John. 'Ihisisthe strangest tale that e'er 1 heard. 

P. Hen. This is the strangest fellow, brother John. 
Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back : 
For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, 
111 gild it with t!)e happiest terms I have. 

[A retreat is sounded. 
The trumpet sounds retreat, the day is ours. 
Come, brother, let's to the highest of the field. 
To see what friends are living, who are dead. 

\K:tennt Prince Heniiv and Prince Joum. 

Fnl. I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He that 
rewards me, God reward him ! If I do grow great, 
I'll grow less; for I'll purge, and leave sack, and 
live cleanly, as a nobleman should do. 

[Exit, bearing off the bodi). 

SCENE Y.— Another part of the field. 
The trumpets sound. Enter King Henhy, Prince 
Hknry, Prince John, Westjioreland, a?ia others, 
with Worcester and Vernon, prisoners. 
K. Hen. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke. — 
Ill-spirited Worcester I did we not send grace, 
Pardon, and terms of love to all of you 1 
And would'st thou turn our offers contrary ? 



Misuse the tenor of thy kinsman's trust ? 
Three knights upon our party slain to-day, 
A noble earl, and many a creature else. 
Had been alive this hour. 
If, like a christian, thou hadst truly borne 
Betwixt our armies true intelligence. 

IFor. What I have done, my safety urg'd me to ; 
And I embrace this fortune patiently. 
Since not to be avoided it falls on me. 

K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon 
Other offenders we will pause upon. — [too : 

\_Eieunt Worcester and Vernon, guarded 
How goes the field? 

P. Hen. The noble Scot, lord Douglas, when he saw 
The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him, 
The noble Percy slain, and all his men 
Upon the foot of fear, — fled with the rest , 
And, falling from a hill, he was so bruis'd, 
'i'hat the pursuers took him. At my tent 
The Douglas is ; and I beseech your grace, 
1 may dispose of him. 

A'. Hen. With all my h^iart 

P. Hen Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you 
This honourable bounty shall belong : 
Go to the Douglas, and deliver him 
Up to his pleasure, ransomeless, and free : 
His valour, shewn upon our crests to-day, 
Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds, 
Even in the bosom of our adversaries. [power. 

A'. Hen. Then this remains, —that we divide our 
You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, 
Towards York siiall bend you, with your dearest speed. 
To meet Northumberland, and the prelate Scroop, 
Who, as we hear, are busily in arms : 
Myself, — and you, son Harry, — will towards Wales, 
To fight with Glendower, and the earl of March. 
Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, 
I\Ieeting the check of such another day : 
And since this business so fair is done, 
Let us not leave till all our own be won. [Exeunt. 



SECOND PART OF 

KING HENRY IV. 



The first edition of this play was the quarto of 1600, in which 
year it was twice reprinted in the saiue I'orm. As it is men- 
tioned in N ares' Wits' Treasury, 15y8, and contains an allu- 
sion to the murder of the sons oC Aniurath the third by their 
brother iMahomet, which tooli place Feb. 1596 ; the tragedy 
must have been written in the intervening period. It was 



entered at Stationers' Ilall, August 23, 1600. 
The transactions comprised in the history take up almost nine 
years. J he action commences with the account of Hotspur's 
being defeated and killed, 1403; and closes with the death of 
Henry the fourth, and the coronatioD of Henry the Fifth. 
1412—13. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

King Henry the Fourth. 
Henry, Prince of Wales, afterwards 

King Henry V., 
Thomas, /JuAe o/' Clarence, 
Prince John of Lancaster, afteruards yhis sotis. 

(2 Henry V.) Duke o/ Bedford, 
PrinceHcmphrey o/'Gloster, afterwards 

(2 Henry V.) Duke o/Gloster, _ 
Earl of Warwick, i 

Earl OF Westmoreland, , o/" t/ie King's party. 
GowER, Harcourt, 1 

Earl of Northumberland, "^ 

Scroop, Archbishop of York, [enemies to 

Lord Mowbray, Lord Hastings, [ the King. 
Lord Bardolpii, Sir John CoLEvn,E,J 



Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench. 

A Gentleman attending on the Chief Justice. 

Travers and Morton, rfomesticso/' Northumberland. 

Falstaff, Bardolph, Pistol, and Page. 

PoiNS and Peto, attendants on Prince Henry. 

Shallow and Silence, country justices. 

Davy, servant to Shallow. 

Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bullcalf, 

Fang and Snare, sheriffs officers, [recruits. 

Rumour, A Porter. 

A Dancer, speaker of the epilogue. 

Lady Northumberland. Lady Percy. 
Hostess Quickly. Doll Tear-sheet. 

Lards atid other Attendants ; Officers, Soldiers, Rles- 
senger, Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, S^c. 

SCENE,— England. 



400 



KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 



INDUCTION. 

Warkworth. — Before Northumberland's Castle. 

Enter Rumour, painted full of tongues. 

Rum. Open your ears: For which of you will stop 
The vent of hearing, when loud Rumour speaks 1 
I, from the orient to the drooping west, 
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold 
The acts commenced on this ball of earth : 
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride •, 
The which in every language I pronounce, 
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. 
I speak of jieace, while covert enmity. 
Under the smile of safety, wounds the world : 
And who but Rumour, who but only I, 
Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence ; 
Whilst the big year, swol'n with some other grief, 
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, 
And no such matter ! Rumour is a pipe 
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures ; 
And of so easy and so plain a stop, 
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, 
The still-discordant wavering multitude, 
Can play upon it. But what need 1 thus 
My well-known body to anatomize 
Among my household"! Why is Rumour here 1 
I run before king Harry's victory ; 
Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury, 
Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops, 
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion 
Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean I 
To speak so true at first? my office is 
To noise abroad, — that Harry Monmouth fell 
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword ; 
And that the king before tiie Douglas' rage 
Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death. 
This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns 
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury 
And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone. 
Where Hotspur's fatiier, old Northumberland, 
Lies crafty-sick : the posts come tiring on. 
And not a man of them brings other news 
Than they have learn'd of me ; From Rumour's tongues 
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true 
wrongs. [Eih. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.— The same. 
The Porter before the Gate ; Enter Lord Bardolph. 

Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho ? — Where is the 

Port. What shall 1 say you are 1 [earl '; 

Bard. Tell thou the earl, 

That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here. 

Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard ; 
Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, 
And he himself will answer. 

Enter Northumberland. 

Bard. Here comes the earl. 

North. What news, lord Bardolph \ every minute 
Should be t!ie father of some stratagem : [now 

The times are wild ; contention, like a horse 
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose. 
And bears down all before him. 

Bard. Noble earl, 

I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury, 

North. Good, an heaven will! 

Biird. As good as heart can wish : — 



The king is almost wounded to the death ; 

And, in the fortune of my lord your son, 

Prince Harry slain outright ; and both the Blunts, 

Kill'd by the hand of Douglas : young prince .John, 

And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field ; 

And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk sir John, 

Is prisoner to your son : O, such a day. 

So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won. 

Came not, till now, to dignify the times, 

Since Csesar's fortunes 1 

North. How is this deriv'd ? 

Saw you the field 1 came you from Shrewsbury 1 

Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came from 
A gentleman well bred, and of good name, [thence ; 
That freely render'd me these news for true. 

North. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom I 
On Tuesday last to listen after news. [sent 

Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way ; 
And he is furnish'd with no certainties. 
More than he haply may retail from me. 

Enter Travers. 

North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come with 
you? 

Tra. My lord, sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back 
With joyful tidings ; and, being better hors'd. 
Out rode me. After him, came, spurring hard, 
A gentleman almost forspent with speed. 
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse . 
He ask'd the way to Chester ; and of him 
I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury. 
He told me, that rebellion had bad luck. 
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold : 
With that, he gave his able horse the head. 
And, bending forward, struck his armed heels 
Against the panting sides of his poor jade 
Up to the rowel-head ; and starting so. 
He seem'd in running to devour the way. 
Staying no longer question. 

North. Ha! Again. 

Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold? 
Of Hotspur, coldspur ? that rebellion 
Had met ill luck ! 

Bard. My lord, I'll tell you what ; — 

If my young lord your son have not the day. 
Upon mine honour, for a silken point 
I'll give my barony : never talk of it. 

North. Why should the gentleman, that rode by 
Give then such instances of loss? [Travers. 

Bard. Who, he ? 

He was some hilding fellow that had stol'n 
The horse he rode on ; and, upon my life, 
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. 

Enter Morton. 

North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, 
Foretels the nature of a tragic volume : 
So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood 

Hath left a witness'd usurpation, 

Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury ? 

Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord ; 
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask. 
To fright our party. 

Nortli. How doth my son, and brother? 

Thou tremblest ; and the whiteness in thy cheek 
Ts apter than thy tongue to tell tliy errand. 
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless. 
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone. 
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night. 
And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd 
But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue. 
And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it. 



ACT I.— SCENE I. 



401 



This thou would'st say, — Your son did thus, and thus : 
Your brother thus : so fought the noble Douglas: 
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds : 
But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed. 
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, 
Ending with — brother, son, and all are dead. 
Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet : 

But, for my lord your son, 

North. Wiiy, he is dead. 

See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath ! 
He, that but fears the tiling he would not know, 
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes. 
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, j\lorton; 
Tell thou thy earl, his divination lies ; 
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace. 
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. 

Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid: 
Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. 

North. Yet for all this, say not that Percy's dead. 
I see a strange confession in thine eye : 
Thou shak'st t!iy head ; and hold'st it fear, or sin. 
To speak a trutii. If he be slain, say so : 
The tongue ofteads not, that reports his death : 
And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead ; 
Not he, which says the dead is not alive. 
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news 
Hath but a losing office ; and his tongue 
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, 
Remember'd knolling a departing friend. 

Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. 
3Im\ I am sorry, I should force you to believe 
That, which I would to heaven I had not seen : 
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, 
Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out-breath'd, 
To Harry Rlonmouth ; whose swift wrath beat down 
The never-daunted Percy to the earth, 
From whence %vith life he never more sprung up. 
In few, his death (whose spirit lent a fire 
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,) 
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away 
From the best temper'd courage in his troops : 
For from his metal was his party steel'd ; 
Which once in him abated, all the rest 
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. 
And as the thing that's heavy in itself, 
Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed; 
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss. 
Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear, 
That arrows fled not swifter toward tlieir aim. 
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety. 
Fly from the field : Then was that noble Worcester 
Too soon ta'en prisoner : and that furious Scot, 
The bloody Douglas, whose well labouring sword 
Had three times slain the appearance of the king, 
Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame 
Of those that turn'd their backs ; and, in his flight, 
Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all 
Is, — that the king hath won ; and hath sent out 
A speedy power to encounter you, my lord, 
Under the conduct of young Lancaster, 
And Westmoreland : this is the news at full. 

A (>?■(/(. For this I shall have timeenoufrh to mourn. 
In poison there is physic ; and these news. 
Having been well, that would have made me sick. 
Being sick, have in some measure made me well : 
And as the wretch, whose fever- weaken'd joints, 
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life, 
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire 
Out of his keeper's arms ; even so my limbs, 
^Veakened with grief, being now enrag'dvvith grief, 
Are thrice tliemselves : hence therefore, thou nice 
crulih; 



A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel. 

Must glove this hand : and hence, thou sickly quoif : 

Thou art a guard too wanton for the head. 

Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit. 

Now bind my brows with iron ; and approach 

The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring. 

To frown upon the enraged Northumberland ! 

Let heav'n kiss earth ! Now let not nature's hand 

Keep the wild flood confiu'd ! let order die ! 

And let this world no longer be a stage. 

To feed contention in a lingering act ; 

But let one spirit of the first-born Cain 

Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set 

On bloody courses, tlie rude scene may end, 

And darkness be the burier of the dead I 

Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. 

Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your 
honour. 

Mor, The lives of all your loving complices 
Lean on your health ; the which, if you give o'er 
To stormy passion, must perforce decay. 
You cast the event of war, my noble lord. 
And summ'd the accountof chance, before you said, — 
Let us make head. It was your presurinise. 
That, in the dole of blows your son might drop : 
You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge, 
jMore likely to fall in, than to get o'er : 
You were advis'd, his flesh was capable 
Of wounds, and scars ; and that his forward spirit 
Would lift him where most trade of danger rang'd ; 
Yet did you say, — Go forth ; and none of this. 
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain 
The stiff'-borne action : What hath then befallen, 
Or what hath this bold enterprize brought forth, 
More than that being which was like to be 1 

Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss. 
Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas, 
That, if we wrought our life, 'twas ten to one : 
And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd 
Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd ; 
And, since we are o'erset, venture again. 
Come, we will all put forth ; Wody, and goods. 

Mor. 'Tis more than time: And, my most noble lord, 

T hear for certain, and do speak the truth, 

The gentle archbishop of York is up. 

With well-appointed powers, he is a man. 

Who with a double surety binds his followers. 

My lord your son had only but the corps. 

But shadows, and the shows of men, to fight; 

For that same word, rebellion, did divide 

The action of their bodies from their souls ; 

And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd. 

As men drink potions ; that their weapons only 

Seem'd on our side, but, for their spirits and souls, 

This word, rebellion, it had froze them up. 

As fish are in a pond : But now the bishop 

Turns insurrection to religion : 

Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts. 

He 's follow'd both with body and with mind ; 

And doth enlarge his rising with the blood 

Of fair King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret's stones: 

Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause; 

Tells them, he doth bestride a bleeding land. 

Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke ; 

And njore, and less, do flock to follow him. 

North. I knew of this before ; but, to speak truth, 
This present grief had wiped it from my mind. 
Go in with me ; and counsel every man 
The aptest way for safety, and revenge : 
Get posts, and letters, and make friends with speed; 
Never so few, and never yet more need. [FieuHf. 

2 C 



402 



KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 



SCENE II.— London. A Street. 

Enter Sir John Fai staff, with his Page bearing 
his swurd and buckler. 

Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my 
water ? 

Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a good 
healthy water : but, for the party that owed it, he 
might have more diseases than he knew for. 

Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: 
The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is 
not able to vent any thing that tends to laughter, 
more than I invent, or is invented on me : I am not 
only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other 
men. I do here walk before thee, like a sow, that 
hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the prince 
put thee into my service for any other reason than 
to set nie off, why then I have no judgment. Thou 
whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my 
cap, than to wait at my heels. I was never manned 
with an agate till now ; but I will set you neither in 
gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and send you 
back again to your master, for a jewel ; the juvenal, 
the prince your master, whose chin is not yet fledged. 
I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of 
my hand, than he shall get one on his cheek ; and 
yet he will not stick to say, his face is a face-royal: 
God may finish it when he will, it is not a hair amiss 
yet : he may keep it still as a face-royal, for a barber 
shall never earn sixpence out of it ; and yet he will 
be crowing, as if he had writ man ever since his fa- 
ther was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, 

but he is almost out of mine, I can assure him. 

What said master Dumbleton about the satin for my 
short cloak, and slops 1 

Page. He said, sir, you should procure him better 
assurance than Bardolph : he would not take his 
bond and yours ; he liked not the security. 

Fal. Let him be damned like the glutton! may his 
tongue be hotter ! — A whoreson Achitophel ! a ras- 
cally yea-forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman in 
hand, and then stand^upon security ! — The whoreson 
smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, 
and bunches of keys at their girdles ; and if a man 
is thorough with them in honest taking up, then 
they must stand upon — security. I had as lief they 
would put ratsbane in my mouth, as offer to stop it 
with security. I looked he should have sent me two 
and twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and 
he sends me security. Well, he may sleep in secu- 
rity: for he hath the horn of abundance, and the light- 
ness of his wife shines through it : and yet cannot 
he see, though he have his own lantern to light him. 
Where's Bardolph 1 

Page. He 's gone into Smithfield to buy your wor- 
ship a horse. 

Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he '11 buy me a 
horse in Smithfield : an I could get me but a wife in 
the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived. 

Enter the Lord Chief .Tustice, and an Attendant. 

Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed 
the pnnce for striking him about Bardolph ? 

Fal. Wait close, 1 will not see him. 

Ch. Just. What 's he that goes there ? 

Atten. Falstaff, an't please your lordship. 

Ch. Just. He that was in question for the robbery ? 

Atten. He, my lord: but he hath since done good 
service at Shrewsbury ; and, as I hear, is now going 
with some charge to the lord John of Lancaster. 

Ch.Just. What, to Yorkl Call him back again. 

Atten. Sir John Falstaff! 

Fal. Boy, tell him, I am deaf. 



Page. You must speak louder, my master is deaf. 

Ch. Just. I am sure he is, to the hearing of any 
thing good. — Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must 
speak with him. 

Atten. Sir John, 

Fal. What! a young knave, and beg! Is there not 
wars 1 is there not employment 1 Doth not the king 
lack subjects ] do not the rebels need soldiers 1 Though 
it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse 
shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were it 
worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to make it. 

Atten. You mistake me, sir. 

Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man 1 
setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had 
lied in my throat if I had said so. 

Atten. I pray you , sir, then set your knighthood and 
your soldiership aside ; and give me leave to tell you, 
you lie in your throat, if you say I am any other than 
an honest man. 

Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so ! I lay aside that 
which grov/s to me ! If thou get'st any leave of me, 
hang me ; if thou takest leave, thou wert better be 
hanged : You hunt-counter, hence ! avaunt ! 

Atten. Sir, my lord would speak with you. 

Ch. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. 

Fal. My good lord ! — God give your lordship good 
time of day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad: 
I heard say, your lordship was sick : I hope, your lord- 
ship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though 
not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age 
in you, some relish of the saltness of time ; and I 
most humbly beseech your lordship, to have areverend 
care of your health. 

Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your ex- 
pedition to Shrewsbury. 

Fal. An't please your lordship, I hear, his majesty 
is returned with some discomfort from Wales. 

Ch. Jiist. I talk not of his majesty : — You would 
not come when I sent for you. 

Fal. And I hear moreover, his highness is fallen 
into this same whoreson apoplexy. 

Ch.Just. W^ell, heaven mend him ! Ipray, letme 
speak with you. 

Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of le- 
thargy, an't please your lordship ; a kind of sleeping 
in the blood, a whoreson tingling. 

Ch. Just. What tell you me of it? be it as it is. 

Fal. It hath its original from much grief; from 
study, and perturbation of the brain : I have read the 
cause of his effects in Galen ; it is a kind of deafness. 

Ch. Just. I think, you are fallen into the disease ; 
for you hear not what I say to you. 

Fal. Very well, my lord, very well : rather, an't 
please you, it is the disease of not listening, the ma- 
lady of not marking, that I am troubled withal. 

Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels, would amend 
the attention of your ears ; and I care not, if I do 
become your physician. 

Fal. I am as poor as Job, my lord ; but not so pa- 
tient : your lordship may minister the potion of im- 
prisonment to me, in respect of poverty ; but how I 
I should be your patient to follow your prescriptions, 
the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or, in- 
deed, a scruple itself. 

Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were matters 
against you for your life, to come speak with me. 

Fal. As I was then advised by my learned counsel 
in the laws of this land- service, I did not come. 

Ch.Just. Well, the truth is, sir John, you live in 
great infamy. 

Fal. He that buckles him in my belt, cannot live 
in less. 



ACT l.-SCENE III. 



403 



Ch. Juft. Your means are very slender, and your 
waste is great. 

Fal. 1 would it were otherwise; I would my means 
were greater, and my waist slenderer. 

Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince. 

Fal. The young prince hath misled me : I am the 
fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. 

Ch.Just. Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed 
wound ; your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a 
tittle gilded over your night's exploit on Gads-hill : 
you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er- 
posting that action. 

FaL My loixl ? 

Ch.Just. But since all is well, keep it so: wake 
not a sleeping wolf. 

Fal. To wake a wolf, is as bad as to smell a fox. 

Ch.Jdst. What! you are as a candle, the better 
part burnt out. 

Fal. A wassel candle, my lord ; all tallow : if I 
did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. 

Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your face, 
but should have his effect of gravity. 

FaL His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. 

Ch. Just. You follow the young prince up and 
down, like his ill angel. 

-F((/. Not so, my lord ; your ill angel is light ; but, I 
hope, he that looks upon me, will take me without 
weighing: and yet, in some respects, I grant, lean- 
not go, I cannot lei! : Virtue is of so little regard in 
these coster-monger times, that true valour is turned 
bear-herd : Pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath 
his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings: all the 
other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of this 
age sliapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. You, 
that are old, consider not the capacities of us that are 
young : you measure the heat of our livers with the 
bitterness of your galls : and we that are in the va- 
ward of our youth, I must confess, are wags too. 

Ch, Just. Do you set down your name in the 
scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the 
characters of age I Have you not a moist eye ? a dry 
hand] a yellow cheek'! a white beard? a decreasing 
leg? an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken? 
your wind short? your chin double ? your wit single? 
and every part about you blasted with antiquity ? and 
will you yet call yourself young ? Fye, fye, fye, sir 
John ! 

Fal. My lord, I was born about three of the clock 
in the afternoon, with a white head, and something 
a round belly. For my voice, — I have lost it with 
hollaing, and singing of anthems. To approve my 
youth further, I will not: the truth is, I am only old 
in judgment and understanding ; and he that will 
caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me 
the money, and have at him. For the box o' the ear 
that the prince gave you, — he gave it like a rude 
prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I have 
checked him for it ; and the young lion repents : 
marry, not in ashes, and sackcloth ; but in new silk, 
and old sack. 

Ch. Just. Well, heaven send the prince a better 
companion ! 

Fal. Heaven send the companion a better prince ! 
I cannot rid my hands of him. 

Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and 
prince Harry : I hear, you are going with lord John 
of Lancaster, against the archbishop, and the earl of 
Northumberland. 

Fal. Yea ; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. 
But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady peace 
at home, that our armies join not in a hot day! for, 
by the Lord, I take but two shirts out with me, and I 



mean not to sweat extraordinarily : if it be a hot day, 
an I brandish any thing but my bottle, I would I 
might never spit white again. There is not a dan- 
gerous action can peep out his head, but I am thrust 
upon it: Well, I cannot last for ever: But it was al- 
ways yet the trick of our Iilnglish nation, if they have 
a good thing, to make it too common. If you will 
needs say, I am an old man, you should give me rest. 
I would to God, my name were not so terrible to the 
enemy as it is. I were better to be eaten to death 
with rust, than to be scoured to nothing with perpe- 
tual motion. 

Ch.Just. Well, be honest, be honest; And God 
bless your expedition ! 

Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound, 
to furnish me forth ? 

Ch. Just. Not a penny, not a penny ; you are too 
impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well : Commend 
me to my cousin Westmoreland. 

[Exeunt Chief Justice a?!^ Attendant 

Fal, If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. — 
A man can no more separate age and covetousness, 
than he can part young limbs and lechery : but the 
gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other ; 
and so both the degrees prevent my curses. — Boy ! — 

Page. Sir? 

Fal. What money is in my purse ? 

Page. Seven groats and two-pence. 

Fal. I can get no remedy against this consumption 
of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it 
out, but the disease is incurable. — Go bear this letter 
to my lord of Lancaster ; this to the prince ; this to 
the earl of Westmoreland ; and this to old mistress 
Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I 
perceived the first white hair on my chin: About it; 
you know where to find me. [Eu'f Page.] A pox of 
this gout ! or, a gout of this pox ! for the one, or the 
other, plays the rogue with my great toe. It is no 
matter, if I do halt ; I have the wars for my colour, 
and my pension shall seem the more reasonable : A 
good wit will make use of any thing; I will turn dis- 
eases to commodity. [Eiit. 

SCENE IIL 

York. — A Room in the Archbishop's Palace, 

Enter the Archbishop of York, the Lords Hastings, 
Mowbray, and Bardolph. 

Arch. Thus have you heard our cause, and known 
our means ; 
And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, 
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes : — 
And first, lord marshal, what say you to it ? 

Moub. I well allow the occasion of our arms ; 
But gladly would be better satisfied. 
How, in our means, we should advance ourselves 
To look with forehead bold and big enough 
Upon the power and puissance of the king. 

Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file 
To five and twenty thousand men of choice ; 
And our supplies live largely in the hope 
Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns 
With an incensed fire of injuries. 

Bard. The question then, lord Hastings, standeth 
Whether our present five and twenty thousand [thus ; 
May hold up head witliout Northumberland. 

Hast. With him, we may. 

Bard. Ay, marry, there 's the point > 

But if without him we be thought too feeble. 
My judgment is, we should not step too far 
Till we had his assistance by the hand : 
For, in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this, 
2 C 2 



404 



KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 



Conjecture, expectation, and surmise 

Of aids uncertain, should not be admitted. 

Arch. 'Tis very true, lord Bardolph ; for, indeed, 
Tt was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. 

Bard. It was, my lord ; who lin'd himself with hope. 
Eating the air on promise of supply. 
Flattering himself with project of a power 
JMuch smaller than the smallest of his thoughts : 
And so, with great imagination. 
Proper to madmen, led his powers to death, 
And, winking, leap'd into destruction. 

Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt. 
To lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope. 

Bard. Yes, in this present quality of war ; — 
Indeed the instant action, (a cause on foot,) 
Lives so in hope, as In an early spring 
We see the appearing buds; which, to prove fruit, 
Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair. 
That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build. 
We first survey the plot, then draw the model ; 
And when we see the figure of the house, 
Then must we rate the cost of the erection : 
Which if we find outweighs ability, 
What do we then, but draw anew the model 
In fewer offices ; or, at least, desist 
To build at all 1 Much more, in this great work, 
r Which is, almost, to pluck a kingdom down, 
And set another up,) should we survey 
The plot of situation, and the model ; 
Consent upon a sure foundation ; 
Question surveyors ; know our own estate, 
How able such a work to undergo, 
I'o weigh against his opposite ; or else. 
We fortify in paper, and in figures, 
Using the names of men, instead of men : 
Like one, that draws the model of a house 
]->eyond his power to build it ; who, half through. 
Gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost 
A naked subject to the weeping clouds. 
And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. 

Hast. Grant, that our hopes (yet likely of fairbirth,) 
Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd 
The utmost man of expectation ; 
1 think, we are a body strong enough. 
Even as we are, to equal with the king. [sand ? 

Bard. What! is the king but five and twenty thou- 

Hast. To us, no more ; nay, not so much, lord Bar- 
For his divisions, as the times do brawl, [dolph. 
Are in three heads ; one power against the French, 
And one against Glendower ; perforce, a third 
Must take up us : So is the unfirm king 
In three divided ; and his coffers sound 
With hollow poverty and emptiness. 

Ai-ch. That he should draw his several strengths 
And come against us in full puissance, [together. 
Need not be dreaded. 

Hast. If he should do so. 

He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh 
Baying him at his heels : never fear that. 

Bard Who, is it like, should lead his forces hither? 

Hast. The dukcF of Lancaster, and Westmoreland : 
Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry iNIonmouth : 
But who is substituted 'gainst tlie French, 
1 have no certain notice. 

Arch. Let us on ; 

And publish the occasion of our arms. 
The commonwealth is sick of their own choice, 
I'heir over-greedy love hath surfeited: — 
An habitation giddy and unsure 
Hath he, that buildeth on the vulsrar heart. 
thou fond many ! with that loud applause j 

Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, 



Before he was what thou would'st have him be? 
And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, 
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, 
That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up. 
So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge 
Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard ; 
And now thou would'st eat thy dead vomit u.p. 
And howl'st to find it? What trust is in these times ! 
They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die, 
Are now become enamour'd on his grave : 
Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head, 
"VMien through proud London he came sighing on 
After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, 
Cry'st now, O earth, yield ns that king again, 
And take thou this! O thoughts of men accurst! 
Past, and to come, seems best ; things present, worst. 

Moivb. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on? 

//(ist.V/e are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I.— London. A Street. 

Enter Hostess; Fang, and his Boy, u-ith her ; arid 
S'SA'RF.Jplloiving. 

Host. Master Fang, have you entered the action 1 

Fang. It is entered. 

Host. Where is your yeoman? Is it a lusty yeo- 
man? will a' stand to 't ? 

Fang. Sirrah, where 's Snare? 

Host. O lord, ay : good master Snare. 

Snare. Here, here. 

Fang. Snare, we must arrest sir John FalstafF. 

Host. Yea, good master Snare ; I have entered him 
and all 

Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives, for 
he will stab. 

Host. Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabbed 
me in mine own house, and that most beastly : in 
good faith, a' cares not what mischief he doth, ifliis 
weapon be out : he will foin like any devil ; he will 
spare neither man, woman, nor child. 

Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for his 
thrust. 

Host. No, nor I neither : I'll be at your elbow. 

Fang. An I but fist him once ; an a' come but 
within my vice : — 

Host. I am undone by his going; I warrant you, 
he's an infinitive thing upon my score : — Good master 
Fang, hold him sure ; — good master Snare, let him 
not 'scape. He comes continuaiitly to Pie-corner, 
(savingyour manhoods,) to buy a saddle ; and he's 
indited to dinner at the lubbar's head in Lumben- 
street, to master Smooth's the silkman : I pray ye, 
since my exion is entered, and my case so openly 
known to the world, let him be brought in to his an- 
swer. A hundred mark is a long loan for a poor lone 
woman to bear : and I have borne, and borne, and 
borne ; and have been fubbed off", and fubbed oflT, 
and fubbed off, from this day to that day, that it is 
a shame to be thought on. Tliere is no honesty in 
such a dealing ; unless a woman should be made an 
ass, and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong. 

Enter Sir John Falstaff, Page, and BARDOLPn. 

Yonder he comes ; and that arrant malmsey-nose 
knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do your 
offices, master Fang, and master Snare ; do me, do 
me, do me your offices. 



ACT If.— SCENE I. 



405 



Fuu How ciov; ! whose mare's dead ? what's the 
matter 1 

Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of mistress 
Quickly. 

Fal. Away, varlets ! — Draw, Bardolph ; cut tne 
off the villain's head ; throw the quean in the channel. 

Host. Throw me in the channel ] 1 '11 throw thee 
in tile channel. WilttliouT wilt thou? thou hastardly 
rogue! — Murder, murder! Othou honey-suckle vil- 
lain I will thou kill God's officers, and the king's? O 
thou honey-sc«d rogue ! thou art a honey-seed ; a 
man queller, and a woman queller. 

Fill. Keep them off, Bardolph. 

Fung. A rescue ! a rescue ! 

Hi'st. Good people, briaj a rescue or two. — Thou 
wo't, vvo't thou ] liiou wo't, wo't thou ? do, do, thou 
rogue ! do, tliou, hemp-seed ! 

Fal. Away, you sculliou ! you rampailian ! you 
fustilariaii ! I'll tickle your catastrophe. 

Enter the Lord Chief Justice, attended. 

Cft.iuif. What's the matter? keep the peace here, ho! 
Host. Good my lord, be good to me ! I beseech 
you, stand to rric ! [ing here ? 

Ch.Jtist How nov/, sir John? what, are you brawl- 
Doth this becomeyourplace, your time, and business? 
You should have been well on your way to York. — 
Stand from him, fellow ! Wlierefore hang'st thou on 
him ? 
Host. O, my most worshipful lord; an't please 
your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and 
he is arrested at my suit. 
Clu Just, For what sum ? 

Host- It is more than for some, my lord ; it is for 
all, all I have : lie bath eaten me out of house and 
hom« ; he hath put all my substance into that fat 
belly of his : — but I will have some of it out again, 
or I'll ride thee o'nights, like the mare. 

Fal. I think, I am as like to ride the mare, if I 
have any vantage of ground to get up. 

Ch.Just. How comes this, sir John? Fye! what 
man of good temper would endure this tempest of 
exclamation ? Areyou not ashamed, to enforce a poor 
widow to so rough a course to come by her own ? 
Fal. What is the gross sum that I owe thee ? 
Hod. Marry, if thou vvert an honest man, thyself, 
and tlve money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a 
parcel-gilt goljlet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber, at 
the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon \Vednesday 
in VVhitsun-week, when the prince broke thy head 
for liking his father to a singing-man of Windsor ; 
thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy 
wound, to marry me, and make me my lady thy wife. 
Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keech, the 
butcher's wife, come in then, and call me gossip 
CLuickly? coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar ; 
telling us, she had a good dish of prawns ; whereby 
thou didst desire to eat some ; whereby 1 told thee 
they were ill for a green wound ? And didst thou 
not, when she was gone down stairs, desire me 
to be no more so familiarity with such poor people ; 
saying, that ere long they should call me madam ? 
And didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch thee 
thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy book-oath ; 
deny it, if thou canst. 

Fal, My lord, this is a poor mad soul: and she 
says, up and down the town, that her eldest son is 
like you : she hath been in good case, and, the truth 
is, poverty hath distracted her. But for these foolish 
officers, I beseech you, I may have redress against 
them. 

Ch. Just. Sir John, sir John, I am well acquainted 



with your manner of wrencliing the true cause the 
false way. It is not a confident brow, nor the throng 
of words that come with such more than impudent 
sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level ccm- 
sideration ; you have, as it appears to me, practised 
upon the easy-yielding spirit of this woman, and made 
her serve your uses both in purse and person. 

Host. Yea., in troth, my lord. 

Ch, Just. Pr'ythee, peace : — Pay her the debt you 
owe her, and unpay the villany you have done with 
her ; the one you may do with sterling money, and 
the other with current repentance. 

Fal. My lord, I will not undergo thissneap without 
reply. You call honourable boldness, impudent sau- 
ciness : if a man will make court'sy, and say nothing, 
he is virtuous : No, my lord, my humble duty re- 
membered, I will not be your suitor ; I say to you, 
I do desire deliverance from these officers, being upon 
hasty employment in the king's affairs. 

Ch. Just. You speak as having power to do wrong . 
but answer in the efiect of your reputation, and sa- 
tisfy the poor woman. 

Fal. Come hither, hostess. [Taking her aside. 

Enter Gower. 

Ch. Just. Now, master Gower: What news? 
Gmv. Theking, my lord, and Harry prince of Wales 
Are near at hand : tlie rest the paper tells. 
Fal. As I am a gentleman 



-Come, no more 



Host. Nay, you said so before. 

Fal. As 1 am a gentleman ; — 
words of it. 

Host. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must 
be fain to pawn both my plate, and the tapestry of 
my dining-chambers. 

FaL Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking ; and 
for thy walls, — a pretty slight drollery, or the stojy 
of the prodigal, or the German hunting in water- 
work, is worth a thousand of these bed-hangings, 
and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound 
if thou canst. Come, an it were not for thy humours, 
there is not a better wench in England. Go, wasii 
thy face, and draw thy action : Come, thou must not 
be in this humour with me; dost not know me 1 
Come, come, I know thou wast set on to this. 

Host. Pray thee, sir John, let it be but twenty 
nobles ; i'faith I am loath to pawn my plate, in good 
earnest, la. 

Fal. Let it alone ; I'll make other shift : you'll be 
a fool still. 

Host. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my 
gown. I hope, you'll come to supper : You'll pay 
me altogether ? 

Ful. Will I live? — Go, with her, with her; [(o 
Bardolph.] hook on, hook on. 

Host. Will you have Doll Tear-sheet meet you at 
supper ? 

Fal. No more words, let's have her. 

[Exeunt Hostess, B.\Rr)0LrH, Officers, 8^ Page. 

Ch. Just. I have heard better news. 

Fal. What's the news, my good lord ? 

Ch.Just. Where lay the king last night? 

Gou\ At Basingstoke, my lord. 

Fat. I hope, my lord, all's well ; What's the news, 
my lord? 

Ch. Just. Come all his forces back? 

Gow. No, fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse, 
Are march'd up to my lord of Lancaster, 
Against Northumberland, and the archbishop. 

FaL Comes the king back from Wales, my noble 
lord ? 

Ch. Just. You shall have letters of me presently • 



406 



KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 



Come, go along with me, good master Gower. 

Fal. My lord ! 

Ch.Just. What's the matter? 

Fal, Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me 
to dinner 1 

Gow. I must wait upon my good lord here : I thank 
you, good sir John, 

Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter here too long, being 
you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go. 

Fal. Will you sup with me, master Gower ? 

Ch.Just. What foolish master taught you these 
manners, sir John ? 

Fal. Master Gower, if they become me not, he was 
a fool that taught them me. — This is the right fenc- 
ing grace, my lord ; tap for tap, and so part fair. 

Ch. Just. Now the lord lighten thee ! thou art a 
great fool. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The same. Another street. 
Enter Prince Henry and Poins. 

P. Hen. Trust me, I am exceeding weary. 

Poins. Is it come to that ? I iiad thought weariness 
durst not have attached one of so high blood. 

P. Hen. 'Faith it does toe ;, though it discolours 
the complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. 
Doth it not siiew vilely in me, to desire small beer ? 

Poins. Why, a prince should not be so loosely 
studied, as to remember so weak a composition. 

P. Hen. Belike then, my appetite was not princely 
got ; for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor 
creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble con- 
siderations make me out of love with my greatness. 
What a disgrace is it to me, to remember thy name ? 
or to know thy face to-morrow ? or to take note how 
many pair of silk stockings thou hast ; viz these, and 
tiiose that were the peach-colour'd ones ? or to bear 
the inventory of thy shirts ; as, one for superfluity, 
and one other for use? — but that, the tennis court- 
keeper knows better than I ; for it is a low ebb of 
linen with thee, when thou keepest not racket there ; 
as thou hast not done a great while, because the lest 
of thy low-countries have made a shift to eat up thy 
holland : and God knows, whether those that bawl 
out the ruins of thy linen, shall inherit his kingdom : 
but the midwives say, the children are not in the 
fault ; whereupon the world increases, and kindreds 
are mightily strengthened. 

Poins. How ill it follows, after you have laboured 
so hard, you should talk so idly ? Tell me, how many 
good young princes would do so, their fathers being 
so sick as yours at this time is ? 

P. Hen. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins ? 

Poins. Yes ; and let it be an excellent good thing. 

P. Hen. It shall serve among wits of no higher 
breeding than thine. 

Poins. Go to ; I stand the push of your one thing 
that you will tell. 

P. Hen. Why, I tell thee,— it is not meet that I 
should be sad, now my father is sick : albeit I could 
tell to thee, (as to one it pleases me, for fault of a 
better, to call my friend,) I could be sad, and sad 
indeed too. 

Poins. Very hardly upon such a subject. 

P. Hen. By this hand, thou tliink'st me as far in 
the devil's book, as thou, and Falstaff, for obduracy 
and persistency: Let tlie end try the man. But I 
tell tliee, — my heart bleeds inwardly, that my father 
is so sick : and keeping such vile company as thou 
art, hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of 
sorrow ? 

Poins. The reason ? 



P. Hen. What would'st thou think of me, if 3 
should weep ? 

Poins. I would think thee a most princely hypocrite. 

P. Hen. It would be every man's thought ; and 
thou art a blessed fellow, to think as every man thinks; 
never a man's thought in the world keeps the road- 
way better than thine : every man would think me 
an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most 
worshipful thought, to think so ? 

Poins, Why, because you have been so lewd, and 
so much engraffed to Falstaff. 

P. Hen. And to thee. 

Poins. By this light, I am well spoken of, I can 
hear it with my own ears : the worst that they can say 
of me is, that I am a second brother, and that I am 
a proper fellow of my hands ; and those two things, 
I confess, 1 cannot help. By the mass, here comes 
Bardolph. 

P. Hen. And the boy that I gave Falstaff : be had 
him from me cliristian : and look, if the fat villain 
have not transformed him ape. 

Enter Bardolph and Pase. 

Bard. 'Save your grace ! 

P. Hen, And yours, most noble Bardolph ! 

Bard. Come, you virtuous ass, [to the Page.] yoQ 
bashful fool, must you be blushing? wherefore blush 
now ? What a maidenly man at arms are you become ? 
Is it such a matter, to get a pottle-pot's maidenhead ? 

Page. He Called me even now, my lord, through a 
red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face 
from the window : at last, I spied his eyes; and, nie- 
thought he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new 
petticoat, and peeped through. 

P. Hen. Hath not the boy prohted ? 

Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away ' 

Page. Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away • 

P. Hen. Instruct us, boy : What dream, boy 1 

Page. Marry, my lord, Althea dreamed she was 
delivered of a firebrand ; and theref&re I call hira 
her dream. 

P. Hen. A Clown's v/orth of good interpretation. 
— There it is, boy. [Gives him money. 

Poins. O, that this good blossom could be kept 
from cankers! — Well, there's sixpence to preserve 
thee. 

Bard. An you do not make him be banged among 
you, the gallows shall have wrong. 

P. Hen. And how doth thy master, Bardolph ? 

Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's 
coming to town ; there's a letter for you. 

Poins. Delivered with good respect. — And how 
doth the martlemas, your master ? 

Bard. In bodily health, sir. 

Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician, 
but that moves hira not; though that be sick, it dies not. 

P. Hen. 1 do allow this wen to be as familiar with 
me as my dog: and he holds his place ; for, look you, 
how he writes. 

Poins. [Reads.1 John Falstaff, knight. Eve'"y 

man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to name 
himself. Even like those that are kin to the king ; foi 
they never prick their finger, but they say, There is 
some of the king'.s blood spilt : How comes that? says 
he, that takes upon him not to conceive : the answer 
is as ready as a borrower's cap , J am the king's poot 
cousin, sir. 

P. Hm. Nay, they will be kia to us, or they wiD 
fetch it from Japhet. But the letter: — 

Poins. Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of thg 
king, nearest his father, Harry prince of Wales, grseiixg. 
—Why this is a certificate. 



ACT II.— SCENE IV. 



407 



P. Hen. Peace ! 

Poins. I will imitate the honourable Roman in bre- 
vity : he sure means brevity in breath ; short-winded. 
—I commend me to thee, 1 commend thee, and I leave 
thee. Be not too familiar with Poins ; for he misuses 
thy favours so much, that he swears thou art to marry 
his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou may'st, 
and so farewell. 

Thine, by yea and no, (wJiich is as much as to say, 
as thou usest him,) Jack FalstafF, with my fa- 
miliars; John, with my brothers and sistei-s ; 
and sir John with all Europe. 
My lord, I will steep this letter iu sack, and make 
him eat it. 

P. Hen. That's to make him eat twenty of his words. 
Butdoyouusemethus,Ned! must I marry your sister? 

Poins. May the wench have no worse fortune ! but 
I never said so. 

P. Hen. Well, thus we play the fools with tlie 
time ; and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds, 
and mock us. — Is your master here in London 1 

Bard. Yds, my lord. 

P. Hen. Where sups hel doth the old boar feed 
in the old frank ? 

Bard. At the old place, my lord ; in Eastcheap. 

P. Hen. What company 1 

Page. Ephesians, my lord ; of the old church. 

P. Hen. Sup any women with him f 

Page. None, my lord, but old mistress Quickly, 
and mistress Doll Tear-sheet. 

P. Hen. What pagan may that be 1 

Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswo- 
man of my master's. 

P. Hen. Even such kin, as the parish heifers are 
to the town bull. — Shall we steal upon them, Ned, 
at supper 1 

Poins. I am your shadow, my lord ; I '11 follow you. 

P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy, — and Bardolph; — no 
word to your master, that I am yet come to town : 
There's for your silence. 

Bard. I have no tongue, sir. 

Page. And for mine, sir, — I will govern it. 

P. Hen. Fare ye well ; go. [Exeujit Bardolph and 
Page.] — This Doll Tear-sheet should be some road. 

i'oins. I warrant you, as common as the way be- 
tween St. Alban's and London. 

P. Hen. Howmight we see Falstaff bestow himself 
to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen ? 

Poi?is. Put on two leather jerkins, and aprons, and 
wait upon him at his table as drawers. 

P. Hen. From a god to a bull ? a heavy descen- 
sioa ! it was Jove's case. From a prince to a pren- 
tice 1 a low transformation ! that shall be mine : for, 
in every thing, the purpose must weigh with the folly. 
Follow me, Ned. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IIL— Warkworth. Before the Cattle. 

Enter Northumberland, Lady Northumberland, 
and Lady Percv. 

North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter, 
Give even way unto my rough affairs : 
Put not you on the visage of the times, 
And be, like them, to Percy troublesome. 

Ladu N. 1 have given over, I will speak no more : 
Do what you will ; your wisdom be your guide. 

North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn ; 
And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. 

Lady P. O.yet.forGod'ssake, go not to these wars! 
The time was, father, that you broke your word. 
When you were more endear'd to it than now ; 
When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry 



Threw many a northward look, to see his father 

Bring up his powers ; but he did long in vain. 

Who then persuaded you to stay at home 1 

There were two honours lost ; yours, and your son's. 

For yours, — may heavenly glory brighten it ! 

For his, — it stuck upon him, as the sun 

In the grey vault of heaven : and, by his light. 

Did all the chivalry of England move 

To do brave acts ; he was, indeed, the glass 

Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves. 

He had no legs, that practis'd not his gait : 

And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish. 

Became the accents of the valiant ; 

For those that could speak low, and tardily, 

Would turn their own perfection to abuse. 

To seem like him : So that, in speech, in eait, 

In diet, in affections of delight. 

In military rules, humours of blood, 

He was the mark and glass, copy and book, 

That fashion'd others. And him, — O wondrous him? 

miracle of men ! — him did you leave, 
(Second to none, unseconded by you,"* 
To look upon the hideous god of war 
In disadvantage ; to abide a field. 

Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur s name 
Did seem defensible : — so you left him : 
Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong, 
To hold your honour more precise and nice 
With others, than with him ; let them alone ; 
The marshal, and the archbishop, are strong : 
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, 
Today might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, 
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. 

North. Beshrew your heart, 

Fair daughter ! you do draw my spirits from me. 
With new lamenting ancient oversights. 
But I must go, and meet with danger there ; 
Or it will seek me in anotiier place, 
And find me worse provided. 

Lady N. O, fly to Scotland, 

Till that the nobles, and the armed commons, 
Have of their puissance made a little taste 

Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the king. 
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel. 
To make strength stronger ; but, for all our loves, 
First let them try themselves : So did your son ; 
He was so suffer'd ; so came I a widow ; 
And never shall have length of life enough. 
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes. 
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, 
For recordation to my noble husband. 

A"orf/(. Come, come, goinwithme : 'tis with my miud. 
As with the tide swell'd up unto its height, 
That makes a still stand, running neither way. 
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop. 
But many thousand reasons hold me back : 

1 will resolve for Scotland ; there am I, 

Till time and vantage crave my company. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — London. A Room in the Boar's Head 
Tavern, in Eastcheap. 

Enter two Drawers. 

1 Draw. What the devil hast thou brought there ? 
apple-Johns] thou know'st, sir John cannot endure 
an apple- John. 

2 Draw. Mass, thou sayest true : The prince once 
set a dish of apple-Johns before him, and told him, 
there were five more sir Johns : and, putting off his 
hat, said, I will now take my leave of these six dry, 
round, old, withered knights. It angered him to the 
heart : but he hath forgot that. 



408 



KING HENRY IV.— PART H. 



1 Draw. Why then, cover, and set them down : 
And see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise ; mis- 
tress Tear-sheet would fain have some music. De- 
spatch : — The room where they supped, is too hot ; 
they '11 come in straight. 

2 Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince, and master 
Poins anon : and they will put on two of cur jerkins, 
and aprons ; and sir John must not know of it: Bar- 
dolph hath brought word- 

1 Draw. By the mass, here will be old utis : It will 
be an excellent stratagem. 

a Draw. I'll see if I can find out Sneak. [Eiit. 

Enter Hostess and Doll Tf.ar-siieet. 

Host. I'faith, sweat heart, methinks now you are 
in an excellent good temperality : your pulsidge beats 
as extraordinarily as heart would desire ; and your 
colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose : But, 
i'faith, you have drunk too much canaries ; and that's 
a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the blood 
ere one can say,— What's this ? How do you now? 

Doll. Better than I was. Hem. 

Host. Why, that's well s^id ; a good heart's worth 
gold. Look, here comes sir John. 

Enter Falstaff, singing. 

Fal. When Arthur first in court — Empty the Jor- 
dan. — And was a worthy king: \^Exit Drawer.] How 
now, mistress Doll 1 

Host. Sick of a calm : yea, good sooth. 

Fal. So is all her sect ; an they be once in a calm, 
they are sick. 

Doll. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort 
you give me 1 

Fal. You make fat rascals, mistress Doll. 

Doll. I make them ! gluttony and diseases make 
them ; I make them not. 

Fal. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you 
help to make the diseases, Doll : we catch of you, 
Doll, we catch of you ; grant that, my poor virtue, 
grant tliat. 

Doll. Ay, marry; our chains, and our jewels. 

Fal, Your brooches, pearls, and owches ; — for to 
serve bravely, is to come halting off, you know : To 
come off the breech with his pike bent bravely, and 
to surgery bravely ; to venture upon the charged 
chambers bravely : 

Doll. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang 
yourself ! 

Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion ; you 
two never meet, but you fall to some discord : you are 
both, in good troth, as rheumatic as two dry toasts ; 
you cannot one bear with another's confirmities. 
What the good-year ! one must bear, and that must 
be you : [to Doi.l ] you are the weaker vessel, as 
they say, the emptier vessel. 

Dolt. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge 
full hogshead? there's a whole merchant's venture of 
Bourdeaux stuff in him ; you have not seen a hulk 
better stuffed in the hold. — Come, I'll be friends with 
thee. Jack : thou art going to the wars ; and whether I 
shall ever see thee again, or no, there is nobody cares. 

Be-enter Drawer. 

Draw. Sir, ancient Pistol's below, and would speak 
with you. 

Doll. Hang him, swaggering rascal ! let him not 
come hither : it is the foul-mouth'dst rogue in Eng- 
land. 

Host. If he swagger, let him not come here : no, 
by my faith ; I must live amongst my neighbours ; 
] '11 no swaggerers : I am in good name and fame 



j with the very best : — Shut the door ;—t?;ere comes no 

' swaggerers here; I have not lived all this while, to 

have swaggering now : — shut the door, I pray you. 

Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess ? — 

Host. Pray you, pacify yourself, Sir John ; there 
comes no swaggerers here. 

Fal. Dost thou hear ; it is mine ancient. 

Host. Tilly-fally, sir John, never tell me ; yous 
ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was 
before master Tisick, the deputy, the other day ; 
and, as he said to me, — it was no longer ago than 
Wednesday last, — Neighbour Quicklij, says he ; — 
master Dumb, our minister, was by then ; — Neigh- 
hour Qnickli), says he, receive those that are civil; 
Jor, saith he, yini are in an ill name; — now he said 
so, I can tell whereupon ; for, says he, you are an 
honest woman, and well thought on ; therefore take 
heed what guests you receive: Receive, says he, ne 

swaggering companions. There comes none here ; 

— you would bless you to hear what he said , — no, 
I'll no swaggerers, 

Fal. He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheater, 
he ; you may stroke him as gently as a puppy grey- 
hound : he will not swagger with a Barbary hen, if 
her feathers turn back in any show of resistance. — 
Call him up, drawer. 

Host. Clieater, call you him? I will bar no honest 
man my house, nor no cheater : But I do not love 
swaggering ; by my troth, I am the worse, when one 
says — swagger : feel, masters, how I shake ; look 
you, I warrant you. 

Doll. So you do, hostess. 

Host, Do I ? yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere an 
aspen leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers. 

Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page. 

Fist. 'Save you, sir John ! 

Fal. Welcome, ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, T 
charge you with a cup of sack : do you discharge 
upon mine hostess. 

Fist. I will discharge upon her, sir John, with two 
bullets. 

Fal. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall hardly of- 
fend her. 

Host. Come, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bullets : 
I'll drink no more than will do me good, for no man's 
pleasure, I. 

Fist. Then to you, mistress Dorothy ; I will charge 
you. 

Doll. Charge me? I scorn you, scurvy companion. 
What! you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen 
mate ! Away, you mouldy rogue, away! I am meat 
for your master. 

Fist. I know you, mistress Dorothy. 

Doll. Away, you cut-purse rascal ! youfilthybung, 
away ! by this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your 
mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. 
Away, you bottle-ale rascal ! you basket-hilt stale 
juggler, you ! — Since when, I pray you, sir? — What, 
with two points on your shoulder? much ! 

Fist. I will murder your ruff for this. 

Fal. No more. Pistol ; I would not have you go 
off here : discharge yourself of our company. Pistol. 

Host, No, good captain Pistol ; not here, sweet 
captain. 

Doll. Captain ! thou abominable damned cheater, 
art thou not ashamed to be called— captain? If cap- 
tains were of my mind, they would truncheon yoa 
out, for taking their names upon you before you have 
earned them. You a captain, you slave ! for what? 
for tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house ? — 
He a captain ! Hang him, rogue ! Ha lives upoB 



ACT II.— SCENE IV. 



40.9 



mouldy stewed prunes, and dried cakes. A captain ! 
these villains will make the word captain as odious 
as the word occupy ; which was an excellent good 
word before it was ill-sorted : therefore captains had 
need look to it. 

Bind. Pray thee, go down, good ancient. 

Fill. Hark thee hither, mistress Doll. 

Pist. Not I : tell thee what, corporal Bardolph ; — 
I could tear her : — I'll be revenged on her. 

Poge. Pray thee, go down. 

Pist. I'll see her damned first ; — to Pluto's damned 
lake, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures 
vile also. Hold hook and line, say I. Down ! down, 
dogs ! down faitors ! Have we not Hiren here ? 

Hnst. Good captain Peesel, be quiet ; itis very late, 
i'faith : I beseek you now, aggravate your ciioler. 

Pist. These be good humours, indeed! Shall pack- 
And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia, [horses. 

Which cannot go but thirty miles a day, 
Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals, 
And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn tiiem with 
King Cerberus ; and let the welkin roar. 
Shall we fall foul for toys ! 

Host. By my troth, captain, these are very bitter 
words. 

Biird. Be gone, good ancient ; this will grow to a 
brawl anon. 

Pist. Die men, like dogs; give crowns like pins ; 
Have we not Hiren here 1 

Host. 0' my word, captain ; there's none such 
here. What the good-year ! do you think, I would 
deny her? for God's sake, be quiet. 

Pist. Then, feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis : 
Come, give's some sack. 

Sifortuna me tormenta, sperato me conteyita. — 
Fear we broadsides'! no, let the fiend give fire : 
Give me some sack; — and, sweetheart, lie thou there. 

[^Laying down, his sicord. 
Come we to full points here ; and are et cetera s nothing? 

Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet. 

Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thyneif: What! we 
have seen the seven stars. 

Doll. Thrust him down stairs ; I cannot endure 
such a fustian rascal. 

Pist. Thrust him down stairs! know we not Gal- 
loway nags ? 

Fill. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat 
shilling : nay, if he do nothing but speak nothing, 
he shall be nothing here. 

Bard. Come, get you down stairs. 

Pist. What ! shall we have incision ? shall we 

imbrue? [Snatching up his sword. 

Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days ! 
Why then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds 
Untwine the sisters three ! Come, Atropos, I say ! 

Host. Here's goodly stuff toward ! 

Fal. Give me my rapier, boy. 

Doll. 1 pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw. 

Fal. Get you down stairs. 

[Drawing, and driving Pistoi. out. 

Host. Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keep- 
ing house, afore I'll be in tliese tirrits and frights. 

So ; murder, I warrant now. Alas, alas! put up 

your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons. 
[Eieunt Pistol and Bardolph. 

Doll. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet ; the rascal is 
gone. Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you. 

Hoat. Are you not hurt i' the groin ? methought, 
he made a sbrewd thrust at your belly. 

He-enter Bardolph. 
Fal. Have you turned him out of doors 1 



Bard. Yes, sir. The rascal 's drunk : you have 
hurt him, sir, in the shoulder. 

Fal A rascal ! to brave me ! 

Doll. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you. Alas, poor 
ape, how thou sweat'st ! Come, let me wipe thy face ; 
— come on, you whoreson chops:- Ah, rogue! i'faith, 
I love thee. Thou art as valorous as Hector of 1 roy, 
worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better than 
the nine worthies. Ah, villain! 

Fal. A rascally slave ! I will toss the rogue in a 
blanket. 

Doll. Do, if thou darest for thy heart : if thou 
dost, I'll canvas thee between a pair of sheets. 

Enter Music. 

Page. The music is come, sir. 

Fal. Let them play ; — Play, sirs. — Sit on my knee, 
Doll. A rascal bragging slave ! the rogue tied from 
me like quicksilver. 

Doll. I' faith, and thou followedst him like a 
church. Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew 
boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting o' days, and 
foining o'nights, and begin to patch up ihiue old body 
for heaven ? 

Enter behind. Prince Henry and Poins, 
disguised like drawers. 

Fal. Peace, good Doll ! do not speak like a death's 
head : do not bid me remember mine end. 

Doll. Sinah, what humour is the prince of? 

Fal. A good shallow young fellow; he would have 
made a good panller, he would have chipped bread 
well. 

Doll. They say, Poins has a good wit. 

Fal. He a good wit? hang him, baboon! his wit 
is as thick as Tewksbury mustard ; there is no more 
conceit in him, than is in a mallet. 

Doll. Why does the prince love him so then? 

Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness : and 
he plays at quoits well ; and eats conger and fennel , 
and drinks off candles' ends for flap- dragons ; and 
rides the wild mare with the boys ; and jumps upon 
joint-stools ; and swears with a good grace ; and 
wears his boot very smooth, like unto the sign of the 
leg; and breeds no bate with telling of discreet sto- 
ries, and such other gambol faculties he hath, that 
shew a weak mind and an able body, for the which 
the prince admits him : for the prince himself is such 
anotlier ; the weight of a hair will turn the scales 
between their avoirdupois. 

P. Hen. Would not this nave of a wheel have his 
ears cut off? 

Poins. Let's beat him before his whore. 

P. Hen. Look, if the withered elder hath not his 
poll clawed like a parrot. 

Poins. Is it not strange, that desire should so many 
years outlive performance? 

Fal. Kiss me, Doll. 

P. Hen. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunc- 
tion ! what says the almanac to that ? 

Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, his 
man, be not lisping to his master's old tables ; his 
note-book, his counsel-keeper. 

Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses. 

Doll. Nay, truly ; I kiss thee with a most constant 
heart. 

Fal. I am old, I am old. 

Doll. I love thee better thaq I love e'er a scurvy 
young boy of them all 

Fal. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall 
receive money on Thursday ; thou shalt have a cap 
to-morrow. A merry song, come : it grows lata, 
we'll to bed. Thou'lt forget me, when I am gone. 



410 



KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 



Doll. By my troth thou'lt set me a weeping, an thou 
sayest so : prove that ever 1 dress myself handsome 
till thy return Well, hearken the end. 

Fal. Some sack, Francis. 

P. Hen. Poins. Anon, anon, sir. [Advancing. 

Fal. Ha ! a bastard son of the king's 1 — And art 
not thou Poins his brother 1 

P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, 
what a life dost tliou lead 1 

Fal. A better than thou ; I am a gentleman, thou 
art a drawer. 

P. Hen. Very true, sir : and I come to draw you 
out by the ears. 

Host, O, the Lord preserve thy good grace! by my 
troth, welcome to London. — Now the Lord bless that 
sweet face of thine! OJesu, areyou come from Wales? 

Ful. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, 
— by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art wel- 
come. [Leaning his hand upon Doll. 

Doll. How ! you fat fool, 1 scorn you. 

Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your re- 
/enge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take not 
the heat. 

P. Hen. You whoreson candle-mine, you, how 
vilely did you speak of me even now, before this 
honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman"! 

Host. 'Blessing o' your good heart, and so she is, 
by my troth. 

Ful. Didst thou hear me 1 

P. Hen. Yes ; and you knew me, as you did when 
you ran away by Gads hill: you knew, 1 was at your 
back ; and spoke it on purpose, to try my patience. 

Fal. No, no, no, not so ; I did not think thou 
wast within hearing. 

P. Hen. I shall drive you then to confess the wil- 
ful abuse ; and then 1 know how to handle you. 

Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour; no abuse. 

P. Hen. Not! to dispraise me; and call me — 
pantler, and bread-chipper, and I know not what? 

Fal. No abuse, Hal. 

Poins. No abuse ! 

Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world ; honest Ned, 
none. I dispraised him before the wicked, that the 
wicked might not fall in love with him : — in which 
doing, I have done the part of a careful friend, and 
a true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks 
for it. No abuse, Hal ; — none, Ned, none ; — no, 
boys, none. 

P. Hen. See now, whether pure fear, and entire 
cowardice, doth not make thee wrong this virtuous 
gentlewoman to close with us ? Is she of the wicked ? 
Is thine hostess here of the wicked ? or is the boy of 
the wicked 1 or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns 
in his nose, of the wicked ? 

Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer. 

Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph, irre 
coverable ; and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, 
where he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For 
the boy, — there is a good angel about him ; but the 
devil outbids him too. 

P. Hen. For the women, 

Fal. For one of them, — she is in hell already, and 
burns, poor soul ! For the other, — I owe her money ; 
and whether she be damned for that, I know not. 

Host. No, I warrant you. 

Fal. No, I think, thou art not ; I think, thou art 
quit for that : Marry, there is another indictment upon 
thee, for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy house con- 
trary to the law ; for the which, I think, thou wilt howl. 
Host. All victuallers do so : What's a joint of mut- 
ton or two in a whole Lent ? 

F.Hen. You, gentlewoman, 



Doll. What says your grace t 

Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels 
against. 

Host. Who knocks so loud at doorl look to the 
door there, Francis. 

Enter Peto. 

P. Hen. Peto, how now? what news? 

Peto. The king your father is at Westminster ; 
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts, 
Come from the north : and, as I came along, 
I met, and overtook, a dozen captains. 
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns, 
And asking every one for sir John Falstaff. 

P. Hen. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame. 
So idly to profane the precious time ; 
When tempest of commotion, like the south 
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt, 
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. 
Give me my sword, and cloak : — Falstaff", good night. 
[Exettnt P. Henry, Poins, Peto, and Bardolph. 

Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, 
and we must hence, and leave it unpicked, [knock- 
ing heard.'\ More knocking at the door? 

Re-enter Bardolph. 

How now ? what 's the matter ? 

Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently ; a 
dozen captains stay at door for you. 

Fal. Pay the musicians, sirrah. [To the Page.] — 
Farewell, hostess ; — farewell, Doll. — You see, my 
good wenches, how men of merit are sought after : the 
undeserver may sleep, when the man of action is 
called on. Farewell, good wenches: If I be not sent 
away post, I will see you again ere I go. 

Doll. I cannot speak ; — If my heart be not ready 
to burst : — well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. 

Fal. Farewell, farewell. [Er. Falstaff Hi IJahd. 

Host. Well, fare thee well : I have known thee these 
twenty-nine years, come peascod time ; but an ho- 
nesterand truer-hearted man, — Well, fare thee well. 

Bard. [Within.] iVIistress Tear-sheet, 

Host. What's tiie matter? 

Bard. [Within.] Bid mistress Tear-sheet come to 
my master. 

Host. O run, Doll, run; run, good Doll. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I.— A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry in his nightgown, with a Page. 

K. Hen. Go, call the earls of Surrey and of Warwick, 
But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters. 

And well consider of them : Make good speed. 

[Exit Page. 
How many thousand of my poorest subjects 
Are at this hour asleep ! — Sleep, gentle sleep, 
Nature's soft nurse, how have 1 frighted thee. 
That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down. 
And steep my senses in forgetful ness ? 
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, 
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee. 
And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber; 
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, 
Under the canopies of costly state. 
And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody ? 
O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile. 
In loathsome beds ; and leav'st the kingly couch, 
A watch-case, or a common 'larum-bell ? 
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 



ACT III.— SCENE II. 



411 



Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
In cradle of the rude imperious surge ; 
And in the visitation of the winds, 
Who take the niffian billows by the top, 
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them 
With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery clouds, 
That with the hurly, death itself awakes 1 
Can'st thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose 
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; 
And, in the calmest and most stillest night, 
With all appliances and means to boot, 
Deny it to a king ? Then, happy low, lie down ! 
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. 

Enter Waravick and Surrey. 

War. Many good morrows to your majesty ! 

K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords 1 

War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past. 

A'. Hen. Why then, good morrow to you all my lords. 
Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you 1 

War. We have, my liege. 

K. Hen. Then you perceive, the body of our kingdom 
How foul it is ; what rank diseases grow. 
And with what danger, near the heart of it. 

War. It is but as a body, yet, distemper'd ; 
Which to his former strength may be restor'd, 

With good advice, and little medicine: 

]My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd. 

A'. Hen. O heaven ! that one might read the book 
And see the revolution of the times [of fate ; 

Make mountains level, and the continent 
("VVeary of solid firmness,) melt itself 
Into the sea ! and, other times to see 
The beachy girdle of the ocean 
Too wide for Neptune's hips ; how chances mock, 
And changes fill the cup of alteration 
With divers liquors ! O, if this were seen. 
The happiest youth, — viewing his progress through, 
What perils past, what crosses to ensue, — 
Would shut the book, and sit him down and die. 
'Tis not ten years gone. 

Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends. 
Did feast together, and, in two years after. 
Were they at wars : It is but eight years, since 
This Percy was the man nearest my soul ; 
Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs. 
And laid his love and life under my foot ; 
Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard, 
Gave him defiance. But which of you was by, 
( Vou, cousin Nevil, as I may remember,) [To War. 
When Richard, — with his eye brimfull of tears, 
Then check'd and rated by Northumberland, — 
Did speak these words, now prov'd a propliecy? 
Northumberland, thou ladder, bij the which 
Mu cousui. Bolingbroke ascends mi/ throne ; — 
Though then, heaven knows, I had no such intent ; 
But that necessity so bow'd the state. 

That 1 and greatness were compell'd to kiss : 

The time shall come, thus did he follow it, 
The time will come, that foul sin, gutheri)ig head, 
Shall break into corruption : — so went on. 
Foretelling this same time's condition, 
And the division of our amity. 

War. There is a history in all men's lives, 
Figuring the nature of tlie times deceas'd : 
The which observ'd, a man may prophecy. 
With a near aim, of the main chance of things 
As yet not come to life ; whicli in their seeds. 
And weak beginnings, lie intreasured. 
Such things become the hatch and brood of time ; 
.'^nd, by the necessary form of this. 
King llichard migiit create a perfect guess, 



That great Northumberland, then false to him^ 
Would, of that seed, grow to a greater falseness ; 
Which should not find a ground to root upon. 
Unless on you. 

A'. Hen. Are these things then necessities 1 

Then let us meet tiiem like necessities : — 
And that same word even now cries out on us , 
They say, the bishop and Northumberland 
Are fifty thousand strong. 

War, It cannot be, my lord ; 

Rumour doth double, like the voice and eclio, 
The numbers of the fear'd : — Please it your grace. 
To go to bed ; upon my life, my lord. 
The powers that you already have seut forth, 
Shall bring this prize in very easily. 
To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd 
A certain instance, that Glendower is dead. 
Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill ; 
And these unseason'd hours, perforce, must add 
Unto your sickness. 

A. Hen. I will take your counsel : 

And, were these inward wars once out of hand. 
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Court before Justice Shallow's 
House in Gloucestershire. 

Enter Shallow and Silence, meeting ; Mouldy, 
Shadow, Wart, Feeble, Bull-calf, and Ser- 
vants behind. 

Shal. Come on, come on, come on ; give me your 
haJid, sir, give me your hand, sir: an early stirrer by 
the rood. And how doth my good cousin Silence? 

Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow. 

Shal. And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow? 
and your fairest daughter, and mine, my goddaughter 
Ellen ? 

Sil. Alas, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow. 

Shal. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say, my cousin 
William is become a good scholar : He is at Oxford, 
still, is he not ? 

Sil. Indeed, sir ; to my cost. 

Shul. He must then to the inns of court shortly : I 
was once of Clement's-inn ; where, I think, they will 
talk of mad Shallow yet. 

Sil. You were called — lusty Shallow, then, cousin. 

Shul. By the mass, I was called any thing; and I 
would have done any thing, indeed, and roundly too. 
There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire, 
and black George Bare, and Francis Pickbone, and 
Will Squele a Cotswold man,— you had not four such 
swinge-bucklers in all the inns of court again : and, 
I may say to you, we knew where the bona- robas were ; 
and had the best of them all at commandment. I'hen 
was Jack Falstaff, now sir John, a boy; and page to 
Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk. 

67/. This sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon 
about soldiers ! 

Shal. I'he same sir John, the very same. I saw 
him break Skogan's head at the court gate, when he 
was a crack, not thus high : and the very same day 
did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer, 
behind Gray's inn. O, the mad days that I have 
spent ! and to see how many of mine old acquaint- 
ance are dead ! 

Sil. We shall all follow, cousin. 

Shal. Certain, 'tis certain ; very sure, very sure . 
death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all ; all 
shall die. How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford 
fair ? 

Sil. Truly, cousin, I was not there. 



412 



KING HENRY IV.— PART 11. 



Slial. Death is certain. — Is old Double of your 
town living yet? 

iS(7.. Dead, sir. 

Shal. ])ead ! — See, see! — he drew a good bow; 
And dead ! — he shot a fine shoot : — John of Gaunt 
loved iiiin well, and betted much money on his head. 
Dead! — he would have clapped i'the clout at twelve 
score ; and carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen 
and fourteen and a iialf, that H would have done a 
man's heart good to see. How a score of ewes now ? 

Sii. Thereafter as they be : a score of good ewes 
may be worth ten pounds. 

Sliul. And is old Double dead ! 

Enter Bardolpii, and one with him. 

Sil Here come two of Sir John FalstafTs men, as 
I tiiink. 

Biird. Good morrow, honest gentlemen : 1 beseech 
you, which is justice Shallow? 

Shiil. 1 am Robert Shallow, sir ; a poor enquire of 
this county, andoneof the king's justices of the peace: 
What is your good pleasure with me ? 

Bard. My captain, sir, commends him to you ; 
my captain, sir John Falstaff: a tall gentleman, by 
heaven, and amost gallant leader. 

Shut. He greets me well, sir ; 1 knew liim a good 
backsword man : How doth the good knight? may 1 
ask how my lady his wife doth ? 

Bard. Sir, pardon ; a soldier is better accommo- 
dated, than with a wife. 

Sh<il. It is well said, in faith, sir ; and it is well said 
indeed too. Better accommodated ! — it is good; yea, 
indeed, it is: good phrases are surely, and ever were, 
very commendable. Accommodated ! — it comes from 
accommodo : very good ; a good phrase. 

Burd. Pardon me, sir : 1 have heard the word. 
Phrase, call you it? By this good day, I know not 
the phrase : but 1 will maintain the word with my 
sword, to be a soldier-like word, and a word of ex- 
ceeding good command. Accommodated ; That is, 
when a man is, as they say, accommodated : or, when 
a man is, — being, — whereby, — he may be thought to 
be accommodated ; which is an e.xcellent thing. 

Enter Falstaff. 

Skill. It is very just : — Look, here comes good sir 
John. — Give me your good hand, give me your wor- 
ship's good hand : Jiy my troth, you look well, and 
bear your years very well: welcome, good sir John. 

/''(//. I am glad to see you well, good master Ro- 
bert Shallow : — Master Sure-card, as 1 think. 

Hhal. No, sir John ; it is my cousin Silence, in 
commission with me. 

Fell. Good master Silence, it well befits you should 
be of the peace. 

Sit. Your good worship is welcome. 

Fal. Fye ! this is hot weather. — Gentlemen, h.ive 
you provided me here half a dozen sutKcient men ! 

Shal. INIarry, have we, sir. Will you sit ? 

Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you. 

Shal. Where's the roll? where's the roll? where's 
the roll ? — Let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so : 
Yea, marry, sir: — Ralph Mouldy : — let them a[)pear 
as 1 call ; let them do so, let them do so. — Let me 
see; Where is Mouldy ? 

Moul. Here, an't please you. 

Shal. What think you, sir John? a good limbed 
fellow : young, strong, and of good friends. 

Fal. Is thy name Mouldy? 

Monl. Yea, an't please you. 

Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert used. 

Shal. Ha, ha, ha ! most excellent, i'faith ! things, 



that are mouldy, lack use : Very singular good ! — 1 n 
faith, well said, sir John ; very well said. 

Fal. Prick him. [7'o Shai.i ow. 

Moil I. 1 was pricked well enough before, an you 
could have let me alone : my old dame will be un- 
done now, for one to do her husbandry, and her drud- 
gery : you need not to have pricked me ; there are 
other men fitter to go out than I. 

/'■((/. Go to ; peace. Mouldy, you shall go. IMouldy, 
it is time you were spent. 

Moid. Spent! 

Shal. Peace, fellow, peace ; stand aside ; Know 
you where you are? — For the other, sir John: — let 
me seo ; — Simon Shadow ! 

Fal. Ay, marry, let me have him to sit under : he's 
like to be a cold soldier. 

Shal. Where's Shadow ? 

Shad. Here, sir. 

Fal. Shadow, whose son art thou 1 

Shad. My mother's son, sir. 

Fal. Thy mother's son ! like enough ; and thy 
father's shadow : so the son of the female is the sha- 
dow of the male : It is often so indeed ; but not much 
of the father's substance. 

Shal. Do you like him, sir John ? 

Fal. Shadow will serve for summer, — prick him ; 
— for we have a number of shadows to fill up the 
muster-book. 

Shal. Thomas Wart ! 

Fal. Where's he ? 

Wart. Here, sir. 

Fal. Is thy name W^art? 

]Vart. Yea, sir. 

Fal. Thou art a very ragged wart. 

Shal. Shall I prick him, sir John. 

Fal It were superfluous ; for his apparel is built 
upon his back, and the whole frame stands upon pins: 
prick him no more 

Shal. Ha, ha, ha ! — you can do it, sir ; you can do 
it: I commend you well. — Francis Feeble' 

Fee. Here, sir. 

Fal. What trade art thou. Feeble? 

Fee. A woman's tailor, sir. 

Shal. Shall I prick him, sir? 

Fal. You may : but if he had been a man's tailor, 
he would have pricked you. — Wilt thou make as 
many holes in an enemy's battle, as thou hast done 
in a woman's petticoat ! 

Fee. 1 will do my good will, sir ; you can have no 
more. 

Fal. Well said, good woman's tailor! well said, 
courageous Feeble 1 Thou wilt be as valiant as the 
wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse. — Prick 
the woman's tailor well, master Shallow ; deep, mas- 
ter Shallow. 

Fee. I would. Wart might have gone, sir. 

Fal. I would, tliou wert a man's tailor ; that thou 
might'st mend him, aud make him fit to go. I can- 
not put him to a private soldier, tliat is the leader of 
so many thousands : Let that sutiice, most forcible 
Feeble. 

Fee. It shall suffice, sir. 

Fal. 1 am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. — Who 
is next? 

Shal, Peter Hull-calf of the green ! 

Fal. Y'ea, marry, let us see I'nill calf. 

Bull. Here, sir. 

Fal. 'Fore God, a likely fellow !— Come, prick me 
Bull calf till he roar again. 

Bull. O lord ! good my lord captain, — 

Fal. What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked ? 

Bull. O lord, sir ! I am a diseased man. 



ACT III.— SCENE II. 



413 



Fal. What disease hast thou 1 

Bull. A wlioieson cold, sir ; a cough, sir; which 
I caught with ringing in the king's affairs, upon his 
coronation day, sir. 

Fill. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown ; 
we will have away thy com; and 1 will take sucli or- 
der, that thy friends shall ring for llice. — Is here all ! 

Shal. Here is two more called than your number; 
you must have but four here, sir ; — and so, 1 pray 
you, go in with me to dinner. 

Fal. Come, I will go drink with you, but 1 cannot 
tarry dinner. 1 am glad to see you, in good troth, 
master Shallow. 

67/n/. O, sir John, do you remember since we lay 
all night in tiie windmill in Saint George's fields. 

Fill. No more of that, good master Shallow, no 
more of that. 

Sliiil. Ha, it was a merry night. And is Jane Night- 
work alive ] 

Fill. She lives, master Shallow. 

Shal. She never could away with me. 

Fill. Never, never: she would always say, she 
could not abide master Shallow. 

Shal. l\y the mass, I could anger her to the heart. 
Slie was then a bona-roba. J)otii she hold her own well! 

Fal. Old, old, master Sliallow. 

Shal. Nay, she must be old ; she cannot chooie 
but be old ; certain, she's old ; and had Robin N igiit- 
work by old Night- work, before 1 came to Cle- 
ment's inn. 

Sil. That's fifty-five year ago. 

Shal. Ila, cousin Silence, that thou hadstseen that 
that this kniglit and 1 have seen ! — 11a, sir Jolin,saui 
1 well 1 

Fal. We have heard the chimes at midnight, mas- 
ter Shallow. 

Shal, 1'hat we have, that we have, that we have ; 

in faith, sir John, we have; our watch word was, 

Hem, hoys! — Come, let's to dinner ; come, let's to 

dinner : O, the days that we have seen ! Come, come. 

[E,if»K( Falstaff, Shallow, and Silf.nce. 

Bull. Good master corporate Bardolph, stand my 
friend ; and here is four IJarry ten shillings in French 
crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I had as lief be 
hanged, sir, as go : and yet, for mine own part, sir, I 
do not care : but, rather, because 1 am unwilling, and, 
for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my 
friends ; else, sir, I did not care, for mine own part 
so much. 

Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 

Mnul. And good master corporal captain, for my 
old dame's sake, stand my friend: she has nobody 
to do any thing about her, when I am gone ; and she is 
old, and cannot help herself: you shall have forty, sir. 

Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 

Fee. By my troth I care not ; — a man can die but 
once ; — We owe God a death ; — I'll ne'er bear a base 
mind : — an't be my destiny, so ; an"t be not, so: No 
man's too good to serve his prince ; and, let it go 
which way it will, he that dies this year, is quit for 
the next. 

Bard. Well said ; thou'rt a good fellow. 

Fee. 'Faith, I'll bear no base mind. 

lie-enter Falstaff, and Justices. 

Fal. Come, sir, wiiich men shall I have 1 
Shat Four of which you please. 
Bard. Sir, a word with you : — I have three pound 
to free Mouldy and Bull-calf. 
Fal. Go to ; well. 

Shal. Come, sir John, which four will you have ''. 
Fal. Do you choose for me. 



Shal. IMarry then, — Mouldy, Bull-calf, Feeble, 
and Shadow. 

Fal. IMouldy, and Bull-calf: — For you, Mouldy, 
stay at home, still ; you are past service : and, for 
your part. Bull calf, — grow till you come unto it; I 
will none of you. 

ShaL Sir .loiin, sir John, do not yourself wrong ; 
they are your likeliest men, and I would have you 
served with the best. 

Fal.W ill you tell me, master Shallow, how to choose 
a man ? Care 1 for the limb, the thevves, the stature, 
bulk, and big asscmblance of a man I Give me the 
sjiirit, master Sliallow. — Here's Wart ; — you see what 
a ragged appearance it is : he shall charge you, and 
discharge you, with the motion of a j)evvterer's ham- 
mer ; come off, and on, swifter than he that gibbets 
on the brewer's bucket. And this same half-faced 
fellow, Shadow, — give me this man ; he presents no 
mark to the enemy ; the foeman may with as great 
aim level at the edge of a penknife : And, for a re- 
treat, — how swiftly will this Feeble, the woman's 
tailor, run off? O, give me the spare men, and spate 
me the great ones. — Put me a caliver into Wart's 
hand, Ikinlolph. 

Btird. Hold, Wart, traverse; thus, thus, thus. 

Fal. Come, manage me your caliver. So : — very 
well: — go to: — very good: — exceeding good. — O, 
give me always a little, lean, old, chapped, bald shot. 

— Well said, i'faith. Wart; thou'rt a good scab: 
hold, there's a tester for thee. 

Shal. He is not his craft's-master, he doth not do 
it right. 1 remember at Mile-end green, (when 1 lay 
at Clement's inn,— I was then Sir Dagonet in Ar- 
thur's show,) there was a little quiver fellow, and 'a 
would manage you his piece thus : and 'a would 
about, and about, and come you in, and come you in : 
rail, tah, tiih, would 'a say; bounce, would 'a say; 
and away again would 'a go, and again would 'a 
come : — 1 shall never see such a fellow. 

/''(//. These fellows will do well, master Shallow. 

— God keep you, master Silence; 1 will not use many 
words with you : — Fare you well, gentlemen both : 
1 thank you: 1 mustadozen mile to-night. — Bardolph, 
give the soldiers coats. 

Shal. Sir ,1 olin, heaven bless you, and prosper your 
ail'airs, and send us peace ! As you return, visit my 
house; let our old ac(|uaintance be renewed : perad- 
venture, 1 will with you to the court. 

Fal. 1 would you would, master Shallow. 

Shal. Go to ; I have spoke, at a word. Fare you 
well. [E.imnt Shallow and Sillnce. 

Fal. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. On, Bar- 
dolph ; lead the men away. [EneuiU Bauuolph, 
Recruits, <!sfc.] As I return, I will fetch oflf these jus- 
tices : I do see the bottom of justice Shallow. Lord, 
lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying ! 
This same starved justice hath done nothing but prate 
to me of the wilduess of his youth, and the feats he 
hath done about Turnbullstreet ; and every third 
word a lie, duer paid to the hearer than the Tuik's 
tribute. 1 do remember him at Clement's inn, lii^e a 
man made after supper of a cheese- paring : when he 
was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked 
radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with 
a knife : he was so forlorn, that his dimensions to any 
thick sight were invisible : he was the very Genius 
of famine ; yet lecherous as a monkey, and the whores 
called him — mandrake: he came ever in the rear- 
ward of the fashion ; and sung those tunes to the over- 
scutched huswives that he heard the carmen whistle, 
and sware— tliey were his fancies, or his good-nights. 
And now is this Vice's dagger become a sqviiie ; and 



414 



KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 



talks as familiarly of John of Gaunt, as if he had 
been sworn brother lo him ; and I'll be sworn he nev- 
er saw him but once in the Tilt-yard ; and then he 
burst his head, for crouding among the marshal's men. 
I saw it ; and told John of Gaunt, he beat his own 
name ; for you might have truss'd him, and all his 
apparel, into an eel-skin ; the case of a treble haut- 
boy was a mansion for him, a court : and now has he 
land and beeves. Well ; I will be acquainted with 
him if 1 return : and it shall go hard, but I will make 
him a philosopher's two stones to me : If the young 
dace be a bait for the old pike, I see no reason, in 
the law of nature, but I may snap at him. Let tinie 
shape, and there an end. [Exit. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— ^ Forest in Yorkshire. 

Enter the Archbishop 0/ York, Mowbray, 
Hastings, and others. 
Arch. What is this forest call'd ? 
Hast. 'Tis Gualtree forest, an't shall please your 

grace. 
Arch. Here stand, my lords : and send discoverers 
forth. 
To know the numbers of our enemies. 

Hast. We have sent forth already. 

jlrch. 'Tis well done. 

My friends, and brethren in these great affairs, 
I must acquaint you that I have receiv-d 
New-dated letters from Northumberland ; 
Their cold intent, tenour and substance, thus ; — 
Here doth he wish his person, with such powers 
As might hold sortance with his quality, 
The which he could not levy ; whereupon 
He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes. 
To Scotland : and concludes in hearty prayers. 
That your attempts may overlive the hazard, 
And fearful meeting of their opposite. 

Mowb. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch 
ground, 
And dash themselves to pieces. 

Enter a Messenger. 

jjast. Now, what news ? 

Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile, 
In goodly form comes on the enemy : 
And by the ground they hide, I judge their number 
Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand. 

Mowb. The just proportion that we gave them out. 
Let us sway on, and face them in the field. 

Enter Westmoreland. 

Arch. What well-appointed leader fronts us here ? 

Mowb. I think, it is my lord of Westmoreland. 

West. Health and fair greeting from our general. 
The prince, lord John and duke of Lancaster. 

Arch. Say on, my lord of Westmoreland, in peace ; 
What doth concern your coming? 

West. Then, my lord. 

Unto your grace do I in chief address 
The substance of my speech. If that rebellion 
Came like itself, in base and abject routs, 
Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rage, 
And countenanc'd by boys, and beggary ; 
I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd. 
In his true, native, and most proper shape, 
You, reverend father, and these noble lords. 



Had not been here to dress the ugly form 

Of base and bloody insurrection 

With your fair honoDrs. You, lord archbishop,— 

Whose see is by a civil peace mainlain'd ; 

Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd ; 

Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd j 

Whose white investments figure mnocence, 

The dove and very blessed spirit of peace, — 

Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself. 

Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace, 

Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war? 

Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood. 

Your pens to lances ; and your tongue divine 

To a loud trumpet, and a point of war ? 

Aixh. Wherefore do I this? — so the question stands. 
Briefly to this end : — We are all diseas'd ; 
And, with our surfeiting and wanton hours. 
Have brought ourselves mto a burning fever, 
And we must bleed for it : of which disease 
Our late king, Richard, being infected, died. 
But, my most noble lord of Westmoreland, 
I take not on me here as a physician ; 
Nor do I, as an enemy to peace, 
Troop in the throngs of military men : 
But, rather, shew a while like fearful war. 
To diet rank minds, sick of happiness ; 
And purge the obstructions, which begin to stop 
Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. 
I have in equal balance justly weigh'd [fer, 

What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suf. 
And find our griefs heavier than our offences. 
We see which way the stream of time doth run, 
And are enforc'd from our most quiet sphere 
By the rough torrent of occasion : 
And have the summary of all our griefs, 
When time shall serve, to shew in articles ; 
Which, long ere this, we offered to the king. 
And might by no suit gain our audience : 
When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs, 
We are denied access unto his person 
Even by those men that most have done us wrong. 
(The dangers of the days but newly gone, 
Whose memory is written on the earth 
With yet-appearing blood,) and the examples 
Of every minute's instance, (present now,) 
Have put us in these ill-beseeming arms : 
Not to break peace, or any branch of it ; 
But to establish here a peace indeed. 
Concurring both in name and quality. 

West. When ever yet was your appeal denied ? 
Wherein have you been galled by the king ? 
What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you ? 
That you should seal this lawless bloody book 
Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine. 
And consecrate commotion's bitter edge? 

Arch. My brother general, the commonwealth, 
To brother born an household cruelty, 
I make my quarrel in particular. 

West. There is no need of any such redress ; 
Or, if there were, it not belongs to you. 

Mowb. Why not to him, in part ; and to us all, 
That feel the bruises of the days before ; 
And suffer the condition of these times 
To lay a heavy and unequal hand 
Upon our honours? 

West. O, my good lord Mowbray, 

Construe the times to their necessities. 
And you shall say indeed, — it is the time. 
And not the king, that doth you injuries. 
Yet, for your part, it not appears to me. 
Either from the king, or in the present time, 
That you should have an inch of any ground 
To build a grief on : Were you not restor'd 
To all the duke of Norfolk's seigniories. 
Your noble and right-well-remember'd father's ? 

Mowb. What thing, in honour, had my father lost, 



ACT IV.— SCENE II. 



415 



That need to be reviv'd, and breath'd in me? 
The king, that lov'd him, as the state stood then, 
Was, force perforce, compell'd to banish him : 
And then, when Harry Bolingbroke, and he, — 
Being mounted, and both roused in their seats, 
Their neighing coursers daring of the spur, 
Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down. 
Their eyf s of fire sparkling through sights of steel, 
And the )oud trumpet blowing them together ; 
Then, then, when there was nothing could have staid 
My father from the breast of Bolingbroke, 
O, when the king did throw his wardour down, 
His own life hung upon the staff' he threw : 
Then threw he down himself; and all tiieir lives. 
That, by indictment, and by dint of sword, 
Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. 

West. You speak, lord Mowbray, now you know not 
The earl of Hereford was reputed then [what: 

In England the most valiant gentleman ; 
Who knows, onv/hom fortune would thenhave smil'd? 
But, if your father had been victor there. 
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry : 
For all the country, in a general voice, 
Cried hate upon him ; and all their prayers and love, 
Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on. 
And bless'd, and grac'd indeed, more than the king. 
But this is mere digression from my purpose. — 
Here come I from our princely general, 
To know your griefs ; to tell you from his grace, 
That he will give you audience : and wherein 
It shall appear that your demands are just. 
You shall enjoy them ; every thing set off. 
That might so much as think you enemies. 

Mowh. But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer ; 
And it proceeds from policy, not love. 

West. Mowbray, you overween, to take it so; 
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear : 
For, lo ! within a ken, our army lies : 
Upon mine honour, all too confident 
To give admittance to a thought of fear. 
Our battle is more full of names than yours, 
Our men more perfect in the use of arms. 
Our armour all as strong, our cause the best ; 
Then reason wills, our hearts should be as good : — 
Say you not then, our offer is compell'd. 

Mowh. Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley. 

West. That argues but the shame of your offence : 
A rotten case abides no handling. 

Hast. Hath the prince John a full commission. 
In vdy ample virtue of his father. 
To hear, and absolutely to determine 
Of what conditions we shall stand upon ? 

West. That is intended in the general's name : 
I muse, you make so slight a question, [schedule ; 

Arch. Then take, my lord of Westmoreland, this 
For this contains our general grievances : — 
Each several article herein redress'd ; 
All members of our cause, both here and hence, 
That are insinew'd to this action. 
Acquitted by a true substantial form ; 
And present execution of our wills 
To us, and to our purposes, consign'd : 
We come within our awful banks again, 
And knit our powers to the arm of peace. 

West. This will I shew the general. Please you lords. 
In sight of both our battles we may meet : 
And either end in peace, which heaven so frame ! 
Or to the place of difference call the swords 
Which must decide it. 

Arch. My lord, we will do so. [Exit West. 

Mnwb. There is a thing within my bosom, tells me, 
That no conditions of our peace can stand. 



Hast. Fear you not that : if we can make our peace 
Upon such large terms and so absolute. 
As our conditions shall consist upon. 
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains. 

Mowh. Ay, but our valuation shall be such. 
That every slight and false derived cause. 
Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason. 
Shall, to the king, taste of this action : 
That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love. 
We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind. 
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff, 
And good from bad find no partition. 

Arch. No, no, my lord ; Note this, — thekingiswearj 
Of dainty and such picking grievances : 
For he hath found, — to end one doubt by death. 
Revives two greater in the heirs of life. 
And therefore will he wipe his tables clean ; 
And keep no tell-tale to his memory. 
That may repeat and history his loss 
To new remembrance : For full well he knows, 
He cannot so precisely weed this land. 
As his misdoubts present occasion : 
His foes are so enrooted with his friends. 
That, plucking to unfix an enemy. 
He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend. 
So that this land, like an offensive wife, 
That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes ; 
As he is striking, holds his infant up. 
And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm 
That was uprear'd to execution. 

Hast. Besides the king hath wasted all his rods 
On late offenders, that he now doth lack 
The very instruments of chastisement : 
So that his power, like to a fangless lion. 
May offer, but not hold. 

Arch. 'Tis very trtie : — 

And therefore be assured, my good lord marshal, 
If we do now make our atonement well. 
Our peace will, like a broken limb united, 
Grow stronger for the breaking. 

Moivb. Be it so. 

Here is return'd my lord of AVestmoreland. 

Re-enter Westmoreland. 

West. The prince is here at hand : Pleaseth your 

lordship, 
To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies 1 
MoLcb. Your grace of York in God's name then 

set forward. 
Arch. Before, and greet his grace : — my lord, we 

come. [Exeunt, 

SCENE II —Another Part of the Forest. 

Enter from one side, Mowbray, the Archbishop, 
Hastings, and others : from the other side, Prince 
John of Lancaster, Westmoreland, Officers, and 
Attendants. 

P. John. You are well encounter'd here, my cou. 
sin Mowbray : 
Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop 
And so to you, lord Hastings, — and to all. — 
My lord of York, it better shew'd with you. 
When that your flock, assembled by the bell, 
Encircled you, to hear with reverence 
Your exposition on the holy text ; 
Than now to see you here an iron man, 
Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum. 
Turning the word to sword, and life to death. 
That man, that sits within a monarch's heart, 
And ripens in the sunshine of his favour. 
Would he abuse the countenance of the king. 



416 



KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 



Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach, 

In shadow of such greatness ! With you, lord bishop, 

It is even so : — Who hath not heard it spoken. 

How deep you were within the books of God ? 

To us, the speaker in his parliament ; 

To us, the imagin'd voice of God himself ; 

The very opener and intelligencer, 

Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven. 

And our dull workings : O, who shall believe, 

But you misuse the reverence of your place ; 

Emj)loy the countenance and grace of heaven, 

As a false favourite doth his prince's name, 

In deeds dishonourable 1 You have taken up, 

Under the counterfeited zeal of God, 

The subjects of his substitute, my father ; 

And, both against the peace of heaven, and him, 

Have here up-swarm'd them. 

Arch. Good my lord of Lancaster, 

I am not here against your father's peace : 
But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland, 
The time misorder'd doth, in common sense. 
Croud us, and crush us, to this monstrous form. 
To hold our safety up. I sent your grace 
The parcels and particulars of our grief; 
The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court. 
Whereon this Hydra son of war is born : 
Whose dangerous eyes may well be cliarm'd asleep. 
With grant of our most just and right desires ; 
And true obedience of this madness cur'd. 
Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. 

Mowb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes 
To the last man. 

Hast. And though we here fall down. 

We have supplies to second our attempt ; 
If they miscarry, there's shall second them: 
And so, success of mischief shall be born ; 
And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up. 
Whiles England shall have generation. 

P. John. You are too shallow, Hastings, much too 
To sound the bottom of the after-times. [shallow. 
West. Pleaseth your grace, to answer them directly, 
How far-forth you do like their articles 1 

P. John. I like them all, and do allow them well: 
And swear here by the honour of my blood. 
My father's purposes have been mistook ; 
And some about him have too lavishly 
Wrested his meaning, and authority. — 
My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd ; 
Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you. 
Discharge your powers unto their several counties. 
As we will ours : and here, between the armies. 
Let's drink together friendly, and embrace ; 
That all their eyes may bear those tokens home. 
Of our restored love, and amity. 

Arch. I take your princely word for these redresses. 
P. John. I give it you, and will maintain my word : 
And thereupon, I drink unto your grace. 

Hast. Go, captain, [to an Officer.] and deliver to 
the army 
This news of peace ; let them have pay, and part : 
I know, it will well please them ; Hie thee, captain. 

[Eiit Officer, 
Arch. To you, my noble lord of Westmoreland. 
West. I pledge your grace : And, if you knew 
what pains 
I have bestow'd, to breed this present peace, 
You would drink freely : but my love to you 
Shall shew itself more openly hereafter. 
Arch. 1 do not doubt you. 
West. I am glad of it : — 

Health to my lord, and gentle cousin, Mowbray. 
Mo-xb. You wish me health in very happy season: 



For I am, on the sudden, something ill. 

Arch. Against ill chances, men are ever merry , 
But heaviness foreruns the good event. [row 

West. Therefore be merry, coz ; since sudden sor- 
Serves to say thus, — Some good thing comes to- 
morrow. 

Ai-ch. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. 

Mowb. So much the worse, if your own rule be 
true. [Shouts within. 

P. John. The word of peace is render'd ; Hark, 
how they shout ! 

Mowb. This had been cheerful, after victory. 

Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest , 
For then both parties nobly are subdued, 
And neither party loser. 

P. John. Go, my lord. 

And let our army be discharged too. — [Eiit West. 
And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains 
March by us, that we may peruse the men 
\Ve should have cop'd withal. 

Arch. Go, good lord Hastings, 

And, ere they be dismissed, let tliem march by. 

[Eut Hastings. 

P. Joh7i. I trust, my lords, we shall lie to-night 
together. 

Re-enter Westmoreland. 

Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still I 
West. Theleaders, havingcharge from you to startd, 

Will not go off until tliey hear you speak. 
P. John. They know their duties. 

Be-enter Hastings. 

Hast. My lord, our army is dispers'd already . 
Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take theircourses 
East, west, north, south ; or, like a school broke up, 
Each hurries toward his home, and sporting-place. 

H'est. Good tidings, my lord Hastings; tor the which 
I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason : 
And you, lord archbishop, — and you, lord ^Mowbray, 
Of capital treason I attach you both. 

Maw. Is this proceeding just and honourable 1 

West. Is your assembly so? 

Arch. Will you thus break your faith 1 

P. John. I pawn'd thee none . 

I promis'd you redress of these same grievances. 
Whereof you did complain ; which, by mine honour, 
I will perform with a most christian care. 
But, for you, rebels, — look to taste the due 
Meet for rebellion, and such acts as yours. 
Most shallowlydid you these arms commence. 
Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence. — 
Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray ; 
Heaven, and not we, hath safely fought to-day. — 
Some guard these traitors to the block of death ; 
Treason's true bed, and yielder up of breath. [Ex. 

SCENE III.— Another Part of the Forest. 

Alarums: Eicursimts. Enter Falstaff and 
CoLEviLE, meeting. 

Fnl. What's your name, sir? of what condition 
are you ; and of what place, I pray ? 

Cole. I am a knight, sir ; and my name is — Cole- 
vile of the dale. 

Fal. Well then, Colevile is your name ; a knight 
is your degree ; and your place, the dale : Colevile 
shall still be your name ; a traitor your degree ; and 
the dungeon your place, — a place deep enough ; so 
shall you still be Colevile of the dale. 

Cole. Are not you sir John Falstaff? 

Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do 



ACT IV.— SCENE IV. 



417 



ye yield, sir ! or shall I sweat for you 1 If I do sweat, 
they are drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy 
death ; therefore rouse up fear and trembling, and 
do observance to my mercy. 

Ciile. I think, you are sir John FalstafF; and in 
that thought, yield me. 

Fell. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly 
of mine ; and not a tongue of them all speaks any 
other word but my name. An I had but a belly of 
any indiH'erency, I were simply the most active 
fellow in Europe : My womb, my v.'omb, my womb 
undoes me. — Here comes our general. 

Entar Prince John o/" Lancaster, Westmoheland, 

and otiicrs. 

P. John.ThQ heat is past, follow no further now ; — 
Call in the powers good cousin Westmoreland. — 

[Exit West. 
Now, Falstaff, where have you been all tiiis while ? 
When every thing is ended, then you come : 
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life. 
One time or other break some gallows' back. 

Fal. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be 
thus ; I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was 
the reward of valour. Do you think me a swallovif, 
an arrow, or a bullet 1 have I, in my poor and old 
motion, the expedition of thought 1 I have speeded 
hither with the very extremest inch of possibility ; I 
have founder'd nine-score and odd posts : and here, 
travel-tainted as I am, have, in my pure and imma- 
culate valour, taken sir John Colevile of the dale, a 
most furious knight, and valorous enemy : But what 
of that ■? he saw me, and yielded ; that I may justly 

say with the hook-nosed fellow of Rome, 1 came; 

saw, and overcame. 

P. John. It was more of his courtesy than your 
deserving. 

Fal. 1 know not ; here he is, and here I yield him : 
and I beseech your grace, let it be booked with the 
rest of this day's deeds ; or, by the Lord, I will have 
it in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture 
on the top of it, Colevile kissing my foot : To the 
which course, if 1 be enforced, if you do not all shew 
like gilt two-pences, to me ; and I, in the clear sky 
of fame, o'ershine you as much as the full moon doth 
the cinders of the element, which shew like pins' 
heads to her ; believe not the word of the noble : 
Therefore let me have right, and let desert mount. 

P. John. Thine's too heavy to mount. 

Fal. Let it shine then. 

P. John. Thine's too thick to shine. 

Fal. Let it do something, my good lord, that may 
io me good, and call it what you will. 

P. John. Is thy name Colevile 1 

Cote. It is, my lord 

P. John. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. 

Fal. And a famous true subject took him. 

Cole. 1 am, my lord, but as my betters are. 
That led me hither : had they been rul'd by me. 
You should have won them dearer than you have. 

Fal. I know not how they sold tiiemselves : but 
thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away ; and I 
thank thee for thee. 

Re-enter Westmoreland. 

P. John. Now, have you left pursuit? 

West. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd. 

P. John. Send ('olevile, with his confederates, 
To York to present execution : — 
Blunt, lead him hence ; and see you guard him sure. 
[E.xeunt some with Colevti.e. 
And now despatch we toward the court, my lords ; 



I hear, the king my father is sore sick : 
Our news shall go before us to his majesty, — 
Which, cousin, you shall bear, — to comfort him ; 
And we with sober speed will follow you. 

Fal. My lord, I beesech you, give me leave to go 
through Glostershire : and, when you come to court, 
stand ray good lord, 'pray, in your good report. 

P. John. Fare you well, FalstalF: I, in my condition, 
Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Eiit. 

Fal. 1 would, you had but the wit ; 'twere better 
than your dukedom. — Good faith, this same young 
sober-blooded boy doth not love me ; nor a man can- 
not make him laugh ;^but that's no marvel, he 
drinks no wine. There's never any of these demure 
boys come to any proof ; for tiiin drink doth so over- 
cool their blood, and making many fish-meals, that 
they fall into a kind of male green-sickness ; and 
then, when they marry, they get wenches : they are 
generally fools and cowards ;— which some of us 
should be too, but for inflammation. A good sher- 
ris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It ascends 
me into the brain ; dries me there all the foolish, and 
dull, and crudy vapours which environ it : makes it 
apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, 
and delectable shapes ; which deliver'd o'er to the 
voice (the tongue,) which is the birth, becomes ex- 
cellent wit. The second property of your excellent 
sherris is, — the warming of the blood; which, be- 
fore cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, 
which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice : 
but the sherris warms it and makes it course from the 
inwards to the parts extreme. It illumineth the 
face ; which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the 
rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm: and then 
the vital commoners, and inland petty spirits, muster 
me all to their captain, the heart; who, great, and 
pufled up with this retinue, doth any deed of cou- 
rage ; and this valour comes of sherris : So that skill 
in the weapon is nothing without sack ; for that sets 
it a-work : and learning a mere hoard of gold kept 
by a devil ; till sack commences it, and sets it in act 
and use. Hereof comes it, that prince Harry is va- 
liant : for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of 
his father, he hath, like lean, steril, and bare land, 
manured, husbanded, and tilled, with excellent en- 
deavour of drinking good, and good store of fertile 
sherris ; that he is become very hot, and valiant. If 
I had a thousand sons, the first human principle 1 
would teach them, should be, — to forswear thin po- 
tations, and addict themselves to sack. 

Enter Bardolph. 

How now, Bardolph ? 

Bard. The army is discharged all, and gone. 

Fal. Let them go. I '11 through Glostershire ; and 
there will I visit master Robert Shallow, esquire : I 
have him already tempering between my finger and 
my thumb, and shortly will I seal with him. Come 
away. [Eiennt. 

SCENE IV.— Westminster. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry, Clarence, Prince 
Humphrey, Warwick, and others. 

K. Hen. Now, lords, if heaven doth give successful 
To this debate that bleedeth at our doors, [end 

We will our youth lead on to higher fields. 
And draw no swords but what are sanctified. 
Our navy is address'd, our power collected. 
Our substitutes in absence well invested. 
And every thing lies level to our wish : 
I Only, we want a little personal strength ; 
ii D 



410 



KING HENRY IV.-PART II. 



And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot. 
Come underneath the yoke of government. 

War. Both which, we doubt not but your majesty 
Shall soon enjoy. 

K. Hen. Humphrey, my son of Gloster, 

Where is the prince your brother ? 

P.HumpIi. 1 think, he's gone to hunt, my lord, at 

K, Hen. And how accompanied? [Windsor. 

P. Humph. 1 do not know, my lord. 

A'. Hen. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, 
with him ? 

P. Humph. No, my good lord ; he is in presence here. 

Cla. What would my lord and father ? [rence. 

A'. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Cla- 
How chance, thou art not with the prince thy brother 1 
He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas ; 
Thou hast a better place in his affection. 
Than all thy brothers : cherish it, my boy ; 
And noble offices thou may'st effect 
Of mediation, after I am dead, 
Between his greatness and thy other brethren . — 
Therefore, omit him not ; blunt not his love : 
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace, 
l$y seeming cold, or careless of his will. 
For he is gracious, if he be observ'd ; 
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand 
Open as day for melting charity : 
Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint; 
As humorous as winter, and as sudden 
As flaws congealed in the spring of day. 
His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd : 
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently. 
When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth : 
But, being moody, give him line and scope ; 
Till that his passions, like a whale on ground. 
Confound themselves with working. Learn this, 

Thomas, 
And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends ; 
A hoop of gold, to bind thy brothers in ; 
That the united vessel of their blood. 
Mingled with venom of suggestion, 
(As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,) 
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong 
As aconitum, or rash gunpowder. 

Cla. I shall observe him with all care and love. 

K. Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, 
Thomas ? 

Cla. He is not there to-day ; he dines in London. 

K. Hen. And how accompanied ? can'st thou tell that* 

Cla. With Poins, and other his continual followers. 

K. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds; 
And he, the noble image of my youth. 
Is overspread with them : Therefore my grief 
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death ; 
The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape. 
In forms imaginary, the unguided days, 
And rotten times, that you shall look upon 
When I am sleeping with my ancestors. 
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb. 
When rage and hot blood are his counsellors. 
When means and lavish manners meet togethei, 
O, with what wings shall his affections fly 
Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay ! 

War. ]My gracious lord, you lookbeyond him quite: 
The prince but studies his companions, 
Like a strange tongue : wherein, to gain the language, 
'Tis needful, that the most inmiodest word 
Be look'd upon, and learn'd : which once attain'd. 
Your highness knows, comes to no further use. 
But to be known, and hated. So, like gross terms, 
The prince will, in the perfectness of time, 
Cast off his followers : and their memory 



Shall as a pattern or a measure live. 
By which his grace must mete the lives of others ; 
Turning past evils to advantages. [comb 

A'. Hen. 'Tis seldom, when the bee doth leave her 
In the dead carrion. — Who's here? Westmoreland? 

Entei- Westmoreland. 

West, Health to my sovereign' and new happiness 
Added to that that I am to deliver ! 
Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace s hand: 
Mowbray, the bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all, 
Are brought to the correction of your law ; 
There is not now a rebel's sword unsheathed. 
But peace puts forth her olive every where. 
The manner how this action hath been borne. 
Here at more leisure may your highness read ; 
With every course, in his particular. 

A'. Hen. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird. 
Which ever in the haunch of winter sings 
The lifting up of day. Look ! here's more news. 

Enter Harcourt. 

Har. From enemies heaven keep your majesty ; 
And, when they stand against you, may they fall 
As those that I am come to tell you of! 
The earl Northumberland, and the lord Bardolph, 
With a great power of English, and of Scots, 
Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown : 
I'he manner and true order of the fight, 
This packet, please it you, contains at large. 

K. Hen. And wherefore should these good newy 
make me sick ? 
Will fortune never come with both hands full. 
But write her fair words still in foulest letters ? 
Siie either gives a stomach, and no food, — 
Such are the poor, in health ; or else a feast. 
And takes away the stomach, — such are the rich. 
That have abundance, and enjoy it not. 
I should rejoice now at this happy news ; 
And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy : — 
O me! come near me, now I am much ill. [Swoons. 

P. Humph. Comfort, your majesty ! 

Cla. O my royal father ! 

West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up ! 

War. Be patient, princes ; you do know, these fits 
Are with his highness very ordinary. 
Stand from him, give him air ; he'll straight be well. 

Cla. No, no ; he cannot long hold out these pangs ; 
The mcessant care and labour of his mind 
Hath wrought the mure, that should confine it in. 
So thin, that life looks through, and will break out. 

P. Humph. The people fear me ; for they do observe 
Unfather'd heirs, and loathly birds of nature : 
The seasons change their manners, as the year 
Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them over. 

Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between; 
And the old folk, time's doting chronicles. 
Say, it did so, a little time before 
That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died. 

War. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers. 

P. Humph. This apoplex will, certain, be his end. 

A'. Hen. 1 pray you, take me up, and bear me hence 
Into some other chamber : softly, pray. 

[77?ev convey the KI^'G into an inner part nf 
the room, and place him on a heel. 
Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends ; 
Unless some dull and favourable hand 
Will whisper music to my weary spirit. 

War. Call for the music in the other room. 

K. Hen. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. 

Cla. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. 

War. Less noise, less noise. 




KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 



P. Henrt. Lo here it sits, — 

Which heaven shall guard. 

/^r^ IV., Srtvu 4. 



ACT IV.— SCENE IV. 



4W 



Enter Prince Henhy. 



P. Hen. Who saw the duke of Clarence ? 

Cla. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. 

P. Hen. How now! rain within doors, and none 
How dotii the king ^ [abroad ! 

P. Humph. Exceeding ill. 

P. Hen. Heard he the good news yet ! 

Tell it him. 

P. Humph. He alter'd much upon the hearing it. 

P. Hen. If he be sick 
With joy, he will recover without physic. 

War. Not so much noise, my lords ; — sweet prince, 
speak low ; 
The king your father is dispos'd to sleep. 

Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room. 

War. Will't please your grace to go along with us ? 

P. Hen. No ; I will sit and watch here by the king! 
[Eiewnf all hut P. Henry. 
Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, 
Being so troublesome a bedfellow? 
O polish'd perturbation ! golden care ! 
That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide 
To many a watchful night ! — sleep with it now ! 
Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet. 
As he, whose brow, with homely biggin bound, 
Snores out the watch of night. O majesty! 
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit 
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day. 
That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath 
There lies a downy feather, which stirs not : 
Did he suspire, that light and weightless down 
Perforce must move. — My gracious lord ! my father ! — 
This sleep is sound indeed ; this is a sleep, 
That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd 
So many English kings. Thy due, from me. 
Is tears, and heavy sorrows of the blood ; 
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, 
Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously : 
My due, from thee, is this imperial crown ; 
Which, as immediate from thy place and blood. 
Derives itself tome. Lo, here it sits, — 

Inputting it en his head. 
Which heaven shall guard: And put the world's whole 
Into one giant arm, it shall not force [strength 

This lineal honour from me : This from thee 
Will I to thine leave, as 'tis left to me. [Exit. 

K. Hen. Warwick ! Gloster I Clarence ! 

Re-enter Warwick, and the rest. 

Cla. Doth the king call 1 [grace! 

War. What would your majesty! How fares your 

K. Hen. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords. 

Cla. We left the prince my brother here, my liege. 
Who undertook to sit and watch by you. 

A'. Hen. The prince of Wales 1 Where is he 1 let me 
He is not here. [see him : 

War. This door is open ; he is gone this way. 

P. Humph. He came not through the chamber 
where we stay'd. [pillow 1 

K. Hen. Where is the crown 1 who took it from my 

War. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here. 

K. Hen. The prince hath ta'en it hence : — go, seek 
Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose [him out. 

My sleep my death 1 
Find him, my lord of Warwick ; chide him hither. 

[Eiit Warwick. 
This part of his conjoins with my disease. 
And helps to end me.— See, sons, what things you are ! 
How quickly nature falls into revolt. 
When gold becomes her object ! 
For this the foolish over-careful fathers [care. 

Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with 



Their bones with industry, 

For this they have engrossed and pil'd up 

I'he canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold ; 

For this they have been thoughtful to invest 

Their sons with arts, and martial exercises • 

When, like the bee, tolling from every flower 

The virtuous sweets ; 

Our thighs pack'd with wax, our mouths with honey. 

We bring it to the hive ; and, like the bees. 

Are murder'd for our pains. This bitter taste 

Yield his engrossments to the ending father. — 

Pie-enter Warwick. 

Now, where is he that will not slay so long 
Till his friend sickness hath determin'd me ? 

War. My lord, I found the prince in the next room. 
Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks ; 
With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow, 
That tyranny, which never quaffed but blood, 
AVould, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife 
With gentle eyedrops. He is coming hither. 

A'. Hen. But wherefore did he take away the crown ^ 

lie-enter Prince Henry. 

Lo, where he comes, — Come hither to me, Harry, 
Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. 

[Exeunt Clarence, P. Humpfirey, Lords, ^c. 
P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again. 
A".//e«. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought; 
I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. 
Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair. 
That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honours 
Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth 1 
Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee. 
Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity 
Is held from falling with so weak a wind. 
That it will quickly drop: my day is dim. 
Thou hast stol'n that, which, after some few hours, 
^Veretiline without offence ; and, at my death. 
Thou hast seal'd up my expectation : 
Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dst me not, 
And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it. 
Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts ; 
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart. 
To stab at half an hour of my life. 
What ! canst thou not forbear me half an hour 1 
Then get thee gone ; and dig my grave thyself ; 
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear. 
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. 
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse. 
Be drops of balm, to sanctify thy head : 
Only compound me with forgotten dust ; 
Give that, which gave thee life, unto the worms. 
Pluck down my officers, break my decrees ; 
For now a time is come to mock at form, 
Harry the fifth is crown'd : — Up, vanity! 
Down, royal state ! all you sage counsellors, hence ' 
And to the English court assemble now. 
From every region, apes of idleness ! 
Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum : 
Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dance. 
Revel the night ; rob, murder, and commit 
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways ? 
Be happy, he will trouble you no more : 
England shall double gild his treble gilt: 
England shall give him office, honour, might : 
For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks 
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog 
Sliall flesh his tooth in every innocent. 
O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows !' 
When that my care could not withhold thy liots 
Wiiat wilt thou do, when riot is thy care '! 
'2 D 2 



420 



KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 



O, thou wilt be a wilderness again, 
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants ! 

P. Hen. O, pardon me. my liege ! but for my tears, 

[Kiieeli7ig. 
The moist impediments unto my speech, 
I had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke, 
Ere you with grief had spoke, and 1 had heard 
The course of it so far. There is your crown ; 
And He that wears the crown immortally. 
Long guard it yours ! If I affect it more, 
Than as your honour, and as your renown. 
Let me no more from this obedience rise, 
(Which my most true and inward duteous spirit 
Teacheth,) this prostrate and exterior bending ! 
Heaven witness with me, when I here came in 
And found no course of breath within your majesty, 
How cold it struck my heart ! If I do feign, 
O, let me in my present wildness die ; 
And never live to shew the incredulous world 
The noble change that I have purposed ! 
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead. 
(And dead, almost my liege, to think you were,) 
1 spake unto the crown as having sense. 
And thus upbraided it. The care on ihee depending, 
Hath fed upon the body oj' my father ; 
Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold. 
Other, less fine in carat, is more precious, 
Preserving life in med'cine potable : 
But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd. 
Hast eat thy bearer up. Thus, my most royal liege, 
Accusing it, I put it on my head ; 
To try with it, — as with an enemy. 
That had before my face murder'd my father, — 
The quarrel of a true inheritor. 
But if it did infect my blood with joy, 
Or swell my thoughts to any stain of pride ; 
If any rebel or vain spirit of mine 
Did, with the least affection of a welcome, 
Give entertainment to the might of it. 
Let God for ever keep it from my head ! 
And make me as the poorest vassal is. 
That doth with awe and terror kneel to it ! 

K. Hen. O my son ! 
Heaven put it in thy mind to take it hence. 
That thou might'st win the more thy father's love, 
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it. 
Come hitlier, Harry, sit thou by my bed ; 
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel 
That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son, 
By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways, 
I met this crown ; and I myself know well. 
How troublesome it sat upon my head : 
To thee it shall descend with better quiet, 
Better opinion, better confirmation ; 
For all the soil of the achievement goes 
With me into the earth. It seem'd in me, 
But as an honour snatch'd with boisterous hand ; 
And I had many living, to upbraid 
My gain of it by their assistances ; 
"Which daily grew to quarrel, and to bloodshed. 
Wounding supposed peace : all these bold fears. 
Thou see'st, with peril 1 have answered : 
For all my reign hath been but as a scene 
Acting that argument •, and now my death 
Changes the mode : for what in me was purchas'd, 
Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort ; 
So thou the garland wear'st successively. 
Yet, though thou stand'st more sure tlian I could do, 
Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green ; 
Aud all thy friends,which thoumustmake thy friends. 
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out ; 
By whose fell working I was first advanc'd. 



And by whose power I well might lodge a fear 

To be again displac'd : which to avoid, 

I cut them off: and had a purpose now 

To lead out many to the Holy Land ; 

Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look 

Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, 

Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds 

With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence borne outj 

May waste the memory of the former days. 

More would I, but my lungs are wasted so. 

That strength of speech is utterly denied me. 

How I came by the crown, O God, forgive ! 

And grant it may with thee in true peace live ! 

P. Hen. My gracious liege. 
You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me ; 
Then plain, and right must my possession be : 
Which 1, with more than with a common pain, 
'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. 

Enter Prince John o/" Lancaster, Warwick 
Lords, and others. 

K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of Lan- 
caster, [father ! 

P.John. Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal 

K.Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness, and peace, son 
John ; 
But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown 
From this bare, wither'd trunk : upon thy sight, 

My worldly business makes a period. 

Where is my lord of Warwick 1 

P. Hen. My lord of Warwick ! 

A'. Heni Doth any name particular belong 
Unto the lodging where I first did swoon 1 

War. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. 

A'. Hen. Laud be to God ! — even there my life must 
It hath been prophesied to me many years, [end 
I should not die but in Jerusalem ; 
Which vainly I suppos'd the Holy Land : — 
But, bear me to that chamber ; there I'll lie ; 
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. [EaeuJiJ 



ACT V. 

SCENE 1. 

Glostershire. — A Hall in Shallow's House. 

Enter Shallow, Falstaff, Bardolpii, and Page. 

Shal. By cock and pye, sir, you shall not away 

to-night. What, Davy, I say. 

Fill. You must excuse me, master Robert Shallow 
Hhal. 1 will not excuse you ; you shall not be ex- 
cused ; excuses shall not be admitted ; there is no 
excuse shall serve ; you shall not be excused. — 
Why, Davy! 

Enter Daw. 

Davy. Here, sir. 

Slial. Davy, Davy, Davy, — let me see, Davy ; let 
me see : — yea, marry, William cook, bid him come 
hither. ^Sir John, you shall not be excused. 

Davy. IMarry, sir, thus ; — those precepts cannot be 
served : and, again, sir, — Shall we sow the head land 
with wheat '! 

Shal. With red wheat, Davy. But for William 
cook ; Are there no young pigeons 1 

Davy. Y'es, sir. Here is now the smith's note, 

for shoeing, and plough-irons. 

Shal. Let it be cast, and paid : — sir John, you 
shall not be excused. 

Davy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must 
needs be had : — And , sir, do you mean to stop any of 



ACT v.— SCENE II. 



421 



William's vrajzes, about the sack he lost the other day 
at Hinckley fair ? 

Shal. He shall answer it : Some pigeons, Davy; 

a couple of short-legged hens ; a joint of mutton ; 
and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William cook. 

Davif. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir .' 

Shai. Yes, Davy. I will use him well ; A friend 
i'the court is better than a penny in purse. Use his 
men well, Davy ; for they are arrant knaves, and 
will backbite. 

Davii. Iv'o worse than they are back-bitten, sir ; 
for they have marvellous foul linen. 

Shal, Well conceited, Davy. About thy business, 
Davy. 

Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William 
Visor of Wincot against Clement Perkes of the hill. 

Shal. There are many complaints, Davy, against 
that Visor ; that Visor is an arrant knave, on my 
knowledge. 

Davy. 1 grant your worship, that he is a knave, sir : 
but yet, God forbid, sir, but a knave should have 
some countenance at his friend's retjuest. An honest 
man, sir, is able to speak for himself, when a knave 
is not. I have served your worship truly, sir, this 
eight years ; and if 1 cannot once or twice in a quar- 
ter bear out a knave against an honest man, I have 
but a very little credit \vith your worship. The knave 
is mine honest friend, sir : therefore, 1 beseech your 
worship, let him be countenanced. 

Shai. Go to ; I say, he shall have no wrong. Look 
about, Davy. [Exit Davy.] Where are you, sir John? 
Come, oft' with your boots. — Give me yourhand, mas- 
ter Bardolph. 

Bard. 1 am glad to see your worship. 

Shal. I thank thee with all my heart, kind master 
Bardolph : — and welcome, my tall fellow. [To the 
Page.] Come, sir John. [Exit Shallow. 

Ful. I '11 follow you, good master Robert Shallow. 
Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeunt Bardolph and 
Page.] If I were sawed into quantities, I should make 
four dozen of such bearded hermit's staves as master 
Shallow. It is a wonderful thing, to see the sembla- 
ble coherence of his men's spirits and his : They, by 
observing him, do bear themselves like foolish jus- 
tices ; he, by conversing with them, is turned into a 
justice-like serving-man ; their spirits are so married in 
conjunction with the participation of society, that they 
flock together in consent, like so many wild-geese. 
If I had a suit to master Shallow, I would humour 
his men, with the imputation of being near their mas- 
ter: if to his men, 1 would curry with master Shallow, 
that no man could better command his servants. It 
is certain, that either wise bearing, or ignorant car- 
riage, is caught as men take diseases, one of another ; 
therefore, let men take heed of their company. I will 
devise matter enough out of this Shallow, to keep 
prince Harry in continual laughter, the wearing-out 
of six fashions, (which is four terms or two actions,) 
and he shall laugh without interiitllums. O, it is 
much, that a lie, with a slight oatli, and a jest, with 
a sad brow, will do with a fellow that never had the 
ache in his shoulders : O, vou should see him laugh, 
till his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up. 

Shal. [Within.] Sir John! 

Fal. I come, master Shallow ; I come, master 
Shallow. [Exit Falstaff. 

SCENE II. — Westminster. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Warwick ana the Lord Chief Justice. 

TFaj-. How now, my lord chief justicel whither awayl 
Ch..luit. How do'ih the Liner] 



War. Exceeding well ; his cares are now all ended. 

Ch. Just. I hope, not dead. 

War. He 's walk'd the way of nature ; 

And, to our purposes, he lives no more. 

Ch. Just. 1 would his majesty had call'd me with him : 
The service that I truly did his life. 
Hath left me open to all injuries. 

War, Indeed, I think the young king loves you not. 

Ch. Just. I know he doth not; and do arm myself. 
To welcome the condition of the time ; 
Which cannot look more hideously upon me 
Than I have drawn it in niy fantasy. 

Enter Prince John, Prince Humphrey, Clarence, 
W^ESTMORELAND, uud Others. 

War. Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry ; 
0, that the living Harry had the temper 
Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen ! 
How many nobles then should hold their places. 
That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort I 

Ch.Just. Alas! I fear, all will be overturn'd. 

P. John. Good morrow, cousin Warwick. 

P. Humph. Cla. Good morrow, cousin. 

P.John. We meet like men that had forgot to speak. 

War. We do remember ; but our argument 
Is all too heavy to admit much talk. [us heavy! 

P.John. Well, peace be with him that hath made 

Ch. Just. Peace be with us, lest w€ be heavier ! 

P. Humph. O, good my lord, you have lost a friend. 
And I dare swear, you borrow not that face [indeed: 
Of seeming sorrow ; it is, sure, your own. 

P. John. Though no man be assur'd what grace to 
You stand in coldest expectation : [find, 

I am the sorrier ; 'would, 'twere otherwise. 

Cla. Wellyoumustnowspeaksir John I'alstaff fair; 
Which swims against your stream of quality. 

Ch.Just. Sweet princes, what I did, I did in lionour. 
Led by the impartial conduct of my soul ; 
And never shall you see, that I will beg 
A ragged and forestall'd remission. - 
If truth and upright innocency fail me, 
I '11 to the king my master that is dead. 
And tell him who hath sent me after him. 

War. Here comes the prince. 

Enter Kino Henry V. 

Ch. Just. Good morrow ; and heaven save your 
majesty I 

A'mg-. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty. 
Sits not so easy on me as you think. 
Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear ; 
This is the English, not the Turkish court ; 
Not Amurath an Amuralh succeeds. 
But Harry Harry: Yet be sad, good brothers. 
For, to speak truth, it very well becomes you ; 
Sorrow so royally in you appears. 
That I will deeply put the fashion on. 
And wear it in my heart. Why then, be sad : 
But entertain no more of it, good brothers, 
Than a joint burden laid upon us all. 
¥oT me, by heaven, I bid you be assur'd, 
I '11 be your father and your brother too ; 
Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares 
Yet weep, that Harry's dead ; and so will I ; 
But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears. 
By number, into hours of happiness. 

' P.John,&;c. We hope no other from your majesty. 

King. You all look strangely on me: — and you 
most ; [To tlie t'uiEF Justice. 

You are, I think, assur'd I love you not 

Ch. Just. 1 am assur'd, if 1 be measur'd rightly, 
Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me. 



422 



KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 



King, No ! 
How might a prince of my ^eat hopes forget 
So great inilignities you laid upon me ? 
Wliat ! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison 
The immediate heir of England ! Was this easy? 
May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten ! 

Ch. Just. I then did use the person of your- father ; 
The image of his power lay then in me : 
And, in the administration of his law, 
Whiles 1 was busy for the commonwealth, 
Your highness jileased to forget my place. 
The majesty and power of law and justice. 
The image of the king whom I presented, 
And struck me in my very seat of judgment ; 
Whereon, as an offender to your father, 
I gave bold way to my authority. 
And did commit you. If the deed were ill. 
Be you contented, wearing now the garland 
To have a son set your decrees at nought : 
To pluck down justice from your awful bench ; 
To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword 
That guards the peace and safety of your person . 
Nay, more ; to spurn at your most royal image. 
And mock your workings in a second body. 
Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours ; 
Be now the father, and propose a son : 
Hear your own dignity so much profan'd. 
See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted, 
Behold yourself so by a son disdained ; 
And then imagine me taking your part, 
And, in your power, soft silencing your son : 
After this cold considerance, sentence me ; 
And, as you are a king, speak in your state, 
What I have done, that misbecame my place. 
My person, or my liege's sovereignty. 

J^iiig. Youare right, justice, and you weigh this well; 
Therefore still bear the balance, and the sword: 
And 1 do wish your honours may increase. 
Till you do live to see a son of mine 
Offend you, and obey you, as I did. 
So shall I live to speak my father's words ; — 
Hiippii um I, that liave a mini so bold, 
That dares do justice on mil proper son: 
A)id iiot less happy, having such a son. 
That wniild deliver up his greatness so 
Into the hands of justice. — Yon did commit me . 
For which, I do commit into your hand 
The unstained sword that you have us'd to bear ; 
With this remembrance, — That you use the same 
With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit. 
As you have done 'gainst me. 'J'here is my hand ; 
You shall be as a father to my youth : 
My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear ; 
And I will stoop and humble my intents 

To your well practis'd, wise directions. 

And, princes all, believe me, 1 beseech you ; — 
My father is gone wild into his grave, 
For in his tomb lie my aflections ; 
And with his spirit sadly I survive, 
To mock the expectation of the world ; 
To frustrate prophecies ; and to raze out 
Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down 
After my seeming. The tide of blood in me 
Hath proudly flow'd in vanity, till now . 
Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea ; 
W^here it shall mingle with the state of floods. 
And how henceforth in formal majesty. 
Now call we our high court of parliament : 
And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel. 
That the great body of our state may go 
In equal rank with the best govern'd nation ; 
That war, or peace, or both at once, may be 



As things acquainted and familiar to us ; 

In which you, father, shall have foremost hand. 

[To the Lord Ci:iEr Justice. 
Our coronation done, we will accite. 
As I before remember'd, all our state : 
And (God consigning to my good intents,) 
No prince, nor peer, shall have just cause to say,-- 
Heaven shorten Harry's happy life one day. [ExeunL 

SCENE III. 

Glostershire. — The Garden of Shallow's House. 

Enter Falstaif, Shallow, Silence, Bardolph, the 
Page, and Davy. 

Shal. Nay, you shall see mine orchard : where, in 
an arbour, we will eat a last year's pippin of my own 
graffing, with a dish of carraways, and so forth ; — 
come, cousin Silence ; — and then to bed. 

Fal. 'Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling, 
and a rich. 

Shal. Barren, barren, barren ; beggars all, beg- 
gars all, sir John : — marry, good air. — Spread, Davy ; 
spread, Davy , W^ell said, Davy, 

Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses ; he is 
your serving man, and your husbandman. 

67k;/. a good varlet, a good varlet, a very good 
varlet, sir John. — By the mass, I have drunk too 

much sack at supper : A good varlet. Now sit 

down, now sit down : — come, cousin. 

Sil. Ah, sirrah ! quoth-a, — we shall 

Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer, [Singing 

And praise heaven for the merry year ; 

When fesh is cheap and females dear, 

And lusty lads roam here and there, 
So merrily, 
And ever among so merrily. 

Fal. There's a merry heart ! — Good master Silence 
I'll give you a health for that anon. 

iS7(«/. Give master Bardolph some wine, Davy. 

Davy. Sweet sir, sit ; [^seating Bahdolpi! and the 
Page at another ta6/e.] I'll be with you anon ; — most 

sweet sir, sit. Master Page, good master Page, 

sit : preface ! W'hat you want in meat, we'll have in 
drink. But you must bear ; The heart's all. [Exit. 

Shal. Be merry, master Bardolph ; — and my little 
soldier there, be merry. 

Sil. Be merry, be merry, my ivife's as all ; [Singing 

For women are shrews, both short and tall ; 

'Tis merrii in hall, lohen beards vug alt. 
And welcome merry shrove-iide. 

Be merry, be merry, 6iC. 

Fat. I did not think, master Silence had beeu a 
man of this mettle. 

Sil. Who 17 1 have been merry twice and once 
ere now. 

Re-enter Davy. 

Davy, There is a dish of leather-coats for you. 

[SeUiiig them before Baiidoli'H. 

Shal, Davy, — 

Davy. Your worsliip ? — I'll be with you straight. 
[To Bard.]— A cup of wine, sir ? 

Sil. A cup if wine, that 's brisk and fine. 

And drink luito the leman mine ; [Singing, 

And a merry lieart lives long a. 

Fal, Well said, master Silence. 

Sil, And we shall be merry ; — now comes in _the 
sweet of the night. 

Fal. Health and long life to you, master Silence. 

Sil. Fill the cup, and let it come ; 

I 'U pledge you a mile to the botto7n, 

.Shal. Honest Bardolph, welcome: If thou wantc.^l 
any thing, and wilt not call, beshrew thy heart. — 



ACT v.— SCENE V. 



423 



Welcome, my little tiny thief ; [to the Page.] and 
welcome, indeed, too. — I '11 drink to master Bar- 
dolph, and to all the cavaleroes about London. 

Davy. I hope to see London once ere 1 die. 

Bard. An 1 might see you there, Davy, — 

Hhal. By the mass, you '1! crack a quart together. 
Ha ! will you not, master Bardolph I 

Bard. Yes, sir, in a pottle pot. 

Shal. I thank thee : — The knave will stick by thee, 
lean assure thee that : he will not out ; he is true bred. 

Bard. And I '11 stick by him, sir. 

Shal. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing : be 
ineiry. [Knocking heard.] Look who's at door there: 
Ho! who knocks] [Exit Davy. 

Fal. Why, now you have done me right. 

[To Silence, who driiilis a bumper. 

Sil. Do me right, [Singing. 

And dub me knight: 
Samiiigo. 



Why, then say, an old man can do 



Is't not so T 

Fal. 'Tis so. 

SiL Is 't so t 
somewhat. 

Re-enter Davy. 

Davy. An it pleasie your worship, there's one 
Pistol come from the court with news. 

Fal. From the court, let him come in. — 

Enter Pistol. 
How now, Pistol ■? 

Fist. God save you, sir John ! 

Fal. What wind blew you hither, Pistol 1 

Pist. Not the ill wind which blows no man to 
good. — Sweet knight, thou art now one of the great- 
est men in the realm. 

Sil. By'r lady, I think 'a be ; but goodmaii Puff 
of Barson. 

Pist. Puff? 
Puffin tliy teeth, most recreant coward base ! — ■ 
Sir John, I am thy Pistol, and thy friend, 
And helter-skelter have I rode to thee ; 
And tidings do 1 bring, and lucky jo^'s, 
And golden times, and happy news of price. 

Fal. I pr'ythee now, deliver them like a man of 
this world. 

Pist. A foutra for the world, and worldings base ! 
I speak of Africa, and golden joys. 

Fal. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news ? 
Let king Cophetua know the truth thereof. 

Sil. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. [Sings. 

Fiat. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons 1 
And shall good news be baffled ? 
Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. 

Shal. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding 

Pist. Why then, lament, therefore. 

iSVia^ Give me pardon, sir; — If, sir, you come with 
news from the court, I take it, there is but two ways ; 
either to utter them, or to conceal them. I am, sir, 
under the king, in some authority. 

Pist. Under which king, Bezonian] speak, or die. 

Shal. Under king Harry. 

Pist. ilarry the fourtli'? or fifth t 

Shal. Harry the fourth. 

Pist. A foutra for thine office ! — 

Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king ; 
Harry the fifth's the man. I speak the truth : 
When Pistol lies, do this ; and fig me, like 
The bragging Spaniard. 

Fal. \Vhat ! is the old king dead 1 

Pist. As nail in door: the things I speak, are just. 

Fal. Away, Bardolph; saddle my horse. — Master 
Robert Shallow, choose what oHice thou wilt in the 



land, 'tis thine. — Pistol, I will double-charge thee 
with dignities. 

Bard. O joyful day! — I would not take a knight- 
hood for my fortune. 

Pist. What"! 1 do brmg good news'? 

Fal. Carry master Silence to bed. — Master Shal- 
low, my lord Shallow, be what thou wilt, I am for- 
tune's steward. Get on thy boots : we'll ride all night: 
— O, sweet Pistol: — Away, Bardolph. [Exit Baud.] 
— Come, Pistol, utter more to me ; and, withal, de- 
vise somethinp^, to do thyself good. — Boot, boot, 
master Shallow : I know the young king is sick for 
me. Let us take any man's horses ; the laws of Eng- 
land are at my commandment. Happy are they which 
have been my friends ; and woe to my lord chief 
justice I 

Pist. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also 
Where is the life that late I led, say they ; 
Why, here it is ; Welcome these pleasant days. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— London. A Street. 

Enter Beadles, dragging in Hostess Quickly and 
Doll Tear-sheet. 

Host, No, thou arrant knave ; I would I might die, 
that I might have thee hang'd : thou hast drawn my 
shoulder out of joint. 

1 Bead. Tiie constables have delivered her over to 
me : and she shall have whipping-cheer enough, I 
warrant her ; there hath been a man or two lately 
killed about her. 

Doll. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; I'll 
tell thee what, thou damned tripe visaged rascal; aa 
the child I now go with, do miscarry, tiiou hadst better 
thou hadst struck thy mother, thou paper- faced villain. 

Host. O the Lord, that sir John were come ! he 
would make this a bloody day to somebody. But I 
pray God the fruit of her womb miscarry ! 

1 Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions 
again ; you have but eleven now. Come, 1 charge you 
both to go with me ; for the man is dead, that you 
and Pistol beat among you. 

Doll. I '11 tell thee what, thou thin man in a censer ! 
I will have you as soundly swinged for this, you blue- 
bottle rogue! you filthy famished correctioner ; if 
you be not swinged, 1 will forswear half-kirtles. 

i Bead. Come, come, you she knight-errant, come. 

Host. O, that right should thus overcome might! 
Well ; of sufferance comes ease. 

Doll. Come, you rogue, come ; bringme to a justice. 

Host. Ay ; come, you starved blood-hound. 

Doll. Goodman death ! goodman bones I 

Host. Thou atomy thou. 

Doll. Come, you thin thing ; come, you rascal ! 

1 Bead. Very well. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — A public Place near Westminster Abbey. 
Enter two Grooms, strewing rushes. 

1 Groom. More rushes, more rushes. 

2 Groom. The trumpets have sounded twice. 

1 Groom. It will be two o'clock ere they come from 
the coronation ; Despatch, despatch. [£xeit«<Grooms 

Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Pistol, BARDOLrn, 
and the Page. 

Fal. Stand here by me, master Robert Shallow , 
1 will make the king do you grace : I will leer upon 
him, as 'a comes by ; and do but mark the counte- 
nance that he will give me. 

Pist. God bless thy lungs, good knight. 

Fal. Come here. Pistol ; stand behind me. — 0. if 



424 



KING HENRY IV.— PART li. 



I had had time to have made new liveries, I would 
have bestowed the thousand pound I borrowed of you. 
[To Shallow.] But 'tis no matter ; this poor show 
doth better : this doth infer the zeal I had to see him. 

Shal. It doth so. 

Fal. It shews my earnestness of afTection. 

Shal. It doth so. 

Fal. My devotion. 

Shal. It doth, it doth, it doth. 

Fal. As it were, to ride day and night ; and not 
to deliberate, not to remember, not to have patience 
to shift me. 

Shut. It is most certain. 

Fal. But to stand stained with travel, and sweat- 
ing with desire to see him : thinking of nothing else ; 
putting all aflfairs else in oblivion ; as if there were 
nothing else to be done, but to see him. 

Pist. 'Tis semper idem, for absque hoc nihil est: 'Tis 
all in every part. 

Shal. 'Tis so, indeed. 

Pist. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver, 
And make thee rage. 

Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts, 
Is in base durance, and contagious prison ; 
Haul'd thither 

By most mechanical and dirty hand : — 
Rouze up revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto's 
For Doll is in ; Pistol speaks nought but truth, [snake, 

Fal. I will deliver her. 

[Shouts within, and the trumpets sou7id. 

Pist. There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor 
sounds. 

Enter the King and his Train, the Chief Justice 
among them. 

Fal. God save thy grace, king Hal ! my royal Hal ! 

Pist. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal 
imp of fame ! 

Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy ! 

King. My lord chief justice, speak to that vain man. 

Ch. Just. Have you your wits? know you what 'tis 
you speak ] 

Fal. My king ! my Jove ! I speak to thee, my heart ! 

King. 1 know thee not, old man : Fall to thy prayers; 
How ill white hairs become a fool, and jester ! 
I have long dream'd of such a kind of man. 
So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane ; 
But, being awake, I do despise my dream. 
Make less thy body, hence, and more thy grace ; 
Leave gormandizing ; know, the grave doth gape 
For thee thrice wider than for other men : — 
Reply not to me with a fool-born jest ; 
Presume not, that I am the thing I was : 
For heaven doth know, so shall the world perceive, 
That I have turn'd away my former self ; 
So will I those who kept me company. 
When thou dost hear I am as 1 have been, 
Approach me ; and thou shalt be as thou wast. 
The tutor and the feeder of my riots : 
Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death, — 
As I have done the rest of my misleaders, — 
Not to come near our person by ten mile, 
for competence of life, I will allow you, 
"hat lack of means enforce you not to evil : 
And, as we hear you do reform yourselves, 
We will, — accordmg to your strength, and qualities, — 
Give you advancement. — Be it your charge, my lord. 
To see perfonn'd the tenor of our word. — 
Set on. [Eretint Kino and, his Train. 

Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound. 

Shal. Ay, marry, sir John; which 1 beseech you 
to let me have home with me. 



Fal. That can hardly be, master Shallow. Do not 
you grieve at this ; I shall be sent for in private to 
him: look you, he must ssem thus to the world. Feai 
not your advancement ; I will be the man yet, that 
shall make you great. 

Shal. I cannot perceive how ; unless you give roe 
your doublet, and stuff' me out with straw. I beseech 
you, good sir John, let me have five hundred of my 
thousand. 

Fal. Sir, I will be as good as my word : this that 
you heard, was but a colour. 

Shot. A colour, 1 fear, that you will die in, sji 
John. 

Fal. Fear no colours ; go with me to dinner. Come, 
lieutenant Pistol; — come, Bardolph ; — 1 shall be 
sent for soon at night. 

Re-enter Prince John, the Chief Justkt,, 
Officers, &)C. 

Ch. Just. Go, carry sir John FalstafT to the Fleet j 
Take all his company along with him. 

Fal. My lord, my lord, 

C/(. J%ist. I cannot now speak : I will hear you soon. 
Take them away. 

Pist. Si Jhrtuna me tormenta, spern me C07itenta, 
[Ex. Fal. Shal. Pist. Bard. Page, &i Officers. 

}'. John. I like this fair proceeding of the king's* 
lie hath intent, his wonted followers 
Shall all be very well provided for ; 
But all are banish'd, till their conversations 
Appear more wise and modest to the world. 

Ch. Jnst. And so they are. 

P. John. The king hath call'd his parliament, my 

Ch. Just. He hath. [lord. 

P. John. I will lay odds, — that, ere this year expire, 
We bear our civil swords, and native fire. 
As far as France : I heard a bird so sing. 
Whose music, to ray thinking, pleas'd the king. 
Come, will you hence? [Exeunt. 



EPILOGUE. 
Spoken by a Dancer. 

First, my fear ; then, my court'sy : last, my speech. 
JMy fear is, your displeasure ; my court'sy, my duty ; 
and my speech, to beg your pardons. If you look foi 
a good speech now, you undo me : for what I have to 
say, is of mine own making ; and what, indeed, I 
should say, will, I doubt, prove mine own marring. 
But to the purpose, and so to the venture-^Be it 
known to you, (as it is very well,) 1 was lately here 
in the end of a displeasing play, to pray your patience 
for it, and to promise you a better. I did mean, in- 
deed, to pay you with this ; which, if, like an ill ven- 
ture, it come unluckily home, I break, and you, my 
gentle creditors, lose. Here, I promised you, I would 
be, and here I commitmy body to yourmercies : bate 
me some, and I will pay you some, and, as most 
debtors do, promise you infinitely. 

If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, will 
you command me to use my legs 1 and yet that were 
but light payment, — to dance out of your debt. But 
a good conscience will make any possible satisfaction, 
and so will I. All the gentlewomen here have for- 
given me ; if the gentlemen will not, then the gen- 
tlemen do not agree with the gentlewomen, which was 
never seen before in such an assembly. 

One word more, I beseech you. If you be not too 
much cloyed with fat meat, our humble author will 
continue the story, with Sir John in it, and make you 
merry with fair Katherine of France : where, for anj 



ACT v.— SCENE V. 



42£> 



thing 1 know, FalstafF shall Jie of a sweat, unless 
already he be killed with your iiaid opinions ; for 
Oldcastle died a martyr, and tliis is not the man. My 



tongue is weary ; when my legs are too, I will bid 
you good night; and so kneel down before you- but, 
indeed, to pray for liie queen. 



I fancy eiery reader, when he ends this play, cries out with 
Desdeniona, *' O most lame and impotent conclusion !" As this 
play was not, to our knowledge, divided into acts by the author, 
I could be content to concluJe it with the death of Henry the 
I'ourth : 

" In that Jerusalem shall Harry die." 

These scenes, whiih now malie the filih act of Henry the 
Fourth, might then be the first of Henry the tilth ; but the truth 
if that ihey do not unite very coinmodiousfy to either play. 
^Vhen these plays were rei)resented, i believe they ended as 
they are now ended in the books ; but shaltspeare steins to have 
designed that tlit- whole series of action, frmn the betciniiini; of 
liicJiard the 'Second, to the eiul of lleury the ttjfh, shotild be con- 
sidered by the reader as one work, upon one plan, ouly broken 
into parts by the necessity cf exhitiiiion. 

None of Shakspeare's plnysare more read than the First and 
Second Parts of Henry the Fourth. Perhaps no autlior has ever, 
in two plays, afforded so inuch delight. I hi' Kre-it events are 
interesting, for the fate of kingdoms depends upon them ; tlie 
slighter occurrences are diverting, and, excejit one or two, suf- 
ficiently probable ; the incidents are niultiplied with woiulerful 
fertility of invention, and the characters diversified with the 
utmost nicety of discernment, and the profoundest skill in the 
nature of man. 

The prince, who is the hero both of the comic and tragic part. 
Is a young man of great aliiliiies and violent i>assions, whose 
sentiments are right, though his actions are wrong ; whose vir- 
tues are obscured by negliu-ence, and ^vhose understaiuling is 
dissipated by levity. In his idle hours he is rather loose than 
■wicked ; and when the occasion forces out his latent qualities, 
he is great without effort, and brave without tumult. The triller ' 



is roused into a hero, and the hero again reposes in the trifier. 
the character is great, original, and just. 

Percy is a rugged soldier, choleric, and quarrelsome, and has 
only the soldier s virtues, generosity and courage. 

Hut Kalstaff, unimitated, unimitable Falstaff.how shall I de- 
scribe thee ! thou compound ol sense and vice ; of sense which 
may be adnured, but not esteemed ; of vice, which may be de- 
.spised, but hardly detested. I'alstaff is a character loaded with 
faults, and with those iaults which naturally produce contemiit. 
lie IS a thiet and a glutton, a coward anil a boaster, always 
re.idy to cheat the weak, and prey upon the poor ; to terrify the 
timorous, and insult the delenceless At once obsequious and 
inalignant, he satirizes m their absence those whom he lives 
by flattering. He is lamiliar with the prince only as an agent 
of vice, but of this familiarity he is so proud, as not only to be 
supercil.ous and haughty with common men, but to think his 
interest ol importance to the Uuke of Lancaster. Vet the man 
thus corrupt, thus dispicable, makes himself necessary to the 
prince that despises hun, by the most pleasing of all qualities, 
perpetual gaiety, by an unfailing power of exciting laughter 
which IS the more treely indulued, as his witis not of the splen- 
did or amiiiiious kind, but consists in easy scapes and sallies of 
levity, which maKC sport, but raise no envy. It must be ob- 
servea, that he is stained with no enormous or sanguinary 
crimes, so that his licentiousness is not so offensive but that it 
may be borne for his mirth. 

The moral to be drawn from this representation is, that no 
man is more daiig.-rous than he that, with a will lo corrupt, hath 
the power to please ; and that ntiiher wit nor honesty oueht 
to think themselves safe with such a companion, when they see 
Henry seduced by FalstatT.— JonNso,N. 



KING HENRY V. 



This play was entered on the Stationers' books, August It, 
1600, and printed in the same year. It was written alter the 
Second Part of King Henry I V., being promised in the ejii- 
logue to that play ; and while the earl of Kssex was in Irelaiul, 
as we learn from the chorus to the fifth act. Lord Essex 
went to Ireland, April 15, 1599, and returned to London 
on the 28th of September in the same year. So that this 



play must have been produced between April and September. 
1599. 

The transactions comiirised in this Historical Play commence 
about the latter end of the first, ami terminate in the eighth, 
year of this king's reii-'n ; when he married Katharine princess 
ot France, and closed up the differences betwixt England and 
that crown.— M ALONE awi/TUEOBALD. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

King Henry the Fifth. 

Duke of Gi.oster, > , ^, , ., t-- 

D-r, > brothers to the King-. 

UKE OF BEDFOnO, ^ ° 

Duke of Exeter, uncle to the King. 

Duke of York, cousin to the King. 

EarlsofSalisbury, Westmoreland, fjjtd Warwick. 

Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Bishop of Ely. 

Earl of Cambridge, "^ 

Lord Scroop, ^ conspirators against theKing. 

Sir Thomas Grey, j 

Sir Thomas Erpingha.m, Gower, Fluei.len, Mac- 
morris, J AMY, officers in King Henry's army. 

Bates, Court, Williams, soldiers in the same. 

Nym, Bardolph, Pistol, formerly servants to Fal- 
staff, noiv soldiers in the same. 

Boy, servant to them. 

A Herald. Chorus. 

CnARX.ES the Sixth, King (>/" France. 

Lewis, the Dauphin. 

DuKKS of Burgundy, Orieans, and Bourbon. 

The Constable of France. 

Ramburfs, n»rf Grandpree, French lordi. 

Governor of Ilarfleur. 

MoNTjOY, a French herald. 

Ambassadors to the King of England. 

Isabt.l, Queen oj France. 

Katharine, daughter of Charles and Isabel. 



Alice, a lady attending on the Princess Katharine. 
Quickly, Pistol's wife, an hostess. 

Lords, Ladies, Officers, French and English Soldiers, 
Messeiigers and A tten,dants. 

The SCENE, at the beginning of the Play, lies in Eng 
land j but afterwards wholly in France. 



E7iter Chorus. 

O, for a muse ot fire, that would ascend 
The briglitest heaven of invention! 
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act. 
And nionarchs to behold the swelling- scene ! 
Then should the warlike Harry, like°himself, 
Assume the port of Mars ; and, at his heels, 
Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire 
Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all. 
The flat unraised spirit, tliat hath dar'd. 
On this unworthy scaffold, to bring forth 
So great an object : Can this cockpit iiold 
The vasty fields of France I or may we cram 
Within this wooden O, the very castpies. 
That did affright the air at Agincourt ? 
O, pardon ! since a crooked figure may 
Attest, in little place, a million ; 
And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, 
On your imaginary forces work : 
Suppose, with'n the girdle of these walls 



42t> 



KING HENRY V. 



Are now confin'd two mighty monarcliies, 

Whose high upreaied and abutting fronts 

The perilous, narrow ocean parts asunder. 

Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts ; 

Into a thousand parts divide one man, 

And make imaginary puissance : 

Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them 

Printing their proud hoofs i'tlie receiving earth : 

For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, 

Carry them here and there ; jumping o'er times ; 

Turning the accomplishment of many years 

Into an hour-glass ; For the which supply, 

Admit me chorus to this history : 

Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray, 

Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. 

London An Ante-chamber in the King's Palace, 

Enter the ARCnBisnop of Canterburv, and 
Bishop of Ely. 

Cant. My lord, I'll tell you,— that self bill is urg'd. 
Which, in the eleventh year o' the last king's reign 
Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd, 
But that the scambling and unquiet time 
Did push it out of further question. 

Ely. But how, my lord, shall we resist it now 1 

Cunt. It must be thought on. If it pass against us, 
W^e lose the better half of our possession : 
For all the temporal lands, which men devout 
By testament have given to the church, 
Would they stiip from us ; being valued thus, — 
As much as would maintain, to the king's honour, 
Full fifteen earls, and fifteen hundred knights ; 
Six thousand and two hundred good esquires ; 
And, to relief of lazars, and weak age. 
Of indigent faint souls, past corporal toil, 
A hundred alms- houses, right well supplied ; 
And to the coflers of the king beside, 
A thousand pounds by the year : Thus runs the bill. 

Ell/. This would drink deep. 

Cant. 'Twould drink the cup and all. 

Ely. But what prevention ] 

Cant. The king is full of grace, and fair regard. 

Ely. And a true lover of the holy church. 

Cant. The courses of his youth promis'd it not. 
The breath no sooner left his father's body, 
But that his wildness, mortified in him, 
Seem'd to die too : yea, at that very moment, 
Consideration like an angel came, 
And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him ; 
Leaving his body as a paradise. 
To envelop and contain celestial spirits. 
Never was such a sudden sciiolar made : 
Never came reformation in a Hood, 
With sucli a heady curient, scouring faults ; 
Nor never Hydra headed wiifiilness 
So soon did lose Ills seat, and all at once, 
As in this king. 

Ely. We are blessed in the change. 

Cunt. Hear him but reason in divinity, 
And, all-admiring, with an inward wish 
Vou would desire, the king were made a prelate; 
Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, 
You would say, — it hath been all-in-all his study: 
List his discourse of war, and you shall hear 
A fearful battle render'd you in music : 
Turn him to any cause of policy. 
The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, 



Familiar as his garter ; that, when he speaks, 

The air, a ciiarter'd libertine, is still, 

And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears. 

To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences , 

So tliat the art and practic part of life 

Must be tiie mistress to this theoric : 

Which is a wonder, how his grace should glean it. 

Since his addiction was to courses vain : 

His companies unletter'd, rude, and shallow ; 

His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports ; 

And never noted in him any study. 

Any retirement, any sequestration 

From open haunts and popularity. 

Elii. The strawberry grows underneath the nettle: 
And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best, 
Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality : 
And so tlie prince obscur'd his contemplation 
Under the veil of wildness ; which, no doubt. 
Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, 
Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty. 

Cant. It must be so ; for miracles are ceas'd ; 
And therefore we must needs admit the means, 
How things are perfected. 

E/i/. But, my good lord, 

How now for mitigation of this bill, 
Urg'd by the commons 1 Doth his majesty 
Incline to it, or no 1 

Cant. He seems IndifFerent ; 

Or, rather, swaying more upon our part, 
Than cherishing the exhibiters against us : 
For I have made an offer to his majesty, — 
Upon our spiritual convocation ; 
And in regard of causes now in hand. 
Which I have open'd to his grace at large, 
As touching France, — to give a greater sum 
I'han ever at one time the clergy yet 
Did to his predecessors part wiihal. 

Ely. How did this offer seem receiv'd, my lord 1 

Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty ; 
Save, that there was not time enough to Fiear 
(As I perceiv'd his grace would fain have done,) 
The severals, and unhidden passages. 
Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms ; 
And, generally, to the crown and seat of France, 
Deiiv'd from Edward, his great grandfather. 

EUi. What was the impediment that broke this off"? 

Cant. The French ambassador, upon that instant, 
Crav'd audience : and the hour, I think, is eome. 
To give him hearing : Is it four o'clock 1 

Kill. It is. 

Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy ; 
Which I could, with a ready guess, declare, 
Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. 

Ely. I'll wait upon you ; and 1 long to hear it. 

[ExeuKf, 

SCENE II. — The same. A Room of State in the same. 

Enter King Henbv, Gloster, Bedford, ExfirR. 
Warwick, W^estmoreland, and Attendants. 

A'. Hen. Wliere is my gracious lord of Canterbury 1 

Exe. Not here in presence. 

A'. Hen. Send for him, good uncle. 

West. Shall we call in the ambassador, my Hegel 

A. Hen. Not yet, my cousin ; we would be resolv'd, 
Before we hear him, of some things of weight, 
That task our thoughts, concerning us and France. 

Enter tlie Archbishoi' of Cantekburv and 
Bishop of Elv. 
Cant. God and his angels, guard your sacred throne. 
And make you long btcome it ! 

K. Hen, Sure, we thank you. 



ACT I.— SCENE II. 



427 



My learned lord, we pray you to proceed ! 
And justly and religiously unfold, 
Wiiy the law Salique, that they have in France, 
Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim. 
And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, 
That you should fashion, rest, or bow your reading, 
Or nicely charge your understanding soul 
With opening titles miscreate, whose right 
Suits not in native colours with the truth ; 
F'or God dotli know, how many, now in health, 
Shall drop their blood in approbation 
Of what your reverence sliall incite us to : 
'J'herefore take heed how you impawn our person. 
How you awake the sleeping sword of war : 
We charge you in the name of God, take heed : 
For never two such kingdoms did contend. 
Without much fall of blood ; whose guiltless drops 
Are every one a woe, a sore complaint, 
'Gainst him whose wrongs give edge unto the swords 
That make such waste in brief mortality. 
Under this conjuration, speak, my lord : 
And we will hear, note, and believe in heart, 
That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd 
As pure as sin with baptism. [peers, 

Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign, — and you 
That owe your lives, your faith, and services, 
To tliis imperial throne ; — There is no bar 
i'o make against your highness claim to France, 
But this, which tliey produce from Pharamond, — 
Jn terrain Salicam mul.ieres iii succedant, 
A'o woman sliall succeed in Salique land : 
Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze, 
To be the realm of France, and Pharamond 
I'he founder of this law and female bar. 
Yet tlieir own authors faithfully affirm. 
That tlie land Salique lies in Germany, 
lietween the floods of Sala and of E\hn : 
Where Charles the great, having subdued the Saxons, 
'i'here left behind and settled certain French ; 
\V'ho, holding in disdain the German women, 
For some dishonest manners of their life, 
Establish'd there this law, — to wit, no female 
Sliould be inheritrix in Salique land ; 
Which Salique, as 1 said, 'twixt Elbe and Saia, 
Is at this day in Germany cail'd — Meisen. 
Thus doth it well appear, the Salique law 
Was nut devised for the realm of France ; 
Nor did the French possess the Salique land 
Until four hundred one and twenty years 
After defunction of king Pharamond, 
Idly suppos'd the founder of this law ; 
Who died within the year of our redemption 
Four hundred twenty-six ; and Charles the great 
Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French 
Beyond the river Sala, in the year 
Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, 
King Pepin, which deposed Childerick, 
Did, as heir genera), being descended 
Of Blitliild, which was daughter to king Clothair, 
]\Iake claim and title to the crown of France. 
Hugh Capet also, — that usurp'd the crown 
Of Charles tlie duke of Lorain, sole heir male 
Of the true line and stock of Charles the great, — 
To fine iiis title with some show of truth, 
(Thougii, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught,) 
Convey'd liimself as heir to the lady Lingare, 
Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son 
To Lewis the emperor, and i^ewis the son 
Of Cliarles tlie great. Also king Lewis the tenth, 
W'ho was sole heir to the usurper Capet, 
Could not keep quiet in his conscience. 
Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied 



Tnat fair queen Isabel, his grandmother, 
Was lineal of the lady Erniengare, 
Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorain : 
By tlie which marriage, the line ot Charles the greal 
Was re-united to the crown of France. 
So that, as clear as is the summer's sun. 
King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's clami, 
King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear 
To hold in right and title of the ieinale : 
So do the kings of France unto this day ; 
Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law. 
To bar your highness claiming from the female ; 
And rather choose to hide them in a net. 
Than amply to iinbare their crooked titles 
Usurp'd from you and your progenitors, [this claim? 
K. Hen. May I, with right and conscience, make 

Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign ' 
For in the book of Numbers is it writ, — 
When the son dies, let the inheritance 
Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord. 
Stand for your own ; unwind your bloody flag , 
Look back unto your mighty ancestors • 
Go, my dread lord, to your great grandsire s tomb, 
From whom you claim ; invoke his warlike spirit, 
And your great uncle's, Edvvard the black prince ; 
Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, 
Making defeat on the full power of France ; 
Whiles his most mighty father on a hill 
Stood smiling, to behold his lion's whelp 
Forage in blood of French nobility. 
O noble English, that could entertain 
With half their forces the full pride of France ; 
And let another half stand laughing by, 
All out of work, and cold for action ! 

Ely. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead, 
And with your puissant arm renew their feats : 
You are their heir, you sit upon their throne ; 
I'he blood and courage, that renowned them. 
Runs in your veins ; and my thrice-puissant liege 
Is in tiie very May-morn of his youth, 
Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprizes. 

Eie. Your brother kings and monarchs of the eartli. 
Do all expect that you should rouse yourself. 
As did the former lions of your blood, [and might; 

Iffsf. They know, yourgrace hath cause, and means, 
So hath your highness ; never king of England 
Had nobles richer, and more loyal subjects ; 
Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England, 
And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. 

Cant. 0, let their bodies follow, my dear liege, 
With blood, and sword, and fire, to win your right 
In aid whereof, we of the spiritualty 
Will raise your highness such a mighty sum. 
As never did the clergy at one time 
Bring in to any of your ancestors. 

A. Hen. Wemustnotonlyaim to invade theFronch, 
But lay down our proportions to defend 
Against the Scot, who will make road upon us 
W ith all advantages. 

Cunt. They of those marches, gracious sovereign, 
Shall be a wall sufficient to defend 
Our itiJand from the pilfering borderers. 

A. ilen. We do not mean the coursing snatcheis 
But feai' tiie main intendment of the Scot, [only. 
Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us ; 
For you shall read, that my great grandfather 
Never went with Ids forces into France, 
But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kin^fdom 
Came pouring, like the tide into a breach, 
\\ ith ample and brim fulness of his force ; 
Gailiug the gleaned land with hot essays . 
Girding with grievous siege, castles and towns j 



4-28 



KING HENRY V. 



That England, being empty of defence, 

Hath shook, and trembled at the ill-neighbourhood. 

Cant. She hath been then more fear'd than harm'd. 
For hear her but exampled by herself, — [my liege : 
When all her chivalry hath been in France, 
And she a mourning widow of her nobles, 
She halh herself not only well defended, 
But taken, and impounded as a stray. 
The king of Scots ; whom she did send to France, 
To fill king Edward's fame with prisoner kings ; 
And make your chronicle as rich with praise. 
As is the ooze and bottom of the sea 
With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries. 

West. But there's a saying, very old and true, — 
Ij that you will France win. 
Then with Scotlajidjiist begin ; 
For once the eagle England being in prey, 
To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot 
Comes sneaking, and so sucks her princely eggs ; 
Playing the mouse, in absence of the cat, 
To spoil and havoc more than she can eat. 

Exe. It follows then, the cat must stay at home : 
Yet that is but a curs'd necessity ; 
Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries. 
And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. 
While that the armed hand doth fight abroad. 
The advised head defends itself at home : 
For Government, though high, and low, and lower, 
Put into parts, doth keep in one concent ; 
Congruing in a full and natural close, 
Like music. 

Cant. True : therefore doth heaven divide 

The state of man in divers functions. 
Setting endeavoui in continual motion ; 
I'o wliich is fixed, as an aim or butt. 
Obedience : for so work the honey bees ; 
Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach 
The act of order to a peopled kingdom. 
They iiave a king, and officers of sorts : 
Where some, like magistrates, correct at home ; 
Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad; 
Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings. 
Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds ; 
Which pillage they with merry march bring home 
To the tent- royal of their emperor : 
Who, busied in his majesty, surveys 
The singing masons buildin^' roofs of gold ; 
The civil citizens kneading up the honey ; 
The poor mechanic porters crouding in 
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gale ; 
The sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum. 
Delivering o'er to executors pale 
The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, — 
That many things, having full reference 
To one concent, may work contrariously ; 
As many arrows, loosed several ways. 
Fly to one mark ; 

As many several ways meet m one town ; 
As many fresh streams run in one self sea ; 
As many lines close in the dial's center ; 
So many a thousand actions, once afoot. 
End in one purpose, and be all well borne 
Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. 
Divide your happy England into four ; 
Whereof take you one quarter into France, 
And you withal shall make all (Jallia shake. 
If we, with thrice that power left at home, 
Cannot defend our own door from the dog. 
Let us be worried ; and our nation lose 
The name of hardiness, and policy. [phin. 

A. Hen. Call in the messengers sent from the Dau- 

\Exil an Attendant. The King ascends his throne. 



Now are we well resolv d ; and, — by God's help ; 
And yours, the noble sinews of our power, — 
France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe. 
Or break it all to pieces : Or there we'll sit, 
Ruling, in large and ample empery. 
O'er France, and all her almost kingly dukedoms . 
Or lay tliese bones in an unworthy urn, 
Tombless, with no remembrance over them : 
Eitiier our history shall, with full mouth, 
Sjjeak freely of our acts ; or else our grave. 
Like Turkish mute shall have a tongueless mouth, 
jSot worship'd with a waxen epitaph. 

Enter Ambassadors n/' France. 

Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasure 
Of our fair cousin Dauphin ; for, we hear. 
Your greeting is from him, not from the king. 

Amb. May it please your majesty, to give us leave 
Freely to render what we have in charge ; 
Or shall we sparingly shew you far oft' 
I'he Dauphin's meaning, and our embassy? 

A'. Hen. We>„are no tyrant, but a Christian king; 
Unto whose grace our passion is as subject. 
As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons : 
Therefore, with frank and with uncurbed plainness 
Tell us the Dauphin's mind. 

Amb. Thus, then, in few. 

Your highness, lately sending into France, 
Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right 
Ol your great predecessor, king Edward the third. 
In answer of which claim, the prince our master 
Says, — that you savour too much of your youth ; 
And bids you be advis'd, there's nought in France, 
That can be with a nimble galliard won ; 
You cannot revel into dukedoms there : 
He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, 
TLis tun of treasure ; and, in lieu of this. 
Desires you, let the dukedoms, that you claim. 
Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks. 

K. Hen. What treasure, uncle? 

Exe. Tennis-balls, my liege. 

K. Hen. We are glad, the Dauphin is so pleasant 
witii us ; 
His present, and your pains, we thank you for : 
When we have match'd our rackets to these balls. 
We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set, 
Shn.r strike his father's crown into the hazard : 
Tell him, he hath made a match with such a wrangler, 
That all the courts of France will be disturb'd 
\Vith chaces. And we understand him well. 
How he comes o'er us with our wilder days. 
Not measuring what use we made of them. 
We never valu'd this poor seat of England ; 
And therefore, living hence, did give ourself 
To barbarous license ; As 'tis ever common. 
That men are merriest when they are from home. 
But tell the Dauphin, — I will keep my state ; 
Be like a king, and shew my sail of greatness. 
When I do rouse me in my throne of France: 
For that I have laid by my majesty. 
And plodded like a man for working days 
But 1 will rise there with so full a glory, 
I'hat I will dazzle all the eyes of France, 
Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. 
And tell the pleasant prince, — this mock of his 
llath turn'd his balls to gun-stones ; and his soul 
Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance 
I'hat shall flv with them : for many a thousand widows 
Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbaiids; 
Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down: 
And some are yet ungotteii, and unborn. 
That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn. 




KING HENRY V. 

Bardolph. He that Btrikes the first stroke, I'll run him up to the 
hilts, aa I am a soldier. 

.•<.■( Jl.. Srrnc 1 



I 



ACT 11.— SCENE I. 



4-29 



But this lies all within the wilf of God, 

To whom 1 do appeal ; And in wliose name, 

Tell you the Dauphin, 1 am coming on. 

To venge me as 1 may, and to put forth 

]My rightful hand in a vvell-hallow'd cause, 

So, get you hence in peace ; and tell liie Dauphin, 

His jest will savour but of shallow wit. 

When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it. — 

Convey them with safe conduct. — Fare you well. 

[E.reniiL Ambassadors. 

Ere. This was a merry message. 

A'. Hen. We hope to make the sender olush at it. 
[^Descends from his throne. 
Tlierefore, my .ords, omit no happy hour. 
That may give furtherance to our expedition : 
For v/e have now no thought in us but France ; 
Save those to God, that run before our business. 
1'herefore, let our proportions for these wars 
Be soon collected ; and all things thought upon, 
'J'hat may, with reasonable swiftness, add 
Wore feathers to our wings ; for, God before, 
We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door. 
Therefore, let every man now task his thought, 
That this fair action may on foot be brought. \^Exeunl. 



ACT 11. 

Enter Chorus. 

Chor. Now all the youth of England are on fire, 
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies ; 
Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought 
Reigns solely in the breast of every man : 
They sell the pasture now, to buy the horse; 
Following the mirror of all Christian kings. 
With winged heels, as English Rlercuries, 
For now sits Expectation in the air ; 
And hides a sword from hilts unto the point. 
With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets, 
Promis'd to Harry, and his followers. 
The French, advis'd by good intelligence 
Of this most dreadful preparation. 
Shake in their fear ; and with pale policy 
Seek to divert the English purposes. 
O England ! — model to thy inward greatness. 
Like little body with a mighty heart, — 
What might'st thou do, tliat honour would thee do, 
W^ere all thy children kind and natural ! 
But see thy fault ! I^rance hath in thee found out 
A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills 
With treacherous crowns ; and three corrupted men, — 
One, Richard earl of Cambridge ; and the second, 
Henry lord Scroop of Rlasham ; and the third. 
Sir Thomas Grey knight of Northumberland, — 
Have, for the gilt of France, (O guilt, indeed !) 
Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France ; 
And by their hands this grace of kings must die, 
(If hell and treason hold their promis^js,) 
Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. 
Linger your patience on ; and well digest 
The abuse of distance, while we force a play. 
The sum is paid ; the traitors are agreed ; 
The king is set from London ; and the scene 
Ls now transported, gentles, to Southampton : 
Theie is the playhouse now, there must you sit : 
And thence to France shall we convey you safe, 
And bring you back, charming the narrow seas 
To give you gentle pass ; for, if we may, 
^V(;'11 not offend one stomach with our ]>lay. 
But, till the king come forth, and not till then. 
Unto Soulhampton do we shift our scene. [Ei/t. 



SCENE I The same. Eastcheap. 

Enter Nvm and B.^hdolph. 

Bard. Well met, corporal Nym. 

Kym. Good morrow, lieutenant Bardolph. 

Bard. What, are ancient Pistol and you friends yetl 

Nym. For my part, 1 care not ; 1 say little ; but 
when time shall serve, there shall be smiles ; — but 
tliat shall be as it may. 1 dare not fight; but I will 
wink, and hold out mine iron : It is a simple one; 
but what though ? It will toast cheese ; and it will 
endure cold as another man's sword will : and there's 
the humour of it. 

Bard. 1 will bestow a breakfast to make you 
friends ; and we'll be all three sworn brothers to 
France ; let it be so, good corporal Nym. 

Num. 'Faith, 1 will live so lung as 1 may, that's 
the ceitain of it ; and when 1 cannot live any longer, 
1 will do as I may : that is my rest, that is the ren- 
dezvous of it. 

Bard. It is certain, corporal, that he is married to 
Nell Quickly : and, certainly, she did you wrong ; 
for you were troth-plight to her. 

Nym. I cannot tell ; things must be as they may: 
men may sleep, and they may have their throats about 
them at that time ; and, some say, knives have edges. 
It must be as it may : though patience be a tired 
mare, yet she will plod. There must be conclusions. 
Well, I cannot tell. 

Enter Pistol and Mrs. Quickly. 

Bard. Here comes ancient Pistol, and his wife: — 
good corporal, be patient here. — How now, mine 
host Pistol ? 

Pist. Base tike, call'st thou me — host? 
Now, by this hand 1 swear, I scorn the term ; 
Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. 

Quick. Ko, by my troth, not long : for we cannot 
lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen, 
that live honestly by the prick of their needles, but 
it will be thought we keep a bawdy-house straight. 
[Nyw draivs his sword.] O well-a-day, Lady, if he 
be not drawn now! O Lord! here's corporal Nym's 
— now shall we have wilful adultery and murder com- 
mitted. Good lieutenant Bardolph, — good corporal, 
offer nothing here. 

Num. Pish ! 

Pist. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick- 
eared cur of Iceland. 

Quick. Good corporal Nym, shew the valour of a 
man, and put up thy sword. 

Nym. Will you shog oft"? I would have you solus. 

[SheatJiing his sword, 

Pist. Solus, egregious dog 1 O viper vile ! • 
The solus in thy most marvellous face ; 
The solus in thy teeth, and in thy throat. 
And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy ; 
And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth >. 
I do retort the solus in thy bowels ; 
For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up, 
And flashing fire will follow. 

Nym. 1 am not I'aibason : you cannot conjure me. 
I have an humour to knock you indifi'erently well ; If 
you grow foul with me. Pistol, 1 will scour you with 
my rapier, as I may, in fair terms : if you would walk 
off, 1 would prick your guts a little, in good terms, 
as I may ; and that's the humour of it. 

Pist. O braggard vile, and damned furious wight! 
The grave doth gape, and doting death is near ; 
Therefore e.xhale. [Pistol and Nvm draw. 

Bard. Hear me, hear me what I say : — he that 
strikes the tirst stroke, I'll run him ip to the hilts, as 
I am a soldier. [Draws,, 



430 



KING HENRY V, 



Fist. An oath of mickle might -, and fury shall abate. 
Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give; 
Thy spirits are most tall. 

Nym. I vi'ill cut thy throat, one time or other, in 
fair terms ; that is the humour of it. [again. 

Pht. Coupe le gorge, that's the v/ord 1 — I thee defy 

hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get ] 
No ; to the spital go, 

And from the powdering tub of infamy 
Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, 
Doll Tear-sheet she by name, and her espouse : 

1 have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly 
For the only she: and — Pauca, there's enough. 

Enter the Boy. 

Boy. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my mas- 
ter,— and you, hostess ; — he is very sick, and would 
to bed. — Good Bardolph, put thy nose between his 
sheets, and do the office of a warming-pan : 'faith, 
he's very ill. 

Bard. Away, you rogue. 

Quick. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding 
one of these days ; the king has killed his heart. — 
Good husband, come home presently. 

\ Exeunt Mrs. Quickly and Boy. 

Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends 1 We 
must to France together; Why, the devil, should we 
keep knives to cut one another's throats 1 

Pist. Let floods o'erswell.and fiends for foodhowl on ! 

Nym. You '11 pay me the eight shillings I won of 
you at betting. 

Pist. Base is the slave that pays. 

Nym. That now I will have ; that's the humour of it. 

Pist. As manhood shall compound ; Push home. 

Bard. By this sword, he that makes the first thrust 
I '11 kill him; by this sword, I will. [course. 

Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their 

Bard. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be 
friends : an thou wilt not, why then be enemies with 
me too. Pr'ythee, put up. 

Nym. I shall have my eight shillings, I won of 
yxju at betting? 

Pist, A noble shalt thou have, and present pay ; 
And liquor likewise will I give to thee. 
And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood : 
I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me ; — 
Is not this just ? — for I shall sutler be 
Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. 
Give me thy hand. 

Nym. I shall have my noble 1 

Pist. In cash most justly paid. 

Nym. Well then, that's the humour of it. 

Re enter Mrs. Quickly. 

Qtiick. As ever you came of women, come in quickly 
to sir John : Ah, poor heart I he is so shaked of a 
burning quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable 
to behold. Sweet men, come to him. 

Nym. Theking hath run bad humours on the knight, 
that 's the even of it. 

Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right ; 
His heart is fracted, and corroborate. 

Nym. The king is a good king : but it must be as 
it may ; he passes some humours and careers. 

Pist. Let us condole the knight ; for, lambkins, 
we will live. lExeunt, 

SCENE II. — Southampton. A Council Chamber. 
Enter Exeter, Bedford, and Westmoreland. 
Bed. 'Fore God, his grace is bold to trust these trai- 
Exe. They shall be apprehended by and by. [tors. 
West. How smooth and evendo theybear themselves! 
As if allegiance in their bosom sat. 



Crowned with faith, and constant loyalty. 

Bed. The king hath note of all that they intend, 
By interception which they dream not of. 

Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow. 
Whom he hath cloy'd and grac'd with princely fa- 
That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell [vours,— 
His sovereign's life to death and treachery ! 

Trumpet sounds. Enter King Henry, Scroop, 
Cambridge, Guey, Lords, and Attendants. 

A'. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard 
JMy lord of Cambridge, — and my kind lord of Ma- 
sham, — 
And you, my gentle knight, — give me your thoughts : 
Think you not, that the powers we bear with us, 
Will cut their passage through the force of France ; 
Doing the execution, and the act, 
For which we have in head assembled theml 

Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best 

A'. Hen. Idoubtnotthatsinceweare well persuaded, 
We carry not a heart with us from hence. 
That grows not in a fair consent with ours ; 
Nor leave not one behind, that doth not wish 
Success and conquest to attend on us. 

Cam. Never was monarch better fear'd, and lov'd 
Than is your majesty ; there 's not, I think, a subject, 
That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness 
Under the sweet shade of your government. 

Grey. f>en those, that were your father's enemies, 
Have steep'd their galls in honey ; and do serve you 
With hearts create of duty and of zeal. 

A'. Hen, We therefore have great cause of thankful. 
And shall forget the office of our hand, [ness ; 

Sooner than quittance of desert and merit. 
According to the weight and worthiness. 

Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil , 
And labour shall refresh itself with hope, 
To do your grace incessant services. 

K. Hen. We judge no less. — Uncle of Exeter, 
Enlarge the man committed yesterday. 
That rail'd against our person : we consider. 
It was excess of wine that set him on ; 
And, on his more advice, we pardon him. 

Scroop. That 's mercy, but too much security : 
Let him be punish'd, sovereign ; lest example 
Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. 

A'. Hen. O, let us yet be merciful. 

Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too. 

Grey, Sir, you shew great mercy, if you give him life. 
After the taste of much correction. 

K. Hen. Alas, your too much love and care of me 
Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch. 
If little faults, proceeding on distemper, 
Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye, 
When capital crimes,chew'd,swallow'd, and digested. 
Appear before us 1 — We '11 yet enlarge that man. 
Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, — in their dear 
And tender preservation of our person, — [care. 
Would have him punish'd. And now to our French 
Who are the late commissioners ? [causes j 

Cam. I, one, my lord; 
Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. 

Scroop. So did you me, my liege. 

Grey. And me, my royal sovereign. [yours : — 

A'. Hen. Then, Richard, earl of Cambridge there is 
There yours, lord Scroop of Masham — and, sir knight, 
Grey of Noithumberland, this same is yours — 
Read them ; and know, I know your worthiness. — 
My lord of Westmoreland, — and uncle Exeter, — 
We will aboard tonight. — Why, how now, gentle- 
What see you in those papers, that you lose [men 1 
So much complexion 1 — look ye, how they change ! 



ACT II.—SCENE III. 



4.31 



Their cheeks are paper. — Why, what read you there, 
That hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood 
Out of, appearance 1 

Cam. I do confess my fault ; 

And do submit me to your highness' mercy. 

Gieij. Hcronp. To which we all appeal. 

K. Hen. The mercy, that was quick in us but late, 
By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd: 
You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy ; 
For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, 
As dogs upon their masters, worrying them.— 
See you, my princes, and my noble peers, [here, — 
These English monsters ! JNIy lord of Cambridge 
You know, how apt our love was, to accord 
To furnish him with all appertinents 
}5elonging to his honour; and this man 
ilatli, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir'd. 
And sworn unto the practices of France, 
To kill us here in Hampton: to the which, 
This knight, no less for bounty bound to us 
Than Cambridge is, — hath likewise sworn. — EutO 
What shall I say to thee, lord Scroop; thou cruel, 
Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature! 
Thou, that did'st bear the key of all my counsels. 
That knew'st the very bottom of my soul. 
That almost might'st have coin'd me into gold, 
\\'ould'st thou have practis'd on me for thy use 1 
JVIay it be possible, that foreign hire 
Could out of thee extract one spark of evil, 
'Ihat might annoy my finger"! tis so strange, 
That, though the truth of it stands off as gross 
As black from white, my eye will scarcely see it. 
Treason, and murder, ever kept together. 
As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose, 
Working so grossly in a natural cause. 
That admiration did not whoop at them : 
But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring m 
Wonder, to wait on treason, and on murder : 
And whatsoever cunning fiend it was, 
That wrought upon thee so preposterously. 
Hath got the voice in hell for excellence : 
And other devils, that suggest by treasons. 
Do botch and bungle up damnation 
W ith patches, colours, and with forms being fetch'd 
From glistering semblances of piety ; 
But he that temper'd thee, bade thee stand up. 
Gave thee no instance why thou should'st do treason, 
Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. 
If that same daemon, that hath gull'd thee thus. 
Should with his lion gait walk the whole world. 
He might return to vasty Tartar back. 
And tell the legions — I can never win 
A soul so easy as that Englishman's. 
O, how hast thou with jealousy infected 
The sweetness of affiance ! Shew men dutiful 1 
Why, so didst thou : Seem they grave and learned ? 
Why, so didst thou : Come they of noble family 1 
Why, so didst thou : Seem they religious 1 
Why, so didst thou : Or are they spare in diet : 
Free from gross passion, or of mirth, or anger ; 
Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood ; 
Garnish'd and deck'd in modest compliment ; 
Not working with the eye, without the ear. 
And, but in purged judgment, trusting neither l 
Such, and so finely bolted, didst thou seem : 
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot. 
To mark the full-fraught man, and best indued. 
With some suspicion. I will weep for thee ; 
For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like 
Another fall of man. — Their faults are open, 
Arrest them to the answer of the law ; — 
And God acquit them of their practices ! 



Exe. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of 
Richard earl of Cambridge. 

I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry 
lord Scroop of i\Iasham. 

I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas 
Grey, knight of Northumberland. 

Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath discover'd; 
And I repent my fault, more than my death ; 
Which 1 beseech your highness to forgive. 
Although my body pay the price of it. 

Cum. Forme, — the gold of France did not seduce ; 
Although 1 did admit it as a motive, 
I'he sooner to effect what 1 intended : 
But God be thanked for prevention ; 
Which 1 in suflerance heartily will rejoice. 
Beseeching God, and you, to pardon me. 

Grey. Never did faithful subject more rejoice 
At the discovery of most dangerous treason, 
'I'han I do at this hour joy o'er myself. 
Prevented from a damned enterprize: 
IMy fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. 

A'. Hen. God quit you in his mercy ! Hear your sen- 
You haveconspirMagainst our royal person, [tence : 
Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his cofl'eis 
lleceiv'd the golden earnest of our death ; 
Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter 
His princes and his peers to servitude. 
His subjects to oppression and contempt. 
And his whole kingdom unto desolation. 
Touching our person, seek we no revenge; 
But we our kingdom's safety must so tender. 
Whose ruin you three sought, that to her laws 
We do deliver you, Get you therefore hence, 
Poor miserable wretches, to your death : 
The taste whereof, God, of his mercy, give you 
Patience to endure, and true repentance 
Of all your dear offences ! — Bear them hence. 

[Exeunt Conspirators, guarded. 
Now, Lords, for France ; the enterprize whereof 
Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. 
We doubt not of a fair and lucky war ; 
Since God so graciously hath brought to light 
This dangerous treason, lurking in our way, 
To hinder our beginnings, we doubt not now. 
But every rub is smoothed on our way. 
Then, forth, dear countrymen ; let us deliver 
Our puissance into the hand of God, 
Putting it straight in expedition. 
Cheerly to sea ; the signs of war advance : 
No king of England, if not king of France. [Ereunt. 

SCENE III. 

London. — Mrs. Quickly's House in Eastcheap. 

Enter PiSTor,, Mrs. Quickly, Nym, 
Bardolpii, and Boy. 

Quick. Pr'ythee, honey-sweethusband, let me bring 
thee to Staines. 

Pint. i\o; for my manly heart doth yearn. — 
Bardolph, be blithe ; — Nym, rouse thy vauntingveins; 
Boy, bristle thy courage up ; for Falstaff he is dead, 
And we must yearn therefore. 

Bard. 'Would, I were with him, wheresome'er he 
is, either in heaven, or in hell ! 

Quick. Nay, sure, he's not in hell ; he's in Arthur's 
bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A 
made a finer end, and went away, an it had been any 
chrisoin child; 'a parted even just between twelve 
and one, e'en at turning o' the tide : for after I saw 
him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, 
and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was 
but one way ; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 



432 



KING HENRY V. 



'a babbled of green fields. How now, sir John? 
quoth I : what, man ! be of good cheer. So 'a cried 
out — God, God, God! three or four times: now 1, to 
comfort him, bid him, 'a should not think of God ; I 
hoped, there was no need to trouble himself with any 
such thoughts yet: So, 'a bade me lay more clotlies 
on his feet : 1 put my hand into the bed, and felt them, 
and they were as cold as any stone ; then I felt to his 
knees, and so upward, and upward, and all was as 
cold as any stone. 

Nym. They say, he cried out of sack. 

Quick. Ay, that 'a did. 

Bard. And of women. 

Quick. Nay, that 'a did not. 

Boy. Yes, that 'a did ; and said, they were devils 
incarnate. 

Quick. 'A could never abide carnation ; 'twas a 
colour he never liked. 

Boy. 'A said once the devil would have him about 
women. 

Quick. 'A did in some sort, indeed, handle women : 
but tlien he was rheumatic ; and talked of the whore 
of Babylon. 

Boy. Do you not remember, 'a saw a flea stick 
upon Bardolph's nose ; and 'a said, it was a black 
soul burning in hell-fire 1 

Bard. Well, the fuel is gone, that maintained that 
fire: that's all the riches 1 got in his service. 

Nym. Shall we shog off! the king will be gone 
from Southampton. 

Pist. Come, let's away. — My love, give me thy lips. 
Look to my chattels, and my moveables : 
Let senses rule ; the word is, Fitch and pay ; 
Trust none ; 

For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes. 
And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck ; 
Therefore, caveto be thy counsellor. 
Go, clear thy chrystals. — Yoke fellows in arms. 
Let us to France! like horse-leeches, my boys ; 
To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck! 

Boy. And that is but unwholesome food, they say. 

Pist. Touch her soft mouth, and march. 

Bard, Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her, 

N^ym. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it ; but 
adieu. 

Pist. Let housewifery appear ; keep close, 1 thee 
command 

Quick. Farewell ; adieu. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. 

France. — A Room in the French King's Palace. 
Enter the French King attended ; the Dauphin, the 

Duke of Burgundy, the Constable, and others. 

Fr. King. Thus come the English with full power 
And more than carefully it us concerns, [upon us ; 
To answer royally in our defences. 
Therefore the dukes of Berry, and of Bretagne, 
Of Brabant, and of Orleans, shall make forth, — 
And you, prince Dauphin, — with all sweet despatch, 
To line, and new repair, our towns of war. 
With men of courage, and with means defendant: 
For England his approaches makes as fierce. 
As waters to the sucking of a gulf. 
It fits us then, to be as provident 
As fear may teach us, out of late examples 
Left by the fatal and neglected English 
Upon our fields. 

Dau. My most redoubted father. 

It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe : 
For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom, [tion,) 
(Though war, nor no known quariel, were in cjues- 
But that defences, musters, preparations, 



Should be maintain'd, assembled, and collected. 

As were a war in expectation. 

Therefore, 1 say, 'tis meet we all go forth, 

To view tlie sick and feeble parts of France ; 

And let us do it with no show of fear ; 

No, with no more, than if we heard that England 

Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance : 

For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd. 

Her scepter so fantastically borne 

By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, 

That fear attends her not. 

Con. O peace, prince Dauphin 

You are too much mistaken in this king : 
Question your grace the late ambassadors, — 
With what great state he heard their embassy, 
How well supplied with noble counsellors, 
How modest in exception, and withal 
How terrible in constant resolution, — 
And you shall find, iiis vanities fore-spent 
Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, 
Covering discretion with a coat of folly; 
As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots 
That shall first spring, and be most delicate. 

Dau, Well, 'tis not so, my lord high constable, 
But though we think it so, it is no matter : 
In cases of defence, 'tis best to weigh 
The enemy more mighty than he seems, 
So the proportions of defence are fiU'd ; 
Which, of a weak and niggardly projection. 
Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat, with scanting 
A little cloth. 

Fr, King. Think we king Harry strong ; 
And, princes, look, you strongly arm to meet him. 
The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us ; 
And he is bred out of that bloody strain. 
That haunted us in our familiar paths : 
Witness our too much memorable shame. 
When Cressy battle fatally was struck. 
And all our princes captiv'd, by the hand 
Of that black name, Edward black prince of Whales, 
Whiles that his mountain sire, — on mountain stand- 
Up in the air, crown'd with tiie golden sun, — [ing, 
Saw his heroical seed, and smil'd to see him 
Mangle the work of nature, and deface 
The patterns that by God and by French fathers 
Had twenty years been made. This is a stem 
Of that victorious stock ; and let us fear 
The native mightiness and fate of him. 

Enter a INIessenger. 

Mess. Ambassadors from Henry king of England 
Do crave admittance to your majesty. 

F, King. We '11 give them present audience. 
Go, and bring them. [Eieuntiiieas. and certainhords. 
You see, this chase is hotly follow'd, friends. 

Dau, Turn head, and stop pursuit : for coward dogs 
Most spend their mouths, when what they seem to 

threaten. 
Runs far before them. Good my sovereign, 
Take up the ICuglish short; and let them know 
Of what a monarchy you are the head : 
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin 
As self- neglecting. 

Re-enter Lords, with Exeter and Train. 

Fr. King, From our brother England? 

Ere, From him; and thus he greets your majesty. 
He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, 
That you divest yourself, and lay apart 
The borrow'd glories, that, by gift of heaven. 
By law of nature, and of nations, 'long 
'Jo him, and to his heirs ; namely, the crown, 
And all wide stretched honours that pertain. 



ACT in.— SCENE I. 



43:j 



By custom SLiwi Use ordinance of turves 
Unio the crown of France That you may know, 
Tis no sinister, nor no awkwfi,rd claim, 
Pick'd from the worm-holes of iong vanish'd days, 
Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd, 
He sends you thismost memorable \\Re,[Gives apixper., 
{n every branch truly demonstrative ; 
Willing you, overlook this pedigree : 
And, when you find him evenly deriv'd 
From his most fam'd of famous ancestors, 
Edward the Third, he bids you then resign 
Your crovifn and kingdom, indirectly held 
From him the native and true challenger. 

Fr. Kin<^. Or else what follows 1 

E.i«. Dioody constraint ; for if you hide the crown 
Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it ; 
And therefore in fierce tempest is he coming-, 
\n thunder, and in earthquake, like a Jove ; 
(That, if requiring fail, he will compel ;) 
And bids you, ni the bowels of the Lord, 
Deliver up the crown ; and to take mercy 
On the poor souls, for whoui this hungry war 
Opens his vasty jaws : and on your head 
Turns he the widows' tears, the orphans' cries, 
The dead raea's blood, the pining maidens' groans 
For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers, 
That shall be swallowed in this controversy. 
This is his claim, his threat'ning, and my message ; 
Unless the Dauphin be in presence here, 
To whom expressly 1 bring greeting too. 

Fr.Kiiig. For us, we will consider of this further: 
To-morrow shall you bear our full intent 
Back to our brother England. 

Dim. For the Dauphin, 

[ stand here for him ; What to him from England 1 

Ere. Scorn, and defiance; slight regard, cculcinpl, 
And any thing that may not misbecome 
The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. 
Thus says my king : and, if your father's highness 
Do not, in grant of all demands at large. 
Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty. 
He'll call you to so hot an ansvv'er for it. 
That caves and womby vauitages of France 
Shall chide your trespass, and return your mock. 
In second accent of his ordnance. 

Dau. Say, if my father render fair reply. 
It is against my will : for I desire 
Nothing but odds v/ith England ; to that end, 
As matching to his youth and vanity, 
I did present him with those Paris balls. 

Eie. He'll make j'our Paris Louvre shake for it. 
Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe : 
And, be assur'd, you'll find a difference, 
(As we, his subjects, have in wonder found,) 
Between the promise of his greener days, 
And these he masters now ; now he weighs time. 
Even to the utmost grain ; which you shall read 
In your own losses, if he stay in France. [full. 

/')•. King. To morrow shall you know our mind at 

Eie. Despatch us with all speed, lest that our kinjj 
Come here himself to question our delay ; 
For he is footed in this land already, [conditions : 

Fr. King. You shall be soon despatch'd, with fair 
A night is but small breath, and little pause. 
To answer matters of this consequence. lExeiint. 



ACT III. 

Enler Chorus. 

Cha. Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene (lies. 
In motion of no less celerity 



Than that of thought. Suppose that you liavc seen 
The well appointed king at Hampton pier 
Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet 
With silken streamers the young Phcebus fanning. 
Play with your fancies ; and in them behold, 
Upon the hempen tackle, ship-boys climbing: 
Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give 
To sounds confus'd i behold the threaden sails. 
Borne wiih the invisible and creeping v.ind. 
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, 
Breasting the lofty surge : O, do but think, 
You stand upon the rivage, and behold 
A city on the inconstant billows dancing ; 
For so appears this fleet majestical. 
Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow' 
Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy ; 
And leave your England, as dead midnight, still, 
Guarded v/ith grandsires, babies, and old women. 
Either past, or not arrived to, pith and puissance : 
For who is he, whose chin is but enrich d 
With one appearing hair, that will not follow 
These cuH'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to Fraice ? 
Work, work, j'our thoughts, and therein see a siege: 
Behold the ordnance on their carriages. 
With fatal mouths guping on girded Harfleur. 
Suppose, the ambassador from the French comes back; 
Tells Harry — that the king doth ofter him 
Katharine his daughter ; and with her, to dowry, 
Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. 
The offer likes not : and the nimble gunner 
With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, 

[Alarum ; and chambers go off. 
And down goes all before them. Still be kind. 
And eke out our performance with your mind. [Exit. 

SCEMH l.—Tke same. Before Harfleur. 

Alarums. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, 
GT.osTr.u, und Soldiers, tvith scaling ladders, 

K.Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, 
once more ; 
Or close the wall up with our English dead ! 
In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man. 
As modest stillness, and humility : 
But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 
Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood. 
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage : 
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; 
Let it pry through the portage of the head, 
Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelm it, 
As fearfully, as doth a galled rock 
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, 
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. 
Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide , 
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 
To his full height! — On, on, you noblest English, 
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! 
Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, 
Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought. 
And sheath 'd their swords for lack of argument. 
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest. 
That those, whom you call'd fathers, did beget you ! 
Be copy now to men of grosser blood, [men. 

And teach them how to war! — And you, good yeo- 
Whose limbs were made in England, shew us here. 
The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear 
Tiiat you are worth your breeding: which I doubt not ; 
For there is none of you so mean and base. 
That hdlli not noble lustre in your eyes. 
I see you stand like greyhounds in tlie slips. 
Straining upon the start. The garuc's afoot ; 
2E 



434 



KING HENRY V 



Follow your spirit : and, upon this charge, 
Cry — God for Harry ! England! and Saint George! 
[Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go nff. 

SCENE 11.-77(6 same. 

Forces pass over i then enter Nym, Bauuolph, 
Pistol, and Boy- 

Burd. On, on, on, on, on ! to the breach, to the 
breach ! 

'Kym. 'Pray thee, corporal, stay ; the knocks are 
too hof ; and, for mine own part, I have not a case 
of lives ; the humour of it is too hot, that is the very 
plain song of it. [abound ; 

Fist 'j'he plain song is most just ; for humours do 
Knocks go aad come ; God's vassals drop and die ; 
And sword and shield, 
In bloody field, 
Doth win immortal fame. 
Boy. 'Would 1 were in an aleliouse in London ! 
I would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety. 
Fist. And 1 : 

If wishes would prevail with me, 
My purpose should not fail with me, 
But thither would I hie. 
Boy. As duly, but not as truly, as bird doth sing 
on bough. 

Enter Fluellen. 

Flu. Got's plood ! — Up to the preaches, you ras- 
cals ! will you not up to the preaches ] 

[Driving them forward. 

Fist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould! 
Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage! 
Abate thy rage, great duke! 
Good bawcock, bate thy rage I use lenity, sweet chuck! 

Niim. These be good humours ! — your honour wins 
bad humours. [V.iennt Nvm, Pistol, S^ Bardolph, 
followed by Fi.ueli.en. 

Boif. As young as I am, I have observed these three 
swashers. I am boy to them all three : but all they 
three, though they would serve me, could not be man 
to me ; for, indeed, three such antics do not amount 
to a man. For Bardolph. — he is white-liver'd, and 
red-faced ; by the means whereof, 'a faces it out, but 
fights not. For Pistol, — he hath a killing tongue, and 
a quiet sword ; by the means whereof 'a breaks words, 
and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, — he hath heard, 
that men of few words are the best men ; and there- 
fore he scorns to say his prayers, lest 'a should be 
thought a coward : but his few bad words are match'd 
with as few good deeds ; for 'a never broke any man's 
head but his own ; and that was against a post, when 
he was drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it, 
— purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case ; bore it 
twelve leagues, and sold it for three halfpence. Nym 
and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching ; and in 
Calais they stole a fire-shovel : I knew, by that piece 
of service, the men would carry coals. They would 
have me as familiarwith men's pockets, as theirgloves 
or their handkerchiefs : which makes much against 
my manhood, if 1 should take from another's pocket, 
to put into mine ; for it is plain pocketing up of 
wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some better 
service : their villany goes against my weak stomach, 
and therefore I must cast it up. [Exit Boy. 

Re-enter Fluellen, Gower folloicing. 

Gow. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently 
to the mines ; the duke of Gloster would speak with 
you. 

Flu. To the mines ! tell you the duke, it is not so 
good to come to the mines : For, look you, the mines 



is not accoiding to the disciplines of the war ; the 
concavities of it is not sufficient ; for, look you, 
ih' athversary (you may discuss unto the duke, look 
you,) is diglit himself four yards under the counter- 
mines ; by Cheshu, 1 think, 'a will plow up all, if 
there is not better diiections. 

Gow. The duke of Gloster, to whom the order of the 
siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman ; 
a very valiant gentleman, i'faith. 

Flu. It is captain IMacmorris, is it not? 

Gow, I think, it be. 

Flu. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the 'orld : I 
will verify as much in his peard : he has no more di- 
rections in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, 
of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. 

Enter Macmorris and Jamy, at a distance, 

Goiv. Here 'a comes •, and the Scots captain, cap- 
tain .Tamy, with him. 

Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gen- 
tleman, tiiat is certain ; and of great expedition, and 
knowledge, in the ancient wars, upon my particular 
knowledge of his directions : by Cheshu, he will 
maintain his argument as well as any military man 
in the 'orld, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of 
the Uomans. 

Jamy. I say, gud-day, captain Fluellen. 

Fin, God-den to your worsiiip, gootcaptain Jamy. 

Gow. How now, captain Macmorris? have you quit 
the mines ? have the pioneers given o'er ? 

Mac. By Clirish la, tish ill done : the work ish 
give over, the trumpet sound the retreat. By my hand, 
1 swear, and by my father's soul, the work ish ill 
done ; it ish give over : I would have blowed up the 
town, so Chrish save me, la, in an hour. O, tish ill 
done, tish ill done ; by my tiand, tish ill done ! 

Flu. Captain JMacmorris, I peseech you now, will 
you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with 
you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines 
of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, 
look you, and friendly communication ; partly, to 
satisfy my oj)inion, and partly, for t!ie satisfaction, 
look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of 
the military discipline ; that is the point. 

Jamy. It sail be very gud, gud feith, gud captains 
bath : and I sail quit you with gud ieve, as I may 
pick occasion ; that sail I, marry. 

Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me, 
the day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and 
tlie king, and the dukes ; it is no time to discourse. 
The town is beseeched, and the trumpet calls us to 
the breach ; and we talk, and, by Chrish, do nothing ; 
'tis shame for us all : so God sa' me, 'tis shame to 
stand still ; it is shame, by my hand : and there is 
throats to be cut, and works to be done ; and there 
ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la. 

Jamy. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take 
themselves to slumber, aile do gude service, or aile 
ligge i'the grund for it ; ay, or go to death ; and aile 
pay it as valorously as I may, that sal I surely do, 
that is the breft'and the long : Mary, 1 wad full fain 
heard some question 'tween you 'tway. 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under 
your correction, there is not many of your nation — 

Mac. Of my nation ? What ish my nation ? ish a 
villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal ] 
What ish my nation ? Who talks of my nation ? 

Flu, Look you, if you take the matter otherwise 
than is meant. Captain Macmorris, peradventure, I 
shall think you do not use me with that affability as 
in discretion you ought to use me, look you ; being 
as goot a man as yourself, both in the disciplines oi 






ACT III.— SCENE V. 



435 



viTVirs, and in Vhe derivation of my birth, and in other 
particularities. 

Mac. I do not know j^ou so good a man as myself: 
so Chrish save me, 1 will cut off your head. 

Gciw. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. 

Jam^. Au ! that's a foul fault. [.4 parley sounded. 

Gow. The town sounds a parley. 

Flu, Captain Macmorris, when there is more bet- 
ter opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so 
bold as to tell you, I know the discipliaes of war ; 
and there is an end. [^Ereuut. 

SCENE III The same. Before the Gates o/Harfleur. 

The Governor and some Citizens ore the wall.t ; the 
English Forces below. Enter King Henry dsj Train. 

K. Hen. How yet resolves the governor of the town? 
This is the latest parle we will admit : 
Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves ; 
Or like to men proud of destruction. 
Defy us to our worst : for, as I am a soldier, 
(A name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me best,) 
If I begin the battery op.ce again, 
I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur, 
Till in her ashes she lie buned. 
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up ; 
And the flesh'd soldier, — rough and hard of heart, — 
In liberty of bloody hand, shall range 
With conscience wide as hell ; mowing like grass 
Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants. 
What is it then to me, if impious war, — 
Array'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends, — 
Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats 
Enlink'd to waste and desolation ? 
What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause, 
If your pure maidens fall into the hand 
Of hot and forcing violation 1 
What rein can hold licentious wickedness. 
When down the hill he holds his fierce career t 
We may as bootless spend our vain command 
Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil. 
As send precepts to the Leviathan 
To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, 
Take pity of your town,, and of your people. 
Whiles yet my soldiers, are in my command ; 
Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace 
O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds 
Of deadly murder, spoil, and villany. 
If not, why, in a moment, look to see 
The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand 
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters j 
Your fathers taken by the silver beards. 
And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls ; 
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes ; 
Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd 
Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry 
At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. 
What say you 1 will you yield, and this avoid \ 
Or guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd I 

Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end : 
The Dauphin, whom of succour we entreated. 
Returns us — that his powers are not yet ready 
To raise so great a siege. Therefore, dread king, 
■We yield our town, and lives, to thy soft mercy : 
Enter our gates ; dispose of us, and ours ; 
For we no longer are defensible. 

A'. Hen. Open your gates. — Come, uncle E.xeter, 
Go you and enter Harfleur ; there remain. 
And fortify it strongly 'gtiinst the French : 
Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, — 
The winter coming on, and sickness growing 
Upon our soldiers,- -we'll retire to Calais. 



To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest; 
To-morrow for the march are we addrest. 

{^Flourish. The King, ^<^c. enter the town, 

SCENE IV. — Roiien. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter KATiiAiiiNE and Alice. 

Kiith. Alice, tu. us este en Anglelerre, et tu paries 
bien le language. 

Alice, tin pen, madarne. 

hath. Je te prie, in enseignei ; iifant que j'ap- 
pren/ic ii purler. Comment appeltez vous la main, en 
Anglois? 

Alice. La main ? elle est appellee, de hand. 

Kath. De hand. Et le doigti ? 

Alice. Les doigts ? majoii, je onblie les doigts ; mnis 
je me souviendray. Les doigts ? je jyense, qails sont 
appelld de fingres ; ouy, de fingres. 

Kath. La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je 
pease, queje siiis le boH escolier. J'au gagne deux mots 
d'Angloisvistement. Comment appeUez vous les angles? 

Alice. Les onglesl les appellons, A^nzAs,. 

Kath. De nails. Escoutez ; dites moy, si je parle 
bien : de hand, de fingres, de nails. 

Alice. Cest bien dit, madarne ; il est fo^t bon Anglois, 

Kath. Dites moy en Anglois, le bras. 

Alice. De arm, madarne. 

Kath. Et le cotide. 

Alice. De elbow. 

Kath. De elbow. Je m'en fails la repeilion de 
tous les mots, que vous m'avez appris diis a presen'. 

Alice. 11 est trap difficile, madarne, commeje pense. 

Kath, Eicusezmoy, Alice; escoutez; De hand, de 
fingre, de nails, de arm, de bilbow. 

Alice. De elbow, madarne. 

Kath. Seigneur Dieu !je lu'enouhlie ; De elbow. 
Comment appellez vuiis le col ? 

Alice, De neck, madarne. 

Kath. De neck : Et le menton 1 

Alice. De chin. 

Kath. De sin. Le col, de neck: le menlon, ie sm. 

Alice. Ouy. Sauf vostre honnenr : en verite, vous 
proMincesles mots aussi droict que les naiij'sd' Angleterre, 

Kath. Je ne doute point d\ipprendre par la grace de 
Dieu ; et en pen de temps. 

Alice. K'avez vous pas deja oublie ce queje vous ay 
enseignte ? 

Kath. Non,je reciteray a vous prom/utement. De 
hand, de fingre, ne mails, ^ 

Alice. De nails, madarne. 

Kath. De nails, de arrae, deilbow. 

Alice. Sauf vostre honueur, de elbow. 

Kath. Ainsi disje; de elbow, de neck, et de sin : 
Comment appellez vous le pieds et la robe ? 

Alice. De foot, madarne ; et de con. 

Kath. De foot, et de con ] Seignevr Dieu ! cei 
sont nwts de son mauvais, corruptible, grosse, et impu- 
dique, et non pour les dames d'honuear d'user : Je ne 
voudrois prononcer ces mots deiant les Seigneurs de 
France, pour tout le monde, 11 faut de foot, et de 
con, neant-moins. Je reciterai uiie autre fois ma 
le^-on ensemble : Dehand, de fingre, de nails, de arm, 
de elbow, de neck, de sin, de foot, de con. 

Alice. Excellent, inadame ! 

Kath. Cest assez ]}our unefois ; allons nous a disner. 

[E.xeunt. 

SCENE V. — The same. Another Room in the same 

Enter the French King, theD.wruiy, Duke of Bovr- 
BO.N, the Constable oJ' France, and otliers. 

Fr./vt7ig.'Tis certain, he hath pass'd tiieriverSorae 
Con. And if he be not fought witlial, my lord, 
2 E Si 



436 



KING HENRY V. 



Let us not live in France; let us quit all, 
And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. 

Dau. Dieu vivant ! shall a few sprays of us, — 
The emptying of our fathers' luxury, 
Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, 
Spurt up so suddenly into the clouds. 
And overlook their grafters ? 

Bour, Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman 
Mori de ma vie ! if they march along [bastards ! 
Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom. 
To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm 
in that nook-shotten isle of Albion. 

Coil. Dieu de hattailes ! where have they this 
Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull ? [mettle 1 
On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, 
Killing their fruit witli frowns ? Can sodden water, 
A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley broth. 
Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat ? 
And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, 
Seem frosty 1 O, for the honour of our land, 
Let us not hang like roping icicles 
Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people 
Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields; 
Poor — we may call tliem, in their native lords. 

Dau. By faith and honour. 
Our madams mock at us ; and plainly say, 
Our mettle is bred out ; and they will give 
Their bodies to the lust of English youth, 
To new-store France with bastard warriors. 

Bour. They bid us — to the English dancing-schools, 
And teach lavoltas high, and swift corantos ; 
Saying, our grace is only in our heels. 
And that we are most lofty runaways. [hence ; 

Fr. iinio-. Where is Montjoy, the herald? speed him 
Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.— 
Up, princes; and, with spirit of honour edg'd, 
More sharper than your sv/ords, hie to the field : 
Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France ; 
You dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry, 
Alen9on, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy ; 
Jaques Chatillion, Rambures, Vaudemont, 
Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconberg, 
Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois ; 
High dukes, great princes, barons., lords, andknights. 
For your great seats, now quit you of great shames, 
Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land 
With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur : 
Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow 
Upon the valleys : whose low vassal seat 
The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon : 
Go down upon him, — you have power enough, — 
And in a captive chariot, into Rouen 
Bring him our prisoner. 

Con. This becomes the great. 

Sorry am I, his numbers are so few. 
His soldiers sick, and faraisli'd in their march ; 
For, I am sure, when he shall see our army. 
He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear. 
And, for achievement, offer us his ransome. 

Fr. A'i?io-. Therefore, lord constable, haste on Mont 
And let him say to England, that we send [joy ; 
To know what willing ransome he will give. — 
Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Roiien- 
Dan. Not so, I do beseech your majesty. 
Fr. King. Be patient, for you shall remain with us. — 
Now, forth, lord constable, and princes all ; 
And quickly biing us word of England's fall. [Ex. 

SCENE VL—T/ie English Camp in Picardy. 

Enter Gowrn and Flueli.en. 
Gow. How now, captain Fluellen "? come you from 
the bridge 1 



Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent service 
committed at the pridge. 

Gow. Is the duke of Exeter sate ? 

Flu. The duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as 
Agamemnon ; and a man that I love and honoui 
with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my 
life, and my livings, and my uttermost powers : he 
is not, (God be praised and plessed!) any hurt in 
the 'orld ; but keeps the pridge most valiantly, with 
excellent discipline. There is an ensign there at the 
pridge, — I think, in my very conscience, he is as 
valiant as Mark Antony ; and he is a man of no esti- 
mation in the 'orld : but I did see hira do gallant 
service. 

Gow. What do you call him ? 

Flu. He is called — ancient Pistol. 

C(>!i>. 1 kn.ow him not. 

Enter Pistol. 

Flu. Do you not know him 1 Here eojnes the man. 

Fist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours . 
The duke of Exeter doth love thee well. 

Flu. Ay, 1 praise Got ; and I have raerited some 
love at his hands. 

Fist. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart. 
Of buxom valour, hath, — by cruel fate. 
And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel, 
That goddess blind. 
That stands upon the rolling restless stone, — 

Flu. By your patience, ancient Pistol. Fortune 
is painted plind, with a muffler before her eyes, to 
signify to you that fortune is plind : And she is 
painted also with a wheel ; to signify to you, which 
is the moral of it, that she is turning, and inconstant, 
and variations, and mutabilities : and her foot, look 
you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and 
rolls, and rolls ; — In good truth, the poet is make a 
most excellent description of fortune ; fortune, look 
you, is an excellent moral. 

Pisr. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on 
For he hath stol'n a;;a, and hanged must 'a be. [hiru ; 
A damned death ! 

Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free, 
And let not hemp his wind-pipe suftbcate : 
But Exeter hath given the doom of death. 
For pii of little price. 

Therefore, go speak, the duke will hear thy voice; 
And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut 
With edge of penny cord, and vile reproach : 
Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite. 

Flu. Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand youi 
meaning. 

Pist, Why then rejoice therefore? 

Flu. Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to rejoice 
at : for if, look you, he were my brotlier, I would 
desire the duke to use his goot pleasure, and put him 
to executions : for disciplines ought to be used. 

Pist. Die and be damn'd ; andjigo for thy friendship. 

Flu. It is well. 

Pist. The fig of Spain. [Eift Pisroi,. 

Flu. Very good. 

Gow. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal; I 
remember him now ; a bawd ; a cutpurse. 

Flu. I'll assure you, 'a uttered as prave 'ords at 
the pridge, as you shall see in a summer's day : But 
it is very well ; what he has spoke to me, that is well, 
I warrant you, when time is serve. 

Gow. Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue ; that now 
and then goes to the wars, to grace himself, at his 
return into London, under the form of a soldier. And 
such fellows are perfect in great commanders' names : 
and they will learn you by rote, where services were 



ACT III.— SCENE VII. 



437 



(Soiie ; — a.t s\ich and siicli a sconce, at such a breach, I 
at such a convoy ; who came oir bravely, who was 
shot, who disgraced, what tenns the enemy stood on ; 
and this they con perfectly in the phrase of war, 
which they Irick up with new-tuned oaths : And 
what a beard of the general's cut, and a horrid suit 
of the camp, will do among foaming bottles, and ale- 
washed wits, is wonderful to be thought on ! but you 
must learn to know such slanders of the age, or else 
you may l>e marvellous mistook. 

Flu. I tell you what, captain Gower ; — I do per- 
ceive, he is not the man that he would gladly make 
show to the 'orld he is ; if I find a hole in his coat, I 
will tell him my mind. [Drum heard.] Hark you, 
the king is coming ; and I must speak with him from 
the prsdge. 

Enter Kino Henry, Gi^oster, and Soldiers. 

Flu. Got pless your majesty ! 

K. Hen. How Rov.', Fluellenl earnest thou from 
the bridge ] 

Flu. Ay, so pleas-e your majesty. The duke of 
Exeter has very gallantly maintained the pridge : the 
French is gone ofi", look you ; and there is gallant 
and most prave passages : Marry, th' athversary was 
have possession of the pridge ; but he was enforced to 
retire, and the duke of Exeter is master of the pridge: 
I can tell your majesty, the duke is a prave man. 

K. Hen. What men have you lost, Fluellen 1 

Flu. The perdition of th' athversary hath been very 
great, very reasonable great : marry, for my part, I 
think the duke hath lost never a man, but one that is 
like to be executed for robbing a church, one Bar- 
dolph, if your majesty know the man : his face is all 
faubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and flames of fire ; 
and his lips plows at his nose, and it is like a coal 
of fire, sometimes plue, and sometimes red ; but his 
DGse is executed, and his fire is out 

K. Hen. We would have all such offenders so cut 
cfiT: — and we give express charge, that, in our marches 
through the country, there be nothing compelled from 
the villages, nothing taken but paid for ; none of the 
French upbraided, or abused in disdainful language : 
For when lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom, the 
gentler gamester is the soonest winner. 

Tucket snunds. Fnter Montjoy. 

Mont. You kuow ma by my habit. 

K. Hen. Well then, 1 know thee ; What shall I 
kuow of thee ? 

Mcint. JMy master's mind. 

K. Hen. Unfold it, 

Mont. Thus says my king:— Say thou to TIarry of 
England, 'i'hough we seemed dead, we did but sleep ; 
Advantage is a better soldier than rashness. Teil 
him, we couid have rebuked him at Hurfleur : but 
that we thought not good to bruise an injury, till it 
were full ripe : — now we speak upon our cue, anil 
our voice is imperial : England shall repent his folly, 
see his weakness, and admire our suft'erance. Bid 
him, therefore, consider of his ransome : which must 
proportion the losses we have borne, the subjects we 
have lost, the disgrace we have digested ; which, in 
weight to re-answer, his pettiness would bow under. 
For our losses, his exchequer is too poor ; for the 
effusion of our blood, the muster of his kingdom too 
faint a number ; and for our disgrace, his own person, 
kneeling at our feet, but a weak and worthless satis- 
faction. To this add — defiance : and tell him, for 
conclusion, he hath betrayed his followers, whose 
condemnation is pronounced. So far m}' king and 
master ; so much my oiHce. 



K. Hen. V/hat is thy name 1 I know thy quality. 

Mont. Montjoy. 

K. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back, 
And tell thy king, — I do not seek him now ; 
But could be willing to march on to Calais 
Without impeachment : for, to say the sooth, 
(Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much 
Unto an enemy of craft and vantage,) 
IVIv people are with sickness much enfeebled ; 
My numbers lessen'd ; and those few I have. 
Almost no better than so many French : 
Who when they were in health, 1 tell thee, herald, 
I thought, upon one pair of English legs 
Did march three Frenchmen.— Vet, forgive me, God, 
That I do brag thus ! — this your air of France 
Hath blown that vice in me ; I must repent. 
Go, therefore, tell thy master, here 1 am ; 
My ransome, is this frail and worthless trunk ; 
My army, but a weak and sickly guard ; 
Yet, God before, tell him we will come on, 
Though France himself, and such another neighbour. 
Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Montjoy. 
Go bid thy master well advise himself: 
If we may pass, we will ; if we be hinder'd. 
We shall your tavvfuy ground with your red blood 
Discolour : and so, Montjoy, fare you well. 
The sum of all our answer is but this : 
We would not seek a battle, as we are : 
Nor as we are, we say, we will not shun it ; 
So tell your master. 

Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your higli- 
ness. [Exit Montjoy. 

Glo. I hope, they will not come upon us now. 

K. Hen. We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs. 
March to the bridge ; it now draws toward night, — - 
Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves : 
And on to-morrow bid them march away. [Eieunt. 

SCENE Yll.—The French Camp, near Agincourt. 

EntertAeCoNSTABLEo/'FRANCE, the LordRambubes, 
the Duke of Orleans, Daus'hin, and others. 

Con. Tut! I have the best armour of the world. — • 
'W^ould it were day ! 

Orl. You have an excellent armour ; but let my 
horse have his due. 

Con. It is the best horse of Europe. 

Orl. Will it never be morning 1 

Dau. JMy lord of Orleans, and my lord high con- 
stable, you talk of horse and armour. — 

Orl. You are as well provided of both as any 
prince in the world. 

Dau. What a long night is this ! I will not 

change my horse with any that treads but on four 
pasterns. Ca, ha! He bounds from the earth, as if 
his entrails were hairs ; le cheval volant, the Pegasus, 
qui a les narines defeu! When I bestride him, 1 soar, 
I am a hawk : he trots the air ; the earth sings when 
he touches it ; the basest horn of his hoof is more 
ihusical than the pipe of Hernies. 

0)/. He's of the colour of the nutmeg. 

Dau. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast 
for Perseus : he is pure air and fire ; and the dull 
elements of earth and water never appear in him, 
but only in patient stillness, while his rider mounts 
him : he is, indeed, a horse ; and ail other jades you 
may call — beasts. 

Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and 
excellent horse. 

Dau. It is the prince of palfreys ; his neigh is 
like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance 
enforces homage. 



^ 



438 



KING HENRY V. 



i! 



Ori. No more, cousin. 

Dire. Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot, from 
(he rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary 
rleserved praise on my palfrey : it is a theme as fluent 
as the sea ; turn the sanJs into eloquent tongues, 
and my horse is argument for them all : 'tis a subject 
for a sovereign to reason on, and for a sovereign's 
sovereign to ride on ; and for the world (familiar to 
us, and unknown.) to lay apart their particular func- 
tions, and wonder at him. 1 once writ a sonnet in 
his praise, and begun thus : Wonder nf nature, — 

Or 1. 1 have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mistress. 

Dan. Then did they imitate that which I composed 
to my courser ; for my horse is my mistress. 

OrL Your mistress bears well. 

Dau. Me well ; which is the prescript praise and 
perfection of a good and particular mistress. 

Con. Ma foil I the other day, methought, your 
mistress shrewdly shook your back. 

Dau. So, perhaps, did yours. 

Con. Mine was not bridled. 

Dan. O ! then, belike, she was old and gentle ; 
and you rode, like a Kerne of Ireland, your French 
hose off, and in your straight trossers. 

Cmt. You have good judgment in horsemanship. 

Dan, Be warned by nie then : they that ride so, 
and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs ; 1 had rather 
have my horse to my mistress. 

Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade. 

Dan, I tell thee, constable, my mistress wears her 
own hair. 

Con. I could make as true a boast as that, if I had 
a sow to my mistress. 

Dau. Le chien est letourne a son -propre vomisse- 
ment, et la truie lavte au hourhier : thou mckest use 
of any thing. 

Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress ; 
or any such proverb, so little kin to the purpose. 

Ram. My lord constable, the armour that I saw in 
your tent to-night, are those stars, or suns upon it? 

Con. Stars, my lord. 

Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope. 

Con. And yet my sky shall not want. 

Dan. That may be, for you bear a many superflu- 
ously ; and 'twere more honojir, some weie away. 

Con. Even as your horse bears your praises ; who 
would trot as well were some of yourbrags dismounted. 

Dan. 'Would, I were able to load him with his de- 
sert ! Will it never be day ? 1 will trot to-morrow a 
mile, and my way shall be paved with English faces. 

Con- I will not say so, for fear 1 should be faced 
out of my way : But I would it were morning, for I 
would fain be about the ears of the English. 

Jiam. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty 
English prisoners "! 

Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere you 
have them. 

Dau. 'Tis midnight, I'll go arm myself. [£ijf . 

Orl. The Dauphin longs for morning. 

Ihim. He longs to eat the English. 

Con. I think, he will eat all he kills. 

OrL By the white hand of my lady, he's a gallant 
prince. • 

Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the 
oath. 

Orl. He is, simply, the most active gentleman of 
France. 

Con. Doing is activity ; and he will still be doing. 

OrL. He never did harm, that I heard of. 

Con, Nor will do none to-morrow: he will keep 
that good name still. 

OrL, 1 know him to be valiant 



Con. I was told that, by one that know-s hhn 
better than von. 

Orl. What's he? 

Con. Marry, he told me so himself ; and he said, 
he cared not who knew it. 

Orl. He needs not, it is no hidden virtue in him. 

Ct>n. By my faith, sir, but it is ; never any body 
saw it, but his lackey : 'tis a h&oded valour ; and, 
when it appears, it will bate. 

Orl. HI will never said well. 

Coil. I will cap that proverb with — There is flat- 
tery in friendship. 

Orl. And I will take up that with — Give the devil 
his due. 

Con. Well placed; there stands your friend for the 
devil : have at the very eye of that proverb, with — 
A pox of the devil. 

OrL. You are the better at proverbs, by how m.ucb 
— A fool's bolt is soon shot. 

Con. You have shot over. 

Orl. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. ISly lord high constable, the English lis 
within fifteen hundred paces of your tent. 

Con. Who hath measured the ground? 

Mess. The lord Grandpre. 

Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman. — 
Would it were day ! — Alas, poor Harry of England ! 
he longs not for the dav/ning, as we do. 

Orl. What a wretched and peevish fellow is this 
king of England, to mo]>e with his fat-brained fol- 
lowers so far out of his knowledge ? 

Con. If the English had any apprehension they 
would run away. 

Orl. That they lack ; for if their heads had any 
intellectual armour, they could never wear such heavy 
head-pieces. 

Ram. That island of England breeds very valiant 
creatures ; their mastiffs are of unmatehable courage. 

Orl. FoO'lish curs ! that runwinking into the mouth 
of a Russian bear, and have their heads crushed like 
rotten apples : You may as well say, — that's a valianl 
flea, that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion. 

Con. Just, just ; and the men do sympathize with 
the mastiffs, in robustious and rough coming on, 
leaving their wits with their wives : and then give 
them great meals of beef, and iron and steel, they will 
cat like wolves, and fight like devils. 

OrL. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef. 

Con. Then we shall find to morrow — they have 
only stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it 
time to arm : Come, shall we about it? 

OrL It is now two o'clock : but, let me see, by ten, 
We shall have each an hundred Englishmen. {Exeuut. 



ACT IV, 

Enter Choru.s, 

Chor. Now entertain conjecture of a time. 
When creeping murmur, and the poring dark. 
Fills the wide vessel of the universe. 
From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night 
The hum of either army stilly sounds, 
Ihat the fix'd sentinels almost receive 
The secret whispers of each other's watch : 
Fire answers fire : and through their paly flames 
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face : 
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs 
Piercing the night's dull ear ; and fron) the tents, 
'I'he armourers, accomplishing the knighls, 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



439 



With busy hammers closing rivets up, 

Give dreadful note of preparation. 

The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, 

And the third hour of drowsy morning name. 

Proud of their numbers, and secu'-e in soul, 

The confident and over-lusty Frencii 

Do the low-rated English play at dice ; 

And chide the cripple tardygaited night, 

Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp 

So tediously away. The poor condemned English, 

Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires 

Sit patiently, and inly ruminate 

The morning's danger ; and tlieir gesture sad, 

Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, 

Presenteth them unto the gazing moon 

So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold 

The royal captain of this ruin'd band. 

Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, 

Let him cry — Praise and glory on his head! 

For forth he goes, and visits all his host ; 

Bids them good-morrow, with a modest smile : 

And calls them — brothers, friends, and countrymen. 

Upon his royal face there is no note. 

How dread an army hath enrounded him ; 

Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour 

Unto the weary and all-watcii'd night: 

But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint. 

With cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty ; 

That every wretch, pining and pale before. 

Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks: 

A largess universal, like the sun, 

His liberal eye doth give to every one. 

Thawing cold fear. Then mean, and gentle all, 

Behold, as may unworthiness define, 

A little touch of Harry in the night : 

And so our scene must to the battle fly ; 

Where, (O for pity!) we shall much disgrace — 

With four or five most vile and ragged foils, 

Right ill dispos'd in brawl ridiculous, — 

The name of Agincourt : Yet, sit and see ; 

Minding true things, bywhat their mockeries be. [Ei if. 

SCENE I. — The English Camp at Agincourt. 

Enter King Henry, Bedford, and Glosteu. 

A'. /fen. Gloster, 'tis true; that we are in great danger; 
The greater therefore should our courage be. — 
Good morrow, brother Bedford. — God Almighty ! 
There is some soul of goodness in things evil, 
Would men observingly distil it out ; 
For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers. 
Which is both iiealthful, and good husbandry : 
Besides, they are our outward consciences, 
And preachers to us all ; admonishing, 
That we should dress us fairly for our end. 
Thus may we gather honey from the weed, 
And make a moral of the devil himself. 

Enter Erpingham. 

Good morrow, old sir Thomas Erpingham : 
A good soft pillow for that good white head 
Were better than a churlish turf of France. 

Erp. Not so, my liege ; this lodging likes me better, 
Since I may say — now lie I like a king. 

A'. Hen. 'fis good for men to love their present poins. 
Upon example ; so the spirit is eased : 
And, when ttie mind is rjuicken'd, out of doiib*, 
The organs, though defunct and dead before. 
Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move 
With casted slough and fresh legerity. 
Lend me thy cloak, sir Thomas. — Brothers both, 
Commend me to tiie princes in our camp ; 



Do my good morrow to them ; and, anon, 
Desire them all to my pavilion. 

Glo. We shall, my liege. [Ex. Glos. and Bed. 

Erp. Shall I attend your grace 1 

A. Hen. No, my good knight ; 

Go with my brothers to my lords of England : 
I and my bosom must debate a while. 
And then I would no other company. 

Erp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry ! 

[Exit Erpingham. 

K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart ' thou speakest 
cheerfully. 

Enter Pistol, 

Pist. Qui va la? 

K. Hen. A friend. 

Pist. Discuss unto me ; Art thou an officerl 
Or art thou base, common, and popular ? 

A. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. 

Pist, Trailest thou the puissant pike ? 

A. Hen. Even so : What are you ? 

Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor. 

A'. Hen. Then you are a better than the king. 

Pist. The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold, 
A lad of life, an imp of fame ; 
Of parents good, of fist most valiant ; 
I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-strings 
I love the lovely bully. What's thy name ? 

A. Hen. Harry te Koi/. [crew ? 

Pist. Le Roy ! a Cornish name ; art thou of Cornish 

A. Hen. No, I am a Welshman. 

Pist. Knowest thou Fluellen 1 

K. Hen. Yes. 

Pist. Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate, 
Upon Saint Davy's day. 

A. Hen, Do not you wear your dagger in your cap 
that day, lest he knock that about yours. 

Pist. Art thou his friend ? 

A. Hen. And his kinsman too. 

Pist. The Jis;o for thee then ! 

A. Hen. I thank you : God be with you ! 

Pist. My name is Pistol called. 

A. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness. 

Enter Fluei.len and Gower, secerally. 

Gow. Captain Fluellen ! 

Flu. So ! in the name of Chesu Christ, speak lower. 
It is the greatest admiration in the universal 'orld, 
when the true and auncient prerogatifes and laws of 
the w^ars is not kept : if you would take the pains but 
to examine the wars of Pompey the Great, you siiall 
find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle taddie, or 
pibble pabble, in Pompey's camp , 1 warrant you, 
you shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the 
cares of it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety of it, 
and the modesty of it, to be otherwise. 

Gow. Why, the enemy is loud ; you heard him all 
night. 

Flu. If the enemy is an ass, and a fool, and a prat- 
ing coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should 
also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a prating 
coxcomb ; in your own conscience now 1 

Gow. I will speak lower. 

Fill. I pray you, and beseech you, that yo^i will 
[Exeunt Gower ami Fluel.'Ev 

K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashicn, 
There is much care and valour m this Welshman. 

Enter B.\tes, Court, and \\ ii.li.vms. 

Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the mcrn- 
j ing which breaks yonder ? 

I Bates. I think it he : but we have no great cause 
1 to desire the approach of day. 



lEiit. 



440 



KING HENRY V. 



Will. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but 
I think, we shall never see the end of it. — Who goes 
there ? 

K. Hen, A friend. 

Will. Under what captain serve you ? 

A'. Hen. Under sir Thomas Erpingham. 

Will. A good old commander, and a most kind gen- 
tleman : I pray you, what thinks he of our estate ? 

A'. Hen. Even as men wreck'J upon a sand, that 
look to be wasii'd off the next tide. 

Bates. He hath not told his thought to the king? 

K. Hen, No ; nor it is not meet he should. For, 
though I speak it to you, I think, the king is but a 
man, as I am ; the violet smells to him, as it doth to 
me ; the element shews to him, as it doth to me ; all 
his senses have but human conditions : his ceremo- 
nies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man ; 
and though his affections are higher mounted than 
ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like 
wing ; therefore when he sees reason of fears, as v,'e 
do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as 
ours are: Yet, in reason, no man should possess him 
with any appearance of fear, lest he, by shewing it, 
should dishearten his army. 

Bates. He may shew what outward courage he will : 
hut, I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could wish 
himself in the Thames up to the neck ; and so I 
would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so 
we were quit here. 

A' Hen. By my troth, I will speak my conscience 
of the king ; I think, he would not wish himself any 
where but where he is. 

Bates. Then, 'would he were here alone ; so should 
he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's 
lives saved 

A'. Hen. I dare say, you love him not so ill, to 
wish him here alone : howsoever you speak this, to 
feel other men's minds : Methinks, I could not die 
any where so contented, as in the king's company ; 
his cause being just, and his quarrel honourable. 

Will. That's more than we know. 

Bates, Ay, or more than we should seek after ; for 
we know enough, if we know we are the king's sub- 
jects ; if his cause be wrong, our obedience to the 
king wipes the crime of it out of us. 

Will. But if the cause be not good, the king him- 
self hath a heavy reckoning to make ; when all those 
legs, and arms, and heads, chopped off in a battle, 
sliall join together at the latter day, and cry all — We 
died at such place ; some, swearing ; some, ctying 
for a surgeon ; some, upon their wives left poor be- 
hind them ; som.e, upon the debts they owe ; some, 
upon their children rawly left. I am afeard there 
are few die well, that die in battle ; for how can they 
charitably dispose of any thing, when blood is their 
•^rgumentl Now, if these men do not die well, it will 
be a black matter for the king that led them to it ; 
^"iiom to disobey, were against all proportion of sub- 
jection. 

A. Hen. So, if a son, that is by his father sent 
about merchandise, do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, 
the imputationof his wickedness, by your rule, should 
be imposed upon his father that sent him : or if a 
servant, under his master's command, transporting a 
sum of money, be assailed by robbers, and die in 
many irreconciied iniquities, you may call the busi- 
ness of the master the author of the servant's damna- 
tion : — But this is not so : the king is not bound to 
answer the particular endings of his soldiers, the fa- 
ther of his son, nor the master of his servant ; for 
they purpose not their death, when they purpose their 
services. Besides, there is no king, be his cause 



never so spfrtless, if it comv to tie aibitremcnt of 
swords, can try it out with all unspotted soldier.s. 
Some, peradventure, have on them the guilt ot pre- 
meditated and contrived murder ; sosne, of beguiling 
virgins with the broken seals of perjury ; some, making 
the wars their bulwark, that have before gored the 
gentle bosom of peace with pillage and robbery. Now, 
if these men have defeated it s law, and outrun na- 
tive punishment, though they can outstrip men, they 
have no wings to fly from God : war is his beadle, 
war is his vengeance ; so that here men are punished, 
for before-breach of the king's laws, in now the king's 
quarrel : where they feared the death, they have borne 
life away ; and where they vi'ould be safe, tliey pe- 
rish : Then if they die unprovided, no more is the 
king guilty of their damnation, than he was before 
guilty of those impieties for the which they are now 
visited. Every subject's duty is the king's ; but every 
subject's soul is his own. Therefore should every 
soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his bed, 
wash every mote out of his conscience : and dying so, 
death is to him advantage ; or, not dying, the time 
was blessedly lost, wherein such preparation was 
gained : and in him that escapes, it were not sin to 
think, that making God so free an offer, he let him 
outlive that day to see bis greatness, and to teach 
others hovi^ they should prepare. 

Will. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill is 
upon his own head, the king is not to ansvv'er for it. 

Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me j 
and yet 1 determine to fight lustily for him. 

K. Hen. I myself heard the king say, he would not 
be ransomed. 

Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully: 
but, when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, 
and we ne'er the wiser. 

K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his 
word after. 

Will. 'Mass, you'll pay him then ! That's a peril- 
ous shot out of an elder gun, that a poor and private 
displeasure can do against a monarch I you may as 
well go about to turn the sun to ice, with fanning in 
his face with a peacock's feather. You'll never trust 
his word after ! come, 'tis a foolish saying. 

A'. Hen. Your reproof is something too round ; I 
should be angry with you, if the time were conve- 
nient. 

Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live. 

A'. Hen. I embrace it. 

Will. How shall I know thee again? 

A'. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I will 
wear it in my bonnet: then, if ever thou darest ac- 
knowledge it, I will make it my quarrel. 

Will. Here's my glove; give me another of thine. 

A'. Hen. There. 

Will. This will I also wear in roy cap : if ever 
thou come to mo and say, after to-morrow. This is my 
glove, by this hand, I will take thee a box on the ear. 

A'. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it. 

Will. Thou darest as well be hanged. 

A'. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in 
the king's company. 

Will. Keep thy word : fare thee well. 

Bates. Be friends, you linglish fools, be friends ; 
wo have French quarrels enough, if you could tell 
how to reckon. 

K. Hen Indeed, the French may lay twenty French 
crowns to one, they will beat us ; for they bear tliem 
on their shoulders : But it is no English treason, to 
cut French crowns ; and, to-morrow, the king him- 
self will be a clipper. [Exeunt Soldiers. 
Upon the king ! let us our lives, our souls. 



ACT IV.— SCENE If. 



441 



Our debts, our careful wives, our cliildren, and 

Our sins, lay on the king ; — we must bear all. 

O hard condition ! twin-ljorn with f;reatness, 

Siiljjeeted to the breath of every fool, 

Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing ! 

What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect. 

That private men enjoy ] 

And what have kings, that privates have not too, 

Save ceremony, save general ceremony"! 

And what art thou, thou idol ceremony'! 

What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more 

Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers 1 

What are thy rents'! what are thy comings-in? 

ceremony, shew me but thy worth 1 
What is the soul of adoration 1 

Art thou aught else but place, degree, and fonn. 

Creating awe and fear in other men ] 

Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd 

Than they in fearing. 

What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, 

But poison'd flattery'! O, be sick, great greatness. 

And bid thy ceremony give thee cure ! 

Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out 

With titles blown from adulation 1 

V\'ill it give place to flexure and low bending? 

Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee. 

Command the healtli of it ! No, thou proud dream. 

That play'st so subtly with a king's repose ; 

1 am a king that find thee ; and I know, 
'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball, 
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial. 
The enter-tissued robe of gold and pearl. 
The farced title running 'fore the king. 
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp 
That beats upon the high shore of this world. 
No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony. 
Not all these, laid in bed majestical. 

Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave ; 

Who, with a body fill'd, and vacant mind. 

Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread ; 

Never sees horrid night, the child of hell ; 

But, like a lackey, from the rise to set, 

Sweats in the eye of Phcebus, and all night 

Sleeps in Elysium ; next day, after dawn. 

Doth rise, and help Hyperion to his horse ; 

And follows so the ever-running year 

With profitable labour, to his grave : 

And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, 

Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep. 

Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. 

The slave, a member of the country's peace. 

Enjoys it ; but in gross brain little wots, 

What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace. 

Whose hours the peasant best advantages. 

Enter Erpingiiam. 

Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence, 
Seek through your camp to find you. 

A'. Hen. Good old knight. 

Collect them all together at my tent, 
I'll be before thee. ^ 

Erp. I shall do't, my lord. [Exit. 

K. Hen. O God of battles! steel my soUliers' hearts! 
Possess them not with fear ; take from tliem now 
Tile sense of reckoning, if tiie opposed numbers 
Pluck their hearts from them! — Not to-day, O Lord, 

not to-day, think not upon the fault 
My father made in compassing the crown ! 

1 Richard's body have interred new ; 

And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears, 
Than from it issued forced drops of blood, 
five liundrsd poor 1 have in yearly pay, 



Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up 
Towards heaven, to paidou blood ; and 1 have built 
Two chantries, where tlie sad and solemn priests 
Singstiil for llicliard's soul. IMore will I do: 
Thougli all that 1 can do, is nothing worth ; 
Since that my penitence comes after all. 
Imploring pardon. 

Enter Gloster. 

Glo. My liege ! 

A'. Hen. My brother G loster's voice ? — Ay ; 

I know thy errand, 1 will go with thee : — 
The day, my friends, and all things stay for me. [Ex. 

SCENE II.— The French Camp. 
Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Ramiiures, and others. 

OrL The sun doth gild our armour ; up, my lords. 
Dau. Mnntez a chevat : — My horse ! valet! lacquay! 
OrL O brave spirit ! j ha ! 

Dau. Via ! — les eaux et la terre 

Orl. Rien puis? I'air et lefen • 

Dau. del ! cousin Orleans. 



Enter Constable. 
.Vow, my lord Constable ! 

Cnn. Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh. 

Dau. Mount them, and make incision in their hides; 
'I'liat their hot blood may spin in English eyes, 
And dout them with superfluous courage : Ha! 

Kani. What, will you have them weep our horses' 
How shall we then behold their natural tears "! [bloodi 
Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. The English are embattled, you French peers. 

Cnn.. To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse' 
Do but beiiold yon poor and starved band, 
.And your fair show siiall suck away tiieir souls. 
Leaving them but the shades and husks of men. 
1 here is not work enough for all our hands ; 
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins, 
To give each naked curtle-ax a stain. 
That our French gallants shall to-day draw out, 
And sheath for lack of sport : let us but blow on them, 
The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them. 
'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords. 
That our superfluous lackeys, and our peasants, — 
\Vho, in unnecessary action, swarm 
About our squares of battle, — were enough 
To purge this field of such a hilding foe : 
Though we, upon this mountain's basis by 
I'ook stand for idle speculation : 
Hut that our honours must not. What's to say 1 
A very little little let us do, 
And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound 
The tucket sonuance, and the note to mount ; 
For our approach shall so much dare the field, 
rhat England shall couch down in fear, and yield. 
Enter Grandpre. 

Grand. Whydoyou stay so long, my lords of France, 
^'on island carrions, desperate of their bones, 
I U-favouredly become the morning field: 
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose, 
And our air shakes them passing scornfully. 
Hig Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host, 
And faintly through a rusty beaver ])eeps. 
I'heir horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks, 
With torch-staves in their hand : and their poor jades 
Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips ; 
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes ; 
And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit 
Lies foul with chewed grass, still and motionless ; 
And their executors, the knavish crows, 
Fly er them all, impatient for their hour. 



442 



KING HENRY V. 



Description cannot suit itself in words, 
To demonstrate the lite of such a battle 
In life so lifeless as it shews itself. [death. 

Coil. They have said their prayers, and they stay for 
Dim. Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh suits, 
And give their fasting horses provender. 
And after fight with them ? 

Con. I stay but for my guard •, On, to the field ; 
I will the banner from a trumpet take. 
And use it for my haste. Come, come away ! 
The sun is high, and we outwear the day. [Eieunt. 

SCENE III The English Camp. 

Enter the English Host; Gloster, Bedford, 
Exeter, Salisbury, and Westmoreland. 

Glo. Where is the king? 

Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle. 

West. Of fighting men they have full threescore 
thousand. 

Eie. Theie's five to one ; besides, they all are fresh. 

Sal. God's arm strike with us ! 'tis a fearful odds. 
God be wi' you, princes all ; I'll to my charge : 
If we no more meet, till we meet in heaven. 
Then, joyfully, — my noble lord of Bedford, — 
]My dear lord Gloster, — and ray good lord Exe'er, — 
And my kind kinsman, — warriors, all adieu ! 

Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury ; and good luck go 
with thee ! 

Eie. Farewell, kind lord, fight valiantly to-day; 
And yet I do thee wrong, to mind thee of it. 
For tlijou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour. 

[ F.iit Samsui'uy. 

Bed. Tie is as full of valour, as of kindness ; 
Princely in both. 

Weal. O that we now had here 

Enter Kino Henry. 
But one ten thousand of those men in England, 
That do no work to-day ! 

A'. Hen, What's he, that wishes so? 

My cousin Westmoreland 1 — No, my fair cousin : 
If vv'e are marked to die, we are enough 
To do our country loss ; and if to live. 
The fewer men, the greater share of honour. 
God's will ! I pray thee, wish not one man more. 
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold ; 
Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost ; 
It yearns me not, if men my garments wear ; 
Such outward things dwell not in my desires : 
But if it be a sin to covet honour, 
I am the most offending soul alive. 
No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England : 
God's peace ! 1 would not lose so great an honour, 
As one man more, methinks, would share from me. 
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more : 
Bather proclaim it, W^estmoreland, through my host, 
That he, which hath no stomach to this figiit. 
Let him depart ; his passport shall be made, 
And crowns for convoy put into his purse : 
We would not die in that man's company, 
That fears his fellowship to die with us. 
This day is call'd— the feast of Crispian : 
He, that outlives this day, and comes safe home. 
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd. 
And rouse him at the name of Crispian. 
He, that shall live this day, and see old age. 
Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends, 
And say — to-morrow is saint Crispian : 
Then will he strip his sleeve, and shew his scars. 
And say, these wounds I had on Crispin's day. 
Old men forget ; yet all shall be forgot. 
But he'll remember with advantages, 



What feats he did that day: Then shall our names. 

Familiar in their mouths as household wortls, — 

Harry the king, Bedford, and E.xeter, 

Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, — 

Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd : 

This story shall the good man teach his son ; 

And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go bv. 

From this day to the ending of the world, 

But we in it shall be remember'd : 

We few, we happy few, we band of brotheis , 

For he, to-day that sheds his blood with me. 

Shall be my brother ; be he ne'er so vile. 

This day shall gentle his condition : 

And gentlemen in England, now abed, 

Shall think themselves accurs'd, they were not here , 

And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks, 

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. 

Enter Salisbury. 
Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed : 
The French are bravely in their battles set, 
And will with all expedience charge on us. 

A'. Hen. All things are ready, if our minds be so. 
West. Perish the man, whose mind is backward now! 
A'. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from P>ng- 

land, cousin ? 
West. God's will, my liege, 'would you and I alone. 
Without more help, might fight this battle out ! 
K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thou- 
sand men ; 
Which likes me better, than to wish us one. — 
You know your places : God be with you all ! 

Tucket. Enter Montjoy. 

Mont. Once more I come to know of thee, king Harry, 
If for thy ransome thou wilt now compound. 
Before thy most assured overthrow : 
For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf, 
'i'hou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy. 
The constable desires thee — thou wilt mind 
Thy followers of repentance ; that their souls 
May make a peaceful and a sv/eet retire 
From off these fields, where (wretches) their poor 
JMust lie and fester. [bodies 

A'. Hen. Who hath sent thee now ] 

Mont. The Constable of France. 

A. Hen- 1 pray thee, bear my former answer back ; 
Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones. 
Good God ! why should they mock poor fellows thus 1 
The man, that once did sell the lion's skin 
While the beast lived, was kill'd with hunting him. 
A many of our bodies shall, no doubt. 
Find native graves ; upon the which, I trust. 
Shall witness live in brass of this day's work : 
And those that leave their valiant bones in France, 
Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills, 
They shall be fam'd ; for there the sun shall greet them, 
And draw their honours reeking up to heaven ; 
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime, 
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France. 
Mark then a bounding valour in our English ; 
That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing. 
Break out into a second course of mischief, 
Killing in relapse of mortality. 
Let me speak proudly ; — Tell the Constable, 
We are but warriors for the woiking-day : 
Our gayness, and our gilt, are all besmirch'd 
With rainy marching in the painful field ; 
There's not a piece of feather in our host, 
(Good argunent, 1 hope, we shall not lly,) 
And time hath worn us into slovenry : 
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim 
And my poor soldiers tell ine — yet ere night 



ACT IV.— SCENE VI. 



4-13 



They '11 be in fresher robes ; or they will pluck 
The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' iieads, 
And turn them out of service. If they do this, 
(As, if God please, they shall,) my ransome then 
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour; 
Come thou no more for ransome, gentle herald ; 
They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints: 
Which if they have as I will leave 'em to them. 
Shall yield them little, tell the Constable. 

Mont. I shall, king Harry. And so fare thee well : 
Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exit. 

K. Hen. I fear, thou 'It once more come again for 
ransome. 

Enter the Duke of York. 

York. ]\Iy lord, most humbly on my knee I beg 
The leading of the vaward. [march away : — 

K. Hen. Take it, brave York. — Now, soldiers, 
And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! [E.ieunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Field of Battle. 

Alarums: Excursions. £u(er French Soldier, 
Pistol, and Boy. 

Pist. Yield, cur. 

Fr. Sol. Je pense, que vous estes le gentilhomme de 
bonne qualiti. 

Pist. Quality, call you me? — Construe me, art 
thou a gentleman ? What is thy name! discuss. 

Fr. Sol. seigneur Dieu ! 

Pist. O, signieur Dew should be a gentleman : — 
Perpend my words, O signieur Dew, and mark : — 
O signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox, 
Except, O signieur, thou do give to mo 
Esregious ransome. 

Fr. Sol. 0,prennez misericorde ! ayez piti£ demoi/t 

Pist. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys ; 
For I will fetch thy rim out at thy Ihroa*, 
In drops of crimson blood. 

Fr. Sol. Est il impossible d'eschajiper la force de Ion 
bras ? 

Pist. Brass, cur ! 
Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat, 
Ofter'st me brass ? 

Fr. Sol. pardonnez moij ! 

Pist. Say'st thou me so ? is that a ton of moys ? 
Come hither, boy ; Ask me this slave in French, 
What is his name. 

Boy. Escoutez ; Comment estes vous appellc ? 

Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Per. 

Boy, He says, his name is — master Fer. 

Pist. Master Fer ! I '11 fer him, and firk him, and 
ferret him : — discuss the same in French unto him. 

Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, 
and tirk. 

Pist. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat. 

Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur? 

]ioy. U me commande de vous dire que vous faites 
vous prest ; car ce soldat icy est disposd lout a ce.lte 
heure de couper vostre gorge. 

I'ist. Ouy, couper gorge, par ma foy, pesant. 
Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns ; 
Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword. 

Fr. Sol. 0,je voussupplie pour I'umour de Dieu, mc 
pardonner ! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne vuiison ; gar- 
dez ma vie, et je vous donneray deux cent escus. 

Pist. What are his words ! 

Boy. He prays you to save his life : he is a gen- 
tleman of a good house ; and, for his ransome, he will 
give you two hundred crowns. 

Pist. 'I'ell him, — my fury shall abate, and I 
The crowns will take. 

Fr. Sol, Petit moiiiieur, que dit il? 



Boy. Encore quil est centre son jurement, de vnr- 
donner aucun prison nier ; Jieantmoins, pour tes esrus 
ijtie vous r avez prnnjis, il est content de vous donner la 
iiherte, lejrnnchisement. 

Fr. Sol. Sur ynes genoux,je vous donne mille remer- 
ciemens: etje m'estime heureutqueje suis tombe entre 
les mains d'un chevalier, Je pcnse, le plus brave, valiant, 
et tres distingue seigtteur d'Angleterre. 

Pist. Expound unto me, boy. 

Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand 
thanks : and he esteems himself happy that he hath 
fallen into the hands of (as he thinks) the most brave, 
valorous, and thrice-worthy seignieur of England. 

Pist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy shew. — - 
Follow me, cur. [Exit Pistol. 

Boy. Suivez vous le grand capitaine. \Exit Fr. Sol, 
I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty 
a heart : but the saying is true, — the empty vessel 
makes the greatest sound. Bardolph, and Nym, had 
ten times more valour than this roaring devil i' the old 
play, that every one may pare his nails with a wooden 
dagger ; and they are both hanged ; and so would 
this be, if he durst steal anything adventurously. I 
must stay with the lackeys, with the luggage of our 
camp : the French might have a good prey of us, if 
he knew of it ; for there is none to guard it, but boys. 

{Exit. 

SCENE Y.— Another Part of the Field of Battle. 

Alarums. Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Bourbon, 
Constable, Ramuures, and others. 

Con. dinble! 

Orl. seigneur ! — le jour est perdu, tout est perdu ! 

Dau. Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all ! 
Reproach and everlasting shame 
Sits mocking in our plumes. — meschaiite fortune ! — 
Do not run away. [A short alarum. 

Coo. Why, all our ranks are broke. 

Dun. O perdurable shame !— let's stab ourselves. 
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for ? 

Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his ransome 1 

Bour. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame! 
Let us die instant : Once more back again ; 
And he that will not follow LJourbon now. 
Let him go hence, and, with his cap in hand, 
Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door, 
Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog, 
Llis fairest daughter is contaminate. 

Con. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now ' 
Let us, in heaps, go offer up our lives 
Unto these English, or else die with fame. 

Orl. We are enough, yet living in the field. 
To smother up the Englisii in our throngs. 
If any order miglit be thought upon. 

Bour. The devil take order now ! I '11 to the throng ; 
Let life be short ; else shame will be too long. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— Another Part of the Field. 

Alarums. Enter Kiyo Henry aH(/ Forces; Exeter, 

and others. 

K. Hen. Well have we done, thrice-valiant coun- 
trymen : 
But all's not done, yet keep the French the field. 

Exe. The duke of York commends him to your 
majesty. [hour, 

K. Hen. Lives he, good uncle 1 thrice within this 
I saw him down ; thrice up again, and fighting ; 
From helmet to the spur, all blood he was. 

Ere. In which array, (brave soldier,) doth he he, 
Larding the plain : and by his bloody side. 



414 



KING HENRY V. 



(Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,) 

The noble earl of Suffolk also lies. 

Suffolk first died: and York, all haggled over, 

Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd, 

And takes him by the beard ; kisses the gashes. 

That bloodily did yawn upon his face ; 

And cries aloud, — Tarry, dear cousin Suffnlk! 

Mij soul shall thine keep company to heaven: 

Tarrif, sweet soul, for mine, then fiy a-breast ; 

As, in this glorious and ueli-f oughten Jield , 

We kept together in our chivalry ! 

Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up: 

He smil'd me in the face, raught me his hand, 

And with a feeble gripe, says, — Dear my lord, 

Commend mil service to my sorerkign. 

So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck 

He threw his wounded arm. and kiss'd his lips ; 

And so, espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd 

A testament of noble-ending love. 

The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd 

Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd; 

Eut I had not so much of man in me. 

But all my mother came into mine eyes, 

And gave me up to tears. 

K. Hen. I blame you not ; 

For, hearing this, I must perforce compound 
With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. — [Alarum. 
But, hark! what new alarum is this same ] — 
The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men : — 
Then every soldier kill his prisoners ; 
Give the word through. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VIL— Another Part of the Field. 
Alarums. Enter Flueli.f.n and Gowkr. 

Flu. Kill the poys and the luggage ! 'tis expressly 
against the law of arms : 'tis as arrant a piece of 
knavery, mark you now, as can be offered, in the 
'orld : In vour conscience now, is it not? 

Gow. 'Tis certain there's not a boy left alive ; and 
the cowardly rascals, that ran from the battle, have 
done this slaughter : besides, they have burned and 
carried away all thai was in the king's tent ; where- 
fore the king, most vvortinly, hath caused every soldier 
to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a gallant king ! 

Flu. Ay, he was porn at JMonmouth, captain 
Gower : What call you the town's name, where 
Ale.xander the pig was porn. 

Goui. Alexander the great. 

Flu. Why, 1 pray you, is not pig, great? The pig, 
or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the mag 
nanimous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase is 
a little variations. 

Gow. I think Alexander the great was born in 
Rlacedon; his father was called — i'hilip ofAIacedon, 
as I take it. 

Flu. I think it is in Macedon, where Alexander is 
porn. I tell you, captain, — if you look in the maps 
of the 'orld, I warrant, you shall find, in the com- 
parisons between Macedon and JMonmouth, that the 
situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river 
in Macedon ; and there is also moreover a river at 
Rlonmouth : it is called ^Vye, at iMonmoutli ; but it 
is oat of my prains, what is the name of the other 
river; but 'tis all one, 'tis so like a; my fingers is to 
my fingers, and there is salmons in both If you mark 
Alexander's life well, Harry of Monmouth's life is 
come after it indifferent well ; for there is figures in 
aU things, Alexander (God knows, and you know, ) 
in his rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and his 
cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures, and his 
indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in his 



prains, did, in his ales and his angers, look you, kill 
his pest friend, (llytus. 

Gou). Our king is not like him in that ; he never 
killed any of his friends. 

Flu. It is not well done, mark you now, to take 
tales out of my mouth, ere it is made an end and 
finished. I speak but in the figures and comparisons 
of it: As Alexander is kill his friend Clytus, being 
in his ales and his cups ; so also Harry Monmouth; 
being in his right wits and his goot judgments, is turn 
away the fat knight with the great pelly-doublet: he 
was full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and 
mocks : I am forget his name. 

Gow. Sir .John Falstaff. 

Flu, That is he: 1 can tell you, there is goot men 
porn at Monmouth. 

Gow. Here comes his majesty. 

Alarum. Enter King Henry with a part of the 
Engli;>h Forces; Warwick, Glosteu, Exeter, 

and olliers. 

K. Hen. I was not angry since I came to Fra-nce 
Until this instant. — Take a trumpet, herald ; 
•Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill ; 
If they will fight with us, bid them come down 
Or void the field ; they do offend our sight : 
If they'll do neither, we will come to them ; 
.Vnd make them skirr away, as swift as stones 
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings : 
Besides, we '11 cut the throats of those we have ; 
And not a man of them, that we shall take. 
Shall taste our mercy : — Go, and tell them so 

Enter Montjoy. 

Ere. Here comes the herald of the French, my liege. 

Gl.0. His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be 

A'. Hen. How now ! what means this, herald ? 
know'st thou not, 
That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransome 1 
Com'st thou again for ransome ? 

Mont. No, great king 

I come to thee for charitable licence, 
That we may wander o'er this bloody field. 
To book our dead, and then to bury them ; 
To sort our nobles from our common men ; 
For many of our princes (woe the while!) 
Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood ; 
(So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs 
In blood of princes ;) and their wounded steeds 
Fret fetlock deep in gore, and, with wild rage, 
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters. 
Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king. 
To view the field in safety, and dispose 
Of their dead bodies. 

K. Hen, I tell thee truly, herald, 

I know not, if the day be ours, or no ; 
For yet a many of your horsemen peer, 
And gallop o'er the field. 

Mont. The day is yours. 

A'. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength, for 
What is this castle call'd, that stands hard by \ [it ! — 

Mont. They call it — Agincourt. 

7v. Hen. Then call we this— the field of Agincourt, 
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. 

Flu. Your grandfather of famous memory, an 't 
please your majesty, and your great uncle Edward 
the plack prince of Wales, as 1 have read in the chro- 
nicles, fought a most prave pattle here in France. 

A'. Hen. They did, Fluellen. 

Flu. Your majesty says very true: if your majesties 
is remembered of it, the Welshmen did goot service 
in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks la 



ACT IV. -SCENE VIII. 



4^5 



their Monmouth caps; which, your majesty knows, 
to tliis hour is an honourable padge of the service ; 
and, 1 do believe, your majesty takes no scorn to wear 
the leek upon Saint Tavy's day. 

A'. Hen. I wear it for a memoi ible honour : 
Fori am Welsh, you know, good covintryman. 

Flu. All the water in Wye cannot wash your ma- 
esty's Welch plood out of your pody, I can tell you 
hat: Got pless it and preserve it, as long as it pleases 
lis grace, and his majesty too ! 

K.Hen. Thanks, good my countryman. 

Fill. J3y Cheshu, 1 am your majesty's countrj-man, 
I care not who know it; 1 will confess it to all the 
'orld : 1 need not to be ashamed of your majesty, 
praised be God, so long as your majesty is an ho- 
nest man. 

K.Hen. God keep me so !— Our heralds go witli 
Bring me just notice of the numbers dead [him ; 
On both our parts.— Call yonder fellow hither. 

[ Points to WiLLiAJis. F,.\eu.nt jMontjoy and others. 

Ere. Soldier, you must come to the king-. 

A', Hen. Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in thy 
cap? 

Will. An 't please your majesty, 'tis the gage of one 
that I should fight withal, if he be alive. 

A'. Hen. An Englishman'? 

Will. An't please your majesty, a rascal, that 
swaggered with me last night : who, if 'a live, and 
ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to take 
him a box o' the ear : or, if I can see my glove in his 
cap, (which he swore, as he was a soldier, he would 
wear, if alive,) I will strike it outsoundly. 

K.Hen. What think you, captain Fluellen? is it 
. 't this soldier keep his oath ? 

Flu. He is a craven and a villain else, an't please 
t^our majesty, in my conscience. 

K. Hen. It may be, his enemy is a gentleman of 
great sort, quite from the answer of his degree. 

Flu. Though he be as goot a gentleman as the tevil 
is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is necessary, 
look your grace, that he keep his vow and his oath : 
if he be perjured, see you now, his reputation is as 
arrant a villain, and a Jack sauce, as ever his plack 
shoe trod upon Got's ground and his earth, in my 
conscience, la. 

A'. Hen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, v^hen thou 
meet'st the fellow. 

Will. So I will, my liege, as I live. 

A'^. Hen. Who servest thou under? 

Will. Under captain Gower, my liege. 

Flu. Gower is a goot captain ; and is goot know- 
ledge and literature in the wars. 

A'. Hen. Call him hither to me, soldier. 

Will. I will, my liege. [Fiit. 

K. Hen. Here, Fluellen ; wear thou this favour .<'or 
me, and stick it in thy cap: When Alenfonand my- 
self were down together, I plucked this glove from 
his helm ; if any man challenge this, he is a friend 
to Alenfon and an enemy to our person ; if thou en- 
counter any such, apprehend him, an thou dost love 
me. 

Flu. Your grace does me as great honours, as can 
be desired in the hearts of his subjects : 1 would fain 
see the man, that hast but two legs, that shall find 
himself aggriefed at this glove, that is all ; but 1 
would fain see it once : an please Got oMiis grace, 
that 1 might see it. 

A'. Hen Knowest thoii Gower? 

Fill. He is my dear friend, an please you. 

A. Hen. Pray thee, go stek him, and bring liiin lo 



y tvid. 
Flu, I will fetch him. 



[Eia. 



K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, — and my brother 
Follow Fluellen closely at tiie heels : [Gloster, 

I'he glove, which 1 have given him for a favour, 
^lay, haply, purchase him a box o' the ear ; 
It is the soldier's ; I, by bargain, should 
U'ear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick: 
If that the soldier strike him, (as, I judge 
By his blunt bearing, he will keep his word,) 
Some sudden mischief may arise of it ; 
For I do know Fluellen valiant, 
And, touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder, 
And quickly will return an injury: 
Follow, and see there be no harm between thera. — 
Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. lE.ieunt. 

SCENE Yin.— Before King Henry's Pavilion. 

Enter Gower and Williams. 
Will. I warrant, it is to knight you, captain. 

Enter Fluellen. 
Flu. Got's will and his pleasure, captain, I peseech 
you now, come ajiace to the king: there is more goot 
toward you, peradventure, than is in your knowleilge 
to dream of. 

Will. Sir, know you this glove? 

Fill. Know the glove? I know, the glove is a glove. 

]Vill. 1 know this; and thus I challenge it. 

[Strikes him. 
Flu. 'Sblud, an arrant traitor, as any's in the uni- 
versal 'orld, or in France, or in England. 



Goir. How now, sir ] vou vil 



ain 



Will. Do you think I'll be forsworn? 

Fin. Stand away, captain Gower ; I will give trea- 
son his payment into plows, I warrant you. 

Will. 1 am no traitor. 

Flu. That's a lie in thy throat.— ^I charge }'0u in 
his majesty's name, apprehend him; he 's a friend to 
the duke Alenyon's. 

Enter Warwick and Gloster. 

War. How now, how now! what's the matter? 

Flu. Rly lord of Warwick, here is (praised be Got 
for it!) a most contagious treason come to light, look 
you, as you shall desire in a summer's day. Here is 
his majesty. 

Enter King Henry and Exeter. 

A'. Hen. How now ! what's the matter? 

Flu. i\Iy liege, here is a villain, and a traitor, that, 
look your grace, has struck the glove which your 
majesty is take out of the helmet of Alenyon. 

11(7/. My liege, this was my glove ; here is the 
fellow of it: and he, that 1 gave it to in change, pro- 
misetl to wear it in his cap; I promised to strike him, 
if he did : I met this man with iny glove in his cap 
and I have been as good as my word. 

Elu. Your majesty hear now, (saving your ma- 
jesty's manhood,) what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, 
lowsy knave it is : 1 hope, your majesty is j>ear me 
testimony, and witness, and avouchnients, tliat this is 
the glove of Alen^-on, that your majesty is give me, 
in your conscience now. 

K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier; Look, here 
is the fellow of it. 'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st 
to strike ; and thou hast given me most bitter terms. 

Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck answer 
for it, if there is any martial law in the 'orld. 

A. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfaction? 

11(7/. All offences, my liege, come from the heart : 
never came any from mine, that might ofl'end yeui 
majesty. 

\. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse. 



446 



KING HENRY V. 



Wilt. Your majesty came not like yourself: you ' 
appeared to me but as a cornuioii man ; witness the 
night, vour garments, your lowliness ; and what your i 
highness suffered under that siiape, 1 beseech you, ' 
take it for your own fault, and not mine : for had 
von been as I took you for, I made no offence ; there- 
fore, I beseech your liighness, pardon me. [crowns, 

A'. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with 
And give it to this fellow. — Keep it, fellow ; 
And wear it for an honour in thy cap, 
Till I do challenge it — Give him the crowns : — 
And, captain, you must needs be friends with him. 

Flu. By this day and tliis light, the fellow lias 
mettle enough in his pelly : — Hold, there is twelve 
pence for you, and I pray you to serve Got, and keep 
you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, and 
dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is thepetter for you. 

Will. I will none of your money. 

Flu. It is with a goot will ; I can tell you, it will 
serve you to mend your shoes : Come, wherefore 
should you be so pashful ? your shoes is not so goot : 
'tis a good silling, I warrant you, or I will change it. 

Enter an English Herald. 

K. Hen. Now, herald ; are the dead number'd 7 

Her. Here is the number of the slaughler'd French. 

[De/(i'ers a jiajier. 

K.Hen. What prisoners of good sort are taken unclel 

Exe. Charles duke of Orleans, nephew to the king ; 
John duke of Bourbon, and the lord 15ouciqualt : 
Of other lords, and barons, knights, and 'squires, 
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. [French, 

A'. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thousand 
That in the field lie slain : of princes, in this number, 
And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead 
One hundred twenty-six : added to these, 
Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen. 
Eight thousand and four hundred ; of the which. 
Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights : 
So that, in these ten thousand they have lost, 
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries ; 
Therestare — princes, barons, lords, knights, 'squires, 
And gentlemen of blood and quality. 
The names of those their nobles that lie dead, — 
Charles ]3e-la-bret, high constable of France ; 
Jaques of Chatillon, admiral of France ; 
The master of the cross-bows, lord Ilambures ; 
Great master of France, the brave sir Guischard 

Dauphin ; 
John duke of Alen9on ; Antony duke of Brabant, 
The brother to the duke of Burgundy ; 
And Edward duke of Bar ; of lusty earls, 
Grandpre, and Roussi, Fauconherg, and Foix, 
Beaumont, and INIarle, Vaudemont, and Lestrale. 

Here was a royal fellowship of death ! 

^^'here is the number of our English dead 1 

[Herald "presents another paper. 
Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk, 
Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire: 
None else of name ; and of all other men, 
But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here, 
And not to us, but to thy arm alone. 
Ascribe we all. — When, without stratagem. 
But m plain shock, and even play of battle, 
Was ever known so great and little loss. 
On one part and on the others — Take it, God, 
For it is only thine ! i 

Exe. 'Tis wonderful ! 

A'. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the village 
And be it death proclaimed through our host. 
To boast of this, or take that praise from God, 
Which is his only. 



Flu. Is it not lawful, and please your inajesty, to 
tell how many is killed ? 

A. Hen. Yes, captain ; but with this acknovvledg. 
That God fought for us. [meul, 

Flu. \ es, my conscience, he did us great goot. 

A'. Hen. Do we all holy rites; 
T.et there be sung Non ncbis, and Te Deicm. 
The dead with charity enclos'd in clay, 
\\ e'll then to Calais ; and to England then , 
Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men. 

l^Exeunti 



ACT V. 

Enter Chorus. 

Chn. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story . 
That I may prompt them : and of such as have 
] humbly pray them to admit the excuse 
Of time, of numbers, and due course of tilings, 
Which cannot in their huge and proper life 
lie here presented. Now we bear the king 
Toward Calais : grant him there ; there seen. 
Heave him away upon your winged thoughts, 
Athwart the sea: Behold, the English beach 
Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys. 
Whose shouts and claps out- voice the deep- mouth'd 
Which, like a mighty whiffler 'fore the king, [sea, 
Seems to prepare his way : so let him land ; 
And, solemnly, see him set on to London. 
So swift a pace hath thought, that even now 
You may imagine him upon Blackheath : 
^Vhere that his lords desire him, to have borne 
His bruised helmet, and his bended sword, 
Before him, through the city: he forbids it, 
Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride , 
Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent, 
Quite from himself, to God. But now behold. 
In the q\iick forge and workinghouse of tliought. 
How London doth pour out her citizens ! 
'I'he mayor, and all his brethren, in best sort, — 
Like to the senators of the antique Rome, 
With the plebeians swarming at their heels, — 
Go forth, and fetch their conquering Ccesar in: 
As, by a lower but by loving likelihood, 
\Vere now the general of our gracious empress 
(As, in good time, he may,) from Ireland corning. 
Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, 
How many would the peaceful city quit. 
To welcome him ] much more, and much more cause, 
Did they this Harry. Now in London place him ; 
(As yet the lamentation of the French 
Invites the king of England's stay at home : 
The emperor's coming in behalf of France, 
To order peace between them ; ) and omit 
All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd, 
Till Harry's back-return again to France ; 
There must we bring him ; and myself have play'd 
The interim, by remembering you — 'tis past. 
Then brook abridgment ; and your eyes advance 
After your thoughts, straight back again to France. 

[Exit. 

SCI^NE I. — France. An English Ccnirt cf Guard. 
Enter Fluellen and Goweu. 

Gow. Nay, that's right ; but why wear you your 
leek to-day 1 Saint Davy's day is past. 

Flu. There is occasions and causes why and where- 
fore in all things : 1 will tell you, as my friend, captain 
Gower ; The rascally, scald, beggarly, lowsy, prag- 
ging knave. Pistol, — which you and yourself, and all 



ACT V.-SCENE II. 



447 



tlic 'oild, know to be no petter than a fellow, look 
\ou now of no merits, — he is come to me, and 
prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and 
bid nie eat my leek : it was in a place wliere 1 could 
not breed no contentions with liiin ; but I will be so 
Dold as to wear it in my cap till 1 see him once again, 
and then 1 \vill tell hun a little piece of my desires. 

Enter Pistol. 

C'ow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey- 
cock. 

Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings, nor his tur- 
key cocks. — Got pless you, ancient Pistol! you 
scurvy, lowsy knave. Got pless you ! 

Fist. Ha! art thou Bedlam ? dost thou thirst, base 
To have me fold up Parca's fatal web 1 [Trojan, 
Hence! 1 am qualmish at the smell of leek. 

Flu. I peseecii you heartily, scurvy, lowsy knave, 
at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to 
eat, look you, this leek ; because, look you, you do 
not love it, nor your affections, and your appetites, 
and your digestions, does not agree with it, 1 would 
desire you to eat it. 

Fist. Not for Cadwallader, and all his goats. 

Flu. 'I'here is one goat for you. [^Strikes him.'j 
Will you be so goot, scald knave, as eat it] 

Fist. Base Trojan, thou shall die. 

Flu. You say very true, scald knave, when Got's 
will is: I will desire you to live in the mean lime, 
and eat your victuals , come, there is sauce for it. 
[Stiikiug him again.] You called me yesterday, 
mountain-squire ; but I will make you to-day a squire 
of low degree. 1 pray you, fall to ; if you can mock 
a leek, you can eat a leek. 

(imr. Enough, captain; you have astonished him. 

Flu. 1 say, 1 will make him eat some part of niy 
leek, or I will peat his pale four days : Pile, I pray 
you ; it is good for your green wound, and your 
ploody coxcomb. 

Fist. Must 1 bite 1 

Flu. Y'es, certainly ; and out of doubt, and out of 
questions too, and ambiguities. 

Fist. By this leek, 1 will most horribly revenge ; 
I eat, and eke I swear. — 

Flu. Eat, I pray you : Will you have some more 
sauce to your leek • there is not enough leek to 
swear by. 

Fist. Quiet thy cudgel ; thou dost see, I eat. 

Flu. Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily. 
Nay, 'pray you, throw none away ; the skin is goot 
for your proken co.xcomb. When you take occasions 
to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at them ; 
that is all. 

Fist. Good. 

Flu. Ay, leeks is goot : — Hold you, there is a groat 
to ileal your pate. 

Fisc Me a groat I 

Flu. Y'es, verily, and in truth, you shall take it ; 
or 1 have another leek in my pocket, which you shall 
eat. 

I'ist. I take thy groat, in earnest of revenge. 

Flu. If 1 owe you any thing, I will pay you in 
cudgels ; you shall be a woodmonger, and buy no- 
thing of me but cudgels. God be wi' you, and keep 
you, and heal your pate. [Exit. 

Fist. All hell shall stir for this. 

Guw. Go, go ; you areacounterfeit cowardly knave. 
Will you mock at an ancient tradition, — begun upon 
an honourable respect, and worn as a memorable 
trophy of predeceased valour, — and dare not avouch 
in your deeds any of your words'! 1 have seen you 
gleeking and galling at tiiis gentleman twice or thrice. 



Y'ou thought, because he could not speak English in 
the native garb, he could not therefore handle an 
f^nglish cudgel : you find it otherwise ; and, hence- 
forth, let a \\ elsh correction teach you a good Eng- 
lish condition. Fare ye well. [Exit. 
I'ist. IJoth fortune play the huswife v/ith me now? 
News have 1, that my Nell is dead i'the spital 
Of malady of France ; 
And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. 
Old 1 do wax ; and from my weary limbs 
Honour is cudgelTd. Well, bawd will 1 turn. 
And something lean to cutjiurse of (piick hand. 
To England will 1 steal, and there I'll steal : 
And patches will 1 get unto these scars, 

[Exit. 



And swear, I got them in the Gallia wars. 



SCENE IL — Troyes in Champagne. An Apartinent 
in the French King's Falace. 

Enter at one door, King HENnv, Bedford, Gi-osTEii, 
ExKTEn, Warwick, Westmoreland, and oilier 
Lords ; at another, the French King, Quki.n Isa- 
bel, the Princess Katharine, Lords, Ladies, (?)C. 
the Duke of Burgundy, and his Tniin. 

K.Hen, Peace to this meeting,wherefore we are met! 
Unto our brother France, — and to our sister. 
Health and fair time of day :— joy and good wishes 
To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine ; 
Anil (as a branch and member of this royalty, 
By whom this great assembly is contriv'd,) 
^\ e do salute you, duke of Burgundy ; — 
And, princes F'rench, and peers, health to you all ! 

Fr. King. Right joyous are we to behold your face. 
Most worthy brother England ; fairly met : — 
So are you, princes English, every one. 

Q. Isa. So happy be the issue, brother England, 
Of this good day, and of this gracious meeting, 
As we are now glad to behold your eyes ; 
Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them 
Against the French, that met them in their bent, 
The fatal balls of murdering basilisks : 
The venom of such looks, we fairly hope, 
Have lost their quality ; and that this day 
Shall change all griefs, and quarrels, into love. 
A'. Jien. To cry amen to that, thus we appear. 
Q. Isa. Y'ou F^nglish princes all, I do salute you. 
Bur. JMy duty to you both, on equal love, [bour'd 

j Great kings of France and England ! 'I'hat I have la- 
Wiih all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours, 
To bring your most imperial majesties 
Unto this bar and royal interview, 
\'our mightiness on both parts best can witness. 
Since then my office hath so far prevail'd, 
'i'hat face to face, and royal eye to eye, 
\'ou have congreeted ; let it not disgrace me. 
If I demand, before this royal view, 
AVhat rub, or what impediment, there is, 
\\'hy that the naked, poor, and mangled peace, 

j Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births. 
Should not, in this best garden of the world, 

I Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage 1 
Alas! she hath from France too long been chas'd ; 
And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps. 
Corrupting in its own fertility. 

I Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, 

[ I'npruned dies : her hedges even-pleached, — 
l>ike prisoners wildly over-grown with hair, 
I'ut forth disorder'd twigs : her fallow leas 
'i'he darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory, 

; Doth root upon ; while that the coulter rusts, 
'i'hat should deracinate such savagery : 

[ Tlie even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth 



443 



KING HENRY V. 



The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, 
Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, 
Conceives by idleness ; and nothing teems, 
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs. 
Losing both beauty and utility. 
And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges, 
Defective in tlieir natures, grow to wildness ; 
Even so our houses, and ourselves, and children. 
Have lost, or do not learn, for want of time, 
Tlie sciences that should become our country ; 
But grow, like savages, — as soldiers will. 
That nothing do but meditate on blood, — 
To swearing, and stern looks, difl'us'd attire, 
And every thing that seems unnatural. 
Which to reduce into our former favour. 
You are assembled : and my speech entreats. 
That I may know the let, why gentle peace 
Should not expel these inconveniences. 
And bless us with her former qualities. 

A'. Hen. If, duke of Burgundy, you would the peace. 
Whose want gives growth to the imperfections 
Which you have cited, you must buy that peace 
With full, accord to all our just demands ; 
Whose tenours and particular effects 
You have, enschedul'd briefly, in your hands. 

Bur. The king hath heard them ; to the which, as 
There is no answer made. [y^t, 

A'. Hen. Well then, the peace, 

Which you before so urg'd, lies in his answer. 

Fr. King. I have but with a cursorary eye 
O'er-glanc'd the articles : pleaseth your grace 
To appoint some of your council presently 
To sit with us once more, with better heed , 
To re-survey them, we will, suddenly, 
Pass our accept, and peremptory answer. 

A". Heji. Brother, we shall. — Go, uncle Exeter, — 
And brother Clarence, — and you, brother Gloster, — 
Warwick, — and Huntington, — go with the king: 
And take with you free power, to ratify. 
Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best 
Shall see advantageable for our dignity. 
Any thing in, or out of, our demands ; 
And we'll consign thereto. — Will you, fair sister. 
Go with the princes, or stay here with us ? 

Q. hub. Our gracious brother, I will go with them ; 
Haply, a woman's voice may do some good, 
When articles, too nicely urg'd, be stood on. 

A'. Hen. Yet leave our cousin Katharine herewith 
She is our capital demand, compris'd [us ; 

Within the fore rank of our articles. 

Q. Isab. She hath good leave. 
[Ex. all but Hknuy, Kath., &; her Gentlewoman. 

A. Hen. Fair Katharine, and most fair! 

Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms. 
Such as will enter at a lady's ear. 
And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart"! 

A"(i(/(. Your majesty shall mock at me ; I cannot 
speak your England. 

A. Hen. O fair Katharine, if you will love me 
soundly with your French heart, 1 will be glad to 
hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue. 
Do you like me, Kate I 

Kat'i. Vurdoniiez wou, I cannot tell vat is — like me. 

K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate ; and you are 
like an angel. 

Kalh. Que dit-ill que je snis semhlable a les u/ifcs? 

Alice. Oui/, vrai^ment, (sctnf vostre grace) uinsi 
dit-il. 

K. Hen, I said so, dear Katharine ; and I must not 
blush to affirm it. 

Kdlh. boil Dieu ! les Unigues des luvnmcs Simt 
pleines des trompcries. 



K. Hen. What says she, fair one ? that tlie tongues 
of men are fuil of deceits ? 

Alice. Ouu ; dat de tongues of de mans is be full 
of deceits : dat is de princess. 

A'. Hen. The princess is the better English-woman. 
I'faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for my understand- 
ing : 1 am glad, thou can'st speak no better English ; 
for, if thou couldst, thou would'st find me such a 
plain king, that thou would'st think, 1 had sold my 
farm to buy my crown. 1 know no ways to mince it ia 
love, but directly to say — I love you : then, if you 
urge me farther than to say — Do you in faith? I wear 
out my suit. Give me your answer; i'faith, do ; and 
so clap hands and a bargain : How say you, lady T 

Kath, Suufvoslre honneur, me understand well. 

A. Hen. JMarry, if you would put me to verses, or 
to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me : for 
the one, I have neither words nor measure ; and for 
the otiier, I have no strength in measure, yet a rea- 
sonable measure in strength. If I could win a lady 
at leap frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my 
armour on my back, under the correction of bragging 
be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife. Or, 
if I might bufi'et for my love, or bound my horse for 
her favours, 1 could lay on like a butcher, and sit like 
a jack-an-apes, never olf : but, before God, I cannot 
look greenly, nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have 
no cunning in protestation ; only downright oaths, 
which I never use till urged, and never break for urg- 
ing. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, 
whose face is not worth sun-burning, that never looks 
in his glass for love of any thing he sees there, let 
thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier: 
If thou canst love me for this, take me : if not, to 
say to thee — that I shall die, is true : but — for thy 
love, by the Lord, no ; yet 1 love thee too. And while 
thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and un- 
coined constancy ; for he perforce must do thee right, 
because he hath not the gift to woo in other places : 
for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme 
themselves into ladies' favours, — they do always rea- 
son themselves out again, U'hat ! a speaker is but a 
prater ; a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg wil) fall ; 
a straight back will stoop ; a black beard will turn 
white ; a curled pate will grow bald ; a fair face will 
wither ; a full eye will wax hollow ; but a good heart, 
Kate, is the sun and n^oon ; or, rather, the sun, and 
not the moon ; for it shines bright, and never changes, 
but keeps its course truly. If thou would have such 
a one, take me : And take me, take a soldier ; take 
a soldier, take a king : And what sayest thou then to 
my love 1 speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee. 

Kath. Is it possible dat I should love de enemy of 
France 1 

K. Hen. No ; it is not possible, you should love 
the enemy of France, Kate : but, in loving me, you 
should love the friend of France ; for 1 love France 
so well, that i will not part with a village of it ; I 
will haveitall mine : and, Kate, wlien France is mine, 
and I am yours, then yours is France, and you are mine. 

Kath. I cannot tell vat is dat. 

K.Hen.^o, Kate ! I will tell thee in French ; which, 
I am sure, will hang upon my tongue like a new-mar- 
ried wife about her husband's neck, hardly to be shook 
off. Quand j'aii la possession de Fiance, et quand vous 
arez le possession de moi, (letme see, what then ! Saint 
Dennis be my speed !) done vostre est France, et vous 
estes mieiine. it is as easy for me, Kate, to con([uer 
the kingdom, as to speak &o much more French : 1 shall 
never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me. 

Kath. banj' vostre honneur, U Francois que vous 
parlez, est nicilieur qun I'Anglois Uquclje, parte. 



ACT V.-SCENE II. 



449 



K. Hen. No, 'faith, is't not, Kate : but tliy speak- 
ing of my tongue, and I thine, most truly falsely, 
must needs be granted to be much at one. 15ut, 
Kate, dost thou understand thus much English 1 Canst 
thou love me ? 

Katli. I cannot tell. 

K. Hen. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate ? 
1 'U ask them. Come, I know, thou lovest me : and 
at night when you come into your closet, you '11 ques- 
tion this gentlewoman about me ; and 1 know, Kate, 
you will, to her, disprais§Jhose parts in me, that you 
love with your heart : but^ good Kate, mock me mer 
cifully ; the rather, gentle princess, because I love 
thee cruelly. If ever thou be'st mine, Kate, (as I have 
a saving faith within me, tells me, — thou shalt,) I get 
thee with scambling, and thou must therefore needs 
prove a good soldier breeder : Shall not thou and I, 
between .Saint Dennis and Saint George, compound 
a boy, half French, half English, thatshall go to Con- 
stantinople, and take the I'urk by the beard ! shall 
we not '! what sayest thou, my fair flower-de luce 1 

Kaih. 1 do not know dat. 

K. Hen. No ; 'tis hereafter to know, but now to 
promise : do but now promise, Kate, you will endea- 
vour for your French part of such a boy ; and, for 
my English moiety, take the word of a king and a 
bachelor. How ar.swer you, la plus belle hiitluirhie 
du moiule, mon tres chere et divine deesse? 

Kiitli. Your majestt 'ave fausse French enough to 
deceive de most snge damoiselle dat is en France. 

K. Hen. Now fye upon my false French ! By mine 
honour, in true English, I love thee, Kate : by which 
honour I dare not swear, thou lovest me ; yet my 
blood begins to flatter me ; that thou dost, notwith- 
standing the poor and untemperingeffectof mj'visage. 
Now beshrew my father's ambition ! he was thinking 
of civil wars when he got me ; therefore was I created 
with a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that, 
when I come to woo ladies, I fright them. But in 
faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better 1 shall appear, 
my comfort is, that old age, that ill layer-up of beauty: 
can do no more spoil upon my face : thou hast me, 
if thou hast me, at the worst ; and thou shalt wear 
me, if thou wear me, better and better ; And therefore 
tell me, most fair Katharine, will you have me 1 Put 
oft'your maiden blushes ; avouch the thoughts of your 
heart with the looks of an empress ; take me by the 
hand, and say — Harry of England,! am thine: which 
word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, but 
I will tell thee aloud — England is thine, Ireland is 
thine, France is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is 
thine ; who, though I speak it before his face, if he 
be not fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the 
best king of good fellows. Come, your answer in 
broken music ; for thy voice is music, and thy linglish 
broken : therefore, queen of all, Katharine, break thy 
mind to me in broken English, Wilt thou have me ! 

hath. Dat is, as it shall please de roy mori pere. 

K. Hen. Nay, it will please him well, Kate ; it 
shall please him, Kate. 

Katli. Den it shall also content me. 

A'. Hen. Upon that I will kiss your hand, and I 
c.ill you — my queen. 

Katli. I.aissez, mon seigneur, laissez, Inisses : mafoy, 
je ne veux point que vous abbaisses vostre grandeur, en 
baisant la main d\ine vostre iiuligne serviteure ; ei- 
cuscz moit,je vous sup]tHe, mon tres puissant seigneur. 

K. Hen. Then 1 will kiss your lips, Kate. 

hath. Les dames, et damoisetles, pour estre bnisees 
devant teur nopces, il 7i'est pas le coutume de France. 

K. Hen. Madam my interpreter, what says she! 

Alice. Dat it is not be de fashion puiir tes ladies of 



France, — I connot tell what is, baiser, en English. 

K. Hen. To kiss. 

Alice. Your majesty entendre bettre que moq. 

K. Hen. It is not the fashion for the maids in 
France to kiss before they are married, would she say? 

Alice. Ouy, vraijment. 

K. Hen. O Kate, nice customs curt'sy to great 
kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined 
within the weak list of a country's fashion : we aie 
the makers of manners, Kale ; and the liberty that 
follows our places, stops the mouths of all findfaulls ; 
as I will do yours, for upholding the nice fashion of 
your country, in denying me a kiss : therefore, pa 
tiently and yielding. [Kissingher'\ You have witch- 
craft in your lips, Kate : there is more eloquence ir. 
a sugar touch of them, than in the tongues of the 
French council ; and they should sooner persuade 
Harry of England, than a general petition of mon- 
archs. Here comes your father. 

Enter the French Kixg and Queen, Burgundy, 
Bedfori:), Gloster, Exeter, West.moreland, ajid 
other French and English Lords. 

Bur. God save your majesty! my royal cousin, 
teach you our princess English ! 

K, Hen. I would have her learn, my fair cousin, 
how perfectly I love her ; and that is good English. 

Bur. Is she not apt t 

K. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz ; and my con- 
dition is not smooth : so that, having neither the 
voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot so 
conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will ap- 
pear in his true likeness. 

Bur. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I answer 
you for that. If you would conjure in her you must 
make a circle : if conjure up love in her in his true 
likeness, he must appear naked, and blind : Can you 
blame her then, being a m.aid yet rosed over with the 
virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the appearance 
of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing self] Itwere, 
my lord, a hard condition for a maid to consign to. 

A". Hen. Yet they do wink, and yield ; as love is 
blind and enforces. 

Bur. They are then excused, my lord, when they 
see not what they do. 

A'. Hen. Then, good my lord, teach your cousin 
to consent to winking. 

Bur. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if 
you will teach her to know my meaning : for maids, 
well summered and warm kept, are like flies at Bar- 
tholomew-tide, blind, though they have their eyes; 
and then they will endure handling, which before 
would not abide looking on. 

A. Hen. This moral ties me over to time, and a 
hot summer; and so I will catch the fly, your cou- 
sin, in the latter end, and she must be blind too. 

Bur. As love is, my lord, before it loves. 

K. Hen. It is so ; and you may, some of you, 
thank love for my blindness ; who cannot see many 
a fair French city, for one fair French maid that 
stands in my way. 

Fr. King. Yes, my lord, j'ou see them perspec- 
tively, the cities turned into a maid ; for they are all 
girdled with maiden walls, that war hath neverentered. 

K. Ht'H. Shall Kate be my wife 1 

Fr. King. So please you. 

A'. Hen. I am content ; so the maiden cities you 
talk of, may wait on her : so the maid that stood in 
the way of my wish, shall shew me the way to my will. 

Fr. K. We have consented to all terms of reason 

A. Hen. Is't so, my lords of England ] 

West. The king hath granted every article : 
2 F 



450 



KING HENRY V. 



His daughter, first ; and then, in sequel, all, 
According to their firm proposed natures. 

Exe. Only, he hath not yet subscribed this : — 
'\'\'here your majesty demands, — That the king of 
France, having any occasion to write for matter of 
grant, shall name your highness in this form, and 
with this addition, in French, — Notre ties cher Jilz 
Henrv roy d' Atigleterre, heretier tie France ; and thus 
in Latin, — Fraclnrissimiis Jilius noster Henricus, rex 
Angliic, et hares Fraiici<c. 

Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother, so denied, 
]5ut your request shall make me let it pass. 

A', lien. 1 pray you then, in love and dear alliance, 
Let that one article rank with the rest : 
And, thereupon, give me your daughter. 

Fr. King. Take her, fair son ; and from her blood 
Issue to me : that the contending kingdoms [raise up 
Of France and England, whose very shores look pale 
With envy of each other's happiness, 
May cease their hatred ; and this dear conjunction 
Plant neighbourhood and christian-like accord 
In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance 
His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France. 

All. Amen ! [ness all, 

A'. Hen. Now welcome, Kate : — and bear me wit- 
That iiere I kiss her as my sovereign queen. \_Flourish. 

Q. Isah. God, the best maker of all marriages, 
Combine your liearts in one, your realms in one ! 
As man and wife, being two, are one in love. 



So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal^ 
Tiiat never may ill office, or fell jealousy. 
Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage, 
Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms. 
To make divorce of their incorporate league ; 
That English may as French, French Englishmen, 
Receive each other ! — God speak this Amen ! 

AU. Amen ! 

K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage ; — on which 
My lord of Burgundy, v/e'll take your oath, [day, 
And all the peers', for surety of our leagues. — 
Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me ; 
And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be! [Ex, 

Enter Chorus. 

Thus far, with rough, and all unable pen. 

Our bending author hath pursu'd the story ; 
In little room confining mighty men. 

Mangling by starts the full course of their glory. 
Small time, but, in that small, most greatly liv'd 

This star of England : fortune made his sword ; 
By which the world's best garden he achiev'd. 

And of it left his son imperial lord. 
Henry the sixth, in infant bands crown'd king 

Of France and England, did this king succeed ; 
Whose state so many had the managing. 

That they lost France, and made his England bleed: 
Which oft our stage hath shewn; and, for their sake 
In your fair minds let this acceptance take. [ J.'.iit, 



This play has many scenes of high dignity, and many of easy 
nierrinient. 1 he character of the king is well supported, excei^t 
in his courtship, where he has neither the vivacity of Hal, nor 
the grandeur of Henry. The humour of Pistol is very happily 
coniinued : his character has perhaps been the model of all the 
bullies that have yet appeared on the English stage. 

1 he lines given to the Chorus have many admirers ; but the 
truth is, that in them a little may be praised, and much must 
be forgiven ; nor can it he easily discovered why the intelli- 
gence given by the Chorus is more necessary in this play than 
lu many others where it is omitted. The great defect of this 



play is the emptiness and narrowness of the last act, which a 
very little diligence might have easily avoided — Johnson. 

Of the general conduct of this play it may be reniarlced, that 
the interest turns altogether upon the circumstances which ac- 
company a single bailie ; consequently, the poet has put forth 
all his strength in colouring and contrasting the situation of the 
two armies ; and so admirably has he succeeded in this attempt, 
by opposing the full assurancenf victory on the part of the French, 
their boastful clamour and impatient levity , to the conscious dar- 
ger, and calm valour, of the I'.nglish, that we wait the issue of 
the combat with an almost breathless anxietj'.— iJr. UftAKE, 



FIRST PART OF 

KING HENRY VI. 



of this play there is no edition extant previous to the folio, 
10'i:i. It is a miserable production ; and M alone has distinctly 
proved.in his ingeniousand elaborate Essayon thelhree parts 
of Ki?t^ Henry f 7. that it has been unjustly ascribed to the 
hand ot Shakspeare. 

In the second and third parts of Kt)tg Henry VI. the pen of 
onr great poet is easily distinguished ; but in the present play 
there is not a single passage marlied with the characters ot his 
genius. "It may be asked," says Maloiie, " if the drama 
was not written by Shakspeare, why did lleminge and Con- 
dell print it with the rest of his works '.' The only way I can 



account for their having done so, is by snpposing, that they 
imagined the insertion of this historical drama was necessary 
to iindersiandiijg tketwo pieces that foUaw it; or, that iShtik- 
speare, for tlie advantage of his own theatre, having writtuii 
a few lines iiitheyiVi/ part of King Henry VI. after nis own 
second and third parts had been pla;yed, they conceived this 
a sufficient warrant for attributing It, along' with the others, 
to him, ill the general collection of his works," 
The historical transactions contained in this play, take in t'ae 
compass of about thirty years. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

King Henry the Sixth. 

Duke of Gloster, uncle to the King, and Protector. 

Duke of Bedford, uncle to t/te King, and regent of 

France. [the King. 

Thomas Beaufort, Dii/ce of Exeter, great uncle to 
Henry Beaufort, great uncle to the King, bishop of 

Winchester, and afterwards cardinal. 
.ToiiN Beaufort, Earl of Somerset ; afterwards dtihe. 
Richard Pi.antagenet, eldest son of Richard late 

Earl o/'Cambridge ; afterwards Duke of York. 
F.ARLS of Warwick, Salisbury, n)id Suffolk. 
Lord Talp.ot, afterwards Ear/ n/' Shrewsbury. 
.John Talhot, his son. 
Edmund Mortimer, Earl o/'lNlarch. 
I^lavor of London. Mortimer's Keeper, and a Lawyer. 
Sir .ToHN Fastolfe. Sir William Lucy. 
Sir William Gl^nsdale. Sir Thomas Gargrave. 



WooDviLLE, Lieutenant of the Tower. 

Vernon, of t/ie White Rose, or York faction. 

Basset, of the Red Rose, or Lancaster /action. 

Charles, Dauphin, and afterwards King i;/' France. 

Reignier, Duke of Anjou, and titular A'ino-o/' Naples. 

Duke of Burgundy. Duke of ALEN90N. 

Bastard of Orleans. Goveriwr of Paris. 

Master-Gjon^ertj/' Orleans, and his son. 

General of the French /orces in Bourdeaux. 

A French Sergeant. A I'orter. 

An old Shepherd, father to .loan la Pucelle. 

Margaret, daughter to Reignier ; afterwards mar- 

Countess of Auvergne. [ried to King Henry. 

Joan la Pucelle, commonly called .loan of Arc. 

Fiends appearing to La Pucelle, Lords, Warders oj 
the Tower, Heralds, OJficers, Soldiers, Messengers, 
and several Attendants loch on f/ie English 6; French. 

SCENE, — partly in E^iGhnvD, and partly in France. 



ACT L— SCENE I. 



451 



ACT 1. 

SCENE I.— Westminster Abbey. 

Dead march. Corpse of Kino Henry the Fifth 
discovered, lying in state ; attended on by the Ddkes 
OF Bkdiord, Gloster, and Exeter; the Eaul 
OF Warwick, the Bishop of Winchester, Heralda,&;c. 

Bed. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to 
Comets, importing change of times and states, [night! 
Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky ; 
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars, 
That have consented unto Henry's death ! 
Henry the fifth, too famous to live long ! 
England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. 

Glo. England ne'er had a king until his time. 
Virtue he had deserving to command : 
His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams : 
His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings; 
His sparkling eyes replete with wrathful fire. 
More dazzled and drove back his enemies. 
Than mid-day sun, fierce bent against their faces. 
What should I say 1 his deeds exceed all speech : 
He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered. 

Exe. We mourn in black ; Why mourn we not in 
Henry is dead, and never shall revive : [blood 1 

Upon a wooden coffin we attend ; 
And death's dishonourable victory 
VVe with our stately presence glorify, 
Like captives bound to a triumphant car. 
What ? shall we curse the planets of mishap, 
That plotted thus our glory's overthrow ? 
Or shall we think the subtle- witted French 
Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him, 
By magic verses have contriv'd his end 1 

Win. He was a king bless'd of the King of kings. 
Unto the French the dreadful judgment day 
So dreadful will not be, as was his siyht. 
The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought : 
The church's prayers made him so prosperous. 

G/o. The church ! where is it'! Had not churchmen 
His thread of life had not so soon decay'd ; [pray'd. 
None do you like but an effeminate prince. 
Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe. 

Win. Gloster, whate'er we like, thou art protector ; 
And lookest to command the prince, and realm. 
Thy wife is proud ; she holdeth thee in awe, 
More than God, or religious churchmen, may. 

Glo. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh ; 
And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st. 
Except it be to pray against thy foes. [peace ! 

Bed. Cease, cease these jars, and rest your minds in 
Let's to the altar: — Heralds, wait on us : — 
Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms ; 
Since arms avail not, now that Henry 's dead. — 
Posterity, await for wretched years. 
When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck ; 
Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears. 
And none but women left to wail the dead. — • 
Henry the fifth ! thy ghost I invocate ; 
Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils ! 
Combat with adverse planets in the heavens ! 
A far more glorious star thy soul will make, 
'I'han Julius Ceesar, or bright 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mes.f. My honourable lords, health to you all ! 
Sad tidings bring 1 to you out of France, 
Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture : 
Guienne, Champaigne, Rheims, Orleans, 
Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost, [corse? 

Bed. What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's 



Speak softly ; or the loss of those great towns 

Will make him burst his lead, and rise from death. 

Glo. Is Paris lost? is Roiien yielded up? 
If Henry were recall'd to life again. 
These news would cause him once more yield the ghost. 

E.re. How were they lost? what treachery was us'd? 

Mess. No treachery ; but want of men and money. 
Among the soldiers this is muttered, — 
Tliat here you maintain several factions ; 
And, whilst a field should be despatch'd and fought 
You are disputing of your generals. 
One would have ling' ring wars, with little cost ; 
Another would fly swift, but wanteth wine's ; 
A third man thinks, without expence at all, 
By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd. 
Awake, awake, English nobility ! 
Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot ; 
Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms ; 
Of England's coat one half is cut away. 

E.xe. Wore our tears wanting to this funeral. 
These tidings would call forth her flowing tides. 

Bed. jNIe they concern ; regent I am of France: — 
Give me my steeled coat, I '11 fight for France. — ~ 
Away \vith these disgraceful wailing robes ! 
Wounds I will lend the French, instead of eyes, 
To weep their intermissive miseries. 

Enter another Messenger. 

SS Mess. Lords, view these letters, full of bad mis- 
France is revolted from the English quite ; [chance 
E.Kcept some petty towns of no import : 
The Dauphin Charles is crov.'iied king in Rheims ; 
The bastard of Orleans with him is join'd ; 
Reignier, duke of Anjou, doth take his part; 
The duke of Alenfon flieth to his side. 

Exe. The Dauphin crowned king ! all fly to him! 
O, whither shall we fly from this reproach ? 

Glo. We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats : — 
Bedford, if thou be slack, I '11 fight it out. 

Bed. Gloster, whv doubt'st thou of my forwardness 1 
An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, 
Wherewith already France is over- run. 

Enter a third Messenger. 

3 Mess. My gracious lords, — to add to your laments 
Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse, — 
I must inform you of a dismal fight, 
Betviixt the stout lord Talbot and the French. 

Win. What ! wherein 'J'albot overcame ? is 't so 1 
3 Mess. 0,no; wherelnlordTalbotwaso'erthrown: 
The circumstance I'll tell you m»re at large. 
The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord, 
Retiring from the siege of Orleans, 
Having scarce six thousand in his troop, 
By three and twenty thousand of the French 
\Vas round encompassed and set upon : 
No leisure had he to enrank his men ; 
I le wanted pikes to set before his archers ; 
Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of hedges 
I'hey pitched in the ground confusedly, 
I'o keep the horsemen off from breaking in. 
More than three hours the fight continued ; 
Where valiant Talbot, above human thought, 
Enacted wonders with his sword and lance. 
Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him, 
Here, there, and every where, enrag'd he slew : 
The Frencii exclaim'd. The devil was in arms j 
Ail the whole army stood agaz'd on him : 
His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit, 
A Talbot I a Talbot ! cried out amain. 
And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. 
Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up, 
2 F a 



452 



KING HENKV Vi— PAilT I. 



if sir John Falstolfe had not play'd the coward ; 

He being in the vawaid, (plac'd behind. 

With purpose to relieve and follow them,) 

Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. 

Hence grew the general wreck and massacre ; 

Enclosed were they with their enemies : 

A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace, 

Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back ; 

Whom all France, with their chief assembled strength, 

Durst not presume to look once in the face. 

Bed. Is Talbot slain', then I will slay myself, 
For living idly here, in pomp and ease, 
Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, 
Unto his dastard foe men is betray'd. 

3 Mess. O no, he lives ; but is took prisoner. 
And lord Scales with him, and lord Hungerford : 
Most of the rest slaughter'd, or took, likewise. 

Bed. His ransome there is none but I shall pay • 
I '11 hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne, 
His crown shall be the ransome of my friend ; 
Four of their lords I '11 change for one of ours — 
Farewell, my masters ; to my task will I ; 
Bonfires in France forthwith 1 am to make. 
To keep our great Saint George's feast withal : 
Ten thousand soldiers with me will 1 take, 
Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake. 

3 Jllcss. So you had need ; for Orleans is besieg'd ; 
The English army is grown weak and faint : 
The earl of Salisbury craveth supply. 
And liardly keeps his men from mutiny. 
Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. 

Eie. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn ; 
Either to quell the Daupliin utterly. 
Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. 

Bed. I do remember it ; and here take leave, 
To go about my preparation. [ Exit. 

Glo. I'll to the Tower, with all the haste 1 can, 
To view the artillery and munition ; 
And then 1 will proclaim young Henry King. [Evit. 

Exe. To Eltham will 1, where the young king is. 
Being ordain'd his special governor ; 
And for his safety there I '11 best devise. [Ej it. 

Il'ni. Each hath his place and function to attend: 
I am left out ; for mc nothing remains. 
But long I will not be .lack-out-of-office ; 
The king from Eltham I intend to send, 
And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. 

[Exit, Scene closes. 

SCENE II.— France. Be/ore Orleans. 

Enter CiiARLi*, wilh Itis Forces; Alenjon, 
Reignilk, and others. 

Char. Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens, 
So in the earth, to this day is not known : 
Late did he shine upon the P'nglish side ; 
Now we are victors, upon us he smiles. 
What towns of any moment, but we have 1 
At pleasure here we lie, near Orleans ; 
Otherwhiles, the famish'd English, like pale ghosts. 
Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. 

Alen. They want their porridge, and their fat bull- 
Either they must be dieted like mules, [beeves : 
And have their provender tyed to their mouths. 
Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. 

JRcitr. Let's raise the siege ; Why live we idly here? 
Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear : 
Kemaineth none, but mad brain'd Salisbury; 
And he may well in fretting spend his gall, 
Nor men, nor money, hath he to make war. 

Char. Sound, sound alarum ; we will rush on them. 
Now for the honour of the forlorn French : — 



Him I forgive my death, that killeth me, 

When he sees me go back one foot, or fly. [Extninf, 

Alarums; Excursions; afterwards a Retreat. 
Re enter Charles, Alen^on, Reigner, and others. 

Char. Who ever saw the like 1 what men have 1 ? — 
Dogs! cowards! dastards! — I v/ould ne'er have fltd 
But that they left me midst my enemies. 

Reig. Salisbury is a desperate homicide ; 
He fighteth as one weary of his life. 
1 he other lords, like lions wanting food. 
Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. 

Alen, Froissard, a countryman of ours, records, 
England all Olivers and Rowlands bred. 
During the time Edward the third did reign. 
More truly now may this be verified ; 
For none but Samsons, and Goliasses, 
It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten ! 
Lean raw-bon'd rascals ! who would e'er suppose 
They had such courage and audacity 1 [slaves. 

Char. Let's leave this town; for they are hair-brain'd 
And hunger will enforce them to be more eager : 
Of old I know them ; rather with their teeth 
The walls they'll tear down, than forsake the siege. 

Reig. I think, by some odd gimmals, or device, 
Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on ; 
Else ne'er could they hold out so, as they do. 
By my consent, we'll e'en let them alone. 

Alen. Be it so. 

Enter the Bastard of Orleans. 

Bast. Where's the prince Dauphin? I have news 
for him. 

Char. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. 

Bast. Methinks, your looks are sad, your cheer ap- 
pall'd ; 
Hath the late overthrow wrought this oflfence? 
Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand : 
A holy maid hither with me I bring, 
Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven, 
Ordained is to raise this tedious siege, 
And drive the English forth the bounds of France. 
The spirit of deep prophecy she hath. 
Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome ; 
What's past, and what's to come, she can descry. 
Speak, shall I call her in "! Believe my words. 
For they are certain and unfallible. [her skill. 

Char. Go, call her in: [EiitBast.] But, first, to try 
Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place : — 
Question her proudly, let thy looks be stern : — 
By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. 

[Retires. 

Enter La Puceei.e, Bastard o/' Orleans, and others. 

Reig. Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wond'rou^ 
feats ! 

Pnc. Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile nie ' 
Where is the Dauphin 1 — come, come from beliind , 
I know thee well, though never seen before. 
Be not amaz'd, there's nothing hid from me ; 
In private will I talk with thee apart ; — 
Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile. 

Reig. She takes upon her bravely at first dash. 

Puc. Dauphin, 1 am by birth a shepherd's daughter 
My wit untrain'd in any kind of art, 
Heaven, and our Lady gracious, hath it plcas'd 
To shine on my contemptible estate : 
Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs, 
And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, 
God's mother deigned to appear to me : 
And, in a vision full of majesty, 
Will'd me to leave my base vocation. 



ACT I.— SCENE III. 



453 



And free my country from calamity : 
Iler aid she promis'd, and assur'd success : 
In complete glory siie reveal'd herself ; 
And, whereas I was black and swart before. 
With those clear rays which she infiis"d on me, 
That beauty am I blcss'd with, which you see. 
Ask me what question thou canst possible, 
And I will answer unpremeditated : 
My courage try by combat, if thou dar'st, 
And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex. 
Resolve on this : Thou shalt be fortunate. 
If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. 

Char. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms; 
Only this proof I'll of thy valour make, — 
In single combat thou shalt buckle with me : 
And, if thou vauquishest, thy words are true ; 
Otherwise, I renounce all confidence. 

Ptici I am prepar'd : here is my keen-edg'd sword, 
Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side •, 
The which, at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's church 
Out of a deal of old iron I chose forth. [yai'd. 

Char. Then come o' God's name, I fear no woman. 

Pmc. And, while 1 live, I '11 ne'er fly from a man. 

[Thenfii^ht. 

Char. Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon, 
And fightest with the sword of Deborah. 

Puc. Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak. 

Char. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help 
Impatiently J burn with thy desire : [me : 

My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu'd. 
Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so. 
Let me thy servant, and not sovereign, be ; 
'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus. 

Puc. I must not yield to any rites of love, 
For my profession 's sacred from above ; 
When I have chased all thy foes from hence, 
Then will I think upon a recompense. 

Char. Mean time, look gracious on thy prostrate 
thrall. 

Peig. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. 

jl^?)(. Doubtless, he shrives this woman to her smock; 
Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. 

Reig Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean? 

Alen. He may mean more than we poor men do 
know : 
These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues. 

Ri^ig. ]My lord, where are you 1 what devise you on ? 
Shall we give over Orleans, or no ? 

Puc. Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants ! 
Fight till the last gasp ; I will be your guard. 

Char. What she says, I'll confirm ; we'll fightit out. 

Puc, Assign'd am I to be the English scourge. 
This night the siege assuredly I'll raise : 
Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days, 
Since I have entered into tiiese wars. 
Glory is like a circle in the water. 
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself. 
Till, by broad spreading, it disperse to nought. 
With Henry's death, the English circle ends ; 
Dispersed are the glories it included. 
Now am I like that proud insulting ship, 
Which Cajsar and his fortune bare at once. 

Char. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove? 
Thou with an eagle art inspired then. 
Helen, the mother of great Coastaiitine, 
Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee. 
Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth, 
How may I reverently worshi]) thee enough ? 

Alen. Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege. 

Rcig. Woman, do what thou canst to save our ho- 
nours. 
Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd. 



Char. Presently we'll try — Come, let's away 
about it : 
No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. [Exeunt. 



SCENE III 
Enter, at 



-London. Hill before the Tower. 



the gates, the Duke of Gloster, with hit 
Serving-men, in blue coats. 

Gin. I am come to survey the Tower this day : 
Since Henry's death, 1 fear, there is conveyance. 
Where be these warders, that they wait not here? 
Open the gates ; Gloster it is that calls. [Serv. knock. 

1 If'arrf. [Within.] Who is there that knocks so im- 

1 Scrv. It is the noble duke of Gloster. [periously ? 

y Ward. []Viihin.1 Whoe'er he be, you may not be 
let in. 

1 Serv. Answer you so the lord protector, villains? 

1 Ward. \ Within.] The Lord protect him ! so we an- 
We do no otherwise than we are will'd. [svver him : 

G/o. Who willed you! orwhose will stands, but mine? 
There's none protector of the realm, but I. — 
Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize: 
Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms ? 

Servants rush at the Tower gates. Enter to the 
gates, WooDviLLE, the Lieutenant. 

Wood. [Within] What noise is this; what traitors 
have we here ? 

Glo. Lieutenant, is it yon, whose voice I hear? 
Open the gates ; here's Gloster, that would enter. 

Wooil. [Within.] Have patience, noble duke ; 1 may 
The cardinal of Winchester forbids : [not open ; 

From him I have express commandment, 
That thou, nor none of thine, ^^hall be let in. 

Glo. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him 'fore me? 
Arrogant Winchester? that haughty prelate. 
Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook? 
Thou art no friend to God, or to the king : 
Open the gates, or I 'II shut thee out shortly. 

1 Serv. Open the gates unto the lord protector ; 
Or we'll burst tiiem open, if that you come not quickly 

Enter Winchester, attended by a Train o/' Servants 
in tawny coats. 

Win. How now, ambitious Ilumphrev? what means 
this? 

Glo. Piel'd priest, dost thou command me to be shut 

Win I do, thou most usurping proditor, [out I 
And not protector of tiie king or realm. 

Glo. Stand back, thou manifest consjiirator ; 
Thou, that contriv'dst to murder our dead lord ; 
Thou, that giv'st whores indulgences to sin : 
I '11 canvas thee in thy broad cardinal's hat. 
If thou proceed in this thy insolence. 

Win. Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge afoot; 
This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, 
To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. 

Glo I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back : 
Thy scarlet robes, as a child's bearing cloth 
I '11 use, to carry thee out of this place. 

Win. Do what thou dar'st ; I beard thee to thy face. 

Glo. What? am I dar'd, and beardetl to my face ! — 
Draw, men, for all this privileged place ; 
Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware your beard ; 
[Gi.OSTER and his men attack the Bishop. 
I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly : 
Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat ; 
In spite of pope, or dignities of church, 



Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down 
Win. Gloster, thou'lt answer this before the p 
Glo. Winchester goose, I cry — a 

Now beat them hence, Why do you 



pope. 
i])e ! 
let them stay ? — 



4o4 



KING HENRY VI._PART 1. 



Thee I'll chasehence, thou wolf in slieep's array. — 
Out, tawny coats! — out, scarlet hypocrite ! 

Here a great tumult. In the ynidst of it, Enter the 
Mayor o/' London, and Ofiicers. 

Mau. Fye, lords! that you, being supreme niagis- 
Tlius contumeliously should break the peace ! [tratcs, 

Glo. Peace, mayor; thou know'stlittleof my wrongs: 
Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, 
Hath here distrained the Tower to his use. 

Win. Here's Gloster, too, a foe to citizens ; 
One that still motions war, and never peace, 
O'ercharging your free purses with large fines ; 
That seeks to overthrow religion. 
Because he is protector of the realm ; 
And would have armour here out of the Tower, 
To crown himself king, and suppress the prince. 

Glo. I will not answer thee with words, but blov.-s. 
[Here thei) skirnihh again. 

Mat/. Nouglit rests for me in thus tumultuous strife, 
But to make open proclamation : — 
Come, officer, as loud as e'er thou canst 

Off. All manner of men, assembled here in arms this 
dap, against God's peace and the king's, we charge 
and command yon, in his highness' name, to repair 
to ijour several dwelling-places ; and not to near, 
handle, or use, anu suord, weapon, or dagger, hence- 
forward, upon pain of death. 

Glo. Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law: 
But we shall meet, and break our minds at large. 

Win. Gloster, we'll meet ; to thy dear cost be sure : 
Thy heart-blood I will have, for this day's work. 

Mai). I'll call for clubs, if you will not away : — 
This cardinal is more haughty than the devil. 

C/o. Mayor, farewell: thou dost butwhat ihoumay'st. 

Win. Abominable Gloster ! guard thy head ; 
For I intend to have it, ere long. [Exeunt. 

May. See the coast clear'd,and then we will depart: — 
Good God ! that nobles should such stomachs bear ! 
1 myself fight not once in forty year. [Exeunt' 

SCENE IV.— France. Before Orleans. 
Enter, on the walls, the Master Gunner and his Son. 

M. Gun. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is be- 
And how the English have the suburbs won. [sies'd ; 

Son. Father, I know ; and oft have shot at them, 
Ilowe'er, unfortunate, I missed my aim. 

M. Gun. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd by 
Chief master gunner am I of this town ; [me : 

Something 1 must do, to procure me grace. 
The prince's espials have informed me. 
How the English, in the suburbs close entrench'd, 
Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars 
In yonder tower, to overpeer the city ; 
And thence discover, how, with most advantage. 
They may ve.\ us, with shot, or vvith assault. 
To intercept this inconvenience, 
A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have plac'd ; 
And fully even these three days have I watch'd. 
If I could see them. Now, boy, do thou watch, 
For I can stay no longer. 
If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word ; 
And thou shalt find me at the governor's. [Exit. 

Son. Father, I warrant you ; take you no care ; 
I'll never trouble you, if 1 may spy them. 

Entei', in an vpper chamber of a tower, the Louds 
Salisbury and Talbot, Sir William Gla!;sdalk, 
Sir Thomas Garcrave, and others. 

Sal. Talbot, my life, my joy, again returu'd ! 



How wert thou handled, being prisoner? 
Or by what means got'st tlwu to be releas'd? 
Discourse, 1 pr'ythee, on this turret's top. 

Tal. The duke of Bedford had a prisoner. 
Called — the brave lord Ponton de Santrailles ; 
For him 1 was excbang'd and ransomed. 
But with a baser man of arms by far, 
Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me . 
NVhich 1, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death 
Rather than 1 would be so piFd esteem'd. 
In fine, rcdeem'd I was as 1 desir'd. 
But, O I the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart ! 
Whom with my bare fists I would execute, 
If I now had him brought into my power. 

Sal, '^'et tell'st thou not, how thou wert entertain'd. 

Tal. With scoffs, and sconis, and contumelious 
In open market-place produc'd they me, [taunts. 
To be a public spectacle to all : 
Here, said they, is the terror of the French,- 
The scare-crow that affrights our children so. 
Then broke I from the otHcers that led me ; 
And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground. 
To hurl at the beholders of my shame. 
My grisly countenance made others fly ; 
None durst come near, for fear of sudden death. 
In iron walls they deem'd me not secure ; 
So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread, 
That they suppos'd, 1 could rend bars of steel. 
And spurn in pieces posts of adamant : 
Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had. 
That walk'd about me every minute-while; 
.And if 1 did but stir out of my bed, 
Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. 

Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you endiir'd ; 
But we will be reveng'd sufficiently. 
Now it is supper time in Orleans : 
Here, through this grate, I can count every one. 
And view the Frenchmen how tliey fortify ; 
Let us look in, the sight will much delight thee. — 
Sir J'homas Gargrave, and sir William Glansdale, 
Let me have your express opinions, 
Where is best place to make our battery next. 

Gar. I think, at the north gate ; for there stand lords. 

Glan. And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge. 

Tal. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd, 
Or with light skirmishes' enfeebled. , 

[Shot from the town. Salisbury and Sir Tho. 

GAUOUAVt. fall. 

Sal. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners! 

Gar. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man! 

Tal. What chance is this, that suddenly Imlh cross'd 
Speak, Salisbury ; at least, ifthou canst speak ; [us? — 
How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men 1 
One of thy eyes, and thy check's side struck off! — 
Accursed tower I accursed fatal hand, 
Ihat hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy! 
In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame ; 
Henry the fifth he first train'd to the wars , 
Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up, 
His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. — 
Yet liv'stthou Salisbury ! tliough tliy speech doth fail, 
One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace : 
The sun with one eve vieweth all the world. — 
Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive. 
If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hand I — 
Bear hence his body, 1 will help to bury it. — 
Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life ? 
Speak unto Talbot ; nay, look up to him. 
Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort ; 

I'iiou shalt not die, whiles 

He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me ; 
As who should say, It'/(fn 1 am dead and gone. 




KING- HENRY VI.— PART I. 



Talbot. 



I '11 have a bout •witti ttee ; 



Devil, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee. 

Ja ]., Sam 5. 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



455 



Remember to avenge me on the Freiuh. — 
Plantagenet, I will; and Nero-Hke, 
Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn : 
Wretched shall France be only in my name. 

[^Thunder heard ; aj'tenvcirds an alarum. 
What stir is this^ What tumult's in the heavens'! 
Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise "! 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, my lord, the French have gathei'd 
head : 
The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, — 
A holy prophetess, new risen up, — 
Is come with a great power to raise the siege. 

[Salisbury groans, 

Tal. Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan ! 
It irks his heart, he cannot be reveng'd. — 
Frenchmen, 1 'U be a Salisbury to you : — 
Pucelle or puzzle, dolphin or dogfish. 
Your hearts 1 '11 stamp out with my horse's heels. 
And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. — 
Convey me Salisbury into his tent. 
And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen 
dare. [£,!«««<, bearing out the bodies. 

SCENE V. — The same. Before one of the Gates. 

Alarums. Skirmishings. Talbot pursueth the Dau- 
phin, and driveth him in ; then enter Joan la 
Pucelle, driving Englishmea before her. Then 
enter Talbot. 

Tal. AVhere is my strength, my valour, and my force? 
Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them 1 
A woman, clad in armour, chaseth them. 

Enter La Pucelle. 

Here, here she comes : 1 '11 have a bout with thee ; 

Devil, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee : 
Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch. 
And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st. 

Puc. Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace 
thee. [Theii fight. 

Tal. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail ! 
Nly breast I '11 burst with straining of my courage, 
And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder. 
But I will chdstise this high-minded strumpet. 

Puc. Talbot, farewell ; thy hour is not yet come : 
I must go victual Orleans forthwith. 
O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength. 
Go, go, cheer up thy hunger- starved men ; 
Help Salisbury to make his testament : 
I'his day is ours, as many more shall be. 

[Pucelle enters the Town, with Soldiers. 

Tal. ]My thoughts are whirledlike a potter's wheel ; 
I know not where I am, nor what I do : 
A witch, by fear not force, like Hannibal, 
Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists: 
So bees with smoke, and doves with noisome stench. 
Are from their hives, and houses, driven away. 
They call'd us, for our fierceness, English dogs ; 
Kow, like to whelps, we crying run away. 

[.-J short alarum. 
Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight. 
Or tear the lions out of England's coat ; 
Renounce j'our soil, give sheep in lions' stead : 
Sheep run not half so timorous from the wolf. 
Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard, 
As you fly from your oft subdued slaves. 

[Alarum Another skirmUh. 
It will not be : — Retire into your trenches : 
Yoa all consented unto Salisbury's death, 
For none would strik^a stroke in his revenge. — 



Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans, 
In spite of us, or aught that we could do. 
O, would I were to die with Salisbury ! 
The shame hereof will make me hide my head ! 
[Alarum, Retreat. ExeuntTw. and his Forces, S^c, 

SCENE VI.— The same. 

Enter, on the walls, Pucelle, Charles, Reioniek, 
ALENfON, and Soldiers. 

Puc. Advance our waving colours on the walls : 
Rescu'd is Orleans from the English wolves : — 
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. 

Char. Divinest creature, bright Astraja's daughter, 
How shall I honour thee for this success 1 
Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens. 
That onedaybloom'd, and fruitful were the next. — 
France triumph in thy glorious prophetess! — 
Recover'd is the town of Orleans : 
jNIore blessed hap did ne'er befall our state, [town? 

Reig. Why ring not out the bells throughout the 
Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires, 
And feast and banquet in the open streets. 
To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. 

Alen. All France will be replete with mirth andjoy, 
When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. 

Char. ' ris Joan, not we, by whom the day is won ; 
F'or which, [ will divide my crown with her: 
And all the priests and friars in my realm 
Shall, in procession, sing her endless praise. 
A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear. 
Than Rhodope's, or Memphis', ever was : 
In memory of her, when she is dead. 
Her ashes, in an urn more precious 
Than the rich jewel'd coffer of Darius, 
Transported shall be at high festivals 
Before the kings and queens of France. 
No longer on Saint Dennis will we cry. 
But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. 
Come in : and let us banquet royally, 
After this golden day of victory. [Flourish. Eieuul. 



ACT II. 

SCENE 1— The same. 

Enter to the gates, a French Sergeant, and Two 
Sentinels. 

Serg. Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant : 
If any noise, or soldier you perceive. 
Near to the walls, by some apparent sign. 
Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. 

1 Sent. Sergeant, you shall. [Exit Sergeant.] Tim: 
are poor servitors 
(When others sleep upon their quiet beds,) 
Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold. 

Enter Talhot, Bedford, Burgundy, and Forces, 
toith scaling (adders ; their drums beating a dead 
march. 

Tal. Lord regent, — and redoubted Burgundy, — 
By whose approach, the regions of Artois, 
AValloon, and Picardy, are friends to us, — 
This happy night the Frenchmen are secure. 
Having all day carous'd and banqueted : 
Embrace we then this opportunity ; 
As fitting best to quittance their deceit, 
Contriv'd by art, and baleful sorcery. 

Bed. Coward of France! — how much he wrongs 
Despairing of his own men's fortitude, [his fame, 
To join with witches, and the help of hell. 



450 



KING HENRY VI.-PART 1. 



Bur. Traitors have never other company. — 
But what's that Pucelle, whom they term so pure? 

Tal. A maid, they say. 

Bed. A maid ! and be so martial ! 

Bur, Pray God, she prove not masculine ere long; 
If underneath the standard of the French, 
She carry armour, as she hath begun. [spirits: 

Tal. Well, let them practise and converse with 
God is our fortress ; in whose conquering name, 
Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. 

Bed, Ascend, brave Talbot ; we will follow thee. 

Tal, Not all together : better far, I guess. 
That we do make our entrance several ways ; 
That, if it chance the one of us do fail. 
The other yet may rise against their force. 

Bed, Agreed; I '11 to yon corner. 

Bur. And I to this. 

Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his 
Now, Salisbury! for thee, and for the right [grave. — 
Of English Henry, shall this night appear 
How much in duty I am bound to both. 

[^The English scale the walls, crying St. George ! a 
Talbot ! and all enter by the Town. 

Sent. [Within.'] Ann, arm! the enemy doth make 
assault ! 

The French leap over the walls i)i their shirts. Enter, 
several ways. Bastard, ALEN90N, Reignier, half 
ready, and half' unread ij. 

Alen. How now, my lords? what, all unready so? 

Bast, Unready ? ay, and glad we 'scaped so well. 

i?e(^.'Twas time, 1 trow, to wake and leave our beds, 
Hearing alarums at our chamber doors. 

Alen. Of all exploits, since first I follow'd arms, 
Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprize 
More venturous, or desperate than this. 

Bast. I think, this Talbot be a fiend of hell. 

T(eig. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him. 

Alen. Here cometh Charles ; I marvel, how he sped. 

Enter Charles and La Pucelle. 

Bast. Tut ! holy Joan was his defensive guard. 

Cliar, Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? 
Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, 
Make us partakers of a little gain, 
1 hat now our loss might be ten times so much ? 

Puc. Wheiefore is Charles impatient with his friend? 
At all times will you have my power alike? 
Sleeping, or waking, must 1 still prevail. 
Or will you blame and lay the fault on me ? 
Improvident soldiers ! had your watch been good, 
This sudden mischief never could have fall'n. 

Char. Duke of Alenfon, this was your default ; 
That, being captain of the watch to-night. 
Did look no better to that weighty charge. 

Alen. Had all your quarters been as safely kept, 
As that whereof I had the government. 
We had not been thus shamefully surpriz'd. 

Bast. Mine was secure. 

Reig. And so was mine, my lord 

Char. And, for myself, most part of all this night, 
Within her quarter, and mine own precinct, 
I was employ 'd in passing to and fro, 
About relieving of the sentinels : 
Then how, or which way, should they first break in? 

Puc. Question, my lords, no further of the case. 
How, or which way ; 'tis sure they found some place 
But weakly guarded, where the breach was made. 
And now there rests no other shift but this, — 
To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd. 
And lay new platforms to endamage them. 



Alarum. Enter an English soldier, crying a Talbot ' 
a Talbot ! They Jiy, leaving their clothes behind. 

Sold. I'll be so bold to take what they have left. 
The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword ; 
For I have leaden me with many spoils, 
Using no other weapon but his name. [Eiit, 

SCENE II.— Orleans. Within the Town. 

Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a Captain, 
and others. 

Bed. The day begins to break, and night is fled, 
Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. 
Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. 

[Retreat sounded. 

Tat. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury ; 
And here advance it in the market-place. 
The middle centre of this cursed town. — 
Now have I paid my vow unto his soul ; 
For every drop of blood was drawn from him. 
There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-nio-ht. 
And, that hereafter ages may behold 
What ruin happen'd in revenge of him. 
Within their chiefest temple I'll erect 
A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be iuterr'd ; 
Upon the which, that every one may read. 
Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans ; 
The treacherous manner of his mournful death. 
And what a terror he had been to France. 
But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, 
J muse, we met not with the Daupliin's grace ; 
His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc ; 
Nor any of his false confederates. 

Bed. 'Tis thought, lord Talbot, when the fight began, 
Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds. 
They did, amongst the troops of armed men, 
Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. 

Bur. Myself (as far as I could well discern, 
For smoke, and dusky vapours of the night,) 
Am sure, I scar'd the Dauphin, and his truH ; 
When arm in arm they both came swiftly running. 
Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves. 
That could not live asunder day or night. 
After that things are set in order here. 
We'll follow them with all the power we have. 

Enter a Rlessenger. 

Mess, All hail, my lords ! which of this princely 
Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts [train 

So much applauded through the realm of France ? 

Tal. Here is the Talbot ; who would speak with him? 

Mess. The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergne, 
V/ith modesty admiring thy renown, 
By me entreats, good lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe 
To visit her poor castle where she lies ; 
That she may boast, she hath beheld the man 
Whose glory fills the world with loud report. 

Bur. Is it even so ? Nay, then, I see, our wars 
Will turn into a peaceful comic sport. 
When ladies crave to be encounter'd with — 
You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. 

Tal. Ne'er trust me then ; for, when a world of men 
Could not prevail with all their oratory. 
Yet hath a woman's kindness over-rul'd : — 
And therefore tell her, I return great thanks ; 
And in submission will attend on her. — 
Will not your honours bear me company ? 

Bed. No, truly ; it is more than manners will . 
And I have heard it said, — Unbidden guests 
Are often welcomest when they are gone. 

Tal. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, 
1 mean to prove this lady's courtesy. 



ACT II.— SCENE IV. 



457 



Come hither, captain. [Whispers.] — You perceive my 
mind. 
Capt. I do, my lord , and mean accordiiig y [£j. 

SCENE III.— Auvergne. Court cj the Castie. 
Enter the Countess and her Porter. 

Count. Porter, remember what 1 gave in charge ; 
.\nd, when you have done so, bring the keys to me. 

Port, aiadam, 1 wiU. [Exit. 

Count. The plot is laid : if all things fall out right, 
I shall as famous be by this exploit, 
As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus' death. 
Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight, 
And his achievements of no less account : 
Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears. 
To give their censure of these rare reports. 

Enter Messenger and Talbot. 

Mess. Madam, 
According as your ladyship desir'd, 
liy message crav'd, so is lord Talbot come. 

Count. And he is welcome. What i is this the man 1 

Mess, ftladam, it is. 

Count. Is this the scourge of France ? 

Is tiiis the Talbot, so much feai'd abroad. 
That with his name the mothers still their babes 1 
I see, report is fabulous and false : 
I thought, I should have seen some Hercules. 
A second Hector, for his grim aspect, 
And large proportion of his strong-knit Innbs. 
Alas ! this is a child, a silly dwarf: 
It cannot be, this weak and writhled shrimp 
Should strike such terror to his enemies. 

Tal. Madam, I have been too bold to trouble you : 
But, since your ladyship is not at leisure, 
I'll sort some other time to visit you. [he goes. 

Count. What means he now ? — Go ask him, whither 

Mess. Stay, my lord Talbot ; for my lady craves 
To know the cause of your abrupt departure. 

Tal. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, 
I go to certify her, Talbot's here. 

Re-enter Porter, xuhh keys. 

Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. 

Tal. Prisoner 1 to whom ? 

Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord ; 

And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. 
Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me, 
For in my gallery thy picture hangs : 
But now the substance shall endure the like ; 
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine, 
That hast by tyranny these many years, 
Wasted our country, slain our citizens, 
And sent our sons and husbands captivate. 

Tnl. Ha, ha, ha ! f to moan 

Count. Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall turn 

Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond. 
To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow, 
Whereon to practise your severity. 

Count. Why, art not thou the man? 

Tal. I am indeed. 

Count. Then have I substance too. • 

Tul. No, no, I am but shadow of myself: 
You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here ; 
For what you see, is but the smallest part 
.\nd least proportion of humanity : 
I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, 
It is of such a spacious lofty pitch. 
Your roof were not sufficient to contain it. 

Conn. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce ; 
He will be here, and yet he is not here : 



' How can these contrarieties agree? 
Tal. That will I shew you presently. 

He rvinih a Horn. Drums heard ; then a Peal oj 
Ordnance. The Gates being forced , enter Soldiers. 

How say you, madam? are you now persuaded, 
I liat Talbot is but shadow of himself? 
These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength, 
With which he yoketh your rebellious necks ; 
Hazeth your cities, and subverts your towns. 
And in a moment makes them desolate. 

Count. \'ictorious Talbot ! pardon my abuse : 
I find ihou art no less than fame hath bruited, 
.\nd more than may be gather'd by thy shape. 
Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath ; 
For I am sorry, that with reverence 
I did not entertain thee as thou art. 

Tal. Be not dismay'd, fair lady , nor misconstrue 
The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake 
Ihe outward coniposition of his body. 
What you have done, hath not offended me . 
No other satisfaction do 1 crave, 
But only (with your patience,) that we may 
Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have ; 
For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well. 

Count. With all my heart; and think me honoured 
To feast so great a warrior in my house. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — London. 77,e Temple Garden. 

Enter the Earls o/' Somi;rset, Siffoi.k, and War- 
wick ; Richard Plantaoenet, Vernon, und 
another Lawyer. 

Plan. Great lords, and gentlemen, what means this 
Dare no man answer in a case of truth ? [silence ? 

Suf. Within the temple hall we were too loud ; 
The garden here is more convenient. 

Plan. Then say atonce. If I maintain'd the truth j 
Or, else, was wrangling Somerset in the error ? 

Snf. 'Faith, 1 have been a truant in the law ; 
And never yet could frame my will to it ; 
And, therefore, frame the law unto my will. [us. 

Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then between 

War. Between two hawks, which flies the higher 
pitch. 
Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth, 
Between two blades, which bears the better temper. 
Between two horses, which doth bear him best. 
Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye, 
1 have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment- 
But in these nice sharp quillets of the law. 
Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. 

Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance* 
The truth ap})ears so naked on my side, 
That any purblind eye may find it out. 

Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, 
So clear, so shining, and so evident. 
That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. 

Plan. Since you are tongue-ty'd, and so loath to 
In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts : [speak, 
Let him, that is a true born gentleman. 
And stands upon the honour of his birth. 
If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, 
From ofi'this briar pluck a white rose with me. 

Horn. Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer. 
But dare maintain the party of the truth. 
Pluck a red rose from of!' this thorn with me. 

War. I love no colours ; and, without all colour 
Of base insinuating flattery, 
1 pluck this white rose, with Plantagenet. 

SuJ. I pluck this red rose, with young Somerset; 
.Vnd say withal, I think he held the right. 



458 



KING HENRY VI.— PART I. 



Vei: Stay, lords, and gentlemen ; and pluck no more, 
Till you conclude — that he, upon whose si;le 
The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree, 
Shall yield the other in the right opinion. 

Som. Good master Vernon, it is well objected ; 
If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. 

Plan. And 1. 

Ver. Then, for tiie truth and plainness of llie case, 
I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here. 
Giving my verdict on the white rose side. 

Som. I'rick not your finger as you pluck it off; 
Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red. 
And fall on my side so against your will 

Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, 
Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt. 
And keep me on the side where still I am. 

Som. \Vell, well, come on ; Who else 1 

Law. Unless my study and my books be false. 
The argument you held, was wrong in you ; [To Som. 
In sign wliereof, 1 pluck a white rose too. 

PliDi. Now, Somerset, where is your argument? 

Som. Here, in my scabbard ; meditating that, 
Shall die your white rose in a bloody red. 

Flan. lAIean time, your cheeks do counterfeit our 
For pale they look with fear, as witnessing [roses; 
The trutli on our side. 

Som. No, Plantagenet, 

'Tis not for fear ; but anger, — that thy cheeks 
Blush for pure shame, to counterfeit our roses ; 
And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. 

Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset"! 

Sum. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet? 

Plan. Ay, sharp aad piercing, to maintain his truth; 
Whiles tliy consuming canker eats iiis falseliood. 

5nm. Well, I'll find friendstowear my bleeding-roses, 
That shall maintain what 1 have said is true, 
Vv'here false Plantagenet dare not be seen. 

Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my iiand, 
I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy. 

Siif. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. 

Plan. Proud Poole, I will ; and scorn both him 
and thee. 

Siif. I'll turn my part thereof into thy tiiroat. 

Som. Away, away, good William De-la Poole ! 
We grace the yeoman, by conversing with him. 

War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him ; 
Somerset ; 
His grandfather v.-as Lionel, duke of Clarence, 
Tiiird son to the third I'^dward king of England ; 
Spring ciestless yeonsen from so deep a root ! 

Plan. He bears him on the place's privilege, 
Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus. 

Snm. By him that made me, I'll maintain my words 
On any plot of ground in Christendom : 
Was not thy father, Richard, earl of Cambridge, 
For treason executed in our late king's davs ! 
And, by ids treason, stand'st not thou attainted, 
Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry ! 
His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood ; 
And, till thou be restor'd, thou art a yeoman. 

Plan. My father was attached, not attainted ; 
Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor ; 
And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset. 
Were growing time once ripen'd to my will. 
For your partaker Poole, and you yourself, 
I'll note you in my book of memory, 
To scourge you for this apprehension : 
Look to it well ; and say you a/e well v/aru'd. 

Som. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still : 
And know us, by these colours, for thy foes ; 
For these my friends, in spite of thee, shall wear. 

Plan, And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose, 



As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, 
Will 1 for ever, and my faction, wear ; 
Until it wither with me to my grave, 
Or flourish to the height of my degree. 

Suf. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambitioc ! 
And so farewell, until I meet thee next. [E.iit, 

Som. Have with thee, Poole. — Farewell, ambi- 
tious Richard. [Eiit, 

Plan. How I am brav'd, and must perforce en- 
dure it! 

War, This blot, that theyobjectagainst'your house, 
Siiall be wip'd out in the next parliament, 
Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloster . 
And, if thou be not then created York, 
I will not live to be accounted Warwick. 
Mean time, in signal of my love to thee. 
Against proud Somerset, and William Poole, 
Will I upon thy party wear this rose : 
And here I prophesy, — Tliis brawl to-day. 
Grown to this faction, in the Temple garden, 
Shall send, between the red rose and the white, 
A thousand souls to death and endless night. 

Plan. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you. 
That you on my behalf tvould pluck a flower. 

Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same. 

Law. And so will I. 

Plan. Thanks, gentle sir. 
Come, let us four to dinner : I dare say. 
This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Eieunt 

SCENE V. — Tlie same. A Room in the Tower. 
Enter Mortimer, brought in a chair by two Keepers 

Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, 
Let dying Mortimer here rest himself — 
Even like a man new haled from the rack. 
So fare my limbs with long imprisonment : 
And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death, 
Nestor-like aged, in an age of care. 
Argue the end of Edward JNIortimer. 
These eyes, — like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, — 
Wax dim, as drawing to an exigent : 
Weak shoulders, overborne with burd'ning grief; 
And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine 
That droops his sapless branches to the ground : 
Yet are these feet — whose strengthless stay is numb, 
Unable to support this lump of clay, — 
Swift-winged with desire to get a grave. 
As witting I no other comfort have. — 
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come? 

1 Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come. 
We sent unto the I'emple, to his chamber ; 
And answer was return'd, that he will come. 

Mor. Enough ; my soul shall then be satisfied. — 
Poor gentleman ! his wrong doth equal mine. 
Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, 
(Before whose glory 1 was great in arms,) 
This loathsome sequestration have I had ; 
.And even since tlien hath Richard been obscur'd, 
Depriv'd of honour and inheritance ; 
But now, the arbitrator of despairs, 
.lust death, kind umpire of men's miseries, 
With s*weet enlargement doth dismiss me hence ; 
I would, his troubles likewise were expir'd, 
I'hat so he might recover what was lost. 

Enter Richard Plantagenet. 

1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is coiue. 
Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend? Is he come'; 
Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd. 
Your nephew, late-despised Richard, comes. 
Mor. Direct mine arms, 1 may embrace his nect 



ACT III. -SCENE I. 



459 



And in his bosom spend my latter gasp : 

O, tell me, wlien my lips do touch his cheeks, 

That 1 may kindly give one fainting kiss. — 

And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock, 

Why d;dst ihou say — of late tliou wert despis'd 1 

Plan. First, lean thine aged back against mine arm ; 
And, in tliat ease, I'll tell thee my disease. 
This day, in argument upon a case. 
Some words there grew "twixt Somerset and me : 
Among whicli terms, he used his lavish tongue. 
And did upbraid me with my father's death ; 
Which obloquy set bars before my tongue. 
Else with the like I had requited him : 
Therefore, good uncle, — for my father's sake, 
In honour of a true Plantagenet, 
And for alliance' sake, — declare the cause 
My father, earl of Cambridge, lost his iiead. 

Mor. 'I'hat cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me, 
And hath detain'd me, all my flow'ring youth, 
Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, 
Was cursed instrument of his decease. 

Plan. Discover more at large what cause that was ; 
For I am ignorant, and cannot guess. 

Mor. I will ; if that my fading breath permit, 
And death approach not ere my tale be done. 
Henry the fourth, grandfatiier to tliis king, 
Depos'd his nephew Richard ; Edward's son, 
The first-begotten, and the lawful heir 
Of Edward King, the third of that descent : 
Daring whose reign, the Percies of the north, 
P'inding his usurpation most unjust, 
Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne : 
The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this. 
Was — for that (young king Ilichard thus remov'd. 
Leaving no heir begotten of his body,) 
I was the next by birth and parentage ; 
For by my mother 1 derived am 
From Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son 
To king Edward the thiid, whereas he. 
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree. 
Being but fourth of that heroic line. 
liut mark ; as, in this haughty great attempt, 
They laboured to plant the rightful heir, 
I lost my liberty, and they their lives. 
Long after this, when Henry the fifth, — 
Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, — did reign, 
Thy father, earl of Cambridge, — then deriv'd 
From famous Edmund Langley, duke of York, — 
Blarryiug my sister, that thy mother was, 
Again, in pity of my hard distress. 
Levied an army ; weening to redeem. 
And have install'd me in the diadem: 
But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl. 
And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, 
In whom the title rested, were suppress'd. 

Plan. Of whicli, my lord, your honour is the last. 

Mor. True ; and thou seest, that 1 no issue have ; 
And that my fainting words do warrant death : 
Ihou art my heir ; the rest, 1 wish thee gather ; 
And yet be wary in thy studious care. 

Plan. 'J'liy grave admonishments prevail with me ; 
But yet, methinks, my father's execution 
Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. 

Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politic ; 
Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster, 
And, like a mountain, not to be remov'd. 
But now thy uncle is removing hence ; 
As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd 
With long continuance in a settled place. 

Plan. O, uncle, would some part ofmy young years, 
Might but redeem the passage of your age ! [doth, 

Mor. Thou dost then wrong me ; as the slauglii'rer 



Which giveth many wounds, when one will kill. 
Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good ; 
Only, give order for my funeral ; 
And so farewell ; and fair be all thy hopes ! 
And prosperous be thy life, in peace, and war! [Dia. 
Plan. And j)eace, no war, befal thy parting soul I 
In prison hast tiiou spent a pilgrimage. 
And like a hermit overpass'd thy days. — 
Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast ; 
And what I do imagine, let that rest — 
Keepers, convey him hence : and I myself 
Will see his burial better than his life. — 

[Eieunt Keepers, hearing out Mortimer. 
Here dies the dusky torch of INIortimer, 
Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort : — • 
And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries. 
Which Somerset hath oH'er'd to my house, — 
I doubt not, but with honour to redress : 
And therefore haste I to the parliament ; 
Either to be restored to my blood, 
Or make my ill tiie advantage of my good. \E-iit. 



ACT III. 

SCENE 1.— The same. T/ie rarliament-Housc. 

Flourish. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Gi.osTiit, 
Warwick, Somerset, and Suffolk ; the Bishop 
of Winchester, Biciiakd Plantagenet, and 
others. Gloster offers to put up a bill ; Win- 
chester snatches it, and tears it. 

IVin. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines 
With written pamphlets studiously devis'd, 
Humphrey of Gloster ? if thou canst accuse, 
Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge. 
Do it without invention suddenly ; 
As I with sudden and extemporal speech 
Purpose to answer what thou canst object. 

Glo. Presumptuous priest ! this place commands 
my patience. 
Or thou should'st find thou hast dishonour'd me. 
Think not, although in writing I preferr'd 
The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes. 
That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able 
Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen : 
No, prelate ; such is thy audacious wickedness, 
Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks, 
As very infants prattle of thy pride. 
Thou art a most pernicious usurer ; 
Froward by nature, enemy to peace ; 
Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems 
A man of thy profession and degree ; 
And for thy treacliery. What's more manifest ? 
In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life. 
As well at London bridge, as at the Tower? 
Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted. 
The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt 
From envious malice of thy swelling heart. 

Win Gloster, I do defy thee. — Lords, vouchsafe 
To give me hearing what I shall reply. 
If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse, 
As he will have me, How am I so poor? 
Or how haps it, I seek not to advance 
Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling 1 
And for dissentlon. Who preferreth peace 
More than I do, — except 1 be provoked ? 
No, my good lords, it is not that offends ; 
It is not that, that hath incens'd the duke : 
It i.s, because no one should sway but he ; 
No one, but he, should be about the king ; 



400 



KING HENRY VI.— PART I. 



And that engenders thunder in his breast, 
And makes him roar these accusatio'iis forth. 
But he shall know, I am as good— 



Gin. 



As good 1 



Thou bastard of my grandfather ! — 

Win. Ay, lordly sir ; For what are you, I pray, 
But one imperious in another's throne ] 

Glo, Am I not the protector, saucy priest ? 

Win. And am I not a prelate of the church ? 

Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps. 
And useth it to patronage his theft. 

Win. Unreverent Gloster 1 

Glo. Thou art reverent, 

Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. 

Win. This Rome shall remedy. 

War. Roam thither then. 

Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. 

War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. 

Som. Methinks my lord should be religious. 
And know the office that belongs to such. 

War. Methinks, his lordship should be humbler ; 
It fitteth not a prelate so to plead. 

Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near. 

War. State holy, or unhallow'd, what of that ! 
Is not his grace protector to the king? 

Flan. Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue ; 
Lest it be said. Speak, sirrah, when i/oa should j 
ihist ynur bold verdict enter talk icith lords ? 
Else would I have a fling at Winchester. [Aside. 

K. Hen. Uncles of Gloster, and of Winchester, 
The special watchmen of our English weal ; 
I would prevail if prayers might prevail, 
To join your hearts in love and amity. 
O, what a scandal is it to our crown. 
That two such noble peers as ye, should jar ! 
Believe me, lords, my tender j'ears can tell. 
Civil dissention is a viperous worm, 
That gnaws the bowels of the commonweaUh. — 

[A noise within ; Down with the tawny coats ! 
What tumult's this ? 

War. An uproar, I dare warrant. 

Begun through malice of the bishop's men. 

[A noise again ; Stones ! Stones ! 

Enter the Mayor of London, attended. 
May. O, my good lords,— and virtuous Henry, — 
Pity the city of London, pity us 1 
The bishop and the duke of Gloster's men, 
Forbidden late to carry any weapon. 
Have fiU'd their pockets full of pebble-stones ; 
And banding themselves in contrary parts. 
Do pelt so fast at one another's pate. 
That many have their giddy brains knock'd out: 
Our windows are broke down in every street. 
And we, for fear, compell'd to shut our shops. 

Enter, skirmishing, the lietainers of Gi.oster and 
Winchester, with bioody pates. 

K. Hen. We charge vou, on allegiance to ourself, 
To hold your slaught'ring hands, and keep the pf-ace. 
Pray, uncle Gloster, mitigate this strife. 

1 Serv. Nay, if we be 

Forbidden stones, we'll fall to it with our teeth. 

2 Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. 

[Skirmisli ogiiln 
Glo. You of my household, leave this peevish broil. 

And set this unaccustom'd fight aside. 

1 Serv. My lord we know your grace to be a man 

Just and upright ; and, for your royal birth. 

Inferior to none, but his majesty : 

And, ere that we will suffer sucli a prince, 

So kind a father of the commonweal. 



To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate. 

We, and our wives, and children, all will fight, 

And have our bodies slaughter'd by thy foes. 

2 Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails 
Shall pitch a field, when we are dead [Skirmish again, 

Glo. Stay, stay, I say' 

And, if you love me, as you say you do. 
Let me persuade you to forbear a while. 

A'. Hen. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul ! — 
Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold 
My sighs and tears, and will not once relent "J 
Who should be pitiful, if you be not t 
Or who should study to prefer a peace, 
If holy churchmen take delight in broils ? 

War. ]My lord protector, yield ; — yield, W^inches- 
Except you mean, with obstinate repulse, [ter ; — • 
To slay your sovereign, and destroy the realm. 
You see what mischief, and what murder too, 
Ilath been enacted through your enmity ; 
Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood. 

Win. He shall submit, or I will never yield. 

Glo. Compassion on the king commands me .-^toop ; 
Or, I would see his heart out, ere the priest 
Should ever get that privilege of me.. 

]Var. Behold, my lord of Winchester, the duke 
Ilath banish'd moody discontented fury, 
.\s by his smoothed brows it doth appear : 
Why look you still so stern, and tragical 1 

Glo. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand. 

K. Hen. Fye, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you 
That malice was a great and grievous sin : [preach. 
And will not you maintain the thing you teach. 
But prove a chief offender in the same 1 

]Var. Sweet king '. — the bishop hath a kindly gird. — 
For shame my lord of Winchester ! relent ; 
What, shall a child instruct you what to do ? 

Win. Well, duke of Gloster, I will yield to thee j 
Love for thy love, and hand for hand 1 give. 

Glo. Aye ; but, I fear me, with a hollow heart.— 
See here, my friends, and loving countrymen ; 
This token serveth for a flag of truce, 
Betwixt ourselves, and all our followers ; 
So help me God, as I dissemble not! 

Win. So help me God, as I intend it not ! [Aside. 

K. Hen. O loving uncle, kind duke of Gloster, 
How joyful am I made by this contract! — 
Away, my masters! trouble us no more; 
But join in friendship, as your lords have done. 

1 Serv. Content; I'll to the surgeon's. 

2 Serv. A nd so will I. 

3 Serv. And I will see what physic the tavern af- 

fords. [ExenHf Servants, INIayor, (!^c. 

IT'a?-. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign; 
^Vhich in the right of Richard Plantagenet 
We do exhibit to your majesty. 

Glo. Well urg'd, my lord of Warwick ; — for, sweet 
.Vn if your grace mark every circumstance, [prince. 
You have gieat reason to do Richard right : 
Especially, for those occasions 
.\t Eltham-place I told your majesty. 

A'. Hen. And those occasions, uncle, were of force : 
Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is. 
That Richard be restored to his blood. 

War. Let Richard be restored to his blood , 
.So shall his father's wrongs be recompens'd. 

Win. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester. 

A'. Hen. If Richard will be true, not that alone, 
I'ut all the whole inheritance I give, 
I'hat doth belong unto the house of York, 
From whence you spring by lineal descent. 

Plan Tliy humble servant vows obedience. 
And humble scr\ice, till the point of death. 



ACT III.— SCEN^E H. 



401 



A'. Hen. Stoop then, and set your knee against my 
And, in rcguerdon of that duty done, [foot : 

I girt thee with the valiant sword of York 
Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet ; 
And rise created princely duke of York. 

Plan. And so thrive Richard, as thy foes may fall ! 
And as my duty springs, so perish they 
I'hat grudge one thought against your majesty ! 

All. Welcome, high prince, the mighty duke of 
York! 

Horn. Perish, base prince, ignoble duke of York ! 

[AsiJe. 

Glo. Now will it best avail your majesty. 
To cross the seas, and to be crown'd in France. 
The presence of a king engenders love 
Amongst his subjects, and his loyal friends ; 
As it disanimates his enemies. 

K. Hen. When Gloster says the word, king Henry 
For friendly counsel cuts off many foes. [goes ; 

Glo. Your ships already are in readiness. 

[^Exeunt nil but Exiter. 

Exe. Aye, we may march in England, or in France, 
Not seeing what is likely to ensue : 
This late dissention, grown betwixt the peers 
Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love, 
And will at last break out into a flame : 
As fester'd members rot but by degrees. 
Till bones, and flesh, and sinews, fall away. 
So will this base and envious discord breed. 
And now I fear that fatal prophecy, 
^Vhich, in the time of Henry, nam'd the fifth. 
Was in the mouth of every sucking babe, — 
That Henry, born at Monmouth, should win all -, 
And Henry, born at Windsor, should lose all : 
Which is so plain, that Exeter doth wish 
His days may finish ere tliat hapless time. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — France. Before Roiien. 

Enter E.a'Pvct.i.i.e. disguised, and Soldiers dressed liko 
Countrymen, with sacks upon their hacks. 

Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of Roiien, 
Through which our policy must make a breach : 
Take heed, be wary how you place your words ; 
Talk like the vulgar sort' of market men, 
That come to gather money for their corn. 
If we have entrance, (as, I hope, we shall,) 
And that we find the slothful watch but weak, 
I '11 by a sign give notice to our friends. 
That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them. 

1 Sold. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city, 
And we be lords and rulers over Roiien; 
Therefore we'll knock. \_Knocks. 

Guard. [Within.] Qui est la? 

Puc. Paisans, pauvres gens- de France : 
Poor market folks, that come to sell their corn. 

Guard. Enter, go in ; the market-bell is rung. 

[Opens the gates. 

Puc. Now, Roiien, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the 
ground. [Puceli.e, &;c. enter the city. 

Enter Charles, Bastard of Orleans, Ai.EXfON, 
and Forces. 

Char. Saint Dennis bless this happy stratagem ! 
And once again we'll sleep secure in Roiien. 

Bast. Here enter'd Pucelle, and her practisants ; 
Now she is there, how will she specify 
Where is the best and safest passage in ? 

Alen. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower ; 
Which, once discern'd, shews, that her m.eaning is, — 
No way to that, for weakness, which she enter'd. 



Enter La Pucelle 07i a battlement : holding 
■out a torch Imrning. 

Puc. Behold this is the iiappy wedding torch, 
That joineth Roiien unto her countrymen ; 
But burning fatal to the Talbotites. 

Bast. See, noble Charles ! the beacon of our friend, 
The burning torch in yonder turret stands. 

Char. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, 
A prophet to the fall of all our foes ! 

Alen. Defer no time. Delays have dangerous ends ; 
Enter, and cry — The Dauphin ! — presently. 
And then do execution on the watch. [fheti enter. 

Alarums. Enter T'ai.bot and certain English. 

Tal. France, thou shalt rue this treason with ih y tears. 
If Talbot but survive thy treachery. — 
Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress, 
Hath wrought this hellish misciiief unawares. 
That hardly we escap'd the pride of France. 

[Eicunt to ike tmrn. 

Alarum: Eicursions. Enter, from the town, Bku- 
roiiD, brouglit in sick, in a chair, with TAi.nriT, 
BunouNDY, and the English Forres. Then, enter 
on the nulls. La Pucille, Chaiu.f.s, Bastard, 
Alenjon, and others. 

Pijc. Good morrow, gallants! wantyecorn for bread? 
1 think, the duke of Burgundy will fast, 
Before he '11 buy again at sucli a rate : 
'Twas full of darnel ; Do you like the taste 1 

Bur. Scofl'on, vile fiend, and shameless courtezan ! 
I trust, ere long, to choke thee with thine own. 
And make thee curse the harvest of that corn. 

C/iar. You r grace may starve perhaps before that time. 

Bed. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason! 

Puc. What will you do, good grey-beard? break a 



And run a tilt at death within a chair? 



[lance. 



Tal. Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite, 
Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours ! 
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age. 
And twit with cowardice a man half dead? 
Damsel, I '11 have a bout with you again. 
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame. 

Puc. Are you so hot, sir ? — Yet, Pucelle, hold thy 

If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow — [peace ; 

[Talbot, and the rest, consnll together, 

God speed the parliament I who shall be the speaker ? 

Tal. Dare ye come forth, and meet us in the field ? 

Puc. Belike, your lordship takes us then for fools, 
To try if that our own be ours, or no. 

Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecat6, 
But unto thee Alen9on, and the rest ; 
Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out ? 

Alen. Signior, no. 

Tal. Signior, hang! — base muleteers of France.! 
Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls. 
And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. 

Puc. Captains, away : let's get us from the walls ; 
For Talbot means no goodness, by his looks. 
God be wi' you, my lord ! we came, sir, but to tell you 
That we are here. 

[Eieunt La Pucelle, &;c.from the iralls. 

Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be long. 
Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame ! — 
Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house, 
(Prick'd on by public wrongs, sustain'd in France,^ 
Either to get the town again, or die : 
And I, — as sure as I^nglish Henry lives. 
And as his father here was contpieror ; 
As sure as in this late-betrayeil town 
Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried •, 
So sure 1 swear, to get the town, or die. 



4(>2 



KING HENRY VI.— PART I. 



Bur. My vows are equal partners with thy vows. 

7a/. But, ere we go, regajd this dying prince, 
The valiant dulce of Bedford : — Come, my lord, 
V\ e will bestow you in some better place, 
Fitter for sickness, and for crazy age. 

Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me : 
Here will I sit before the walls of Roiien, 
And will be partner of your weal, or wee. 

B(t)-. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade yon. 

Bed. Not to be gone from hence ; for once I read. 
That stout Pendragon, in his litter, sick, 
Came to the field, and vanquished his foes : 
Methinks, I should revive the soldiers' hearts, 
Because I ever found them as myself. 

Till. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast ! — 
Then be it so : — Heavens keep old Bedford safe! — 
And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, 
But gather we our forces out of hand, 
And set upon our boasting enemy. 

[Eieuut BuiiGUNuv, Talbot, and Forces. 



leacing BuuFonD, and others. 



A tart 



Excursions. Enter Sir John Fastolfe, 
and a Captain. 
Cap. Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in sucli 

haste 1 
Fast. Whither away ? to save myself by flight ; 
We are like to have the overthrow again. 

Cap. What! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot? 
Fast, Ay, 

Ail the Talbots in the woild to save my life. [Eiif. 
Cap. Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee! 

[Exit. 
Retreat: Excursions. Enter, from the town, La Pa- 
CELLE, Alen^on, Charles, <!ifc. and exeunt Jiying. 
Bed. Now,([uiet soul, depart when heaven please; 
For 1 have seen our enemies' overthrow. 
What is the trust or strength of foolish man? 
I'hey, that of late were daring with their scoffs. 
Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. 

[Dies, and is carried ojf in his chair. 

Alarum : Enter Talbot, Burgundy, and others. 

Tal, Lost, and recover'd in a day again I 
This is a double honour. Burgundy : 
Yet, heavens have glory for this victory I 

Bur. Warlike and mai tial Talbot, Burgundy 
Enshrines thee in his heart ; and there erects 
Thy noble deeds, as valour's monument. [now? 

Tal. 'I'hanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle 
I think, her old familiar is asleep ; [gleeks ? 

Now where's ihe Bastard's braves, and Charles his 
What, all amort? Roiien hangs her head for grief, 
That such a valiant company are' fled. 
Now will we take some order in the town, 
Placing therein some expert officers ; 
And then depart to Paris, to tiie king ; ^ 
For there young Harry, with liis nobles, lies. 

Bur. What wills Lord Talbot, pleaseth Burgundy. 

Tal. But yet, before we go, let's not forget 
The noble duke of Bedford, late deceas'd, 
But see his exequies fulfiU'd in Roiien ; 
A braver soldier never couched lance, 
A gentler heart did never sway in court : 
But kings, and mightiest potentates must die ; 
For that's the end of human misery. \_Exeunt, 

sCENE III, — The same. I'he Plaiiis near the City> 
Enter Charles, the Bastard, ALEN90N, 
La Pucelle, and Forces. 
Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident, 
Nor grieve that Roiien is so recovered ; 



Care is no cure, but rather corrosive. 
For things tliat are not to be remedied. 
Let frantic Talbot tiiumph for a while, 
And like a peacock sweep along his tail ; 
We'll pull his plumes, and talce away his train, 
If Daupliin, and tiie rest, will be but rul'd. 

Char. We have been guided by thee hitheito, 
And of thy cunning had no diflidence ; 
One sudden foil shall never breed distrust. 

Bust. Search out thy wit for seciet policies. 
And we will make thee famous through the world, 

Alen. We'll set thy statue in some holy place, 
And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed saint ; 
Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good. 

Fuc. Then thus it must be ; this doth Joan devise: 
By fair persuasions, inix'd with sugar'd words, 
We will entice the duke of Burgundy 
To leave the Talbot, and to follow us. 

Char. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that, 
France were no place for Henry's warriors ; 
Nor should that nation boast it so with us, 
But be extirped from our provinces. 

Aten. Foreverjhould they beexpuls'd fromFrance, 
And not have title to an earldom here. 

Fuc. Your honours shall perceive howl will work, 
To bring this matter to the wished end. [Drums heard. 
Hark! by the sound of drum, you may perceive, 
Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward. 

An English March. Enter and pass over at a 
distance, Talbot and his Forces. 

There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread ; 
And all the troops of English after him. 

.4 French March. Enter the Duke of Burgundy 
and Forces. 

Now, in the rearward, comes the duke, and his ; 
Fortune, in favour, makes him lag behind. 
Summon a parley, we will talk with him. 

[A parley sounded. 

Char. A parley with the duke of Burgundy. 

Bur. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy l 

Puc. The princely Charles of France, thy coun- 
tryman, [hence. 

Bur. What say'st thou, Charles ? fori aifl marching 

Char. Speak, Pucelle ; and enchant him with thy 
words. 

Puc. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France I 
Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee. 

Bur. Speak on ; but be not over-tedious. 

Puc. Look on thy country, look on fertile France, 
And see the cities and the towns defac'd 
By wasting ruin of the cruel foe! 
As looks the mother on her lowly babe, 
When death doth close his tender dying eyes. 
See, see, the pining malady of France ; 
Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds, 
Which thou thyself hast given her woful breast! 
O, turn thy edged sword another way ; 
Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help ! 
One drop of blood, drawn from thy country's bosom, 
Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore; 
Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears. 
And wash away thy country's stained spots ! 

Bur. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words, 
Or nature makes me suddenly relent. 

Puc. Besides, all French and France exclaims 0.. 
Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny. [thee. 

Who join'st "thou with, but with a lordly nation. 
That will not trust thee, but for profit's sake ? 
When Talbot hath set footing once in France, 
And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill, 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



463 



Who then, but English Henry, will be lo» J, 

And thou be tlirust out, like a fugitive ? 

Call we to inind, — and mark but this, for proof; — 

Was not the duke of Orleans thy foe? 

And was he not in P'ngland prisoner? 

But, when they heard he was thine enemy, 

They set him free, without his ransome paid. 

In spite of Burgundy, and all his friends. 

See then! thou fight'st against thy countrymen, 

And join'st with them will be thy slaughter-men. 

Come, come, return; return, thou wand'ring lord ; 

Charles, and the rest, will take thee in their arms. 

Bur. I am vanquished ; these haughty words of her's 
Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot, 
And made me almost yield upon my knees. — 
Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen ! 
And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace : 
My forces and my power of men are yours ; — 
So, farewell, L'albot ; I'll no longer trust thee. 

Puc. Done like a Frenchman ; turn, and turn again! 

Char, Welcome, brave duke ! thy friendship makes 
us fresh. 

Bust, And doth beget new courage in our breasts. 

Alen. Pucelle hath bravely play 'd her part in this. 
And doth deserve a coronet of gold. 

Char. Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers ; 
And seek how we may prejudice the foe. \_Eieniit. 

SCENE IV.— Paris. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Heni'v, Gr.osTF.R, and ot/iec Lords, \En- 

yos. Basset, S^c. To them Talbot, and some of his 

Officers. 

Tal. ]\Iy gracious prince, — and honourable peers, — 
Hearing of your arrival in this realm, 
I have awhile given truce unto my wars, 
I'o do my duty to my sovereign : 
In sign whereof, this arm, — that hath reclaim'd 
To your obedience fifty fortresses. 
Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength, 
Besides five hundred prisoners of esteem, — 
Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet ; 
And, with submissive loyalty of heart, 
Ascribes the glory of his conquest got, 
First to my God, and next unto your grace. 

K. Hen. Is this the lord Talbot, uncle Gloster, 
That hath so long been resident in France ? 

Glfl. Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege. 

K. Hen. Welcome, brave captain, and victorious 
When I was young, (as yet I am not old,) [lord ! 
{ do remember how my father said, 
A. stouter champion never handled sword. 
Long since we were resolved of your truth, 
Vour faithful service, and your toil in war ; 
i'et never have you tasted our reward, 
Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks 
Because till now we never saw your face : 
Therefore, stand up ; and, for these good deserts, 
We here create you earl of Shrewsbury ; 
■^nd in our coronation take your place. 

[Exeunt K. Henry, Gloster, Talbot, <?f Nobles. 

Ver. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea, 
.Disgracing of these colours that I wear 
In honour of my noble lord of York, — 
Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st ? 

Bus. Yes, sir ; as well as you dare patronage 
''^he envious barking of your saucy tongue 
Against my lord, the duke of Somerset. 
, Ver, Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is. 

Bas. Why, what is he ? as good a man as York. 

Ver. Hark ye ; not so : in witness take ye that. 

[Strikes him. 
Bas, Villain, thou know'st, the law of arms is such, 



That, whoso draws a sword, 'tis present death; 

Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood. 

But I'll unto hi? majesty, and crave 

I may have liberty to veuge this wrong ; 

When thou shalt see, I'll meet thee to thy cost, 

Ver. Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you ; 
\nd, after, meetyousoonerthan you would. [Exeunt, 



ACT IV. 

SCENE J.— The same. A Boom of State. 

Enter Kino Henry, Gi.nsrER, Exeter, York, Suf- 
folk, SOMFRSIT, WlNCIlI STER, WaRWICK, TaLISOT, 

the Governor i;/' Paris, mid others. 
Glo. F.ord bishop, set the crown upon his head. 
]Vhi. God save king Henry of that name the sixth! 
C/i). Now, governor of Paris, take your oath, — 

[Governor kneels. 
That you elect no other king but him : 
Ksteem none friends, but such as are his friends; 
\nd none your foes, but such as shall pretend 
Malicious practices against hio state : 
1 his shall ye do, so help you righteous God! 

[V.ieuut Gov. and his Train 

Enter Sir .John Fastolfe. 

Fast. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais, 
To haste unto your coronation, 
A letter was deliver'd to my hands, 
Writ to your grace from th.e duke of Burgundy. 

Till. Shame to the duke of Burgundy, and thee ! 
I vow'd, base knight, when 1 did meet thee next, 
■["o tear the garter from thy craven's leg. 

[Plucking it ojT. 
( Which I have done) because unworthily 
Thou wast installed in that high degree. — 
Pardon me, princely Henry, and thi rest : 
This dastard, at the battle of Paiay, 
When but in all I was six tiiousand strong, 
.And that the French were almost ten to one, — 
Before we met, or that a stroke was given. 
Like to a trusty squire, did run away : 
In which assault we lost twelve hundred men, 
!\lyself, and divers gentlemen beside, 
Were there surpriz'd, and taken prisoners. 
Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss ; 
Or whether tliat such cowards ought to wear 
I'his ornament of knightliood, yea, or no 

Glo. To say the truth, this fact was infamous, 
.\nd ill beseeming any common man ; 
Mucli more a knight, a captain, and a leader, 

Tal. When first this order was ordain'd, my lords. 
Knights of the garter were of noble birth ; 
\'aliant, and virtuous, full of liaughty courage. 
Such as were grown to credit by the wars ; 
Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress. 
Hut always resolute in most extremes. 
He then, tliat is not fiirnish'd in this sort, 
Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight. 
Profaning this most honourable order ; 
Vnd should (if I were worthy to be judge,) 
Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain 
That doth presume to boast of gentle blood, [doom . 

A'. Hen. Stain to thy countrymen! thou hear'st thy 
Be packing therefore, thou that wast a knight ; 
Henceforth we banish thee on pain of dealli.— 

[Eiit Fastolfe. 
.Vnd now, my lord protector, view the letter 
Sent from our uncle duke of Burgundy. 

Gin. What means his grace, that he hath chang'd 
his style? [Vieiring the superscription 

No more but, plain and bluntly, — To the king ? 



464 



KING HENRY VI.-PART I. 



Hath he forgot, he is his sovereign 1 

Or doth this churlish superscription 

Pretend some alteration in good will ? 

What's here"! — 1 have upon especial cause, — [Tleads. 

Miw'd tcith compassion of my country's wreck, 

Together with the pitiful complaints 

1 such as your oppression feeds vpon, — 

Forsaken your pernicious faction. 

And join d with Cliarles, the right/id king of France. 

monstrous treachery ! Can this be so ; 
That in alliance, amity, and oaths. 

There should be found such false dissembling guile 1 

K. Hen. What! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt? 

C4o. He doth, my lord ; and is become your foe. 

K. Hen. Is that the worst, this letter doth contain"! 

Glo. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes. 

K. Hen. Why then, lord Talbot there shall talk with 
And give him chastisement for this abuse: — [him. 
My lord, how say you ] are you not content? 

Tal. Content, my liege? Yes ; but that 1 am pre- 
vented, 

1 should have begg'd I might have been employ'd. 
K. Hen. Then gather strength, and march unto him 

straight : 
Let him perceive, how ill we brook his treason ; 
And what offence it is, to flout his friends. 

Tal. I go, my lord ; in heart desiring still 
You may behold confusion of your foes. [E.tif. 

Enter Vernon and Basset. 

Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign! 

Bas. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too ! 

York. I'his is my servant ; Hear him, noble prince ! 

Som. And this is mine ; Sweet Henry, favour him I 

A'. Hot. Be patient, lords ; and give them leave to 
speak. — 
Say, gentlemen. What makes you thus exclaim ? 
And wherefore crave you combat? or with whom? 

Ver. With him, my lord ; for he hath doneme wrong. 

Bas And I with him ; for he hath done me wrong. 

A'. Hen. What is that wrong whereof you both com- 
First let me know, and then i"l! answer you. [plain? 

Bas. Crossing the sea from England into France, 
This fellow here, with envious carping tongue, 
Upbraided me about the rose I wear ; 
Saying — the sanguine colour of the leaves 
Did represent my master's blushing cheeks, 
When stubbornly he did repugn the truth, 
About a certain question in the law, 
Argu'd betwixt the duke of York and him ; 
With other vile and ignominious terms : 
In confutation of which rude reproach, 
And in defence of my lord's worthiness, 
I crave the benefit of law of arms. 

Ver. And that is my petition, noble lord: 
For though he seem, with forged quaint conceit, 
To set a gloss upon his bold intent, 
Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him , 
And he first took exceptions at this badge, 
Pronouncing — that the paleness of this (lower 
Bewray 'd the faintness of my master's heart. 

Vork. Will not this malice, Somerset, he left ? 

Som. Your private grudge, my lord of York, will 
Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it. [out, 

A. Hen. Good Lord ! what madness rules in brain- 
When, for so slight and frivolous a cause, [sick men ; 
Such factious emulations shall arise !— ■ 
Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, 
Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace. 

York. Let this dissention first be tried by fight, 
And then your highness shall command a peace. 

Som. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone; 



Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then. 

York. There is my pledge : accept it, Somerset. 

Ver, Nay, let it rest where it began at first. 

Bas. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord. 

Glo. Confirm it so ^ Confounded be your strife! 
And perish ye, with your audacious prate! 
Presumptuous vassals! are you not asliam'd, 
With this immodest clamorous outrage 
To trouble and disturb the king and us ? 
And you, my lords, — methinks, you do not well, 
To bear with their perverse objections ; 
Much less, to take occasion from their mouths 
To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves; 
Let me persuade you, take a better course. 

Lie. It grieves his highness; — Good my lords; be 
friends. [tants : 

K. Hen. Come hither, you that would be comba- 
Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favour. 
Quite to forget this quarrel, and the cause. — 
And you, my lords, — remember where we are ; 
In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation : 
If they perceive dissention in our looks. 
And that within ourselves we disagree. 
How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd 
To wilful disobedience, and rebel ? 
Beside, What infamy will there arise, 
When foreign princes shall be certified, 
That, for a toy, a thing of no regard, 
King Henry's peers, and chief nobility. 
Destroy 'd themselves, and lost the realm of France? 
(), think upon the conquest of my father, 
My tender years ; and let us not forego 
That for a trifle, that was bought with blood! 
Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. 
I see no reason, if I wear this rose, 

[Putting on a red rose. 
That any one should therefore be suspicious 
I more incline to Somerset, than York: 
Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both : 
As well they may upbraid me with my crown, 
I^ecause, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd. 
But your discretions better can persuade, 
Than I am able to instruct or teach : 
And therefore, as we hither came in peace, 
So let us still continue peace and love. — 
Cousin of York, we institute your grace 
To be our regent in these parts of France .•— 
And good my lord of Somerset, unite 
Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot ; — 
And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors, 
Go cheerfully together, and digest 
Your angry choler on your enemies. 
Ourself, my lord protector, and the rest, 
After some respite, will return to Calais ; 
From thence to England, where I hope ere long 
To be presented, by your victories. 
With Charles, Alenfon, and that traitorous rout. 

[Flourish. Exeunt King Henrv, Glo. Som. 
W'lN. SuF. and Basset. 

War. My lord of York, I promise you, the king 
Prettily, methought, did play the orator. 

York. And so he did ; but yet I like it not. 
In that he wears the badge of Somerset. 

T^Hz-.Tush ! that was but his fancy, blame him. not ; 
I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm. 

York. And, if I wist, he did, — But let it rest ; 
Other affairs must now be managed. 

[Exeunt YonK, Warwick, and Vernov. 

Ere. Well didst thou , Richard, to suppress thy voice 
For had the passions of thy heart burst out, 
I fear we should have seen decipher'd there 
More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils, 



ACT iV.— SCENE IV. 



465 



Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd. 

But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees 

This jarring discord of nobility, 

This should'riug of each other in the court, 

This factious bandying of their favourites, 

But that it doth presage some ill event. 

'Tis much, when scepters are in children's hands: 

But more, when envy breeds unkind division ; 

There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. [Exit. 

SCENE II.— France. Before Bourdeaux. 
Enter Talbot, with hisforcts. 

Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter. 
Summon their general unto the wall. 

Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter, on the walls, the 
General of the French Forces, and others. 

English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth. 
Servant in arms to Harry king of England ; 
And thus he would, — Open your city gates, 
Be humble to us ; call my sovereign yours. 
And do him homage as obedient subjects. 
And I '11 withdraw me and my bloody power : 
But, if you frown upon this proflfer'd peace, 
You tempt the fury of my three attendants, 
Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire ; 
Who, in a moment, even with the earth 
Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers. 
If you forsake the offer of their love. 

Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death, 
Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge ! 
The period of thy tyranny approacheth. 
On us thou canst not enter, but by death : 
For, I protest, we are well fortified. 
And strong enough to issue out and fight : 
If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed. 
Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee : 
On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd. 
To wall thee from the liberty of flight; 
And no way canst thou turn thee for redress. 
But death doth front thee with apparent spoil. 
And pale destruction meets thee in the face. 
Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament, 
To rive their dangerous artillery 
Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. 
Lo ! there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man. 
Of an invincible unconquered spirit: 
This is the latest glory of thy praise, 
That I, thy enemy, due thee withal ; 
For ere the glass, that now begins to run, 
Finish the process of his sandy hour, 
These eyes, that see thee now well coloured, 
Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead. 

\_Drum afar off. 
Hark ! hark ! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell, 
Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul ; 
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. 

[Exeunt General, &^c.froin the walls. 

Tal. He fables not, I hear the enemy ; — 
Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings. — 
O, negligent and heedless discipline ! 
How are we park'd, and bounded in a pale ; 
A little herd of England's timorous deer, 
]Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs ! 
If we be English deer, be then in blood : 
Not rascal like, to fall down with a pinch ; 
But rather moody-mad, and desperate stags. 
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel. 
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay : 
Sell every man his life as dear as mine. 
And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends. — 



God, and Saint George ! Talbot, and England's Ti'gbt ! 
Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Plains in Gascony. 
Enter York, with Forces ; to him a Messenger. 

York. Are not the speedy scouts return'd again. 
That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin ? 

Mess. Tiiey are return'd my lord : and give it out, 
That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power, 
To fight with Talbot : As he march'd along. 
By your espials were discovered 
Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led ; 
Which join'd with him, and made their march for 
Bourdeaux. 

York. A plague upon that villain Somerset ; 
That thus delays my promised supply 
Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege ! 
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid ; 
And I am iowted by a traitor villain. 
And cannot help the noble chevalier : 
God comfort him in this necessity 1 
If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. 

Enter Sir William Lucy. 

Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English strength, 
Never so needful on the earth of France, 
Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot ; 
Who now is girdled with a waist of iron. 
And hemm'd about with grim destruction : 
To Bourdeaux, warlike duke I to Bourdeaux, York! 
Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour. 

York. OGod! that Somerset — who in proud heart 
Doth stop my cornets — were in Talbot's place ! 
So should we save a valiant gentleman, 
By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. 
Mad ire, and wrathful fury, makes me weep. 
That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep. 

Lucy. O, send some succour to the distress'd lord ! 

York. He dies, we lose ; I break my warlike word : 
We mourn, France smiles ; we lose, they daily get; 
All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset. 

Lucy. Then, God take mercy on braveTalbot's soul ! 
And on his son, young John ; whom, two hours since, 
I met in travel toward his warlike father ! 
This seven years did not Talbot see his son ; 
And now they meet where both their lives are done. 

York. Alas ! what joy shall noble Talbot have, 
To bid his young son welcome to his grave ? 
Away ! vexation almost stops my breath. 
That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death. — 
Lucy, farewell ; no more my fortune can. 
But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. — 
INIaine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away, 
'Long all of Somerset, and his delay. [Exit. 

Lucy. Thus while the vulture of sedition 
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, 
Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss 
The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror, 
That ever-living man of memory, 
Henry the fifth : — Whiles they each other cross. 
Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. [Exit, 

SCENE IV.— Other Plains o/ Gascony. 

Enter Somerset, rcith his Forces ; an Officer of 
Talbot's with him. 

Som. It is too late ; I cannot send them now . 
This expedition was by York, and Talbot, 
Too rashly plotted ; all our general force 
Might with a sally of the very town 
Be buckled with : the over-daring Talbot 
2 G 



466 



KING HENRY VI.— PART I. 



Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour, 
By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure: 
York set him on to fight, and die in shame, 
That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name. 

Of. Here is sir William Lucy, who with me 
Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid. 

Enter Sir William Lucy. 

Som. How now, sir William 1 whither were you sent ? 
Luc. Whither, my lord ? from bought and sold lord 
Who, ring'd about with bold adversity, [Talbot ; 
Cries out for noble York and Somerset, 
To beat assailing death from his weak legions. 
And whiles the honourable captain there 
Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs, 
And, in advantage hng'ring, looks for rescue. 
You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour, 
Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. 
Let not your private discord keep away 
The levied succours that should lend him aid, 
Whiles he, renowned noble gentleman. 
Yields up his life unto a world of odds : 
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy, 
Alenfon, Reignier, compass him about, 
And Talbot perisheth by your default. [aid. 

Som. York set him on, York should have sent him 

Lucij. And York as fast upon your grace exclaims ; 
Swearing that you withhold his levied host, 
Collected for this expedition. 

Snm. York lies; he might have sent and had the 
I owe him little duty, and less love ; [horse ; 

And take foul scorn, to fawn on him by sending. 

Luc. The fraud of England, not the force of France, 
Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot : 
Never to England shall he bear his life ; 
But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife. 

Som. Come, go; I will despatch the horsemen 
straight : 
Within six hours they will be at his aid. 

Lucy. Too late comes rescue ; he is ta'en, or slain : 
For fly he could not, if he would have fled ; 
And fly would Talbot never, though he might. 

Sim. If he be dead, brave Talbot then adieu ! 

Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in 
you. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — The English Camp near Bourdeaux. 
Enter Talbot and John his Son. 

Tal. O young John Talbot ! I did send for thee, 
To tutor thee in stratagems of war ; 
That Talbot's name might be in thee revlv'd, 
When sapless age, and weak unable limbs, 
Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. 
But, — O malignant and ill-boding stars ! — 
Now thou art come unto a feast of death, 
A terrible and unavoided danger : 
Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse; 
And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape 
By sudden flight: come, dally not, begone. 

John. Is my name Talbot 1 and am 1 your son ? 
And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother, 
Dishonour not her honourable name. 
To make a bastard, and a slave of me : 
The world will say, — He is not Talbot's blood. 
That basely fled, when noble Talbot stood. 

Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain. 

John. He, that flies so, will ne'er return again. 

Tal. If we both stay, we both arc sure to die. 

John. Then let me stay ; and, father, do you fly 
Your loss is great, so your regard should be ; 
My worth unknown, no loss is known in me. 



Upon my death the French can little boast ; 
In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost. 
Flight cannot stain the honour you have won; 
But mine it will, that no exploit have done : 
You fled for vantage, every one will swear; 
But, if I bow, they'll say — it was for fear. 
There is no hope that ever I will stay. 
If, the first hour, I shrink, and run away. 
Here, on my knee, I beg mortality, 
Rather than life preserv'd with infamy. 

Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb? 

John. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb. 

Tal. Upon my blessing I command thee go. 

John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. 

Tal. Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee. 

John. No part of him, but will be shame in me. 

Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it. 

John. Yes, your renowned name ; Shall flight abuse 
it? . [stain. 

Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that 

John. You cannot witness for me, -being slain. 
If death be so apparent, then both fly. 

Tal. And leave my followers here, to fight and die! 
My age was never tainted with such shame. 

John. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame'! 
No more can I be sever'd from your side, 
Than can yourself yourself in twain divide : 
Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I ; 
For live I will not, if my father die. 

Tat. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son. 
Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. 
Come, side by side together live and die ; 
And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. [Ex, 

SCENE "VI.— ^ Field of Battle. 

Alarum ; Excursions, wherein Talbot's Son is 
hemmed about, and Talbot rescues him. 

T(//. Saint George and victory ! fight, soldiers, fight* 
The regent hath with Talbot broke his word. 
And left us to the rage of France his sword. 
Where is John Talbot? — pause, and take thy breath ' 
I gave thee life, and rescu'd thee from death. 

John. O twice my father ! twice am I thy son : 
The life, thou gav'st me first, was lost and done , 
Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate. 
To my determined time thou gav'st new date. 

Tul.W'Uen from theDauphin's crest thy sword struck 
It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire [fire^ 
Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age, 
Quicken'd with youthful spleen, and warlike rage. 
Beat down Alenfon, Orleans, Burgundy, 
And from the pride of Gallia rescu'd thee. 
The ireful bastard Orleans — that drew blood 
From thee, my boy ; and had the maidenhood 
Of thy first fight — I soon encountered ; 
And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed 
Some of his bastard blood ; and, in disgrace, 
Bespoke him thus : Contaminated , base, 
And misbegotten blood I spill of thine, 
Mean and right poor ; for that pure blood of mine. 
Which thou didst force from Talbot, mil brave boy: — 
Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy. 
Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care ; 
Art not thou weary, John ? How didst thou fare ? 
Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly. 
Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry ? 
Fly, to revenge my death, when I am dead ; 
The help of one stands me in little stead. 
O, too much folly is it, well 1 wot. 
To hazard all our lives in one small boat. 
If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage. 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



467 



To-morrow I sitall die with mtckle age : 

By me they nothing gain, an if I stay, 

'Tis but the short'ning of my life one clay : 

In thee my mother dies, our household's name, 

My death's revenge, thy youth, aad England's fame : 

All these, and more, we hazard by thy stay ; 

All these are sav'd, if thou wilt fly away. 

John. The sword of Orleans hath aotmade me smart. 
These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart: 
On that advantage, bought with such a shame, 
(To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame,) 
Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, 
The coward horse, that bears me, fall and die ! 
And like me to the peasant boys of France ; 
To be shame's scorn, and subject of mischance ! 
Surely, by all the glory you have won, 
An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son : 
Then talk no more of fliglit, it is no boot ; 
If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot. 

TaL. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, 
Thou Icarus ; thy life to me is sweet : 
If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side ; 
And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII. — Another part of the same. 

Alarum : Excursions. Enter Talbot wounded, 
supported bii a Servant. 

TaL Where is my other life? — mine own is gone ; — 
O, where's young Talbot? where is valiant John? — 
Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity ! 
Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee : — 
When he perceiv'd me shrink, and on my knee, 
His bloody sword he brandish'd over me. 
And, like a hungry lion, did commence 
Rough deeds of rage, and stern impatience ; 
But when my angry guardant stood alone, 
Tend'ring my ruin, and assail'd of none, 
Dizzy-ey'd fury, and great rage of heart. 
Suddenly made him from my side to start 
Into the clust'ring battle of the French : 
And in that sea of blood my boy did drench 
His overmounting spirit ; and there died 
.\Iy Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. 

Enter Soldiers, bearing the body of John Talbot. 
Serv, O my dear lord ! lo, where your son is borne ! 
TaL Thou antick death, which laugh'st us here to 
Anon, from thy insulting tyranny, [scorn. 

Coupled in bonds of perpetuity. 
Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky. 
In thy despite, shall 'scape mortality. — 
O thou whose wounds become hard favoured death. 
Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath : 
Brave death by speaking, whether he will, or no ; 
Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe. — 
Poor boy 1 he smiles, methinks ; as who should say — 
Had death been French, then death had died today. 
Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms ; 
IVIy spirit can no longer bear these harms. 
Soldiers, adieu ! I have what I would have. 
Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave. 

[Dies. 

Alarums. Exeunt Soldiers and Servant, leaving the 
two bodies. Enter Charles, Alf.n^on, Burgundy, 
Bastard, La Pucelle, and Forces. 

Char. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in. 
We should have found a bloody day of this. 

Buft. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging wood, 
Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood ! 

I'uc. Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said. 
Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid : 



But — with a proud, majestical high scorn, — 
He answered thus ; Young Talbot was not born 
7 CI he the pillage of a giglot wench : 
So rushing in the bowels of the French, 
He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. 

Bur. Doubtless, he would have made a noole knight: 
See, where he lies inhersed in tlie arms 
Of the most bloody nurser of his harms. 

Bast. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder ; 
Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder. 

Char. O, no ; forbear: for that whicli we have fled 
During the life, let us not wrong it dead. 

Enter Sir William Lucy, attended ; a French 
Herald preceding. 

Lucy. Herald, 
Conduct me to the Dauphin's tent ; to know 
Who hath oblain'd the glory of the day. 

Char. On what submissive message art thou sent? 

Lucy. Submission, Dauphin? 'lis a mere French 
We English warriors wot not what it means, [word ; 
I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en, 
And to survey the bodies of the dead. 

Char. For prisoners ask'st thou? hell our prison is. 
But tell me whom thou seek'st. 

Lttcy. Where is the great Alcides of the field, 
Valiant lord Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury? 
Created, for his rare success of arms, 
Great earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence ; 
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, 
Lord Strange of Blackmere, lord Verdun of Alton, 
Lord CromwellofWingfield, lord Furnival of Shelheld, 
The thrice victorious lord of Falconbridge ; 
Knight of the noble order of Saint George, 
Worthy Saint Michael, and the golden fleece ; 
Great mareshal to Henry the sixth, 
Of all his wars within the realm of France ? 

Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed ! 
The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath. 
Writes not so tedious a style as this, — 
Him, that thou magnifiest with all these titles, 
Stinking, and fly-blown, lies here at our feet. 

Lucy. IsTalbotslain; t'neFrenchman'sonly scourge, 
Your kingdom's terrour and black Nemesis ? 
O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn'd, 
That I, in rage, might shoot them at your faces ! 
O, that I could but call these dead to life ! 
It were enough to fright the realm of France : 
Were but his picture left among you here. 
It would amaze the proudest of you all. 
Give me their bodies ; that I may bear them hence, 
And give them burial as beseems their worth. 

Puc. 1 think, this upstart is old Talbot's ghost, 
He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. 
For God's sake, let him have 'em ; to keep them here. 
They would but stink, and putrefy the air. 

Char. Go, take their bodies hence. 

Lucy. I'll bear them hence 

But from their ashes shall be rear'd 
A phoenix that shall make all France afear'd. 

Char. So we be rid of them, do with them what thou 
And now to Paris, in this conquering vein ; [wilt. 
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain. [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — London. A Boom in the Palace. 

Enter King Henuy, Glosier, ami Exeter. 

A'. Hen. Have you perus'd the letters from the pope 
The emperor, and the earl of Armagnac 1 
2 G 2 



468 



KING HENRY VI.— PART I. 



Glo. I have, my lord, and their intents is this, — 
Tliey humbly sue unto your excellence, 
'Jo have a godly peace concluded of, 
Eetween the realms of England and of France. 

K. Hen. How doth your grace affect tlieir motion 1 

Glo. Well, my good lord, and as the only means 
To stop effusion of our Christian hlood. 
And 'stablish quietness on every side. 

K, Hen. Ay, marry, uncle ; for I always thought, 
It was both Impious and unnatural. 
That such immanity and bloody strife 
Should reign among professors of one faith. 

Glo. Beside, my lord,— the sooner to effect, 
And surer bind, this knot of amity, — 
The earl of Armagnac — near knit to Charles, 
A man of great authority in France, — 
Proffers his only daughter to your grace 
In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry. 

K.Heii. JMarriage, uncle ! alas ! my years are young; 
And fitter is my study and my books. 
Than wanton dalliance with a paramour. 
Yet, call the ambassadors ; and, as you please. 
So let them have their answers every one : 
I shall be well content with any choice. 
Tends to God's glory, and my country's weal. 

Unter a Legate, and Uvo Ambassadors, with Win- 
ciiFSTEn, in a Cardinal's habit. 

Eie. What ! is my lord of Winchester install'd, 
And call'd unto a cardinal's degree ! 
Then, I perceive, that will be verified, 
Henry the fifth did sometime prophecy, — 
If once he come to be a cardinal. 
He 'II make his cap co-eqiial with the crown, 

K. Hen. RIy lords ambassadors, your several suits 
Have been consider'd and debated on. 
Your purpose is both good and reasonable : 
And, therefore, are we certainly resolv'd 
To draw conditions of a friendly peace ; 
Which, by my lord of Winchester, we mean 
Shall be transported presently to France. 

Glo. And for the proffer of my lord your master, — 
I have inform'd his highness so at large. 
As — liking of the lady's virtuous gifts, 
Her beauty, and the value of her dower, — 
He doth intend she shall be England's queen. 

A'. Hen. In argument and proof of which contract. 
Bear her this jewel, [to the Amb.] pledge of my affec- 
And so, my lord protector, see them guarded, [tion. 
And safely brought to Dover ; where, insiiipp'd, 
Commit them to the fortune of the sea 
^ [Ex. K. Hen. ^ Train ; Gi.o. Exe. t<; Ambassadors. 

Win. Stay, my lord legate ; you shall first receive 
The sura of money, which I promised 
Should be deliver'd to his holiness 
For clothing me in these grave ornaments. 

Leg. I will attend upon your lordship's leisure. 

Win. Now, Winchester will not submit, I trow. 
Or be inferior to the proudest peer. 
Humphrey of Gloster, thou shalt well perceive. 
That, neither in birth, or for authority. 
The bishop will be overborne by thee : 
I'll either make thee stoop, and bend thy knee, 
Or sack this country with a mutiny. [Eieunt. 

SCENE II. — France. Plains in Anjou. 

Enter Charles, Burgundy, ALEN90N, La Pucelle, 
and Forces, marching. 

Char. These news, my lords, may cheer our drooping 
'Tis said, the stout Paiisians do revolt, [spirits: 
And turn again unto the warlike French. 



A ten. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France, 
And keep not back your powers in dalliance. 

Puc. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us ; 
Else, ruin combat with their palaces ! 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Success unto our valiant general. 
And happiness to his accomplices ! [speak 

Char. What tidings send our scouts? I pry'thee, 

Mess. The English army, that divided was 
Into two parts, is now conjoin'd in one : 
And means to give you battle presently. 

Char. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is; 
But we will presently provide for them. 

Bur. I trust, the ghost of Talbot is not there , 
Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. 

Puc. Of all base passions, fear is most accurs'd : — 
Command tlie conquest, Charles, it shall be thine ; 
Let Henry fret, and all the world repine. 

Char, Then on, my lords ; And France be fortunate! 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE JU,— The same. Before Azigiers. 
Alarums : Excursions. Enter La Pucelle. 

Puc, The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly. — 
Now help, ye charming spells, and periapts; 
And ye choice spirits that admonish me, 
And give me signs of future accidents ! [Thunder. 
You speedy helpers, that are substitutes 
Under the lordly monarch of the north. 
Appear, and aid me in this enterprize ! 

Enter Fiends. 

This speedy quick appearance argues proo} 

Of your accustom'd diligence to ine. 

Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cuH'd 

Out of the powerful regions under earth, 

Help me this once, that France may get the field. 

[I'/ieiy vialk about, and speak not. 
O, hold me not with silence over- long ! 
Where I was wont to feed you with my blood, 
I '11 lop a member off, and give it you. 
In earnest of a further benefit ; 
So you do condescend to help me now. — ■ 

[They hang their heads. 
No hope to have redress ?— RIy body shall 
Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit. 

[Tlieii sliake their heads. 
Cannot my body, nor blood-sacrifice, 
Entreat you to your (S'onted furtherance 1 
Then take my soul ; my body, soul, and all, 
Before that England give the French the foil. 

[Theif depart. 
See ! they forsake me. Now the time is come, 
That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest. 
And let her head fall into England's lap. 
Rly ancient incantations are too weak. 
And hell too strong for me to buckle with : 
Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. [Exit, 

Alariims. Enter Trench and ET\g\ish,Jighting. La 
Pucelle and York figlit hand to hand. La Pucelle 
is taken. The French J?i/. 

York. Damsel of France, I thmk, I have you fast : 
Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms. 
And try if they can gain your liberty. — 
A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace ! 
See, how the ugly witch doth bend her brows, 
As if, with Circe, she would change my shape. 
Puc. Chang'd to a worser shape thou can'st not be : 
York. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man ; 
No shape but his can please your dainty eye. 



ACT v.— SCENE III. 



469 



Ptic. A plaguing mischief iighton Charles, and thee ! 
And may ye both be suddenly surpriz'd 
By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds ! [tongue. 

York. Fell, banning hag! enchantress, hold thy 

Puc. I pr'ythee, give me leave to curse a while. 

York. Curse, miscreant, whea thou come^t to the 
stake. lEteunt. 

Alarums. Enter Suffolk, leading in Lady Ma rg aret. 

Suf. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner. 

[Gii:es on her. 

fairest beauty, do not fear, nor fly ; 

For 1 will touch thee but with reverent hands. 
And lay them gently on thy tender side. 

1 kiss these fingers [kissing her hand.li foreternal peace: 
Who art thou 1 say, that I may honour thee. 

Mar. Margaret is my name; and daughter to a king. 
The king of Naples, whosoe'er thou art. 

6'((/'. An earl I am, and Suftolk am I call'd. 
Be not ofl'ended, nature's miracle, 
Thou art allotted to be ta'eu by me : 
So doth the swan her dov/ny cygnets save. 
Keeping tiiem prisoners underneath her wings. 
Yet if this servile usage once offend, 
Go, and be free again, as Suffolk's friend. 

[She turns away as going. 
O, stay ! — I have no power to let her pass ; 
]\Iy hand would free her, but my heart says — no. 
As plays the sun upon the glassy streams. 
Twinkling another counterfeited beam, 
So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes. 
Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak : 
I '11 call for pen and ink, and write my mind : 
Fye, De la Poole ! disable not thyself ; 
Hast not a tongue I is she not here thy prisoner ] 
Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight ? 
Ay; beauty's princely majesty is such. 
Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses rough. 

Mar. Say, earl of Suffolk, — if thy name be so, — 
What ransome must I pay before I pass 1 
For, I perceive, I am thy prisoner. 

Suf. How canst thou tell, she will deny thy suit. 
Before thou make a trial of her love \ [Aside. 

Mar. Why speak'st thou not? what ransome must 
I pay ? 

Suf. She 's beautiful ; and therefore to be woo'd : 
She IS a woman ; therefore to be won. [Aside. 

Mar. Wilt thou accept of ransome, yea, or no 1 

Suf. Fond man ! remember, that thou hast a wife ; 
Then how can Margaret be thy paramour? [Aside. 

Mar. I were best leave him, for he will not hear. 

Suf. There all is marr'd ; there lies a cooling card. 

Mar. He talks at random ; sure the man is mad. 

Suf. And yet a dispensation may be had. 

Mar. And yet I would that you would answer me. 

Suf. I '11 win this lady IMargaret. For whom ? 
Why, for my king : Tush ! that's a wooden thing 

Mar. He talks of wood : It is some carpenter. 

SuJ'. Yet so my fancy may be satisfied. 
And peace established between these realms. 
But there remains a scruple in that too : 
For though her father be the king of Naples, 
Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor. 
And our nobility will scorn the match. [Aside. 

Mar. Hear ye, captain ? Are you not at leisure ? 

Suf. It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much : 
Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield. — 
Madam, I have a secret to reveal. [knight, 

Mar. What though I be enthrall'd ? he seems a 
And will not any way dishonour me. [Aside. 

Suf. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say. 

Mar. Perhaps, I shall be rescu'd by the French ; 



And then I need not crave his courtesy. [Aside. 

Suf. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause — • 

Mar. Tush ! women have been captivate ere now. 

[Aside. 

Suf. Lady, wherefore talk you so ? 

Mar. I cry you mercy, 'tis but quid for quo. 

Stf. Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose 
Your bondage happy, to be made a queen ? 

Mar. To be a queen in bondage, is more vile, 
Than is a slave in base servility ; 
For princes should be free. 

Suf. And so shall you, 

If happy England's royal king be free. 

Mar. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me 1 

Suf. I '11 undertake to make thee Henry's queen ; 
To put a golden scepter in thy hand. 
And set a precious crown upon thy head. 
If thou wilt condescend to be my — 

Mar. What? 

Suf. His love. 

Mar. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife. 

Suf. No, gentle madam ; I unworthy am 
To woo so fair a dame to be his wife, 
And have no portion in the choice myself. 
How say you, madam ; are you so content ? 

Mar. An if my father please, I am content. 

Stf. Then call our captains, and our colours forth : 
And, madam, at your father's castle walls 
We '11 crave a parley, to confer with him. 

[Troups come forward, 

A Parley sounded. Enter Reignier, oh the ualls. 
Suf. See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner 



}^eig. To whom ? 

Suf. To me. 

Beig. Suffolk, what remedy 1 

I am a soldier : and unapt to weep. 
Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness. 

Suf. Yes, therf> is remedy enough, my lord: 
Consent, (and, fo. thy honour give consent,) 
Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king ; 
Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto ; 
And this her easy-held imprisonment 
Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty. 

Reig. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks? 

Suf. Fair Margaret knows 

That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign. 

Peig. Upon thy princely warrant, I descend, 
To give thee answer to thy just demand. 

[Exit, from the walls. 

Suf. And here I will expect thy coming. 

t 
Trumpets sounded. Enter Reignier, below. 

Beig. Welcome, brave earl, into our territories ; 
Command in Anjou what your honour pleases. 

Suf. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child. 
Fit to be made companion with a king : 
What answer makes your grace unto my suit ? 

Reig. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth 
To be the princely bride of such a lord ; 
Upon condition I may quietly 
Enjoy mine own, the county Maine, and Anjou, 
Free from oppression, or the stroke of war. 
My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please. 

Suf. That is her ransome, I deliver her ; 
And those two counties, I will undertake, 
Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy 

Reig. And I again,— in Henry's royal name. 
As deputy unto that gracious king, 
Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith. 

Suf. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks, 
Because this is in tralBc of a king ; 



470 



KING HENRY VI.— PART I. 



And yet, methinks, I could be well content 

To be mine owu attorney in this case [^Aside, 

I'll over then to England with this news, 

And make this marriage to be solemniz'd ; 

So, farewell, Reignier ! Set this diamond safe 

In golden palaces, as it becomes. 

Reig. I do embrace thee, as I would embrace 
The Christian prince, king Henry, were he here. 

Mar. Farewell, my lord ! Good wishes, praise, and 
prayers. 
Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. \^Gmng. 

Siif. Farewell, sweet madam ! But hark you, Rlar- 
No princely commendations to my king i. [garet ; 

Mar. Such commendations as become a maid, 
A virgin, and his servant, say to him. 

Suf. Words sweetly plac'd, and modestly directed. 
But, madam, I must trouble you again, — 
No loving token to his majesty ? 

Mar. Yes, my good lord ; a pure unspotted heart. 
Never yet taint with love, I send the king. 

Suf. And this withal. [Kisses her. 

Mar. That for thyself; I will not so presume, 
To send such peevish tokens to a king. 

[Exeunt Reionier an(/ Mahgaeet. 

Suf. O, wert thou for myself ! — But, Suffolk, stay : 
Thou may'ft not wander in that labyrinth ; 
There Minotaurs, and ugly treasons, lurk. 
Solicit Henry with her wond'rous praise : 
Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount ; 
Mad, natural graces that extinguish art ; 
Repeat their semblance often on the seas, 
That, when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet, 
Thou may'st bereave him of his wits with wonder. 

lExit. 

SCENE IV.— Camp of the Duke of York, in Anjou. 
Enter York, Wakwick, and others. 

York. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd to burn. 
Enter La Pucelle, guarded, and a Shepherd. 

Shep. Ah, Joan ! this kills thy father's heart out- 
Have I sought every country far and near, [right ! 
And, now it is my chance to find thee out, 
]\Iust I behold thy timeless cruel death 7 
Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee ! 

Piic. Decrepit miser ! base ignoble wretch ! 
I am descended of a gentler blood ; 
Ihou art no father, nor no friend, of mine. 

Shep. Out, out !--My lords, an please you, 'tis not 
I did beget her, all the parish knows : [so ; 

Her mother liveth yet, can testify 
She was the first fruit of my bachelorship. 

War. Graceless ! wilt thou deny thy parentage ? 

York. This argues what her kind of life hath been ; 
Wicked and vile ; and so her death concludes. 

Shep. Fye, Joan ! that thou wilt be so obstacle ! 
God knows, thou art a collop of my flesh ; 
And for thy sake have 1 shed many a tear ; 
Deny me not, I pr'ythee, gentle Joan. 

Puc. Peasant, avaunt ! — You have suborn'd this 
Of purpose to obscure my noble birth. [man, 

Shep. 'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest. 
The morn that I was wedded to her mother. — 
Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl. 
Wilt thou not stoop 1 Now cursed be the times 
Of thy nativity 1 I would, the milk 
Thy mother gave thee, when thou suck'dst her breast. 
Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake ! 
Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field, 
I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee ! 
Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab 1 
O. burn her, burn her ; hanging is too good. [Eait. 



York. Take her away; for she hath liv'd too long 
To fill the world with vicious qualities. 

Puc. First, let me tell you whom you have con- 
Not me begotten of a shepherd swain, [demu'd ; 
But issu'd from the progeny of kings ; 
Virtuous, and holy ; chosen from above. 
By inspiration of celestial grace. 
To work exceeding miracles on earth. 
I never had to do v/ith wicked spirits : 
But you, — that are polluted with your lusts, 
Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents. 
Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, — 
Because you want the grace that others have. 
You judge ii straight a thing impossible 
To compass wonders, but by help of devils. 
Xo, misconceiv'd I Joan of Arc hath been 
A virgin from her tender infancy. 
Chaste and immaculate in very thought ; 
Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd. 
Will cry for vengeance at the gates of iieaven. 

York. Ay, ay ; away with her to execution. 

War. And hark ye, sirs ; because she is a maid, 
Spare for no fagots, let there be enough ; 
Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake. 
That so her torture may be shortened. 

Puc. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts ?— 
I'hen, Joan, discover thine infirmity ; 
Thart warranteth by law to be thy privilege.-— 
I am with child, ye bloody homicides : 
Murder not then the fruit within my womb. 
Although ye hale me to a violent death. 

York. Now heaven forfend! the holy maid with child'} 

War. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought : 
Is all your strict preciseness come to this ? 

York. She and the Dauphin have been juggling : 
I did imagine what would be her refuge. 

War. Well, go to; we will have no bastards live; 
Especially, since Charles must father it. 

Puc. You are deceiv'd ; my child is none of his ; 
It was Alenfon that enjoyed my love. 

York. Alen^'on ! that notorious Machiavel ! 
It dies, an if it had a thousand lives. 

Puc. O, give me leave, 1 have deluded you ; 
'Twas neither Charles, nor yet the duke I nam'd. 
But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd. 

War. A married man ! that's most intolerable. 

For/c.Why, here'sagirl! 1 tlHnk,she knows not well, 
There were so many, whom she may accuse. 

War. It's sign, she hath been liberal and free. 

York. And, yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure. — 
Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat, and thee : 
Use no entreaty, for it is in vain. 

Puc. Then lead me hence ; — with whom I leave my 
May never glorious sun reflex his beams [curse: 
Upon the country where you make abode ! 
But darkness and the gloomy shade of death 
Environ you ; till mischief, and despair, 
Drive you to break your necks, or hang yourselves ! 

[Eiit, guarded. 

York. Break thou in pieces, and consume to ashes, 
Thou foul accursed minister of hell ! 

Enter Cardinal Beaufort, attended. 

Car. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence 
Witli letters of commission from the king. 
For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, 
Mov'd with remorse of these outrageous broils. 
Have earnestly implor'd a general peace 
Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French ; 
And here at hand the Dauphin, and his train, 
Approacheth to confer about some matter. 

York. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect ? 



ACT v.— SCENE V. 



471 



After the slaughter of so many peers, 
So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers, 
That in this quarrel have been overthrown, 
And sold their bodies for their country's benefit, 
Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace 1 
Have we not lost most part of all the towns. 
By treason, falsehood, and by treachery. 
Our great progenitors had conquered 1 — 
O, \Varwick, Warwick ! I foresee with grief 
The utter loss of all the realm of France. 

War. Be patient, York : if we conclude a peace. 
It shall be with such strict and severe covenants 
As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. 

Enter Charles, attended ; ALEN90N, Bastard, 
Reignier, and others. 

Char. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed. 
That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France, 
We come to be informed by yourselves 
What the conditions of that league must be. 

York. Speak, Winchester; for boilingcholer chokes 
The hollow passage of my poison'd voice, 
By sight of these our baleful enemies. 

Win. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus : 
That — in regard king Henry gives consent, 
Of mere compassion, and of lenity, 
To ease your country of distressful war. 
And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace, — 
You shall become true liegemen to his crown : 
And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear 
To pay him tribute, and submit thyself, 
Thou shalt be plac'd as viceroy under him, 
And still enjoy thy regal dignity. 

Alen. Must he be then as shadow of himself 1 
Adorn his temples with a coronet ; 
And yet, in substance and authority. 
Retain but privilege of a private man 1 
This proffer is absurd and reasonless. 

Char. 'Tis known, already that I am possess'd 
Witii more than half the Gallian territories. 
And therein reverenc'd for their lawful king : 
Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd. 
Detract so much from that prerogative, 
As to be call'd but viceroy of the whole 1 
No, lord ambassador ; I'll rather keep 
That which I have, than, coveting for more, 
Be cast from possibility of all. 

York. Insulting Charles! hast thou by secret means 
Used intercession to obtain a league ; 
And, now the matter grows to compromise, 
Stands't thou aloof upon comparison 1 
Either accept the title thou usurp'st, 
Of benefit proceeding from our king, 
And not of any challenge of desert. 
Or we will plague thee with incessant wars. 

Reig. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy 
To cavil in the course of this contract : 
If once it be neglected, ten to one. 
We shall not find like opportunity. 

Alen. To say the truth, it is your policy. 
To save your subjects from such massacre, 
And ruthless slaughters, as are daily seen 
By our proceeding in hostility : 
And therefore take this compact of a truce, 
Although you break it when your pleasure serves. 

^Aside, to Charles. 

War. How say'st thou, Charles? shall our condition 

Char. It shall: [sUnd ! 

Only reserv'd, you claim no interest 
In any of our towns of garrison. 

York. Then swear allegiance to his majesty ; 
As tliou ajt knight, never to disobey. 



Nor be rebellious to the crown of England, 
Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England. — 

[Charles, and the rest, give tokens of fealty. 
So, now dismiss your army when ye please ; 
Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still. 
For here we entertain a solemn peace. \^Eieunt. 

SCENE v.— London. A Room m the Palace. 

Enter King Henry, in conference with Suffolk ; 
Gloster and Exeter following, 

K. Heii. Your wond'rous rare description, noble earl. 
Of beauteous INIargaret hath astonish'd me : 
Her virtues, graced with external gifts. 
Do breed love's settled passions in my heart : 
And like as rigour in tempestuous gusts 
Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide ; 
So am I driven, by breath of her renown. 
Either to suffer shipwreck, or arrive 
Where I may have fruition of her love. 

Suf. Tush ! my good lord ! this superficial tale 
Is but a preface of her worthy praise : 
The chief perfections of that lovely dame, 
(Had I sufficient skill to utter them,) 
Would make a volume of enticing lines. 
Able to ravish any dull conceit. 
And, which is more, she is not so divine, 
So full replete with choice of all delights, 
But, with as humble lowliness of mind. 
She is content to be at your command ; 
Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents, 
To love and honour Henry as her lord. 

A'. Hen. And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume. 
Therefore, my lord protector, give consent. 
That Margaret may be England's royal queen. 

Glo. So should I give consent to flatter sin. 
You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd 
Unto anothei lady of esteem ; 
How shall we then dispense with that contract, 
And not deface your honour with reproach ? 

Suf. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths ; 
Or one, that, at a triumph having vow'd 
To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists 
By reason of his adversary's odds : 
A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds. 
And therefore may be broke without offence. 

Glo. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than that? 
Her father is no better than an earl. 
Although in glorious titles he excel. 

Suf. Yes, my good lord, her father is a king, 
The king of Naples, and Jerusalem ; 
And of such great authority in France, 
As his alliance will confirm our peace. 
And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance. 

Glo. And so the earl of Armagnac may do. 
Because he is near kinsman unto Charles. 

Exe. Beside his wealth doth warrant liberal dower ; 
While Reignier sooner will receive, than give. 

Suf. A dower, my lords! disgrace not so your king, 
That he should be so abject, base, and poor, 
To choose for wealth, and not for perfect love. 
Henry is able to enrich his queen, 
And not to seek a queen to maiie him rich : 
So worthless peasants bargain for their wives. 
As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. 
Marriage is a matter of more worth, 
Than to be dealt in by attorneyship ; 
Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects, 
IMust be companion of his nuptial bed : 
And therefore, lords, since he aftects her most. 
It most of all these reasons bindeth us. 
In our opinions she should be preforr'd. 



472 



KING HENRY VI.-PaRT I, 



For what is wedlock forced, but a hell. 

An age of discord and continual strife? 

Whereas the contrary bringeth forth bliss, 

And is a pattern of celestial peace. 

Whom should we match, with Henry, being a king, 

But Margaret, that is daughter to a king ? 

Her peerless feature, joined with her birth. 

Approves her fit for none, but for a king : 

Her valiant courage, and undaunted spirit, 

(More than in women commonly is seen,) 

Will answer our hope in issue of a king ; 

For Henry, son unto a conqueror. 

Is likely to beget more concjuerors, 

If with a lady of so high resolve, 

As is fair Margaret, he be link'd in love. 

Then yield, my lords, and here conclude with me. 

That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she. 

A'. Hen. Whether it be through force of your report. 
My noble lord of Suffolk ; or for that 
My tender youth was never yet attaint 
With any passion of inflaming love, 
I cannot tell ; but this, I am assur'd, 
I feel such sharp dissention in my breast, 
Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear, 



As I am sick with working of my thoughts. 

Take, therefore, shipping; post, my lord, to France j 

Agree to any covenants ; and procure 

That lady JNlargaret do vouchsafe to come 

To cross the seas to England, and be crown'd 

King Henry's faithful and anointed queen : 

For your expenses and sufficient charge. 

Among the people gather up a tenth. 

Be gone, I say ; for, till you do return, 

I rest perplexed with a thousand cares. — 

And you, good uncle, banish all offence : 

If you do censure me by what you were, 

Not what you are, I know it will excuse 

This sudden execution of my will. 

And so conduct me, where from company, 

I may revolve and ruminate my grief. [Eizt. 

Glo. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last. 
[Eieunt Gloster and Exeter. 

Suf. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd : and tims he goes, 
As did the youthful Paris oiice to Greece ; 
With hope to find the like event in love, 
But prosper better than the Trojan did. 
Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king ; 
But I will rule both her, the king, and realm. [£aif. 



Of this play, whoever may have heen the anthor, it is certain | two hundred years in his tomb, he should triumph again on the 
that it was once extremely pojiular. It is evidently alluded to] stage, and have his bones new embalmed with te^res of tea 



by Nashe, in a tract entitled Pierce Pennilesie his iivpi>lication, 
&c. 1592, where he says, " How would it have joyed brave 
'1 aJbot. </(« terror of the French, to think that after he had lain 



thousand spectators at least, at several times, who, in the trage- 
dian that represents his person, imagine they behold him fresh 
bleeding." 



nrrignmnrTinwnrw 



SECOND PART OF 

KING HENRY VI. 



Tmsplay, which wasfirst printed in its present form in the folio 
of 1623, was founded on an old play of Marlowe's, called 'I'he 
First Pan of the Contention ietuieen the two famous houses of 
york and Lancaster. In what year this meagre original was 
produced, is, perhaps, now impossible to be discovered. It 
was published in 1394; but Shakspeare is supposed to have 
amplified and improved the rude sketch of his predecessor 
two or three years earlier. 

^Ir. Maloue has been at the trouble ef carefully comparing the 



play of Marlowe with the drama wliich Shakspeare fonned ont 
of it ; and distinguishing by different marks the alterations 
made by our great poet. 
The play opens with Henry's marriage, which was in the twenty, 
third year of his reign, A. U. 1445; and closes with the first 
batde fous'ht at St.Alban's, and won by the York faction, in the 
thirty-third year of his reign, A. D. 1455: so that it com- 
prises the history and transactions of ten years. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

King Henry the Sixth. 

Humphrey, Duke o/ Gloster, his uncle. 

Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, great 

uncle to the King. 
Richard Plantagenet, Duhe of York. 
Edward and Richard, his sons. 
Duke of Somerset, 
Duke of Suffolk, 
Duke of Buckingham, 
Lord Clifford, 
young' Clifford, his son, 
Earl of Salisbury, 
Earl of Warwick, 
Lord Scales, governor of the Tower. 
Lord Say. 

Sir Humphrey Stafford, and his Brother. 
Sir John Stanley. 

A Sea-captain, Master, and Master's Mate, and 
Walter Whitmore. 
Two Gentlemen, pnsoners with Suffolk. 
A Herald 



of the King's party. 
J of the York faction. 



Vaux. 

Hume and Southwell, two priests. 

Bolingbroke, a conjurer. 

A Spirit raised by him. 

Thomas Horner, an armourer, 

Peter, his man. 

Clerk of Chatham. 

Mayor of Saint Alban's. 

SiMPCox, an impostor. 

Two Murderers. 

Jack Cade, a rehel. 

George, John, Dick ; Smith, the weaver; 

Michael, i^c. his followers. 
Alexander Iden, a Kentish Gentleman. 

IMargaret, Queen to King Henry. 
Eleanor, Duchess o/" Gloster. 
Margery Jourdain, a witch. 
Wife to Simpcox. 

Lords, Ladies, and Attendants ; Petitioners, Aiders 
men, a Beadle, Sheriff, and Officers ; Citizens, Pren- 
tices, Falconers, Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &re 

SCENE, — dispersediy in various parts of" England. 



ACT I.— SCENE I. 



473 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — London. A Room of State in the Palace. 

Flourish of trumpets: then hautbniis. Enter, on one 
side. King Henry, Duke o/' Gi.osTEn, Salisbury, 
Warwick, and Caudinai, Beaufort; on the other, 
Queen Margaret, led iii hif Suffolk ; York, So- 
merset, Buckingham, and others following. 

Suf. As by your high imperial majesty 
I had in charge at my depart for France, 
As procurator to your excellence, 
To marry princess Margaret for your grace ; 
So, in the famous ancient city. Tours, — 
In presence of the kings of France and Sicil, [9on, 
The dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretaigne, andAlen- 
Seven earls, twelve barons, twenty reverend bishops, — 
I have perform'd my task, and was espous'd : 
And humbly now upon my bended knee. 
In sight of England and her lordly peers, 
Deliver up my title in the queen 
To your most gracious hands, that are the substance 
Of that great shadow I did represent ; 
The happiest gift that ever king receiv'd. 

A'.HeH. Suffolk, arise. — Welcome, queen JMargaret: 
I can express no kinder sign of love, 
Than this kind kiss. — O Lord, that lends me life, 
Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness ! 
For thou hast given me, in this beauteous face, 
A world of earthly blessings to my soul, 
If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. [lord ; 

Q. Mar. Great king of England, and my gracious 
The mutual conference that my mind hath had — 
By day, by night; waking, and in my dreams : 
In courtly company, or at my beads, — 
With you mine alder-liefest sovereign, 
Makes me the bolder to salute my king 
With ruder terms ; such as my wit affords. 
And over-joy of heart doth minister. 

K. Hen. Her sight did ravish: but her grace in 
Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty, [speech. 
Makes me, from wondering, fall to weeping joys ; 
Such is the fulness of my heart's content. — 
Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love. 
All. Longlive queen Margaret, England's happiness! 
Q. Mar. We thank you all. [Flourish. 

Suf. ]My lord protector, so it please your grace, 
Here are the articles of contracted peace. 
Between our sovereign, and the French king Charles, 
For eighteen months concluded by consent. 

Glo. [Reads.'\ Imprimis, It is agreed between the 
French king, Charles, and William de la Poole, mar- 
quessof Suffolk, ambassador for Henry king nf England, 
— that the said Henry shall espouse the lady Margaret , 
daughter unto Reignier king of Naples, Sicilia, and 
Jerusalem ; and crown her queen of England, ere the 

thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item, — That the 

dutchy of Anjou and the county of Maine, shall be re- 
leased and delivered to the king her father 

A', tlen. Uncle, how now ] 

Glo. Pardon me, gracious lord ; 

Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart. 
And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further. 
A'. Hen. Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on. 
Win, Item, — If is further agreed between them, — 
that the dutchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released 
and delivered over to the king 'iier father ; and she sent 
over of the king of England's own proper cost and 
cnarges, without having dowry. [kneel down ; 

A'. Hen. They please us well. — Lord marquess, 
W^e here create thee the fir^t duke of Suffolk, 
A.nd girt thee with the sword. — 



Cousin of York, we here discharge your grace 
From being regent in the parts of France, 
rill term of eighteen months be full expir'd. — 
Thanks, uncle Winchester, Gloster, York, and Buck- 
Somerset, Salisbury, and Warwick ; [ingham, 
We thank you all for this great favour done, 
In entertainment to my princely queen. 
Come, let us in ; and with all speed provide 
To see her coronation be perform'd. 

[Exeunt King, Queen, and Suffoi-k. 
Glo. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state. 
To you duke Humphrey must unload his grief. 
Your grief, the common grief of all the land. 
What ! did my brother Henry spend his youth, 
His valour, coin, and people, in the wars'! 
Did he so often lodge in open field. 
In winter's cold, and summer's parching heat, 
To conquer France, his true inheritance? 
And did my brother Bedford toil his wits, 
To keep by policy what Henry got 1 
Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, 
Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, 
Receiv'd deep scars in France and Normandy 1 
Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself. 
With all the learned council of the realm, 
Studied so long, sat in the council-house, 
Early and late, debating to and fro 
How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe "* 
And hath his highness in his infancy 
Been crown'd in Paris, in despite of foes? 
And shall these labours, and these honours, die? 
Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance, 
Your deeds of war, and all our counsel, die ? 
O peers of England, shameful is this league' 
Fatal this marriage I cancelling your fame : 
Blotting your names from books of memory . 
Razing the characters of your renown ; 
Defacing monuments of conquer'd France ; 
Undoing all, as all had never been ! 

Car. Nephew,what means this passionate discourse? 
This peroration with such circumstance ? 
For France, 'tis ours ; and we will keep it still, 

Glo. Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can ; 
But now it is impossible we should : 
Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast, 
Hath given the dutchies of Anjou and INIaine 
Unto the poor king Reignier, whose large style 
Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. 

Sal. Now, by the death of him that died for all. 
These counties were the keys of Normandy : — 
But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son ? 

War. For grief, that they are past recovery : 
For were there hope to conquer them again, 
jMy sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears. 
Anjou and Maine ! myself did win them both ; 
Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer : 
And are the cities, that I got with wounds, 
Deliver'd up again with peaceful words? 
Mort Dieu ! 

York. For Suffolk's duke — may he be suffocate. 
That dim's the honour of this warlike isle ! 
France should have torn and rent my very heart. 
Before I would have yielded to this league. 
I never read but England's kings have had 
Large sums of gold, and dowries, with their wives : 
And our king Henry gives away his own, 
To match with her that brings no vantages. 

Glo. A proper jest, and never heard before. 
That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth. 
For costs and charges in transporting her ! 
She should have staid in France, andstarv'd in France, 
Before 



474 



KING HENRY VI.— PART II. 



Car. My lord of Gloster, now you grow too hot ; 
It was tlie pleasure of my lord the king. 

Glo. My lord of Winchester, I know your mind ; 
'Tis not my speeches that you do misiike, 
But "tis my presence that doth trouble you. 
Rancour will out : Proud prelate, in thy face 
1 see thy fury: If I longer stay, 
We shall begrin our ancient bickerings. — 
Lordings, farewell ; and say, when I am gone, 
I prophesied — France will be lost eie long. [Eiit. 

Car. So, there goes our protector in a rage. 
'Tis known to you, he is mine enemy : 
Nay, more, an enemy unto you all ; 
And no great friend, I fear me, to the king. 
Consider, lords, — he is the next of blood, 
And heir apparent to the English crown ; 
Had Henry got an empire by his marriage. 
And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west, 
There's reason he should be displeas'd at it. 
Look to it, lords ; let not his smoothing words 
Bewitch your hearts ; be wise, and circumspect. 
What though the common people favour him, 
Calling him — Humphrey, the ^nnd duke of Gloster ; 
Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice — 
Jesu maintain your royal eicelleiK^e ! 
With — God preserve the good duke Humphrey ! 
1 fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss. 
He will be found a dangerous protector. 

Buck. Why should he then protect our sovereign. 
He being of age to govern of iiimself ? — 
Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, 
And all together — with the duke of Suffolk, — 
We'll quickly hoise duke Humphrey from his seat. 

Car. This weighty business will not brook delay; 
I'll to the duke of Suffolk presently. [Exit. 

Som. Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's 
And greatness of his place be grief to us, [pride. 
Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal ; 
His insolence is more intolerable 
Than all the princes in the land beside ; 
If Gloster be displac'd, he'll be protector. 

Buck. Or thou, or I, Somerset, will be protector, 
Despight duke Humphrey, or the cardinal. 

[Exeunt BucKiNGiiA.M and Somerset. 

Sal. Pride went before, ambition follows him. 
While these do labour for their own preferment, 
Behoves it us to labour for the realm 
I never saw but Humphrey duke of Gloster 
Did bear him like a noble gentleman. 
Oft have 1 seen the haughty cardinal — 
IMore like a soldier, than a man o' the church. 
As stout, and proud, as he were lord of all, — 
Swear like a ruffian, and demean himself 
Unlike the ruler of a common-weal. — 
A\'arwick, my son, the comfort of my age ! 
Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy housekeeping. 
Hath won the greatest favour of the commons. 
Excepting none but good duke Humphrey. — 
And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, 
In bringing them to civil discipline ; 
Thy late exploits, done in the heart of France, 
When thou wert regent for our sovereign. 
Have made thee fear'd, and honour'd, of the people : — 
Join we together, for the public good ; 
In what we can, to bridle, and suppress 
The pride of Suffolk, and the cardinal. 
With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition ; 
And, as we may, cherish duke Humphrey's deeds. 
While they do tend the profit of the land. 

War, So God help Warwick, as he loves the land, 
And common profit of his country : 

York. And so says York, for he hath greatest cause. 



Sal. Then let's make haste away, and look unto 
the main. 

War. Unto the main ! O father, Maine is lost ; 
That Maine, which by main force Warwick did win, 
And would have kept, so long as breath did last : 
Main chance, father, you meant; but 1 mean Maine; 
Which I will win from France, or else be slain. 

[Exeunt Warwick and Salisbury 

York. Anjou and Maine are given to the French; 
Paris is lost ; the state of Normandy 
Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone ; 
Suffolk concluded on the articles ; 
The peers agreed ; and Henry was well pleas'd, 
To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter. 
I cannot blame them all ; What is't to them ! 
'Tis thine they give away, and not their own. 
Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage, 
And purchase friends, and give to courtezans, 
Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone : 
While as the silly owner of the goods 
Weeps over them, and wrings his hapless hands. 
And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof, 
While all is shar'd, and all is borne away : 
Ready to starve, and dare not touch his own. 
So York must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue. 
While his own lands are bargain'd for, and sold. 
INIethinks, the realms of England, France, and Ireland^ 
Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood. 
As did the fatal brand Althea burn'd. 
Unto the prince's heart of Calydon. 
Anjou and IMaine, both given unto the French ! 
Cold news for me ; for I had hope of France, 
Even as I have of fertile England's soil. 
A day will come, when York shall claim his own; 
And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts. 
And make a show of love to proud duke Humplirey, 
And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown. 
For that's the golden mark I seek to hit : 
Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, 
Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist. 
Nor wear the diadem upon his head. 
Whose church-like humours fit not for a crown. 
Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve • 
Watch thou, and wake, when others be asleep, 
To pry into the secrets of the state ; 
Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love. 
With his new bride, and England's dear-boughtqueen, 
And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars : 
Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose. 
With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed ; 
And in my standard bear the arms of York, 
To grapple with the house of Lancaster ; 
And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown. 
Whose bookish rule hath puU'd fair England down. 

[Exit. 
SCENE II. 
The same. — A Room in the Duke of Gloster s House. 
Enter Gloster and the Duchess. 

Duch. Why droops my lord, like over-ripened corn, 
Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load ? 
Why doth the great duke Humphrey knit his brows, 
As frowning at the favours of the world 1 
Wliy are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth, 
Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? 
What seest thou there ? king Henry's diadem, 
Enchas'd with all the honours of the world i 
If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face, 
Until thy head be circled with the same. 
Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold : — 
What, is't too short, then lengthen it with mine : 
And, having both together, heav'd it up, 



ACT I. -SCENE III. 



475 



We'll both together lift our heads to heaven ; 

And never more abase our sight so low, 

As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. 

Glo. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, 
Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts : 
And may that thought, when I imagine ill 
Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, 
Be my last breathing in this mortal world ! 
My troublous dream this night doth make me sad. 

Duch. What dream'd my lord ■? tell me, and I'll 
requite it 
W'ith the sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. 

Gio. Methought, this staff, mine office-badge in 
court, 
Was broke in twain ; by whom, I have forgot. 
But, as 1 think, it was by the cardinal ; 
And, on the pieces of the broken wand 
Were plac'd the heads of Edmond duke of Somerset, 
And William de la Poole first duke of Suffolk. 
This was my dream ; what it doth bode, God knows. 

Duch. Tut, this was nothing but an argument, 
That he that breaks a stick of Gloster's grove. 
Shall lose his head for his presumption. 
But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke: 
]Methought, 1 sat in seat of majesty. 
In the cathedral church of Westminster, 
And in that chair where kings and queens are crown'd ; 
Where Henry, and dame Slargaret, kneel'd to me, 
And on my head did set the diadem. 

Glo. Nay, Eleanor, then must 1 chide outright : 
Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtur'd Eleanor ! 
Art t'cou not second woman in the realm : 
And the protector's wife, belov'd of him? 
Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command. 
Above the reach or compass of thy thought 1 
And wilt thou still be hammering treachery. 
To tumble down thy husband, and thyself. 
From top of honour to disgrace's feet 1 
Away from me, and let me hear no more. 

Duch. What, what, my lord I are you so choleric 
'With Eleanor, for telling but her dream ? 
Next time, I'll keep my dreams unto myself. 
And not be check'd. 

Glo, Nay, be not angry, I am pleas'd again. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mes. My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure. 
You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's, 
W'hereas the king and queen do mean to hawk. 

Glo. I go. — Come, Nell, thou M'ilt ride with us? 

Duch. Yes, good my lord, I'll follow presently. 
lEieunt Gloster and JMessenger. 
Follow I must, I cannot go before, 
While Gloster bears this base and humble mind. 
Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, 
I would remove these tedious stumbling blocks, 
And smooth my way upon their headless necks : 
And, being a woman, I will not be slack 
To play my part in fortune's pageant. 
Where are you there? Sir John! nay, fear not, man. 
We are alone ; tiere s none but thee, and I. 

Enter Hume. 

Hume. Jesu preserve your roj'al majesty ! 

Ducli, What say'st thou, majesty ! I am but grace. 

Hume. But, by the grace of God, and Hume's ad- 
Your grace's title shall be multiplied. [vice, 

Duch. What say'st thou, man ] hast thou as yet 
conferr'd 
With ^Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch ; 
And Roger BoUngbroke, the conjurer? 
And will they undertake to do me good? [highness 

Hume. This they have promised, — to shew your 



A spirit rais'd from depth of under ground, 
That shall make answer to such questions, 
As by your grace shall be propounded him. 

Duch. It is enough ; I'll think upon the questions : 
When from Saint Alban's we do make return, 
We'll see these things effected to the full. 
Here, Hume, take this reward ; make merry, man, 
With thy confederates in this weighty cause. 

l^Exit DUCHKSS. 

Hume. Hume must make merry with the duchess' 
gold ; 
Marry, and shall. But how now, sir John Hume ? 
Seal up your lips, and give no words but — mum I 
The business asketh silent secrecy. 
iJame Eleanor gives gold, to bring the witch : 
Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. 
Vet have I gold, flies from another coast : 
I dare not say, from the rich cardinal. 
And from the great and new-made duke of Suffolk ; 
Vet I do find it so : for, to be plain, 
They, knowing dame Eleanor's aspiring humour. 
Have hired me to undermine the duchess, 
And buz these conjurations in her brain. 
They say, A crafty knave doeS need no broker ; 
Vet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker. 
Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near 
To call them both — a pair of crafty knaves. 
Well, so it stands ; And thus, I fear, at last, 
Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck ; 
And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall : 
Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. [Exit. 

SCENE III. — The same. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Peter, and others, with petitions. 
1 Pet. My masters, let's stand close ; my lord 
protector will come this way by and by, and then 
we may deliver our supplications in the quill. 

!2 Pet. Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a 
good man ! Jesu bless him ! 

Enter Suffolk and Queen Margaret. 

1 Pet- Here 'a comes, methinks, and the queen 
with him : I'll be the first, sure. 

2 Pet. Come back fool ; this is the duke of Suf- 
folk, and not my lord protector. 

Suf. How now, fellow? would'stany thingwithme? 

1 Pet. I pray, my lord, pardon me ! 1 took ye for 
my lord protector. 

Q. Mar. [^Reading the superscription.^ To my lord 
protector! are your supplications to his lordship? 
Let me see them : What is thine ? 

1 Pet. Mine is, an't please your grace, against 
John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping 
my house, and lands, and wife and all, from me. 

Suf. Thy wife too? that is some wrong, indeed. — 
What's yours? — What's here! [/^earfs.] Against 
the duke of Suffolk, J'or enclosing the commons of MeL- 
fn-d. — How now, sir knave ? 

2 Pet. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our 
whole township. 

Peter. [Presenting his petition.'] Against my mas- 
ter, Thomas Horner, for saying, that the duke of 
York was rightful heir to the crown. 

Q. Mar. What say'st thou? Did the duke of York 
say, he was rightful heir to the crown ? 

Peter. That my master was ? No, forsooth : my 
master said. That he was ; and that the king was an 
usurper. 

Suf. Who is there? [Enter Servants.]— Take this 
fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant 
presently: — we'll hear more of your matter before 
the king. [Eieunt Servants, with Ptxta. 



476 



KING HENRY VI. -PART II. 



Q. Mar, And as for you, that love to be protected 

Under the wings of our protector's grace, 

Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. 

[T'ears the petition. 

Away, base cullions ! — Suffolk, let them go. 

All. C6me, let's be gone. [Exeunt Petitioners. 
Q. Mar. My lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, 

If this the fashion in the court of England l 

I? this the government of Britain's isle, 

And this the royalty of Albion's king? 

What, shall king Henry be a pupil still. 

Under the surly Gloster's governance 1 

Am I a queen in title and in style, 

And must be made a subject to a duke ? 

I tell thee, Poole, when in the city Tours 

Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love. 

And stol'st away the ladies' hearts of France ; 

I thought king Henry had resembled thee. 

In courage, courtship, and proportion : 

But all his mind is bent to holiness, 

'J'o number Ave-Maries on his beads : 

His champions are— the prophets and apostles ; 

His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ ; 

His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves 

Are brazen images of canoniz'd saints. 

I would, the college of cardinals 

Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome, 

And set the triple crown upon his head ; 

That were a state fit for his holiness. 

Si;f. Madam, be patient : as I was cause 
Your highness came to England, so will I 
In England work your grace's full content. [fort, 
Q. Mar. Beside the haught protector, have we Beau- 
The imperious churchman ; Somerset, Buckingham, 
And grumbling York : and not the least of these. 
But can do more in England than the king. 

Suf. And he of these, that can do most of all. 
Cannot do more in England than the Nevils : 
Salisbury, and Warwick, are no simple peers. 

Q. Mar. Not all these lords do vex me half so much, 
As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife. 
She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies, 
IMore like an empress than duke Humphrey's wife ; 
Strangers in court do take her for the queen : 
She bears a duke's revenues on her back. 
And in her heart she scorns our poverty : 
Shall I not live to be aveng'd on her ? 
Contemptuous base-born callat as she is. 
She vaunted 'mongst her minions t' other day. 
The very train of her worst wearing- gown 
Was better worth than all my father's lands. 
Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. 

Suf. Madam, myself have lim'd a bush for her ; 
And plac'd a quire of such enticing birds. 
That she will light to listen to the lays. 
And never mount to trouble you again. 
So, let her rest: And, madam, list to me ; 
For I am bold to counsel you in this. 
Although we fancy not the cardinal. 
Yet must we join with him, and with the lords, 
Till we have brought duke Humphrey in disgrace. 
As for the duke of York,— this late complaint 
Will make but little for his benefit : 
So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last, 
And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. 

Enter King Henry, York, and Somerset, con- 
versing with him ; Duke and Duchess of Gloster, 
Carpinal Beaufort, Buckingham, Salisbury, 
aiid VVarwick. 

K. Hen. For my part, noble lords, I care not which ; 
Or Someiset, or York, all's one to me. 



York. If York have ill demean'd himself in Franco, 
Then let him be denay'd the regentship. 

Som. If Somerset be unworthy of the place, 
Let York be regent, I will yield to him. 

War. Whether your grace be worthy, yea, or no, 
Dispute not that : York is the worthier. 

Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. 
T'l'ur. The cardinal's not my better in the field. 
Buck. All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick. 
War. Warwick may live to be the best of all. 
Sal. Peace, son ; — and shew some reason, Bucking- 
Why Somerset should be preferr'd in this. [ham, 
Q. Mar. Because the king, forsooth, will have it so. 
Glo. Madam, the king is old enough himself 
To give his censure ; these are no women's matters. 
Q. Mar. If he be old enough, what needs your grace 
To be protector of his excellence 1 

Glo. Madam, I am protector of the realm ; 
And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. 

Suf. Resign it then, and leave thine insolence. 
Since thou wert king, (as who is king, but thoul) 
The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck : 
The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas ; 
And ail the peers and nobles of the realm 
Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. 

Car. The commons hast thou rack'd ; the clergy's 
Are lank and lean with thy extortions. [bags 

Som. Thy sumptuous buildings, and thy wife's attire, 
Have cost a mass of public treasury. 

Buck. Thy cruelty in execution. 
Upon offenders, hath exceeded law, 
And left thee to the mercy of the law. 

Q. Mar. Thy sale of offices, and towns in France, — 
If they were known, as the suspect is great, — 
Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. 

[Exit Gloster. The Queen drops her fan. 
Give me my fan : What, minion ! can you not \ 

[Gives the Duchess a box on the ear, 
I cry you mercy, madam ; Was it you ? 

i)i;c/(. Was 't I? yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman : 
Could I come near your beauty with my nails, 
I 'd set my ten commandments in your face. 

K. Hen. Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against hei 

will. [time ; 

Duch. Against her will ! Good king, look to't in 

She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby : 

Though in this place most master wear no breeches. 

She shall not strike dame Eleanor unreveng'd. 

[EiJt Duchess. 
Buck, Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, 
And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds : 
She 's tickled now : her fume can need no spurs. 
She '11 gallop fast enough to her destruction. 

[Exit Buckingham. 

He-enter Gloster. 

Glo. Now, lords, my choler being over- blown, 
With walking once about the quadrangle, 
I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. 
As for your spiteful false objections. 
Prove them, and I lie open to the law. 
But God in mercy so deal with my soul. 
As I in duty love my king and country ! 
But, to the matter that we have in hand : — 
I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man 
To be your regent in the realm of France. 

Suf. Before we make election, give me leave 
To shew some reason, of no little force, 
That York is most unmeet of any man. 

York. I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why 1 am unmeet. 
First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride : 
Next, if 1 be appointed for the place. 



ACT 1.— SCENE IV. 



477 



My lord of Somerset will keep me here, 
Without discharge, money, or furniture, 
Till Fiance be won into the Dauphin's hands. 
Last time, 1 danc'd attendance on liis will, 
Till Paris was besieg'd, famisli'd, ar.d lest. 

War. That I can witness ; and a fouler fact 
Did never traitor in the land commit. 

StiJ. Peace, head-strong Warwick ! 

War. Image of pride, why should I hold my peace 1 

Enter Servants »/'SrFroLK, bringing in Horner 
and Peter. 

Suf. Because here is a man accus'd of treason : 
Pray God, the duke of York excuse himself! 

York. Doth any one accuse York for a traitor 1 

K. Hen. What mean'st thou, Suffolk? tell me : 
What are these f 

Svf. Please it your majesty, this is the man 
That doth accuse his master of high treason : 
Plis words were these ; — that Richard, duke of York, 
AVas rightful heir unto the English crown ; 
And that your majesty was an usurper. 

K. Hen. Say, man, were tiiese thy words 1 

Hor. An't shall please your majesty, I never said 
nor thought any such matter : God is my witness, 1 
am falsely accused by the villain. 

Fet. By these ten bones, my lords, [holding up his 
hands.] he did speak them to me in the garret one 
night, as we were scouring my lord of York's armour. 

York. Base dunghill villain, and mechanical, 
I '11 have thy head for this thy traitor's speech : — 
I do beseech your royal majesty. 
Let him have all the rigour of the law. 

Hor. Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the 
words. My accuser is my prentice ; and when I did 
correct him for his fault the other day, he did vow 
upon his knees he would be even with me : I have 
good witness of this ; therefore, 1 beseech your 
majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a vil- 
lain's accusation. 

K. Hen. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law ? 
Glo. This doom, my lord, if I may judge. 
Let Somerset be regent o'er the French, 
Because in York this breeds suspicion : 
And let these have a day appointed them 
¥oT single combat, in convenient place ; 
For he hath witness of his servant's malice : 
This is the law, and this duke Humphrey's doom. 

K. Hen. Then be it so. My lord of Somerset, 
We make your grace lord regent o'er the French. 

Som. 1 humbly thank your royal majesty. 
Hor. And I accept the combat willingly. 

Pet. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight ; for God's sake, 
pity my case ! the spite of man prevaileth against ine 
O Lord, have mercy upon me ! I shall never be able 
to fight a blow : Lord, my heart ! 

Glo. Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang'd. 

K. Hen. Away with them to prison : and the day 
Of combat shall be the last of the next month. — 
Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. 

The same. — The Luke of Gloster's Garden. 

Enter Margerv Jourdain, Hume, Southwell, 

and BOLINGBROKE. 

Hume. Come, my masters ; the duchess, I tell you, 
expects performance of your promises. 

Boling. Master Hume, we are therefore provided: 
Will her ladyship behold and hear our exercisms ? 

Hume. Ay, What else ? fear you not her courage. 

Baling. I have heard her reported to be a woman 
of an invincible spirit : But it shall be convenient. 



master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be 
busy below ; and so, I pray you, go in God's name, 
and leave us. [Exit Hume.] Mother Jourdain, beyou 
prostrate, and grovel on the earth : — John Soutliwell, 
read you ; and let us to our work. 

Enter Duchess, above. 

Duch. Well said, my masters ; and welcome all. 
To this geer ; the sooner the better. 

Boling. Patience, good lady ; wizards know their 
Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, [times • 
The time of night when Troy was set on fire ; 
The time when screech-owls cry, and ban dogs howl, 
And spirits walk, and gliosts break up their graves, 
That time best fits the work we iiave in hand. 
Madam, sit you, and fear not ; whom we raise, 
We will make fast witiiin a hallow'd verge. 

[Here tliei/ perform the ceremonies appertaining, and 
make the circle ; Bolingbroke, or Southwell, 
reads, Conjuro te, &c. It thunders and lightens 
terriblii ; then the Spirit riset/i.J 

Spir. Adsum. 

M.Jourd. Asmath. 
By the eternal God, whose name and power 
Thou tremblest at, answer that 1 shall ask ; 
For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence. 

•S'/ur. Ask what thou wilt: That I had said and done! 

Boling. First, of the king. What shall of /h»i be- 
come ? [Reading out of a paper, 

Spir. The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose; 
But him outlive, and die a violent death. 

[As the Spirii speaks, Southwell writes the answer, 

Boling What fait awaits the duke (^Suffolk I 

Spir. By water shall he die, and take his end. 

Boling. What shall bejall the duke o/ Somerset "! 

Spir. Let him shun castles ; 
Safer shall he be upon tlie sandy plains, 
Than where castles mounted stand. 
Have done, for more 1 hardly can endure. 

Boling. Descend to darkness, and the burning lake : 
False fiend, avoid ! 

[Thunder and lightning. Spirit Jeice/irfs. 

Enter York and Buckikgham, hastily, with their 
Guards, and others. 

York. Lay hands upon these traitors, and their trash. 
Beldame, 1 think, we watch'd you at an inch. — 
What, madam, are you tliere 1 the king and common- 
Are deeply indebted for tiiis piece of pains ; [weal 
My lord protector will, I doubt not. 
See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts. 

Duch. Not half so bad as thine to England's king. 
Injurious duke ; that threat'st where is no cause. 

i3uc/c. True, madam, none atall. Whatcallyou this? 

[Shewing her the ]>apers. 
Away with them ; let them be clapp'd up close. 
And kept asunder : — You, madam, shall with us : — 

Stafford, take her to thee • 

[Exit Duchess yVom above. 
We'll see your trinkets here all forth-coming; 
All. — Away! [E.r.Guardsuut/i South. , Boling. ,(S|-c. 

York. Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her 
A pretty plot, well ciiosen to build upon : [well • 
Now, pray, my lord, let 's see the devil's writ. 
What have we here 1 

The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose ; 
But him outlive, and die a violent death. 
Why, this is just, 

Aiote, /Eacida, Ilmnanos viticere possa. 
Well, to the rest : 

Tell me, what fate awaits the duke nf SnfolkJ 
By water shall he die, and take his end. — 



478 



KING HENRY VI.— PART II. 



Wkat shall betide the duke of Somerset 7 

Let him shun castles ; 

Safer shall he be upon the sandif plains, 

Than where castles mounted stand. 

Come, come, my lords ; 

These oracles are hardily attain'd, 

And hardly understood. 

The king is now in progress toward St. Alban's, 

With him the husband of this lovely lady : 

Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them ; 

A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. 

Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my lord of 
To be the post, in hope of his reward. [York, 

York. At your pleasure, my good lord. — Who 's 
within there, ho ! 

Enter a Servant. 
Invite my lords of Salisbury, and Warwick, 
To sup with me to-morrow night. — Away ! l[Eieunt. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I.— Saint Alban's. 

Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Gloster, 
Cardinal, and Suffolk, with Falconers hollaing. 

Q. Mar. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook, 
I saw not better sport these seven years' day : 
Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high : 
And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. 

A'. Hera. But what a point, my lord, your falcon made. 
And what a pitch she flew above the rest ! — 
To see how God in all his creatures works \ 
Yea, man and birds, are fain of climbing high. 

Suf. No marvel, an it like your majesty, 
INIy lord protector's hawks do tower so well ; 
They know, their master loves to be aloft. 
And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. 

Glo. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind 
That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. 

Car. I thought as much ; he'd be above the clouds. 

Glo. Ay, my lord cardinal ; How think you by that? 
Were it not good, your grace could fly to heaven ] 

K. Hen. Ihe treasury of everlasting joy ! 

Car. Thy heaven is on earth ; thine eyes and thoughts 
Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart j 
Pernicious protector, dangerous peer. 
That smooth's! it so with king and commonweal ! 

Glo. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown pe- 
Tantcme animis cirlestibiis irce? [remptory? 

Churchmen so hot t good uncle, hide such malice ; 
With such holiness can you do it ? 

Suf. No malice, sir ; no more than well becomes 
So good a quarrel, and so bad a peer. 

Glo. As who, my lord 1 

Suf. Why, as you, my lord ; 

An't like your lordly lord-protectorship. 

Glo. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence. 

Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Gloster. 

A'. Hen. I pr'ythee, peace, 

Good queen ; and whet not on these furious peers. 
For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. 

Car. Let me be blessed for the peace I make, 
Against this proud protector, with my sword ! 

Glo. 'Faith, holy uncle, would 'twere come to that ! 

[^Asideto (/le Cardinal. 

Car, Marry, when thou dar'st. [_Aside. 

Glo. Make up no factious numbers for the matter. 
In thine own person answer thy abuse. [Aside. 

Car. Ay , where thou dar'st not peep: an if thou dar'st. 
This evening, on the east side of the grove. [Aside. 

K. Hpu. How now, my lords ? 



Car. Believe me, cousin Glostei, 

Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly. 
We had had more sport. — Come with thy two-hand 
sword. [Aside to Glo. 

Glo. True, uncle. 

Car. Are you advis'd ? — the east side of the grovel 

Glo. Cardinal, I am with you. [Aside. 

K. Hen. Why, how now, uncle Gloster! 

Glo. Talking of hawking ; nothing else, my lord. — 
Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown 

for this 
Or all my fence shall fail. [Aside. 

Car, Medice teipsum ; Ita'^ 

Protector, see to't well, protect yourself. 5 

A'. Hen. The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, 
How irksome is this music to my heart ! [lords. 

When such strings jar, what hope of harmony 1 
I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. 

E/ite?- an Inhabitant (//'St. Alban's, cryui^, A Miracle! 

Glo. What means this noise ? 
Fellow 1 what miracle dost thou proclaim 1 

Inhah. A miracle ! a miracle ! 

Suf. Come to the king, and tell him what miracle. 

Inhah. Forsooth, ablind man at Saint Alban's shrine. 
Within this half hour, hath receiv'd his sight ; 
A man, that ne'er saw in his life before. [souls 

A'. Hen. Now, God be prais'd ! that to believing 
Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair ! 

Enter the Mayor o/" Saint Alban's a7id his brethren; 

and SiMPCox, borne betireen two persons in a chair; 

his wife and a great multitude following. 

Car. Here come the townsmen on procession, 
To present your highness with the man. 

A. Hen. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, 
Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. 

Glo. Stand by, my masters, bring him near the king. 
His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. 

K. Hen. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance. 
That we for thee may glorify the Lord. 
What, hast thou been long blind, and now restor'd ? 

Simp. Born blind, an't please your grace. 

Wife. Ay, indeed, was he. 

Suf. What woman is this ? 

Wife. His wife, an't like your worship. 

Glo. Had'st thou been his mother, thou could'st have 

A'. Hen. Where wert thou born 1 [better told. 

Simp. At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace. 

K. Hen. Poor soul! God's goodness hath been great 
Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, [to thee : 
But still remember what the Lord hath done. 

Q. Mar. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here by 
Or of devotion, to this holy shrine 1 [chance, 

Simp. God knows, of pure devotion : being cali'd 
A hundred times, and oftener, in my sleep 
By good Saint Alban ; who said, — Simpcox, come. 
Come, offer at 7ny slirine, and I will help thee. 

Wife. Most true, forsooth ; and many time and oft 
Myself have heard a voice to call him so. 

Car. What, art thou lame"? 

Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me ! 

Suf. How cam'st thou so ? 

Simp. A fall off of a tree. 

Wife. A plum-tree, master. 

Glo. How long hast thou been blind 1 

Simp. O, born so, master. 

Glo. What, and would'st climb a tree ? 

Simp. But that in all my life, when 1 was a youth. 

Wife. Tootrue; andboughthisclimblngverydear. 

Glo. 'Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that wouldst 
venture so. [sons, 

S'imp. Alas, good master, my wife desir'd some dam 



ACT II.-SCENE II. 



479 



And made me climb, with danger of my life. 

Cdo. A subtle knave ! but yet it shall not serve.— - 
Let me see thineeyes : — wink now ; now open them: — 
In my opinion, yet thou see'st not well. 

Simp. Yes, master, clear as day ; I thank God, and 
Saint Alban. 

Glo. Say'st thou me so? Whatcolouris thiscloakof? 

Simp. Eed, master; red as blood. [of? 

Glo. Why, that's well said : whatcolouris my gown 

Simp. Black, forsooth ; coal-black, as jet. 

K. Hen. Why then, thou know'st what colour jetis 

Suf. And yet, I think, jet did he never see. [of? 

Glo. But cloaks, and gowns, before this day a many. 

Wife. Never, before this day, in all his life. 

Glo. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name? 

Simp. Alas, master, I know not. 

Glo. What's his name ? 

Simp. I know not. 

Glo. Nor his? 

Simp. No, indeed, master. 

Glo. What's thine own name ? 

Simp, SaunderSimpcox. an if it please you, master 

Glo. Then, Saunder, sit thou there, the lying'st 
knave 
[n Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind. 
Thou might'st as well have known our names, as thus 
To name the several colours we do wear. 
Sight may distinguish of colours ; but suddenly 
To nominate them all, 's impossible. — 
My lords. Saint Alban here hath done a miracle ; 
And would ye not think that cunning to be great> 
1 hat could restore this cripple to his legs again ? 

Simp. O, master, tiiat you could ! 

Glo. My masters of Saint Alban's, have you not 
beadles in your town, and things called whips? 

Maij. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace. 

Glo. Then send for one presently. 

Mail. Sirrah, go fetcli the beadle hither straight. 

[Exit ail Attendant 

Glo. Now fetch me a stool hither by and 'oy. [A 
stool hroufiht i)«t.] Now, sirrah, if you mean to save 
3fOurself from whipping, leap me over this stool, and 
run away. 

Simp. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone ; 
You go about to torture me in vain. 

Re-enter Attendant, ivith the Beadle. 

Glo. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. 
Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same 
stool. 

Bead. I will, my lord — Come on, sirrah ; off with 
your doublet quickly. 

Simp. Alas, master, what shall I do ? I am not able 
to stand. [^After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps 
over the stool, and runs away : and the 
people follow, and cry, A IMiracle ! 

K. Hen, O God, see'st thou this, and bear'st so long? 

Q, Mar. It made me laugh, to see tlie villain run. 

Glo. Follow the knave ; and take this drab away. 

IVife. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. 

Glo. Let them be whipped through every market 

town, till they come to Berwick, whence they came. 

[Exeunt Mayor, Beadle, Wife, ^e. 

Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. 

Suf. True ; made the lame to leap, and fly away. 

Glo. But you have done more miracles than I ; 
You made, in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. 

Enter Buckingham. 

K. /I(?)i. What tidings with our cousin Buckingham ? 

Buck. Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold. 
A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent, — 
Under the countenance and confederacy 



01 lady Eleanor, the protector's wife, 
rhe ringleader and head of all this rout, — 
Have practis'd dangerously against your state, 
Dealing with witches, and with conjurers: 
Whom we have apprehended in the fact ; 
Raising up wicked spirits from under ground. 
Demanding of king Henry's life and death, 
And other of your highness' privy council. 
As more at large your grace shall understand. 

Car. And so, my lord protector, by this means 
Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. 
This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edu-e ; 
'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. 

[Aside to Gloster. 

GZf>. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart ! 
Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers : 
And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee. 
Or to the meanest groom. [ones ; 

A'. Hen. O God, what mischiefs work the wicked 
Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby 1 

Q. Mar. Gloster, see here the tainture of thy nest. 
And, look, thyself be faultless, thou wert best. 

Glo. Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal. 
How I have lov'd my king, and commonweal : 
And, for my wife, I know not how it stands ; 
Sorry am I to hear what 1 have heard ; 
Noble she is ; but if she have forgot 
Honour, and virtue, and convers'd with such 
As, like to pitch, defile nobility, 
I banish her my bed, and company ; 
And give her, as a prey, to law, and shame. 
That hath dishonour'd Gloster's honest name. 

A'. Hen.WeU, for this night, we will repose us here 
To-morrow, toward London, back again, 
To look into this business thoroughly, 
And call these foul offenders to their answers ; 
And poise the cause in justice' equal scales, 
Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause pre- 
vails. [Flourish. Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— London. The Duke o/York's Garden. 
Enter York, Salisbury, and Warwick. 

York. Now, my good lords of Salisbury and War- 
Our simple supper ended, give me leave, [wick, 
In this close walk, to satisfy myself. 
In craving your opinion of my title. 
Which is infallible, to England's crown. 

Sal. My lord, I long to hear it at full. 

War. Sweet York, begin : and if thy claim be good, 
The Nevils are thy subjects to command. 

York. Then thus — 
Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons : 
The first, Edward the Black Prince, prince of Wales • 
The second, William of Hatfield ; and the third, 
Lionel, duke of Clarence ; next to whom, 
\V'as John of Gaunt, the duke of Lancaster : 
The fifth, was Edmond Langley, duke of York : 
The sixth, was Thomas of Woodstock, duke of Gloster j 
William of Windsor was the seventh, and last. 
Edward, the Black Prince, died before his father ; 
And left behind him Riciiard, his only son. 
Who, afterEdward theThird'sdeath, reign 'd as king; 
I'ill Henry Bolingbroke, duke of Lancaster, 
The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, 
Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, 
Seiz'd on the realm ; depos'd the rightful kingr ; 
Sent his poorqueen to France, from whence shccame, 
And him to Pomfret ; where, as all you know. 
Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously. 

War. Father, the duke hath told the truth ; 
Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. 



480 



KING HENRY VI.— PART II. 



York. Wliich now they hold by force, and not by 
For Richard, the first son's heir being dead, [riglit; 
The issue of the next son should have reign'd. 

Sal. But William of Hatfield died without an heir. 

York, The third son, duke of Clarence, (from whose 
line 
1 claim the crown,) had issue — Philippe, a daughter : 
Who married Edmund JMortimer, earl of JNIarch, 
Edmund had issue — Roger, earl of March : 
Roger had issue — Edmund, Anne, and Eleanor. 

Sal. This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke, 
As I have read, laid claim unto the crown ; 
And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, 
Wlio kept him in captivity, till he died. 
But, to the rest. 

York. His eldest sister, Anne, 

My mother, being heir unto the crown, 
Slarried Richard, earl of Cambridge ; who was son 
To Edmond Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son. 
By her I claim the kingdom : she was heir 
To Roger, earl of March ; who was the son 
Of Edmund Mortimer ; who married Philippe, 
Sole daughter unto Lionel, duke of Clarence: 
So if the issue of the elder son 
Succeed before the younger, I am king. [this 1 

War. What plain proceedings are more plain than 
Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, 
The fourth son ; York clain.s it from the third. 
Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign : 
It fails not yet ; but flourifnes in thee. 
And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. — 
Then, father Salisbury, kneel we both together ; 
And, in this private plot, be we the first, 
That shall salute our rightful sovereign 
With honour of his birthright to the crown, [king! 

Both. Long live our sovereign Richard, England's 

York.We thank you, lords. But I am not your king 
Till I be crown'd ; and that my sword be stain'd 
With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster ; 
And that's not suddenly to be perfomi'd ; 
But with advice, and silent secrecy. 
Do you, as I do, in these dangerous days, 
Wink at the duke of Suffolk's insolence. 
At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition, 
At Buckingham, and all the crew of them, 
Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock, 
That virtuous prince, the good duke Humphrey : 
'Tis that they seek ; and they, in seeking that. 
Shall find their deaths, if York can prophecy, [full. 

Sal. My lord, break we off; we know your mind at 

War. My heart assuresme, that the earl of Warwick 
Shall one day make the duke of York a king. 

York. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself, — 
Richard shall live to make the earl of Warwick 
The greatest man in England, but the king. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE III The same. A Hall of Justice. 

Trumpets sounded. Entei- King Henry, Queen Mar- 
garet, Gloster, York, Suffolk, and Salisbury ; 
the Duchess of Gloster, Margery Jourdain, 
Soutiiwell,Hume, ojid Bolingbroke, u)K/erg^ua?ri. 

TiT.Hert. Stand forth, dame EIeanorCobham,Gloster's 
Tn sight of God, and us, your guilt is great; [wife : 
Receive the sentence of the law, for sins 
Such as by God's book are adjudg'd to death. — 
You four, from hence to prison back again ; 

ITo Jourdain, 8cc. 
From thence, unto the place of execution : 
The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes. 
And you three shall be strangled on the gallows, — 
You, madam, for you are more nobly born, 



Despoiled of your honour in your life. 

Shall, after three days' open penance done, 

Live in your country here, in banishment. 

With Sir John Stanley, in the isle of JNlan. [death 

Duch. Welcome is banishment, welcome were my 

Glo. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee; 
I cannot justify whom the law condemns. — 
[ Exeunt the Duchess, a »d the other prisoners guarded. 
Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. 
Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age 
Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground ! — 
I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go ; 
Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease. 

K. Hen. Stay, Humphrey duke of Gloster: ere thou 
Give up thy staff ; Henry will to himself [go. 

Protector be : and God shall be my hope, 
My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet ; 
And go in peace, Humphrey ; no less belov'd. 
Than when thou wert protector to thy king. 

Q. Mar. I see no reason why a king of years 
Should be to be protected like a child. — 
God and king Henry govern England's helm : 
Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm. 

Glo. My staff? — here, noble Henry, is my staff: 
As willingly do I the same resign, 
As ere thy father Henry made it mine ; 
And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it, 
As others would ambitiously receive it. 
Farewell, good king : when I am dead and gone, 
]\Jay honourable peace attend thy throne ! [Exit. 

Q. Ma;-. Why now is Henry king, and Margaret queenj 
And Humphrey, duke of Gloster, scarce himself. 
That bears so shrewd a maim ; two pulls at once, — 
His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off; 
This staff of honour raught : — There let it stand, 
Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. 

.S((/'.Thus droops this lofty pi ne , and hangs his sprays ; 
Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. 

York. Lords, let him go, — Please it your majesty 
This is the day appointed for the combat ; 
And ready are the appellant and defendant. 
The armourer and his man, to enter the lists, 
So please your highness to behold the fight. 

Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord ; for purposely therefore 
Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. 

A'. Hen. O' God's name, see the lists and all things 
Here let them end it, and God defend the right ! [fit ; 

York. I never saw a fellow worse bested. 
Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, 
The servant of this armourer, my lords. 

Enter, on one side, Horner and his neighbours, drink- 
ing to him so much that he is drunk ; and he enters 
bearing his stajf with a sand-bag fastened to it ; a 
drum before him: at the other side, Peter, with a 
drum and a similar staff; accompanied by prentices 
drinking to him. 

1 Neigh. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you 
in a cup of sack ; And fear not, neighbour, you shall 
do well enough. 

2 Neigh. And here, neighbour, here's a cup of 
charneco, 

3 Neigh. And here's a pot of good double beer, 
neighbour : drink, and fear not your man. 

Hor. Let it come, i'faith, and I'll pledge you all • 
And a fig for Peter ! 

1 Pren. Here, Peter, I drink to thee ; and be not 
afraid. 

2 Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master . 
fight for credit of the prentices. 

Peter. I thank you all : drink, and pray for me, I 
pray you ; for, I think, I iiavc taken my last draught 



ACT 11 -SCENE IV. 



481 



in this world. — Here. Robin, an if I die, I give thee 
rtiy apron ; and, Will, tliou slialt have my lianimer: 
— and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. — 
O Lord, bless me, I pray God ! for 1 am never able 
fo deal with my master, he hath learnt so much fence 
already. 

Hal. Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows. 
— Sirrah, what's thy name 1 

Peter. Peter, forsooth. 

Sal. Peter ! what more 1 

Peter. Thump. 

Sal, Thump! then see thou thump thy master well. 

Hor. JMasters, I am come hither, as it were, upon 
my man's instigation, to prove him a knave, and my- 
self an honest man; and touching the duke of York, 
— will take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor 
the king, nor the queen : And therefore, Peter, have 
at thee with a downright blow, as Bevis of South- 
ampton, fell upon Ascapart. 

York. Despatch ; — this knave's tongue begins to 
Sound trumpets, alarum to the combatants, [double. 
[^Alarum. They Jight, and Peter strikes down 
his master. 

Hor, Hold, Peter, hold ! I confess, I confess 
treason. [Dies. 

York. Take away his weapon : Fellow, thank God, 
and the good wine in thy master's way. 

Peter, O God ! have I overcome mine enemies in 
this presence? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right ! 

A'. Hen. Go, take hence that traitor from our sight; 
For, by his deatii, we do perceive his guilt : 
And God, in justice, hath reveal'd to us 
The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, 
Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully. — 
Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The same. A Street. 
Enter Gloster and Servants, in mourning cloaks, 

Glo. Thus, sometimes, hath the brightest day a 
And, after summer, evermore succeeds [cloud ; 

Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold : 
So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. 
Sirs, what's o'clock 1 

Serv, Ten, my lord. 

Glo. Ten is the hour that was appointed me, 
To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess ; 
Uneath may she endure the flinty streets. 
To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. 
Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook 
The abject people, gazing on thy face. 
With envious looks still laughing at thy shame ; 
That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels. 
When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets. 
But, soft! I think, she comes ; and I'll prepare 
My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. 

Enter the Duchess of Gloster, in a white sheet, with 
papers pinned upon her back, her feet bare, and a 
taper burning in her hand; Sir John Stanley, a 
Sneriff, and OfKcers. 

Serv. So please your grace, we'll take her from the 
sheriff. 

Glo, No, stir not, for your lives ; let her pass by. 

Duch. Come you, my lord, to see my open shame? 
Now thou dost penance too. Look, how they gaze ! 
See, how the giddy multitude do point. 
And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee! 
Ah, Gloster, hide thee from their hateful looks ; 
And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame. 
And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine. 

GUi. Be patient geutle Nell ; forget this grief. 



Duch, Ah, Gloster, teach me to forget myself : 
For, whilst I think I am thy married wife. 
And thou a prince, protector of this land, 
]Methinks, I should not thus be led along, 
Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back : 
And follow'd with a rabble, that rejoice 
To see my tears, and !»ear my deep-fet groans 
The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet ; 
And, when I start, the envious people laugh, 
And bid me be advised how I tread. 
Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke 1 
Trow'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world ; 
Or count them happy, that enjoy the sun ? 
No ; dark shall be my light, and righV my day _ 
To think upon my pomp, shall be my hell. 
Sometime I'll say, I am duke Humphrey's wife , 
And he a prince, and ruler of the land : 
Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was. 
As he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn duchess. 
Was made a wonder, and a pointing stock. 
To every idle rascal follower. 
But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame ; 
Nor stir at nothing, till the axe of death 
Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will. 
For .Suffolk, — he that can do all in all 
With her, that hateth thee, and hates us all, — 
And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest. 
Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings. 
And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee: 
But fear not thou, until thy foot be snar'd, 
Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. 

Glo. Ah, Nell, forbear ; thou aimest all awry ; 
I must offend, before I be attainted : 
And had I twenty times so many foes. 
And each of them had twenty limes their power. 
All these could not procure me any scathe. 
So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless. 
Would'st have me rescue thee from this reproach 
Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd away. 
But I in danger for the breach of law. 
Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell : ♦ 

I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience ; 
These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. 

Enter a Herald. 

Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's parlia- 
ment, holden at Bury the first of this ne.xt month. 

Glo. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before ! 
This is close dealing. — Well, I will be there. 

[Exit Herald. 
]\ly Nell, I take my leave : — and, master sheriff. 
Let not her penance exceed the king's commission. 

Sher, An't please your grace, here my commission 
And sir John Stanley is appointed now [stays ; 

To take her with him to the isle of flian. 

Glo, ]\Iust you, sir John, protect my lady here 1 

Stan. So am I given in charge, may't plea;>e your 

Gfo. Entreat her not thewor^e.in thatlpray [grace. 
You use her well : the world may laugh again : 
And I may live to do you kindness, if 
You do it her. And so, sir John, farewell. 

iJuc/(. What gone, my lord ; and bid me not farewell' 

Glo, Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. 

[Exeunt Glostek and Servants. 

Duch. Art thou gone too 1 All comfort go with tliee'. 
For none abides with me: my joy is — death ; 
Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard. 
Because I wish'd this world's eternity. — 
Stanley, I pr'ythee, go, and take me hence ; 
I care not whither, for I beg no favour. 
Only convey me where thou art connnanded. 

Stan. \\ liy, madam, that is to the isle of Man; 
2 H 



482 



KING HENRY VI.— PART 11. 



There to be used according to your state. 

Ditch. That's bad enough, for I am but reproach : 
And shall I then be us'd reproachfully? 

Stan. Like to a duchess, and duke Humphrey's 
According to that state you shall be used. [lady, 

Duch. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare ; 
Although thou hast been conduct of my shame ! 

Slier. It is my office ; and, madam, pardoti me. 

Duch. Ay, ay, farewell ; thy office is discharg'd — 
Come, Stanley, shall we go ! 

Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw off this 
And go we to attire you for our journey. [sheet, 

Duch. My shame will not be shifted with my sheet : 
No, it will hang upon my richest robes, 
And shew itself, attire me how I can. 
Go, lead the way ; 1 long to see ray prison. [^Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I.— The Abbey at Bury. 

Enter to the Parliament, King Henry, Queen Mar- 
GARKT, Cardinal Beaupout, Suffolk, York, 
BuCKiNGiiA.M, and others. 

K. Hen, I muse, my lord of Gloster is not come : 
'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, 
Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. 

Q. Mar. Can you not see? or will you not observe 
The strangeness of his alter'd countenance? 
With what a majesty he bears himself; 
How insolent of late he is become, 
How proud, peremptory, and unlike himself? 
We know the time, since he was mild and affable ; 
And, if we did but glance a far-off look, 
Immediately he was upon his knee. 
That all the court admir'd him for submission ; 
But meet him now, and, be it in the morn, 
When every one will give the time of day. 
He knits his brow, and shews an angry eye, 
Aftd passes by with stiff unbowed knee. 
Disdaining duty that to us belongs. 
Small curs are not regarded, when they grin ; 
But great men tremble, when the lion roars ; 
And Humphrey is no little man in England. 
First, note, that he is near you in descent ; 
And should you fall, he is the next will mount 
Me seemeth then, it is no policy, — 
Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears. 
And his advantage following your decease, — 
That he should come about your royal person, 
Or be admitted to your highness' council. 
By fiattery hath he won the commons' hearts ; 
And, when he please to make commotion, 
'Tis to be fear'd, they all will follow him. 
Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted ; 
Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden. 
And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. 
The reverend care, I bear unto my lord, 
Made me collect these dangers in the duke. 
If it be fond, call it a woman's fear ; 
Which fear if better reasons can supplant, 
I will subscribe and say — I wrong'd the duke. 
My lord of Suffolk, — Buckingham,— and York, — 
Reprove my allegation, if you can ; 
Or else conclude my words effectual. 

Suf. Well hath your highness seen into this duke ; 
And, had I first been put to speak my mind, 
I think, I should have told your grace's tale. 
The duchess, by his subornation, 
Upon my life, began her devilish practices • 



Or if he were not privy to those faults, 

Yet, by reputing of his high descent, 

(As next the king, he was successive heir,) 

And such high vaunts of his nobility. 

Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess. 

By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. 

Smooth runs the water, where the brook is deep 5 

And in his simple show he harbours treason 

The fox barks not, when he would steal the lamb. 

No, no, my sovereign ; Gloster is a man 

Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit. 

Car. Did he not, contrary to form of law, 
Devise strange deaths for small offences done ? 

York. And did he not, in his protectorship, 
Levy great sums of money through the realm, 
For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it ? 
By means whereof, the towns each day revolted. 

Buc/c.Tut! These are petty faults to faults unknovvn, 
Which time will bring to light in smooth duke Hum- 
phrey. 

K. Hen. My lords, at once: The care you have of us. 
To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot, 
Is worthy praise : But shall I speak ray conscience? 
Our kinsman Gloster is as innocent 
From meaning treason to our royal person. 
As is the sucking lamb, or harmless dove : 
The duke is virtuous, mild ; and too well given, 
To dream on evil, or to work my downfall. 

Q. Mar. Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond 
affiance ! 
Seems he a dove ? his feathers are but boirow'd. 
For he's disposed as the hateful raven. 
Is he a lamb ? his skin is surely lent him. 
For he's inclin'd as are the ravenous wolves. 
Who cannot steal a shape, that means deceit ? 
Take heed, my lord ; the welfare of us all 
Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. 

£«fer Somerset. 

Sam. All health unto my gracious sovereign \ 

K. Hen. Welcome, lord Somerset. What news from 
France ? 

Som. That all your interest in those territories 
Is utterly bereft you ; all is lost. 

A'. Hen. Cold news, lord Somerset : But God's will 
be done ! 

York. Cold news for me ; for I had hope of France 
As firmly as 1 hope for fertile England. 
Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud, 
And caterpillars eat my leaves away : 
But I will remedy this gear ere long, 
Or sell my title for a glorious grave. 1 Aaide. 

Enter Gloster. 

Glo. All happiness unto my lord the king ! 
Pardon, my liege, that I have staid so long. 

Siif. Nay , Gloster, know, that thou art come too soon, 
Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art : 
I do arrest thee of high treason here. 

Glo. Well, Suffolk, yet thou shall not see me blush 
Nor change my countenance for this arrest ; 
A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. 
The purest spring is not so free from mud. 
As I am clear from treason to my sovereign : 
Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty ? 

York. 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes 
of France, 
And, being protector, stay'd the soldiers' pay; 
By means whereof, his highness hath lost Fiance. 

Glo. Is it but thought so? W' hat are they, ihat lhii;k 
I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay, [it ? 

Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. 
So help me God, as I have watch'd the night, — 



ACT TIL— SCENE I. 



48:) 



Ay, night by night,— in studying- good for England ! 

'I'liat doit tliat e'er I wrested from the king. 

Or any groat I lioarded to my use. 

Be brought against me at my trial day ! 

No ! many a poand of mine own proper store, 

Because 1 would not tax the needy commons, 

Have I dispursed to the garrisons. 

And never ask'd for restitution. 

Car. It serves you well, my lord, to say so much. 
Glo, I say no more than truth, so help me God ! 
York. In your protectorship, you did devise 
Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of. 
That England was defam'd by tyranny. 

Glo, ^Vhy, 'tis well known, that whiles I was pro- 
Pity was all the fault that was in me ? [lector, 
For I should melt at an offender's tears, 
And lowly words were ransome for their fault. 
Unless it were a bloody murderer, 
Or foul felonious thief, that fleech'd poor passengers, 
I never gave them condign punishment : 
Murder, indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd 
Above the felon, or what trespass else. 

Huf. My lord.these faults are easy, quickly answer'd: 
But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge. 
Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. 
I do arrest you in his highness' name ; 
And here commit you to my lord cardinal 
'J'o keep, until your further time of trial. 

K. Hen, My lord of Gloster, 'tis my special hope, 
Tliat you will clear yourself from all suspects ; 
My conscience tells me, you are innocent. 

Glo. Ah, gracious lord, these days arc dangerous! 
Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition. 
And charity chas'd hence by rancour's hand; 
Foul subornation is predominant. 
And equity e-xil'd your highness' land. 
I know, their complot is to have my life ; 
And, if my death might make this island happy, 
And prove the period of their tyranny, 
1 would expend it with all willingness : 
But mine is made the prologue to their play ; 
For thousands more that yet suspect no peril, 
"Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. 
Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice. 
And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate ; 
Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue 
The envious load that lies upon his heart ; 
And dogged York, that reaches at the moon. 
Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back. 
By false accuse doth level at my life : — 
And you my sovereign lady, with the rest, 
Causeless have laid disgraces on my head ; 
And, with your best endeavour, have stirr'd up 
My liefest liege to be mine enemy : — 
Ay, all of you have laid your heads together, 
Myself had notice of your conventicles. 
And all to make away my guiltless life : 
I shall not want false witness to condemn me, 
Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt ; 
The ancient proverb will be well affected, — 
A staff is quickly found to beat a dog. 

Car. My liege, his railing is intolerable : 
If those, that care to keep your royal person 
From treason's secret knife, and traitors' rage. 
Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at. 
And the offenaer granted scope of speech, 
'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace. 

Stif. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here. 
With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd, 
As if she had suborned some to swear 
False allegations to o'erthrow his state ? 

Q. Mar. But I can give the loser leave to chide. 



Glo. Far truer spoke than meant: I loso, indeed; — 
Beshrew the winners, for they played me false ! 
And well such losers may have leave to speak. 

Buck. He'll wrest the sense, and hold us here all day; 
Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner. 

Car. Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure. 
Glo. Ah, thus king Henry throws away his crutch, 
Before his legs be firm to bear his body : 
Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, 
! And wolves are gnarllng who shall gnaw thee first. 
Ah, that my fear were false I ah, that it were ! 
For, good king Henry, thy decay I fear. 

[Exeunt Attendants, uitit Gloster. 
A'. Hen. Mylords.what to your wisdoms seemeth best. 
Do, or undo, as if ourself were here. [liamenf? 

Q. Mar. What, will your highness leave the par- 
A'. Hen. Ay, Margaret ; my heart is drown'd with 
Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes ; [grief, 
My body round engirt with misery ; 
For what's more miserable than discontent ? — 
Ah, uncle Humphrey ! in thy tace I see 
The map of honour, truth, and loyalty ; 
And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come, 
That e'er I prov'd thee false, or fear'd thy faith. 
What low'ring star now envies thy estate. 
That these great lords, and INIargaret our queen, 
Do seek subversion of thy harmless life 1 
Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong : 
And as the butcher takes away the calf. 
And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays, 
Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house ; 
Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence. 
And as the dam runs lowing up and down. 
Looking the way her harmless young one went. 
And can do itought but wail her darling's loss ; 
Even so myself bewails good Gloster's case. 
With sad unhelpful tears ; and with diinm'd eyes 
Look after him, and cannot do him good ; 
So mighty are his vowed enemies. 
His fortunes I will weep ; and 'twixt each groan. 
Say — Who's a traitor, Gloster he is none. [Exit. 

Q. Mar. Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's 
Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, [hot beams. 
Too full of foolish pity: and Gloster's show 
Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile 
With sorrow snares relenting passengers ; 
Or as the snake, roll'd in a flowering bank, 
W^ith shining checker'd slough, doth sting a child, 
That, for the beauty, thinks it excellent. 
Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I, 
(And yet, herein, I judge mine own wit good,) 
This Gloster should be quickly rid the world. 
To rid us from the fear we have of him. 

Car. That he shoald die, is worthy policy : 
But yet we want a colour for his death : 
'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law. 
Suf. But, in my mind, that were no policy: 
The king will labour still to save his life ; 
The commons liaply rise to save his life ; 
And we yet have but trivial argument, 
IMore than mistrust, that shews hiin worthy death 
York. So that by this, you would not have him die. 
Suf, Ah, York, no man alive so fain as 1. 
Forfc. 'Tis York that hath more reason for his death.— 
But, my lord cardinal, and you, my lord of Suftblk, — 
Say as you think, and speak it from your souls, — 
Wer't not all one, an empty eagle were set 
To guard the chicken from a hungry kite. 
As place duke Humphrey for the king's protector? 
Q.Mar. So the poorchickensliould be suieof death. 
Suf. Madam, 'tis true: And wer't not madness then 
To make the fox surveyor of the fold 1 
2H8 



484 



KING HENRY VI.- -PART II. 



Who being accus'd a crafty murderer. 
His guilt should be but idly posted over, 
Because his purpose is not executed. 
j\o ; let him die, in that he is a fox, 
By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock, 
Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood ; 
As Humphrey, prov'd by reasons, to my liege. 
And do not stand on quillets, how to slay him : 
Be it by gins, by snares, by subtilty, 
Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how. 
So he be dead ; for that is good deceit 
Which mates him first, that first intends deceit. 

Q. Mar. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke. 

Suf. Not resolute, except so much were done ; 
For things are often spoke, and seldom meant: 
But, that my heart accordeth with my tongue, — 
Seeing the deed is meritorious, 
And to preserve my sovereign from his foe, — • 
Say but the word, and I will be his priest. 

Cm-. But 1 would have him dead, my lord of Suffolk, 
Ere you can take due orders for a priest : 
Say, you consent, and censure well the deed. 
And I'll provide his executioner, 
I tender so the safety of my liege. 

6itf. Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing. 

Q. Mar. And so say I. 

York. And I : and now we three have spoke it. 
It skills not greatly who impugns our doom. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain, 
To signify — that rebels there are up, 
And put the Englishmen unto the sword : 
Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime, 
Before the wound do grow incurable ; 
For, being green, there is great hope of help. 

Car. A breach, that craves a quick expedient stop ! 
What counsel give you in this weighty cause ] 

York. That Somerset be sent as regent thither ; 
'Tis meet, that lucky ruler be employ'd ; 
Witness the fortune he halii had in Fiance. 

Som. If York, with all his far-fet policy. 
Had been the regent there instead of me, 
He never would have staid in France so long. 

York. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done : 
I rather would have lost my life betimes. 
Than bring a burden of dishonour home. 
By staying there so long, till all were lost. 
Shew me one scar chan'icter'd on thy skin : 
Men's flesh preserv'd so whole, do seldom win. 

Q.Mar. Nay then, this spark will prove a raging fire, 
If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with : — 
Wo more, good York ; — sweet Somerset, be still ; — 
Ihy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there. 
Might happily have prov'd far worse than his. 

York. W hat, worse than naught? nay, then a shame 
take all ! 

Som. And in the number, thee, that wishest shame ! 

Car. My lord of York, try what your fortune is. 
The uncivil Kernes of Ireland are in arms. 
And temper clay with blood of Englishmen : 
To Ireland will you lead a band of men, 
Collected choicely, from each county some. 
And try your hap against the Irishmen 1 

York. 1 will, my lord, so please his maje:;ty. 

Suf. Why, our authority is his consent ; 
And, what we do establish, he confirms : 
Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand. 

York. 1 am content- Provide me soldiers, lords, 
VVhiles I take order for mine own affairs. 

Suf. A charge, lord York, that I will see perform'd. 
But now return we to the false duke Humphrey. 



Car. No more of bin) , for I will deal with him, 
That henceforth, he shall trouble us no more. 
And so break off; the day is almost spent : 
Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event. 

York. My lord of Sufiblk, within fourteen days 
At Bristol I expect my soldiers ; 
For there I'll ship them all for Ireland. 

Suf. I '11 see it truly done, my lord of York. 

[Exeunt all hut YonK. 

Yo7-k. Now,York,ornever,steel thy fearful thoughts. 
And change misdoubt to resolution : 
Be that thou hop'st to be ; or what thou art 
Resign to death, it is not worth the enjoying: 
Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man. 
And find no harbour in a royal heart. 
Faster than spring-time showers, comes thought ri 
And not a thought, but thinks on dignity, [thought^ 
INIy brain, more busy than the labouring spider. 
Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. 
Well, nobles, well,' 'tis politicly done, 
To send me packing with an host of men . 
I fear me, you but warm the starved snake. 
Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your hearts 
'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me : 
I take it kindly ; yet, be well assur'd 
You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands. 
Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, 
I will stir up in England some black storm. 
Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven, or hell : 
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage 
Until the golden circuit on my head. 
Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams. 
Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw. 
And, for a minister of my intent, 
I have seduced a head-strong Kentishman, 
John Cade of Ashford, 
To make commotion, as full well he can, 
Under the title of John INIortimer. 
In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade 
Oppose himself against a troop of Kernes ; 
And fought so long, till that his thighs with dartf 
Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porcupine : 
And, in the end being rescu'd, I have seen him 
Caper upright like a wild M6risco, 
Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells. 
Full often like a shag-hair'd crafty Kerne, 
Hath he conversed with the enemy ; 
And undiscover'd come to me again, 
And given me notice of their villanies. 
Tliis devil here shall be my substitute ; 
For that John Mortimer, which now is dead. 
In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble : 
By this I shall perceive the commons' mind. 
How they aft'ect the house and claim of York, 
Say, he be taken, rack'd, and tortured ; 
I know, no pain, they can inflict upon him. 
Will make him say — I mov'd him to those arms. 
Say, that he thrive, (as 'tis great like he will, J 
Why, then from Ireland come I with my strengtl:^ 
And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd : 
For, Humphrey being dead, as he shall be, 
And Henry put apart, the next for me. lEiit, 

SCENE II.— Bury. A Boom in the Palace. 
Enter certain Rlurderers, hastily. 

1 Mur. Kun to my lord of Suff"olk ; let him know. 
We have despatch'd the duke, as he commanded. 

2 Mur. t), that it were to do! — What have we done' 
Didst ever liear a man so penitent ? 

Enter Suffolk. 
1 Mur. Here comes my lord. 



ACT III.— SCENE II. 



485 



Suf. Now, sirs, have you 

Despatch'd this thing } 

1 Mur, Ay, my good lord, he's dead. 

Suf. Why, that's well said. Go.getyoutomyhouse; 
I will reward you for this venturous deed. 
The king and all the peers are here at hand : — • 
Have you laid fair the bed 1 are all things well, 
According as I gave directions 1 

1 Mur. "J"is, my good lord. 

Suf. Away, begone! [EieiuU Murderers. 

Enler King Henry, Queen Margaret, Caudinal 
Beaufort, Someuset, Lords, and others. 

K.Hen. Go, call our uncle to our presence straight : 
Say, we intezid to try his grace to-day. 
If he be guilty, as 'tis published. 

■Si.;/'. I'll call him presently, my noble lord. [Exit. 

K.Hen. Lords, take your places ; — And, I pray you 
Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloster, [all, 
'J'han from true evidence, of good esteem. 
He be approv'd in practice culpable, 

iQ. Mar. God forbid any malice should prevail, 
That faultless may condemn a nobleman ! 
Pray God, he may acquit him of suspicion! 

K.Iieti. I thank thee, Margaret ; these words con- 
tent me much. — 

Re-enter Suffolk. 

How BOW ; why look'st thou pale \ why tremblest thoul 
Where is our uncle"! what is the matter, Suffolk ! 

Suf. Dead in his bed, my lord ; Gloster is dead. 

Q. Mar. Marry, God forefend ! 

Car. God's secret j udgment : — I did dream to-night. 
The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word. 

YThe King suhious. 

Q. Mar. How fares my lord? — Help, lords! the 
king is dead. 

Som. P\,ear up his body; wring him by the nose. 

Q. Mar. Run, go, help, help ! — O, Henry, ope 
(iime eyes ! 

Suf He doth revive again ; — Madam, be patient. 

K. Heiu O heavenly God I 

Q. Mar. How fares my gracious lord ? [fort I 

5«yi Comfort, my sovereign I gracious Henry, com- 

K.Hen, What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort me ? 
Came he right now to sing a raven's note. 
Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers; 
And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren, 
By crying comfort from a hollow breast. 
Can chase away the first conceived sound ? 
Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words. 
Lay not thy hands on me ; forbear, I say ; 
Their touch affrights me, as a serpent's sting. 
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight! 
Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny 
•Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world. 
Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding : — 
i'et do not go away ; — Come, basilisk, 
And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight : 
For in the shade of death I shall find joy ; 
la life, but double death, now Gloster's dead. 

Q. Mar. Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk thus'! 
Although the duke was enemy to him. 
Yet he, most Christian-like, laments his death.* 
And for myself, — foe as he was to me. 
Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans, 
Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life, 
I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans, 
Look pale as primrose, with blood-drinking sighs. 
And all to have the noble duke alive. 
What know 1 how the world may deem of me 1 



For it is known, we were but hollow friends ; 

It may be judg'd, I made the duke away: 

So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded, 

And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach. 

This get I by his death : Ah me, unhappy : 

I'o be a queen, and crown'd with infamy! 

A'. Hen. Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched man ! 

Q. Mar. Be woe for me, more wretched than he is. 
What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face 1 
I am no loathsome leper, look on me. 
What, art thou like the adder, waxen deaf? 
Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn queen. 
Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb "i 
Why, then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy: 
Erect his statue then, and worsiiip it. 
And make my image but an alehouse sign. 
Was I, for this, nigh wreck'd upon the sea ; 
And twice by awkward wind from England's bank 
Drove back again unto my native clime! 
What boded this, but well-forewarning wind 
Did seem to say, — Seek not a scorpion's nest. 
Nor set no footing on this unkind shore ! 
What did I then, but curs'd the gentle gusts, 
And he that loos'd them from tlieir brazen caves ; 
And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore. 
Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock ! 
Yet ..Eolus would not be a murderer. 
But left that hateful office unto tiiee: 
The pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me ; [shore. 
Knowing, that thou would'st have me drown'd on 
With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness • 
The splitting rocks cow'rd in the sinking sands. 
And would not dash me with their ragged sides ; 
Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, 
Might in thy palace perish Margaret. 
As far as 1 could ken thy chalky cliffs. 
When from the shore the tempest beat us back, 
I stood upon the hatches in the storm : 
And when the dusky sky began to rob 
IMy earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view, 
I took a costly jewel from my neck, — 
A heart it was, bound in with diamonds, — 
And threw it towards thy land ; — the sea receiv'd it; 
And so,_ I wish'd, thy body might my heart : 
And even with this, I lost fair England's view. 
And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart ; 
And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles. 
For losing ken of Albion's wished coast. 
How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue 
(The agent of thy foal inconstancy,) 
To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did. 
When he to madding Dido would unfold 
His father's acts, commenc'd in burning Troy'? 
Aminotwitch'd like her? or thou not false like him? 
Ah me, I can no more! Die, Margaret! 
For Henry weeps, that thou dost live so long 

Koise within. Enter Warwick and Salisbury. 
The Commons preas to the door. 

War. It is reported, mighty sovereign. 
That good duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd 
By Suffolk and the cardinal Beaufort's means. 
The commons, like an angry hive of bees. 
That want their leader, scatter up and down. 
And care not who they sting in iiis revenge. 
Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny. 
Until they hear the order of his death. 

K.Hen. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too tiue, 
But how he died, God knows, not Henry : 
Enter his chamber, view his breatiiless corpse. 
And comment then upon his sudden death. 

War. That I shall do, my liege :— Stay, Salisbury, 



486 



KING HENRY VI.— PART II. 



With the rude multitude, till I return. 

rWAnwiCK goes into an inner room, and 
Salisbury retires. 
K. Hen. O thou that judgest all things, stay my 
thoughts ; 
My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul, 
Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life ! 
If my suspect be false, forgive me, God ; 
For judgment only doth belong to tliee ! 
Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips 
With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain 
Upon his face an ocean of salt tears ; 
To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk. 
And with my fingers feel his hand unfueiing: 
But all in vain are these mean obsequies ; 
And, to survey his dead and earthy image, 
What were it but to make my sorrow greater? 

The folding doors of an inner chamher are thrown open , 
and G1.0STEK is discovered dead in his bed: War- 
wick and others standing hy it. 

War. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this 

body. 
K. Hen. That is to see how deep my grave is made : 
For, with his soul, fled ali my worldly solace : 
For seeing him, I see my life in death. 

War. As surely as my soul intends to live 
With that dread King, that took our state upon him 
To free us from his father's wrathful curse, 
I do believe that violent hands were laid 
Upon tlie life of this thrice-famed duke. 

Suf. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue ! 
What instance gives lord Warwick for his vowl 

War. See how the blood is settled in his face ! 
Oft have I seen a timely- parted ghost. 
Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless, 
Iking all descended to the labouring heart ; 
Who, in the conflict that it holds with death. 
Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy ; 
Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er leturnetli 
To blush and beautify the cheek again. 
But, see, his face is black, and full of blood ; 
His eye-balls further out than when he llv'd, 
Staring full ghastly like a strangled man: [gling ; 
His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with strug- 
His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd 
And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu'd. 
Look on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking ; 
His well-proportioned beard made rough and rugged, 
Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd. 
It cannot be, but he was murder'd here ; 
'J'he least of all these signs were probable. 

6i(/'. Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to 
Myself and Beaufort, had him in protection; [death ! 
And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. 

War. But both of you were vow'd duke Humphrey's 
And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep : [foes ; 
'Tis like, you would not feast him like a friend ; 
And 'tis well seen, he found an enemy. 

Q. Mar. Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen 
As guilty of duke Humphrey's timeless death. 

War. Who finds the heifer dead, and bleeding fresh, 
And sees fast by a butcher witii an axe. 
But viill suspect, 'twas he that made the slaughter 1 
Who finds the partridge in the putlock's nest. 
But may imagine how the bird was dead, 
Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak ? 
Even so suspicious is this tragedy. [knife ? 

Q. Mar. Are you the butcher, Suffolk ; where's your 
Is Beaufort term'd a kite ? where are his talons ) 

Snf. 1 wear no knife, to slaughter sleeping men; 
But here's a vengeful sword rusted with ease, 



That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart. 
That slanders me with murder's crimson badge : — 
Say, if thou dar'st, proud lord of Warwickshire, 
That 1 am faulty in duke Humphrey's death. 

[Eieunt Cardinai., Som. andoihos 

War. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare 

him 1 
Q. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit, 
Nor cease to be an arrogant controller. 
Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times. 

War. Madam, be still ; with reverence may 1 say ; 
For every word, you speak in his behalf. 
Is slander to your royal dignity. 

Stif. Blunt-wilted lord, ignoble in demeanour! 
If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much, 
Thy mother took into her blameful bed 
Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock 
Was graft with crab-tree slip ; whose fruit thou art 
And never of the Nevil's noble race. 

War. But tliat the guilt of murder bucklers thee, 
And 1 should rob the deathsman of his fee, 
Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, 
And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild, 
I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee 
IMake thee beg pardon for thy pass'd speech, 
And say — It was thy mother that thou mean'st. 
That thou thyself wast born in bastardy : 
And after all this fearful homage done, 
Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell, 
Pernicious bloodsucker of sleeping men ! 

Suf. Thou shah be waking, while 1 shed thy blood, 
If from this presence thou dar'st go with me. 

]Var. Away even now, or 1 will drag thee hence; 
Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee, 
And do some service to duke Humphrey's ghost. 

[E.iei(»it Si'FFniK and Warwivk. 

A'^. 7/^H.What stronger breast-plate than a heart un- 
Thrice is he arm'd,that hath his quarrel just; [tainted? 
And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel. 
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. 

[^1 noise within, 

Q. Mar. Wliat noise is this? , 

Re-enter Suffolk and Warwick, with their 

weapons draivn. 
K. Hen. AVhy, how now, lords? your wrathful wea- 
pons drawn 
Here in our presence ? dare you be so bold ? — 
Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here? 

611/'. The traitorous Warwick, with the men of Bury, 
Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. 

Noise of a croud within. Re-enter Salisbury. 

Sal. Sirs, stand apart ; the king shall know your 
mind. — [Speaking to those iriihin. 

Dread lord, the commons send you word by nie, 
Unless false Suffolk straight be done to death, 
Or banished fair England's territories. 
They will by violence tear him from your palace. 
And torture him with grievous ling'ring death. 
They say, by him the good duke Humphrey died 
They say, in him they fear your highness' death; 
And mere instinct of love, and loyalty, — 
Free from a stubborn opposite intent. 
As being thought to -contradict your liking, — 
Makes them thus forward in his banishment.^ 
They say, in care of your most royal person, 
That, if your highness should intend to sleep, 
And charge — that no man should disturb your rest. 
In pain of your dislike, or pain of death ; 
Yet notwithstanding such a strait edict, 
Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue, 
That silly glided towards your majesty. 



ACT III. -SCENE II. 



407 



li were but necessary you were wak'd ; 
Lfbt, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber, 
Tliii mortal worm might make the sleep eternal : 
And therefore do they cry, though you forbid, 
That they will guard you, whe'r you will, or no, 
From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is ; 
With whose envenomed and fatal sting. 
Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth, 
They say, is shamefully bereft of life. 

Commons. [Within.] An answer from the king, my 
lord of Salisbury. 

Snf. 'Tis like, the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds. 
Could send such message to their sovereign : 
13ut you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd, 
To shew how quaint an orator you are : 
But all the honour Salisbury hath won. 
Is — that he was the lord ambassador. 
Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king. 

Commons. IWithin.] An answer from the king, or 
we "11 all break in. 

K. Hen. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me, 
I thank them for their tender loving care ; 
And had I not been 'cited so by them, 
Yet did I purpose as they do entreat ; 
For sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy 
Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means. 
And therefore — by His majesty I swear, 
Whose far unworthy deputy I am, — 
He shall not breathe infection in this air 
But three days longer, on the pain of death. [Ex. Sal. 

Q. M(ir. U Ileniy, let me plead for gentle Suffolk ! 

A'. Hen. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk. 
Ko more, I say ; if thou dost plead for him. 
Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. 
Had I but said, I would have kept my word ; 
But, when I swear, it is irrevocable :-- 
If, after three days' space, thou here be'st found 
On any ground that 1 am ruler of, 
The world shall not Ije ransome for thy life. — 
Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me : 
t have great matters to impart to thee. 

[Exeunt K. Henry, Warwick, Lords, &;c. 

Q. ^iar. Mischance, and sorrow, go along with you ! 
Heart's discontent, and sour affliction. 
Be playfellows to keep you company ! 
There's two of you ; the devil make a third ! 
And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps I 

Sitf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations. 
And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave. 

Q.Mhc. Fye, coward woman, and so ft-heartedwretch! 
Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemies ? [them 1 

Suf. A plague upon them ! wherefore should 1 curse 
Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, 
I would invent as bitter-searching terms. 
As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, 
Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth, 
With full as many signs of deadly hate. 
As leaufac'd Envy in her loathsome cave : 
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words: 
Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint ; 
My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract ; 
Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban : 
And even now my burden'd heart would break, 
Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink ! 
Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste ! 
Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees! 
Their chiefest prospect, murdering basilisks ! 
Their softest touch, as smart as lizards' stings ! 
Their music, frightful as tlie serpent's hiss ; 
And boding screech-owls make the concert full! 
All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell — [thyself; 

Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk ; thou torment'st ^ 



And these dread curses — like the sun 'gainst glass, 
Or like an overcharged gun, recoil. 
And turn the force of them upon thyself. 

Suf. Your bade me ban, and will you bid me leave? 
Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from. 
Well could I curse away a winter's night. 
Though standing naked on a mountain top, 
W^here biting cold would never let grass grow. 
And think it but a minute spent in sport. 

Q. Ma>-. O, letme entreat thT;e, cease ! Give me thy 
That I may dew it with my mournful tears ; [hand. 
Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place, 
To wash away my woeful monuments. 
O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand ; 

[Kisses his hand. 
That thou might'st think upon these by the seal. 
Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for thee! 
So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief: 
'Tis but surmis'd whilst thou art standing by, 
As one that surfeits thinking on a want. 
I will repeal thee, or, be well assured. 
Adventure to be banished myself: 
And banished 1 am, if but from thee. 
Go, speak not to me ; even now be gone. — 
O, go not yet !^ — Even thus two friends condemn'd 
Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, 
Loather a hundred times to part than die. 
Yet now farewell ; and farewell life with thee i 

Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished, 
Once by the king, and three times thrice by tiiee. 
'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou hence ; 
A wilderness is populous enough, 
So Suffolk had thy heavenly company : 
For where thou art, there is the world itself. 
With every several pleasure in the world ; 
And where thou art not, desolation. 
I can no more : — Live thou to joy thy life ; 
Myself no joy in nought, but that thou liv'st 

Enter Vaux. 

Q. Mar. Whither goes Vaux so fast? what news, I 

VauT. To signify unto his majesty, [pr'ythee? 
That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death : 
For suddenly a grievous sickness took him. 
That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air, 
Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth. 
Sometime, he talks as if duke Humphrey's ghost 
Were by his side ; sometime, he calls the king, 
And whispers to his pillow, as to him. 
The secrets of his overcharged soul : 
And I am sent to tell his majesty. 
That even now he cries aloud for him. 

Q. Mar. Go tell this heavy message to the king. 

[Exit Yai'x. 
Ah me ! what is this world 1 what news are these ? 
But wherefore grieve 1 at an hour's poor loss. 
Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure? 
Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, 
And with the southern clo\ids contend in tears ; 
Their's for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows? 
Now, get thee hence ; The king thou know'st, is com- 
If thou be found by me, thou art but dead. [ing? 

Suf. If I depart from thee, I cannot live : 
And in thy sight to die, what were it else. 
But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap ? 
Here could I breathe my soul into the air. 
As mild and gentle as the cradle- babe. 
Dying with mother's dug between its lips : 
Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad, 
And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes 
To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth ; 
So should'st thou either turn mj flying soul, 



438 



KING HENRY VI.— PART II. 



Or I should breathe it so into thy body, 
And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium. 
To die by thee, were but to die in jest ; 
Fiom thee to die, were torture more than death : 
O, let me stay, befall v/hat may befall. 

Q. Mar. Away! chough parting be a fretful corrosive, 
Jt is applied to a deathful wound. 
I'o France, sweet Suftblk : Let me hear from thee ; 
For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe, 
I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out. 

St,f. I go. 

Q. Mar. And take my heart with thee. 

Siif. A jewel, lock'd into the woeful'st cask 
That ever did contain a thing of worth. 
Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we ; 
This way fall I to death. 

Q. Mar. This way for me. [^Exeunt, severally. 

SCENE III. 
London. — Cardinal Beaufort's Bed-Chamber. 

Enter King Hknry, Salisbury, Warwick, S) otiiers. 
The Cardinal in bed ; Attendants with him. 

K. Hen, How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to 
thy sovereign. [treasure, 

Car. If thou be'st death, I '11 give thee England's 
Enough to purchase such another island. 
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. 

K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, 
"When death's approach is seen so terrible! 

War, Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. 

Car. Bring me unto my trial, when you will. 
Died he not in his bed 1 where should he die ? 
Can I make men live, wlie'r they will or no ? — 
O ! torture me no more, I will confess. — 
Alive again t then shew me where he is ; 
I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him. — 
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them. — 
Comb down his hair ; look! look! it stands upright, 
Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul ! — 
Give me some drink ; and bid the apothecary 
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. 

A'. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens, 
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch ! 
O, beat away the busy meddling fiend, 
That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul. 
And from his bosom purge this black despair ! 

War. See how the pangs of death do make him grin. 

Sal. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably. 

K.Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be ! 
Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, 
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. — 
He dies, and makes no sign ; O God, forgive him ! 

War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. 

K, Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. — 
Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close ; 
And let us all to meditation. [£aeu»it. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — Kent. The sea-shore near Dover. 

Firing heard at sea. Then enter from a boat, a Cap- 
tain, o Master, a Master's-Mate, Walter Wiiit- 
MORE, and others; with them Suffolk, and other 
Gentlemen, prisoners. 

Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day 
Is crept into the bosom of the sea ; 
And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades 
That drag the tragic melancholy night ; 
Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings 



Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws 
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. 
Therefore, bring forth the soldiers of our prize ; 
For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs, 
Here shall they make their ransome on the sand, 
Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore. — 
Master, tiiis prisoner freely give I thee ; — 
And thou that art his mate, make boot of this ; — 
The other [pointiiii; to Suffolk,] Walter Whitmore, 
is thy share. 
1 Gent. What is my ransome, master? let me know. 
Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your 

head. 
Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours. 
Cap. What, think you much to pay two thousand 
crowns. 
And bear the name and port of gentlemen ? — 
Cut both the villains' throats ; — for die you shall ; 
The lives of those which we have lost in fight. 
Cannot be coXinterpois'd with such a petty sum. 
1 Gent. I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life. 
^2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it straight. 
Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the priz.e aboard. 
And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die ; [To Sur. 
And so should these, if I might have my will. 
Cap. Be not so rash ; take ransome, let him live. 
6'i(/. Look on my George, I am a gentleman ; 
Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. 
Whit, And so am I ; my name is — Walter Whit- 
more. [fright? 
How now ? why start'st thou ? what, doth death af- 
Suf. 'I'by name affrights me, in whose sound is death. 
A cunning man did calculate my birth. 
And told me — that by Water I should die : 
Yet let not this make thee be bloody minded ; 
Thy name is — Gualtier, being rightly sounded. 

)Yhit. Gualtier, or Walter, which it is, 1 care not; 
Ne'er yet did base dishonour blur our name, 
But with our sword we wip'd away the blot ; 
Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge. 
Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd, 
And I proclaim'd a coward through the world 

[Lays hold on Suffolk 
Siif. Stay, Whitmore ; for thy prisoner is a prince. 
The duke of Suftblk, William de la Pole. 

Whit. The duke of Suffolk, mufHed up in rags ! 
Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke ; 
Jove sometime went disguis'd, and why not I ? 
Cap. liut .love was never slain, as thou shalt be. 
Suf. Obscure and lowly swain, king Henry's blood, 
The honourable blood of Lancaster, 
Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. 
Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrupl 
1 Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule, 
' And thought thee happy when I shook my head ? 
; How often hast thou waited at my cup. 
Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board, 
M hen I have feasted with queen Margaret? 
Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fall'n ; 
Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride : 
How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood, 
And duly waited for my coming forth ? 
i This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf, 
! And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue. 
j Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain ? 
Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath me. 
Suf. Base slave! thy words are blunt, and so art thou. 
Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's sid« 
Strike oflF his head. 

Suf. Thou dar'st not for thy own. 

Cap, Yes, Poole. 

Suf. Poole 1 




KING HENRY VI.—PART II. 



C\T)7. We JotiD Cade, so termed cf our supposed father 

/tf( IV.. Sr/nt i 



ACT IV.-SCENE II. 



489 



Cap. Poole'! Sir Poole? lord? 

Ay, kennel, puddle, sink ; whose filth and dirt 
Troubles the silver spriag where England drinks. 
Now will 1 darn up this thy yawning mouth, 
For swallowing the treasure of the realm : 
Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the ground : 
And thou, that smil'dst at good duke Humphrey's 
Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain, [death, 
Who, in contempt, shall hiss at thee again: 
And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, 
For daring to afl'y a mighty lord 
Unto the daughter of a worthless king, 
Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. 
By devilish policy art thou grown great, 
And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd 
With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart. 
By thee, Anjou and Maine were sold to France : 
The false revolting Normans, thorough thee. 
Disdain to call us lord ; and Picardy 
Hatb slain their governors, surpriz'd our i'orts. 
And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. 
The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all, — 
Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain, — 
As hating thee, are rising up in arms : 
And now the house of York — thrust from the crown, 
By shameful murder of a guiltless king. 
And lofty proud encroaching tyranny, — 
Burns with revenging fire ; whose hopeful colours 
Advance our lialf-fac'd sun, striving to shine, 
Under the whicii is writ — Invitis nubibus. 
The commons here in Kent are up in arms : 
And, to conclude, reproach, and beggary, 
Is crept into the palace of our king. 
And all by thee : — Away ! convey him hence. 

Siif. O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder 
Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges ! 
Small things make base men proud : this villain here, 
Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more 
Than Baigulus the strong Illyrian pirate. 
Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives. 
It is impossible, that I should die 
By such a lowly vassal as thyself. 
Thy words move rage, and not remorse in me : 
I go of message from the queen to France ; 
I charge thee, waft me safely cross the channel. 

Cap. Walter, 

fVhit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. 

Suf, Gelidus tiiiwr occiipat aitiis: — 'tis thee 1 fear. 

Whit. Thou shalt have cause to fear, before I 
leave thee. 
What, are ye daunted now ? now will ye stoop 1 

I Gent, My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him 
fair. 

Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough, 
Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour. 
Far be it, we should honour such as these 
With humble suit : no, rather let my head 
Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any. 
Save to the God of heaven, and to my king; 
And sooner dance upon a bloody pole, 
Than stand uncovered to the vulgar groom. 
True nobility is exempt from fear : — 
Llore can I bear, than you dare execute. 

Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. 

Suf. Come, soldiers, shew what cruelty ye can. 
That this my death may never be forgot ! — 
Great men oft die by vile bezonians : 
A Roman sworder and banditto slave, 
Murdered sweet L'ully ; Brutus' bastard hand 
Stabb'd Julius Caesar ; savage islanders, 
Pompey the great : and Suffolk dies by pirates. 

[Exit SuF. with Whit, and others. 



Cap. And as for these whose ransome we have set. 

It is our pleasure, one of them depart : — 
Therefore come you with us, and let him go. 

lExeunt all but the Jint Gentleman 

Re-enter Wiiitmore, with Suffolk's body, 

Whit. There let his head and lifeless body lie, 
Until the queen his mistress bury it. [Ka/f. 

1 Gent. O barbarous and bloody spectacle ! 
His body will I bear unto the king : 
If he revenge it not, yet will his friends ; 
So will the queen, that living held him dear. 

\Exit, icith liic body. 

SCENE II.— Blackheath. 
Enter George Bevis and John Holland. 

Geo. Come, and get thee a sword, though made of 
a lath ; they have been up these two days. 

John. They have the more need to sleep now then. 

Geo. I tell thee. Jack Cade the clothier means to 
dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new 
nap upon it. 

John. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, 
I say, it was never merry world in England, since 
gentlemen came up. 

Geo. O miserable age ! Virtue is not regarded in 
handycrafts-men. 

John. The nobility think scorn to go in leather 
aprons. 

Geo. Nay more, the king's council are no good 
workmen. 

John. True ; and yet it is said, — Labour in tliy 
vocation : which is as much to say, as, — let the ma- 
gistrates be labouring men ; and therefore should we 
be magistrates. 

Geo. Thou hast hit it : for there's no better sign 
of a brave mind, than a hard hand. 

John. I see them ! I see them! There's Best's son, 
the tanner of Wingham ; 

Geo. He shall have the skins of our enemies, to 
make dog's leatlier of. 

John. And Dick the butcher, — 

Geo. Then is sin struck down like an ox, and ini- 
quity's throat cut like a calf. 

John. And Smith the weaver. 

Geo. Argo, their thread of life is spun. 

John, Come, come, let's fall in with them. 

Drum. Enter Cade, Dick the butcher, Smith the 
weaver, and others in great number. 

Cade. We John Cade, so termed of our supposed 
father, 

Dick, Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings. 

[ jsu/e. 

Cade. — for our enemies shall fall before us, in- 
spired with the spirit of putting down kings and 
princes, — Command silence. 

Dick. Silence ! 

Cade. My father was a Mortimer, — 

Dick. He was an honest man, and d good brick- 
layer. {Aiide. 

Cade. My mother a Plantagenet, — 

Dick. I knew her well, she was a midwife. \^Aside. 

Cade, IMy wife descended of the Lacies, — 

Dick. She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and 
sold many laces. [Aside. 

Smith. But, now of late, not able to travel with 
her furred pack, sne washes bucks here at home. 

[.'l.side. 

Cade. Therefore am I of an honourable house. 

Dick. xVy, by my faith, the field is honourable; and 



4.00 



KING HENRY VI.-PART II. 



there was he born, under a hedge ; for liis father had 
never a house, but the cage. [Aside. 

Cade. Valiant 1 am. 

Smilh. 'A must needs ; for beggary is valiant. 

[Aside. 

Cade. I am able to endure much. 

Dick. No question of tliat ; for I have seen him 
whipped three market days together. [Aside. 

Cade. I fear neither sword nor fire. 

Smilh. He need not fear the sword, for his coat is 
of proof. [Aside. 

Dick. But, methinl;s, he should stand in fear of fire, 
being burnt i' the hand for stealmg of sheep. [Aside. 

Cade. Be brave then ; for your captain is brave, 
and vows reformation. There shall be, in England, 
seven half-penny loaves sold for a penny: the three- 
hooped pot shall have ten hoops ; and 1 will make it 
felony, to drink small beer: all the realm shall be in 
common, and in Cheapside shall my palfry go to 
grass. And, when 1 am king, (as king i will be) — 

All. God save your majesty ! 

Cade. I thank you, good people: — there shall be 
no money ; all shall cat and diink on my score ; and 
I will apparel them all in one livery, that they may 
agree like brothers, and worship me their lord. 

Dick. The first thing we do, let'skill all the lawyers. 

Cade. Nay, that 1 mean to do. Is not this a la- 
mentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent lamb 
should be made parchment 1 that parchment, being 
scribbled o'er, should undo a man! Some say, the 
beestings : but I say, 'tis the bee's wa.x, for I did 
but seal once to a thing, and 1 was never mine own 
man since. How now ! who "s there 1 

Enter seme, bringing in the Clerk o/" Chatham. 

Smith. The clerk of Chatham : he can wiite and 
read, and cast accompt. 

Cade. O monstrous ! 

Smith. We took him setting of boys' copies. 

Cade. Here's a villain 1 

Smith. H'as a book in his pocket, with red letters 
in't. 

Cade. Nav, then he is a conjurer. 

Dick. Nay, he can make obligations, and write 
court-hand. 

Cade. 1 am sorry for't : the man is a proper man, 
on mine honour ; unless I find him guilty, he shall 
not die, — Come liither, sirrah, 1 must examine thee : 
What is thy name ! 

Clerk. Enimanuel. 

Dick. They use to write it on the top of letters ; — 
'Twill go hard with you. 

Cade. Let me alone: — Dost thou use to write thy 
name? or hast ihou a maik to thyself, like an hone.st 
plain-dealing man 1 

Clerk. Sir, 1 thank God, I have been so well 
brought up, that 1 can write my name. 

All. He hath confessed: away with liim ; he's a 
villain, and a traitor. 

Cade. Away with him, I say : hang him with his 
pen and inkhorn about his neck. 

[Exeunt some with the Clerk. 

Enter MictnEL. 

Mich. Where's our general ? 

Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow. 

Mich. Fly, fly, fly ! sir Humphrey Stafford and his 
brother are hard by, with the king's forces. 

Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or 1 '11 fell thee down : 
He shall be encountered with a man as good as him- 
self : He is but a knight, is 'a ? 

Mich. No. 



Cade. To equal him, I will make myself a knight 
presently ; Rise up sir John Mortnner, Now have 
at him. 

Enter Sir Hi'mphrf.y Stafford, and William his 
brother, with drum and Forces. 

Staf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, 
Mark'd for the gallows, — lay your weapons down, 
Home to your cottages, forsake this groom ; — 
The king is merciful, if you revolt. 

W. Staf, But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to blood, 
If you go forward : Therefore yield, or die. 

Cade. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not : 
It is to you, good people, that I speak. 
O'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign 
For I am rightful heir unto the crown- 

Staf. Villain, thy father was a plasterer ; 
And thou thyself, a shearman. Art thou not I 

Cade. And Adam was a gardener. 

W. Staf. And what of that ? 

Cade. Marry this : Edmund Mortimer, earl of March, 
Married the duke of Clarence' daughter; — Did he not? 

Staf Ay, sir. 

Cade. By her, he had two children at one birth 

TF.5£(//. That's false. 

Cade. Ay, there's the question ; but, I say, 'tis true 
The elder of them, being put to nurse. 
Was by a beggar-woman stol'n away; 
And, ignorant of his birth and parentage. 
Became a bricklayer, when he came to age : 
His son am I ; deny it, if you can. 

Dick. Nay, 'tis too true ; therefore he shall be king 

Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house, 
and the bricks are alive at this day to testify it ; there- 
fore, deny it not. 

Staf And will you credit this base drudge's words. 
That speaks he knows not what 1 

All. Ay, marry, will we ; therefore get ye gone. 

W. Staf. Jack Cade, the duke of York hath taught 
you this. 

Cade. He lies, for I invented it myself. [Aside. — 
Go to, sirrah, Tell the king from me, that — for his 
father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose time boys 
went to span-counter for French crowns. — I am con- 
tent he shall reign ; but I'll be protector over him. 

Dick. And, furthermore, we'll have the lord Say's 
head, for selling the dukedom of Maine. 

Cade. And good reason, for thereby is England 
maimed, and fain to go with a staff, but that my 
puissance liolds it up. Fellow kings, I tell you, that 
that lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth, and 
made it an eunuch : and more than that, he can 
speak French, and therefore he is a traitor. 

Staf. gross and miserable ignorance ! 

Cade, Nay, answer, if you can: The Frenchmen 
are our enemies : go to then, I ask but this ; Can he, 
that speaks with the tongue of an enemy, be a good 
counsellor, or no ? 

Ail. No, no; and therefore we'll have his head. 
W.Staf Well, -eeing gentle words will not pre- 
Assail them with the army of the king. [vail, 

Stat'. Herald, away : and, throughout every town. 
Proclaim ihem traitors that are up with Cade ; 
That those, which fly before the battle ends. 
May, even in their wives' and children's sight, 
Be hang'd up for exam))le at their dooi-s : — 
And you, that be the king's friends, follow me. 

[Exeunt the t wo Si atfortis, and Forces. 
Cade. And you, that love the commons, follow me. — 
Now shew yourselves men, 'tis for liberty. 
We will not leave one lord, one gentleman • 
Spare none, but such as go in clouted shooa ; 



ACT IV.— SCENE VI. 



491 



For they are thrifty honest men, and such 

As would (but that liiey dare not,) take our parts. 

Dick. Tliey are all in order, and march toward us. 

Cade. But then are we in order, when we are most 
out of order. Come, march forward. [Eieunt. 

SCENE 111.— Another Part of Blackheath. 

Alarum, The two parties enter and fight, and both 
the Staffouds are slain. 

Cade. Where 's Dick, the butclier, of Ashford 1 

Dick. Here, sir. 

Cade. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, 
and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in 
tliine own slaughter-house : therefore thus will 1 re- 

D ... 

ward thee ; — The Lent sliall be as long again as it is ; 
and thou shall have a license to kill for a hundred 
lacking one. 

Dick. I desire no more. 

Cade. And, to spe.ik truth, thou deservest no less. 
This monument of the victory will I bear ; and the 
bodies shall be dragged at my horse' heels, till I do 
come to London, where we will have the mayor's 
sword borne before us, 

Dick. If we mean to thrive and do good, break 
open the gaols, and let out the prisoners* 

Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let's 
march towards London. [Kieant. 

SCENE IV. — London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry, reading a supplication ; the 
Duke of Buckingham, a)id Loud Say, with him; 
at a distance, Queen Margauet, mourning over 
Suffolk's head. 

Q. Mar. Oft have I heard — that grief softens the 
And makes it fearful and degenerate ; [mind ; 

Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep. 
But wiio can cease to weep, and look on this ! 
Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast : 
But where 's the body that 1 should embrace? 

Buck. What answer makes your grace to the rebels' 
supplication ? 

A'. Hen. I '11 send some holy bishop to entreat : 
For God forbid, so many simple souls 
Should perish by the sword ! And I myself. 
Rather than bloody war should cut them short, 
\V'ill parley with Jack Cade their general. — 
But stay, I'll read it over once again. 

Q Mar. Ah, barbarous villains ! hath this lovely 
Rul'd, like a wandering planet, over me : [face 

And could it not enforce them to relent, 
'J'hat were unworthy to beiiold the same? 

A'. Hen. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have 
thy head. 

Say. Ay, but I hope, your highness shall have his. 

A'. Hen. How now, madam? Still 
Lamenting, and mourning for Suffolk's death 1 
1 fear, my love, if that I had been dead. 
Thou wouldest not have mourn'd so much for me. 

Q. Mar. No, my love, I should not mourn, but die 
for thee. 

Etiter a Messenger. 

K. Hen. How now ! what news ? why com st thou 
in such haste ? 

Mess. The rebels are m Southwark ; Fly, my lord ! 
Jick Cade proclaims himself lord INIortiiner, 
Descended from the duke of Clarence' house ; 
And calls your grace usurper, openly. 
And vows to crown himself in Westminster. 
His army is a ragged multitude 



Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless : 
Sir Humplirey Stafford and his brother's death 
Hath given ihem heart and courage to proceed ; 
All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen 
They call — false caterpillars, and intend their death. 

A'. Hen. O graceless men ! they know not wnat 
they do. 

Buck. Wy gracious lord, retire to Kenelworth, 
Until a power be rais'd to put them down. 

Q. Miir. Ah ! were the duke of Suffolk now alive, 
These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd. 

A'. Hen. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee, 
Therefore away with us to Kenelworth. 

Say. So might your grace's person be in danger ; 
The sight of me is odious in their eyes ; 
And therefore in tliis city will I stay. 
And live alone as secret as 1 may. 

Enter another Messenger. 

2 Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London-bridge ; the 
Fiy and forsake their houses ; [citizens 

The rascal people, thirsting after prey, 
Join with the traitor ; and tiiey jointly swear. 
To spoil the city, and your royal court. 

Buck. Then linger not, my lord ; away, take Imrse. 

A'. Hen. Come, Margaret ; God, our hope, will 
succour us. 

Q. Mar, My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceas'd. 

A'. Hen, Farewell, my lord; [to Loud Say.] tru.s1 
not the Kentish rebels. 

Buck. Trust no body, for fear you be betray 'd. 

Sau. The trust I have is in mine innocence. 
And therefore am I bold and resolute. [Exeunt. 

SCENE Y.—The same. The Tower. 

Enter Lord Scales, and others, on the walls. 
Then enter certain Citizens, below. 

Scales. How now? is Jack Cade slain 1 
1 Cif. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain ; for they 
have won the bridge, killing all those that withstand 
them : The lord mayor craves aid of your honour 
from the Tower, to defend the city from the rebels. 
Scales. Such aid as I can spare, you shall command; 
But I am troubled here with them myself, 
I'he rebels have assay'd to win the Tower. 
15ut get you to Smitlifield, and gather head. 
And thither I will send you Matthew Gough . 
Fight for your king, your country, and your lives ; 
And so farewell, for I must hence again. [Eietmt. 



SCENE VL— The same. 



Cannon-street. 

He itrikes his 



Enter Jack Cadf, and his Followers, 
staff' on London-stone. 

Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And 
here, sitting upon London-stone, I charge and com- 
mand, that, of the city's cost, the pissing conduit run 
nothing but claret wine this first year of our reign. 
And- now, henceforward, it shall be treason for any 
that calls me other than — lord Mortimer. 

Enter a Soldier, running. 

Sold. Jack Cade ! Jack Cade ! '^ 

Cade. Knock him down there. [Theii hill him- 

Smith. If this fellow be wise, he'll never call you 

Jack Cade more ; I think, he hath a very fair warning 
Dick. My lord, there's an army gathered together 

in Smithfield. 

Cade. Come then, let's go fight with them : But, 

first, go and set I-ondon-bridge on fire ; and, if you 

can, burn down the Tower too. Come, let's away. [Ex 



492 



KING HENRY VI.— PART II. 



SCENE Vll.—The same. Smithfield. 

Alarum. Enter, on one side. Cade and his compani/ ; 
on tlie other. Citizens, and the Kino's Forces, 
headed by Matthf.w Gough. T/iei/ ^fight ; the 
Citizens are routed, and Matthew Gough is slain. 

Cade. So, sirs: Now go some and pull down the Sa- 
voy ; others to the inns of court ; down with them all. 

Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship. 

Cade. Be it a lordship, thou shall have it for that 
word. 

Dick. Only, that the laws of England may come 
out of your mouth. 

John. ]Mass, 'twill be sore law then ; for he was 
thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not whole 
yet. [Aside. 

Smith. Nay, John, it will be stinking law ; for his 
breath stinks with eating toasted cheese. [Aside. 

Cade. I have thought upon it, it shall be so. Away, 
burn all the records of the realm ; my mouth shall 
be the parliament of England. 

John. Then we are like to have biting statutes, 
unless his teeth be pulled out. [Aside. 

Cade. And henceforward all things shall be in 
common. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. IMy lord, a prize, a prize ! here's the loid 
Say, which sold the towns in France ; he that made 
us pay one arid twenty fifteens, and one shilling to 
the pound, the last subsidy. 

Enter George Bevis, with the Lord Say. 

Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times, 
—Ah, thou say, thou serge, nay, thou buckram lord! 
now art thou within point blank of our jurisdiction 
regal. What canst thou answer to my majesty, for 
giving up of Normandy unto monsieur Basimecu, the 
dauphin of France 1 Be it known unto thee, by these 
presence, even the presence of lord Mortuuer, that I 
am the besom that must sweep the court clean of 
Euch filth as thou art. Thou hast most traitorously 
corrupted the youth of the realm, in erecting a gram- 
mar-school : and whereas, before, our fore-fathers 
had no other books but the score and the tally, thou 
hast caused printing to be used ; and, contrary to 
the king, his crown and dignity, thou hast built a 
paper-mill. It will be proved to thy face, that thou 
hast men about thee, that usually talk of a noun, and 
a verb ; and such abominable words, as no Christian 
ear can endure to hear. Thou hast appointed justices 
of peace, to call poor men before them about matters 
they were not able to answer. IMoreover, thou hast 
put them in prison ; and because they could not read, 
thou nast hanged them; when, indeed, only for that 
cause they have been most worthy to live. Thou dost 
ride on a foot-cloth, dost thou not"! 

i'uy. What of that? 

Cade- Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse 
wear a cloak, when honester men than thou go in 
their hose and doublets. 

Dick And work in their shirt too; as myself, for 
example, that am a butcher. 

6V(V- ^ ou men of Kent, — 

D^k. What say you of Kent"! 

Sail. Nothing but this : 'Tis bona terra, mala gens. 

Cade. Away with him, away with him! he speaks 
Latin. 

Sau. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you 
Kent, in the commentaries Cffisar writ, [will. 

Is term'd the civil'st place of all this isle : 
Sweet is the country, because full of riches ; 
The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy , 



Which makes me hope you are not void of pity. 
I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy ; 
Yet, to recover them, would lose my life, 
.[ustice with favour have I always done ; 
Prayers and tears have mov'd me, gifts could never. 
When have I aught exacted at your hands'? 
Bent to maintain the king, the realm, and you. 
Large gifts have 1 bestow'd on learned clerks, 
Because my book preferr'd me to the king : 
And — seeing ignorance is the curse of God, 
Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven, — 
Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits. 
You cannot but forbear to murder me. 
Tliis tongue hath parley 'd unto foreign kings 
For your behoof, — 

Cade.Tnt ! when struck'st thou one blow in the field ? 
Sail. Great men have reaching hands : oft have I 
struck 
Those that I never saw, and struck them dead, [folks? 
Geo. O monstrous coward! what, to come behind 
Say. These cheeks are pale for watching for your 

good. 
Cade. Give him a box o'the ear, and that will make 
'em red again. 

Sail. Long sitting to determine poor men's causes 
Hath made me full of sickness and diseases. 

Cade. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then, and 
the pap of a hatchet. 

Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man 1 
Sail. The palsy, and not fear, provoketh me. 
Cade. Nay, he nods at us; as who should say, I'll 
be even with you. I'll see if his head will stand 
steadier on a pole, or no : Take him away, and be- 
head him. 

Sail. Tell me, wherein I have offended mostl 
Have I affected wealth, or honour ; speak? 
Are my chests fill'd up with e.xtorted gold 1 
Is my apparel sumptuous to behold 1 
Whom have I injur'd, that ye seek my death ? 
These hands are free from guiltless blood-shedding, 
This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts. 
O, let me live I 

Cade. I feel remorse in myself with his words: but 
I'll bridle it ; he shall die, an it be but for pleading 
so well for his life. Away with him ! he has a fami- 
liar under his tongue ; he speaks not o'God's name. 
Go, take him away, I say, and strike ofT his head pre- 
sently ; and then break into his son-in-law's house, 
sir James Cromer, and strike off his head, and bring 
them both upon two poles hither. 
All. It shall be done. 

Say. Ah, countrymen I if when you make your 
God should be so obdurate as yourselves, [prayers. 
How would it fare with your departed souls ! 
And therefore yet relent, and save my life. 

Cade. Away with him, and do as I command ve. 
[Eieunt some, with Lord) Sav. 
The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head 
on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute ; tiiere 
shall not a maid be married, but she shall pay to me 
her maidenhead ere tiiey have it : Men shall hold of 
me in cajiite ; and we charge and command, that their 
wives he as free as heart can wish, or tongue can tell. 
Dick. My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside, 
and take up commodities upon our bills 1 
Cade. j\larry, presently. 
All. O brave 1 

Reenter Rebels, with the heads ofLor.D Say 
and his Son-in-iaw. 

Cade. But is not this braver? — Let them kiss one 
another, for they loved well, when they were alive. 



ACT IV.— SCENE IX. 



40:i 



Kow part them again, lest they consult about the 
giving up of some more towns in France. Soldiers, 
defer the spoil of the city until night : for with these 
borne before us, instead of maces, will we ride 
through tlie streets ; and, at every corner, have them 
kiss. — Away ! IK.xeuja. 

SCENE VIII.— Southwark. 

Alarum. Enter C-AnE, and all his Rabblement. 

Cade. Up Fish-street ! down Saint Magnus' corner ! 
kill and knock down! tiirow tliem into tlie Thames! 
— [^ paileii sounded, then a retreat.] \\ hat noise is 
this 1 hearl Dare any be so bold to sound retreat or 
parley, when I command them kill I 

Enter Buckingham, and Old Clifiord, with Farces. 

Buck. Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb 
thee ; 
Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king 
Llnto the commons, whom thou hast misled ; 
And here pronounce free pardon to them ail, 
That will forsake thee, and go home in peace. 

67//'. What say ye, countrymen? will ye relent, 
And yield to mercy, whilst 'tis ofter'd you ; 
Or let a rabble lead you to your deaths ] 
Who loves the king, and will embrace his pardon. 
Fling up his cap, and say — God save his majesty! 
Who hateth him, and honours not his father, 
Henry the fifth, that made all France to quake. 
Shake he his weapon at us, and pass by. 

All, God save the king ! God save the king ! 

Cade. What, Buckingham, and Clifiord, are ye so 
brave 1 — And you base peasants, do ye believe him? 
will you needs be hanged with your pardons about 
your necks? Hath my sword therefore broke through 
London Gates, tliat you should leave me at the White 
Hart in Southwark? 1 thought, ye would never have 
given out these arms, till you had recovered your an- 
cient freedom: but you are all recreants, and das- 
tards ; and delight to live in slavery to the nobility. 
Let them break your backs with burdens, take your 
houses over your heads, ravish your wives and daugh- 
ters before your faces : For me, — 1 will make siiift 
for one ; and so — God's curse light upon you all ! 

All. We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade. 

Clif. Is Cade the son of Henry the fifth, 
That thas you do exclaim — you'll go with him ? 
Will he conduct you througli the heart of France, 
And make the meanest of you earls and dukes? 
Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to ; 
Nor knows he how to live, but by the spoil, 
I'nless by robbing of your friends, and us. 
^Ver't not a shame, that whilst you live at jar, 
The feaiful French, whom you late vanquished, 
Should make a start o'er seas, and vanquish you ? 
I\Iethinks already, in this civil broil, 
I see them lording it in London streets. 
Crying — l'(//(/^(?r)is .' unto all tliey meet. 
Better, ten thousand base born Cades miscarry. 
Then you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy. 
To France, to France, and get what you have lost ; 
Spare F^ngland, for it is your native coast : 
Henry hatli money, you are sl^rong and manly ; 
God on our side, doubt not of victory. 

.1//. A Clifford ! a Clifford ! we'll follow the king, 
and Clifford. 

Cade. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and 
fro, as this multitude ! ll>e name of Henry the fifth 
hales them to an hundred mischiefs, and makes them 
leave me desolate. I see them lay their heads toge- 
ther, to surprize nie : tny sword make way for me, for 



here is no staying. — In despight of the devils and hell, 
have through the veiy midst of you ! and heavens 
and honour be witness, that no want of resolution in 
me, but only my followers' base and ignominious 
treasons, makes me betake me to my heels [Ejit. 
Buck. What, is he fled? go, some, and follow him ; 
And he, that brings his head unto the king. 
Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward. — 

[ Kieniit some of them. 
Follow me, soldiers ; we"!! devise a mean ; 
To reconcile you all unto the king. \_Exeunt, 



-Kenelworth Castle. 
Ql'efn iNlAncARET, and 



SCENE IX.- 

Enter King Hkn'ry, 

SoMEHSET, on the terrace of the Castle. 

K, Hen.Was ever king, that joy'dan earthly throne, 
And could command no more content than 1 ? 
No sooner was 1 crept out of my cradle. 
But 1 was made a king, at nine months old : 
Was never subject long'd to be a king. 
As I do long and wish to be a subject. 

Enter Buckingham and CLirronD. 
Buck. Health, and glad tidings, to your majesty 1 
K. Hen. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor Cade sur- 
Or is he but retir'd to make him strong ? [priz'd 1 

Enter, below, a great 7inmber of Cade's Followers, 
with halters about their necks. 

Clif. He's fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield ; 
And humbly thus, with halters on their necks. 
Expect your highness' doom, of life, or death. 

A. Hen. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates, 
To entertain my vows of thanks and praise ! — 
Soldiers, this day have you redeem'd your lives. 
And shevv'd how well you love your prince and coun- 
Continue still in this so good a mind, ['ry : 

And Henry, though he be infortunate. 
Assure yourselves, will never be unkind ; 
And so, with thanks, and pardon to you all, 
1 do dismiss you to your several countries. 

All. God save the king ! God save tlie king ! 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Please it your grace to be adv<;rtised. 
The duke of York is newly come from Ireland : 
And with a puissant and a mighty power, 
Of Gallowglasses, and stout Kernes, 
Is marching hitherward in proud array ; 
And still proclaimeth, as he comes along. 
His arms are only to remove from thee 
The duke of Soiuerset, whom he terms a traitor. 

A'. Hen. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and Vork 
distress'd ; 
Like to a ship, tliat having 'scap'd a tempest. 
Is straitway calm'd and boarded with a pirate : 
But now is Cade driven back, his men dispers'd ; 
And now is York in arms to second him. — 
I pray thee, Buckingham, go forth and meet him: 
And ask him, what's the reason of these arms. 
Tell him, I'll send duke Edmund to the Tower ? — 
And, Somerset, we will conmiit thee thither. 
Until his army be dismiss'd from him. 

Som. ]My lord, 
I'll yield myself to prison willingly. 
Or unto death, to do my country good. 

A'. Hen. In any case, be not too rough m terms ; 
For he is fierce, and cannot brook hard lansuacre. 

Buck. I Will, my lord ; and doubt not so to deal. 
As all things shall redound unto your good. [ter ; 

A'. Hen. Come,wife, let's in, and learn to govern bet- 
For yet may England curse my wretched reign. 

lEieu7it. 



494 



KING HENRY VI.— PART II. 



SCENE X.— Kent. Iden's Garden. 
Enter Cade. 
Cade. Fye on ambition ! fye on myself ; that have 
a swcid, and yet am ready to famish ! I'hese five days 
have I hid me in these woods ; and durst not peep 
out, for all the country is lay'd for me ; but now 1 
am so hungry, that if I might have a lease of my life 
for a thousand years, I could stay no longer. Where- 
fore, on a brick- wall have I climbed into this garden ; 
to see if I can eat grass, or pick a sallet another while, 
which is not amiss to cool a man's stomach this hot 
weather. And, I think, this word sallet was born to 
do me good : for, many a time, but for a sallet, my 
brain-pan had been cleft with a brown bill ; and, 
many a time, when I have been dry, and bravely 
marching, it hath serv'd me instead of a quart-pot to 
drink in ; And now the word sallet must serve me 
to feed on. 

Enter lDEN,w(//i Servants. 

Iden. Lord, who would live tormoiled in the court, 
And may enjoy such quiet walks as these 1 
I'his small inheritance, my father left me, 
Contenteth me, and is worth a monarchy. 
I seek not to wax great by others' waning; 
Or gather wealth, 1 care not with what envy ; 
Sutticeth, that 1 have maintains my state, 
And sends the poor well pleased from my gate. 

Cade. Here's the lord of the soil come to sieze me 
for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave. 
Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand 
crowns of the king for carrying my head to him ; but 
I'll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow 
my sword like a great pin, ere thou and 1 part. 

Iden. Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be, 
I know thee not ; Why then should I betray thee ! 
Is't not enough to break into my garden. 
And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds. 
Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner, 
But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms 1 

Cade. Brave thee 1 ay, by the best blood that ever 
was broached, and beard thee too. Look on me well : 
I have eat no meat these five days : yet, come thou and 
thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as dead as 
as a door nail, 1 pray God, I may never eat grass more. 

Iden. Nay, it shall ne'er be said while England 
Tbat Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, [stands, 
Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man. 
Oppose thy stedfast gazing eyes to mine, 
See if thou canst outface me with thy looks. 
Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser ; 
Thy hand is but a finger to my fist ; 
Thy leg a stick, compared with this truncheon ; 
My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast ; 
And if mine arm be heaved in the air. 
Thy grave is digged already in tiie earth. 
As for more words, whose greatness answers words, 
Let this my sword report what speech forbears. 

Cade. By my valour, the most complete champion 
that ever l" heard. — Steel, if thou turn the edge, or 
cut not out the burlcy-boned clown in chines of beef 
ere thou sleep in thy sheath, 1 beseech God on my 
knees, thou mayest be turned to hobnails. [Theufgln. 
CAi)f.fatU.] t), 1 am slain ! famine, and no other, 
hath slain me : let ten thousand devils come against 
me, and give me but the ten meals 1 have lost, and 
I'd defy them all. Wither, garden ; and be henceforth 
a buiying place to all that do dwell in this house, be- 
cause the unconquered soul of Cade is fled. 

Iden. Is'tCade that I have slain, thatmonstroustrai- 
Sword, 1 will hallow thee for tliis thy deed, [tori 
And hang thee o'er my tomb, when I am dead: 



Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from ll»y point ; 
But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat, 
To emblaze the honour that thy master got. 

Citde. Iden, farewell ; and be proud of thy victory . 
Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best man, and 
e.xiiort all the world to be cowards ; forL that never 
feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by valour. 

[Dief 

Iden. How much thou wrong'st me, heaven, be my 
judge. 
Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee ! 
And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, 
So wish L I might thrust thy soul to hell. 
Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels 
Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave, 
And there cut ofl' thy most ungracious head ; 
Which I will bear in triumph to the king. 
Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. 

[Ejit, dragging out the hody. 



ACT V. 

SCENE L — The same. Fields between Dartford 
and Blackheath. 

Tlie King's Camp on one side. On the other, enter 
YonK attended, xvith drum and colours: his Forces 
at some distance. 

York. From Ireland thus comes York to claim his 
right, 
And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head : 
Ring, bells, aloud ; burn, bonfires, clear and bright ; 
To entertain great England's lawful king. 
Ah, sanctamajestns ! who would not buy thee dearl 
Let them obey, that know not how to rule ; 
This hand was made to handle nought but gold : 
I cannot give due action to my words. 
Except a sword, or scepter, balance it. 
A scepter shall it have, have I a soul ; 
On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France. 

Enter Buckingham. 

Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me? 
The king hath sent him sure : I must dissemble. 

Buck. York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee well. 

York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy 
Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure? [greeting. 

Buck. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege, 
To know the reason of these arms in peace ; 
Or why, thou — being a subject as I am, — 
Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn, 
Should'st raise so great a power without his leave, 
Or dare to bring thy force so near the court. 

York. Scarce can 1 speak, my choler is so^ 
great. | 

0, 1 could hew up rocks, and fight with flint, I 
I am so angry at these abject terms; j 

And now, like Ajax Telamonius, j 

On sheep and oxen could I spend my fury ! yAsidc. 
I am far better born than is the king ; 
iMore like a king, more kingly in my thoughts: 
But I must make fair weather yet a while, 
Till Henry be more weak, and I more 

strong.— 
O Buckingham, I pr'ythee, pardon me. 
That I have given no answer all this while. 
My mind was troubled with deep melancholy. 
The cause why 1 have brought this army hither, 
Is — to remove proud Somerset from the king. 
Seditious to his grace, and to the state. 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



495 



Buck, That is too much presumption on thy part: 
But if thy arms be to no otiier end, 
The king hath yielded unto thy demand ; 
The duke of Somerset is in the 'J'ower. 

York. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner] 

Buck. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner. 
York. Then, Buckingham, I dodismiss my powers. — 
Soldiers, I thank you all ; disperse yourL-elves ; 
IMeet me to-morrow in Saint George's field, 
You shall have pay, and every thing you wish. 
And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry, 
Command my eldest son, — nay, all my sons, 
As pledges of my fealty and love, 
I'll send them all as willing as T live ; 
Lands, goods, horse, armour, any tiling I have 
Is his to use, so Somerset may die 

Buck. York, 1 commend this kind submission- 
We twain will so into his highness' tent. 

Enter King Henrv, attended, 
K. Hen. Buckingham, doth York intend noharm to 

That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arml [us, 
York, lu all submission and humility, 

Yorkdoth presenthimselfuntoyourhighness. [bring? 
A'. Hen. Then what intend these forces thou dost 
York. To heave the traitor Somerset from lience ; 

And fight against ilie monstrous rebel, Cade, 

Who since I lieard to be discomfited. 

Enter Iden, ^cith Cade's hcud. 

Idcn. If one so rude, and of so mean condition, 
May pass into the presence of a king, 
Lo, 1 present your grace a traitor's head, 
The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew, 

K, Hen. The head of Cade f — Great God, how just 
O, let me view his visage being dead, [art thou ! — 
That living wrought me such exceeding trouble. 
Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him ? 

Iden. I was, an't like your majesty. 

A'. Hen. Howartthoucall'd? and whatisthydegrect 

Iden. Alexander Iden, that's my name ; 
A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king. 

Buck, So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amiss 
He were created knight for his good service. 

K. Hen. Iden, kneel down ; [He kneels.] Rise up a 
We give thee for reward a thousand marks ; [knight. 
And will, that thou henceforth attend on us. 

Iden, May Iden live to merit such a bounty, 
And never live but true unto his liege ! 

K.Hen. See, Buckingham! Somerset comes with the 
Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke, [queen; 

Enter Quee.v MAUOAnEX and Somerset. 

Q. Mitr. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his 
But boldly stand, and front him to his face. [head, 

York. How now 1 Is Somerset at liberty ? 
Then, York, unloose thy longimprison'd thoughts, 
And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart. 
Shall I endure the sight of Somerset ? — 
False king ! why hast thou broken faith with me, 
Knowing iiow hardly I can brook abuse ? 
King did I Ciill thee 1 no, thou art not king ; 
Not fit to govern and rule multitudes, 
Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor. 
That head of thine doth not become a crown ; 
Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's stafl". 
And not to grace an awful princely scepter. 
That gold must round engirt these brows of mine •, 
Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear, 
Is able with the change to kill and cure. 
Here is a hand to hold a scepter up. 
And with the same to act controlling laws. 
Give place ; by heaven, thou shalt rule no more 



O'er him whom heaven created for thj ru or, 
Som. O monstrous traitor! — f arrest thee, York, 

Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown : 

Obey, audacious traitor ; kneel for grace. 

York. Would'st have nie kneel I first let ine ask of 

If they can brook I bow a knee to man. — [these, 

Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail ; 

[Eiit anAllendanf 

[ know, ere they will have me go to ward, 

Fhey'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement. 
Q. Mar. Call hitiier Clifford ; bid him come amain, 

[Exit BUCKINGUAJI. 

)'o say, if that the bastard boys of York 
Shall be the surety for their traitor father. 

York. O blood- bespotted Neapolitan, 
Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge ! 
The sons of York, thy betters in their birth. 
Shall be their father's bail ; and bane to those 
That for my surety will refuse the boys. 

Enter Edward and Richard Plan't.aoenet, irilh 
Forces, at one side ; at the other, with Forces also, 
Old Clifford and his .Son. 

See, where they come; I'll warrant they'll make itgood. 

Q. Mar. And here comes Clifi'ord, to deny their bail. 

Clif. Health and all happiness to my lord the king ! 

[ Kneels. 

York, I thank thee, Clifford: Say, what news with 
Nay, do not fright us with an angry look : [thee? 
We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again ; 
For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee. 

Clif, This is my king, York, I do not mistake ; 
But thou mistak'st me much, to think I do : — 
To Bedlam with him! is the man grown mad? 

A'. Hen. Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious liu- 
Makes him oppose himself against his king. [mour 

Clif. He is a traitor ; let him to the Tower, 
And chop away that factious pate of his. 

Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey ; 
His sons, he says, shall give their words, for him. 

York, Will you not, sons ? 

Edw, Ay, noble father, if our words will serve. 

Rich. Andif words will not, then our weapons shall. 

Clif. \\'hy, what a brood of traitors have we here ! 

Y'ork. Look in a glass, and call thy image so ; 
I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor. — 
Call hither to the stake my two brave bears. 
That, with the very shaking of their chains, 
Th 



ey may astonish these fell lurking curs ; 



Bid Salisbury, and Warwick, come to me. 

Drvr.is, Enter Warwick and Salisbury, with Forces. 

Clif, Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears to 
And manacle the bear-ward in their chains, [death, 
If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place. 

Rich. Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur 
Run back and bite, because he was withheld ; 
Who, being suffer'd with the bear's fell paw. 
Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs, and cry'd : 
And such a piece of service will you do, 
If you oppose yourselves to match lord Warwick. 

Clif. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump, 
As crooked in thy manners as thy shape ! 

York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon. 

Clif, Take need, lest by your heat you burn youi- 
selves. 

A'. Hen, Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot tc 
Old Salisbury, — shame to thy silver hair, [bow? 

Ihou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son ! — 
What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian. 
And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles ? 
0, where is faith 1 O, where is loyalty 1 



49(i 



KING HENRY VI.— PART II. 



If it be banish J from the frosty head, 
Where slia!) it find a harbour in the earth? — 
AVilt thou go dig a grave to find out war, 
And shame thine honourable age with blood ] 
Why ai't thou old, and want'st experience? 
Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it? 
For shame ! in duty bend thy knee to me, 
That bows unto the grave with mickle ac^e. 

Sal. My lord, I have consider'd with myself 
The title of this most renowned duke ; 
And in my conscience do repute his grace 
Tile rightful heir to England's royal seat. 

A'. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me? 

Sal. 1 have. 

A'. Hen. Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an 

Sal. It is great sin, to swear unto a sin ; [oath ? 
But greater sin, to keep a sinful oath. 
Who can be bound by any solemn vow 
To do a murderous deed, to rob a man, 
To force a spotless virgin's chastity, 
To reave the orphan of his patrimony. 
To wring the widow from her cusiom'd right ; 
And have no other reason for this wrong, 
But that he was bound by a solemn oath ? 

Q. Mar. A suble traitor needs no sophister. 

K. Hen. CallBuckingham, and bid him arm himself. 

Yoi-k. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou 
I am resolv'd for death, or dignity. [hast, 

Clif. The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true. 

War. Vou were best to go to bed, and dream again. 
To keep thee from tlie tempest of the field- 

Clif. I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm, 
Than any thou canst conjure up to-day ; 
And that I'll write upon thy burgonet. 
Might I but know thee by thy household badge. 

War. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest, 
The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff, 
This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet, 
(As on a mountain-top the cedar shews, 
That keeps his leaves in spite of any stonn,^ 
Even to affright thee with the view thereof. 

Clif. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear, 
And tread it under foot with all contempt, 
Despight the bearward that protects the bear. 

Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father, 
To quell the rebels, and their 'complices. 

Rich. Fye ! charity, for shame ! speak not in spite. 
For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night. [tell. 

y. Clif Foul stigmatic, that's more than thou canst 

Rich. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell. 

[_Kxeunt severally, 

SCENE II.— Saint Alban's. 

Alarums : Excursions. Enter Warwick. 

War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls ! 
And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear. 
Now, — when the angry trumpet sounds alarm. 
And dead men's cries do fill the empty air, — 
Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me ! 
Proud northern lord, Clifford of (Jumberland, 
Warwick is hoarse with callin'r thee to arms. 

Enter York. 

IIow now, my noble lord? what all a-foot? 

York, The deadly-handed Clifl'ord slew my steed ; 
But match to match 1 have encounter'd him. 
And maile a prey for carrion kites and crows 
Even of tiie bonny beast he lov'd so well. 

Enter Clifford. 

War. Of one or both of us the time is come. 



York, Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other 
For I myself must hunt this deer to death. [chase. 

War. Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou 
As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, [fight'st. — 
It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd. 

r Flit Warwick. 

Clif, W'hat seest tl'.ou in me, York? why dost thou 
pause ? 

York. ^Vith thy brave bearing should I be in love. 
But that thou art so fast mine enemy. 

Clif. Nor should tliy prowess want praise and esteem. 
But "that 'tis shewn ignobly, and in treason. 

York. So let it help me now against thy sword. 
As I ia justice and true right express it! 

Clif My soul and body on the action both ! — 

York, A dreadful lay ! — address thee instantly. 

[Thei/fgltt, and Clifford fails. 

Clif. La fin cpuronne les osuvres. [Dies. 

York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou 
art still. 
Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will! [Exit, 
Enter Young Clifford. 

Y. Cltf. Shame and confusion ! all is on the rout ; 
Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds 
Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell. 
Whom angry heavens do m.ake their minister. 
Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part 
Hot coals of vengeance! — Let no soldier fly 
He that is truly dedicate to war. 
Hath no self love ; nor he, that loves himself. 
Hath not essentially, but by circumstance, 
The name of valour. — O, let the vile world end, 

[Seeing his dead father 
And the premised flames of the last day 
Knit earth and heaven together ! 
Now let the general trumpet blow his blast, 
Particularities and petty sounds 
To cease ! Wast thou ordained, dear father, 
To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve 
The silver livery of advised age ; 
And, in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus 
To die in ruffian battle ? — Even at this sight, 
I\Iy heart is turn'd to stone : and, while 'tis minj 
It shall be stony. York not our old men spares ; 
No more will I their babes : tears virginal 
Shall be to me even as the dew to fire ; 
And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims. 
Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. 
Henceforth, 1 will not have to do with pity : 
Meet I an infant of the house of York, 
Into as many gobbets will I cut it. 
As wild Rledea young Absyrtus did : 
In cruelty will I seek out my fame. 
Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house ; 

[Taking «p the body 
As did j^sneas old Anchises bear, ' 
So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders ; 
But then ilCneas bare a living load. 
Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. [Eiit. 

Enter Richard Plantagexet and Somerset, 
Huhtintr, and Somerset is killed. 

Rich. So, lie thou there ; — 
For, underneath an alehouse' paltry sign, 
The Castle in Saint Alban's, Somerset 
Hath made the wizard famous in his death. — 
Sword, hold thy temper : heart, be wrathful still : 
Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Erit 
Alarums : Excuisions. Enter King Henry, Queen 
Margaret, and others, retreating. 

Q. Mar. Away, my lord ! you are slow ; for shame, 
away ! 



ACT v.— SCENE III. 



497 



K. Hen. Can we outrun the heavens ? good 
Margaret, stay. [nor fly : 

Q.Mar. What are you made of? you'll not fight, 
Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence. 
To give the enemy way ; and to secure us 
By what we can, which can no more but fly. 

[Alarum afar off. 
If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom 
Of all our fortunes : but if we haply scape, 
(As well we may, if not througli your neglect,) 
We shall to London get; where you are lov'd ; 
And v/hcre this breach, now in our fortunes made. 
May readily be stopp'd. 

Enter Young Clifford. 
F. CUf. But that my heart's on future mischief 
I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly ; [set. 
But fly you must; uncurable discomfit 
Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts. 
Away, for your relief! and we will live 
To see their day, and them our fortune give ; 
Away, my lord, away ! \_Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Fields near Saint Alban's. 
Alarum : Retreat. Flourish ; then enter York, 
Richard Plantagenet, Warwick, and Sol- 
diers, with drum and colours. 
York. Of Salisbur5', who can report of him; 
That winter lion, who, in rage, forgets 
Aged contusions and all brush of time ; 
And, like a gallant in the brow of youth. 
Repairs him with occasion ? this happy day 



Is not itself, nor have we won one foot, 
If Salisbury be lost. 

Rich. My noble father, 

Three times to-day I holp him to his horse. 
Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off, 
Persuaded him from any further act : 
But still, where danger was, still there I met him ; 
And like rich hangings in a liomely house, 
So was his will in his old feeble body. 
But, noble as he is, look where he comes. 

Enter Salisbury. 

Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought 
to-day; 
By the mass, so did we all. — I thank you, Richard : 
God knows, how long it is I have to live; 
And it hath pleas'd him, that three times to-day 
You have defended me from imminent death. — 
Well, lords, we have not got that which we have : 
'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled, 
Being opposites of such repairing nature. 

York. I know, our safety is to follow them; 
For, as I hear, the king is fled to London, 
To call a present court of j)arliament. 
Let us pursue him, ere the writs go forth : — 
What says lord Warwick ? shall we after them ? 

War. After them ! nay, before them, if we can. 
Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day : 
Saint Alban's battle, won by famous York, 
Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come. — 
Sound, drums and trumpets : — and to London all : 
And more such days as these to us befall ! \_Exeunt. 



THIRD PART OF 

KING HENRY VI. 



This historical drima.like the preceding one. was not printed 
in its present form till it appeared in the folio edition of our 
author's works, in 1(523. It was formed on ajdayby Marlowe, 
or by Marlowe. Teele, and Greene, called The True Tragedy 
qf Kichard Duke of York.ayid the good King Henry the Sixth y 
or. The Second Part of the Contention of York and Lancaster. 
Shakspeare's alteration of this original play was made, accord- 
ing to Malone, in 1591. 

The play opens just after the first battle of Saint Alban's, [May 



23, 1455,] wherein the Vorfc faction carried the day ; and 
closes with the murder of King Henry VI, and the birth of 
prince Edward, afterwards Edward v. [November 4, 1471.] 
So that this liistory takes in the space of full sixteen years. 
This play is only divided from the former for the convenience 
of exhibition ; for the series of action is continued without in- 
terruption, nor are any two scenes of any play more closely 
connected than the first scene of this play with the last of the 
former.— J o n N s o N . 



Lords on King 
Henry's side. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

King Henry the Sixth. 

Edward, Prince of Wales, his son. 

Lewis XI. King n/" France. 

Duke of Somerset, 

Duke of Exeter, 

Earl of Oxford, 

Earl of Northumberland, 

Earl of Wf.st.mokeland, 

Lord Clifford, 

Richard Plantagenet, DuJceof York 

Edward, Earl o/" March, (fterwards 

King Edward IV. 
Edmund, Earl of Rutland, 
George, afterwards Duke (/Clarence, 
Richard, afterwards Duke <5/' G locester 
Duke of Norfolk, ^ 

Marquis of IMontague, w 

Earl ok Warwick, \ of the Duke (if York's 

Earl of Pembroke, £ partij. 

Lord Hastings, V 

Lord Stafford, y 



his :ons. 



Sir John Mortimer, ) i . .i n i /-v i 
C-, ij i\T / uncles to the Duke of York. 

Sir Hugh Mortimer, S 

Henry Earl of Richmond, a youth. 

Lord Rivers, brother to Lady Grey. 

Sir William Stanley. 

Sir John Montgomery. 

Sir John Somerville. 
1 Tutor to Rutland. 
[ Muijor of York. 

Lieutenant of the Tower. A Nobleman. 

Two Keepers. A HuntS7nan. 

A Son that has killed his Father. 

A Father that has killed his Son. 

Queen Margaret. 

Lady Grey, afterwards Queen to Edward IV. 

Bona, sister to the French Queen. 

Soldiers, and other Attendants on King Henry ana 
King Edward, Messengers, Watchmen, 6;c. 

SCENE, — During part of the third Act, in France 
during all the rest of the Play, in England. 
i I 



498 



KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — London. The Parliament-House. 

Drums. Some Soldiers nf York's Party break in. 
Then, enterthe Du/ceo/' York, Edward, Richard, 
Norfolk, Montague, Warwick, and others, with 
white roses in their hats. 

War. I wonder, how tlie king escap'd our hands. 

York. While we pursu'd the horsemen of the north, 
He slily stole away, and left his men: 
Whereat the great lord of Northumberland, 
Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, 
Cheer'd up the drooping army ; and himself. 
Lord Clifl'ord, and lord Stafford, all a-breast, 
Charg'd our main battle's front, and, breaking in, 
Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. 

Edw. Lord Statibrd's father, duke of Buckingham, 
Is either slain, or wounded dangerous : 
I cleft his beaver with a downright blow ; 
I'hat this is true, father, behold his blood. 

[Shewing his bloody sword. 

Mont. And, brother, here's the ear! of Wiltshire's 
blood, [To York, shewing his. 

Whom I eiicounter'd as the battles join'd. 

Rich. Speak thou for me, and tell them what I did. 
[Tlinvcing down the Duke of Somerset's head. 

York. Riciiard hath best deserv'd of all my sons. — 
What, is your grace dead, my lord of Somerset 1 

Norf. Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt ! 

Rich. Thus do I hope to sliake King Henry's head. 

War. And so do L — Victorious prince of York, 
Before I see thee seated on tliat throne 
Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, 
I vow by heaven, these eyes shall never close. 
'J'his is the palace of the fearful king. 
And this the regal seat : possess it, York ; 
For it is thine, and not king Heniy's heirs'. 

York. Assist me then, sweet Warwick, and I will ; 
For hither we have broken in by force. 

Norf. We'll all assist you ; he, that flies, shall die. 

York. Thanks, gentle Norfolk, — Stay by me, iny 
lords ; — 
And, soldiers, stay, and lodge by me this night. 

War. And, when the king comes, oflfer him no vio- 
Unless he seek to thrust you out by force, [lence, 

[The II retire. 

York. The queen, this day, here holds her parlia- 
But little thinks, we shall be of her council: [ment, 
By words, or blows, here let us win our right. 

Rich. Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house. 

War. The bloody parliament shall this be call'd. 
Unless Plantagenet, duke of York, be king ; 
And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardice 
Hath made us by-words to our enemies. 

York. Then leave me not, my lords ; be resolute ; 
[ mean to take possession of my right. 

War. Neither the king, nor he that loves him best, 
The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, 
Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. 
I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares : — 
Resolve thee, Richard ; claim the J2nglish crown. 
[War. leads York to the throne, who seats himself. 

Flourish. Enter King Henry, Clifford, Northum- 
berland, Westmoreland, Exeter, and others, 
with red roses in their hats, 

K.Hen. ]\Iy lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits. 
Even in the chair of state ! belike, he means, 
(Back'd by tlie power of Warwick, that false peer,) 
To aspire unto the crown, and reign as king. — 
Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father ; — 



And thine, lord Clifford ; and you both have vow'd 

revenge 
On him, his sons, his favourites, and his friends. 
North. U I be not, heavens be reveng'd on me ! 
Clif. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in 

steel. 
West. What, shall we suffer this? Let's pluck him 
My heart for anger burns, I cannot brook it. [down : 
K. Hen. Be patient, gentle earl of Westmoreland. 
Clif. Patience is for poltroons, and such as he; 
He durst not sit there, had your father liv'd. 
My gracious lord, here in the parliament 
Let us assail the family of York. 

North. Well hast thou spoken, cousin; be it so. 
K. Hen. Ah, know you not, the city favours them, 
And they have troops of soldiers at their beck 7 
Eie. But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly. 
K. Hen. Far be the thought of this from Henry's 
To make a shambles of the parliament-house ! [heart, 
Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats. 
Shall be the war that Henry means to use. — 

[They advance to the Duke. 
Thou factious duke of York, descend my throne, 
And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet ; 
I am thy sovereign. 

York. Thou art deceiv'd, I am thine. [of York. 
Ere. For shame, come down ; he made thee duke 
York. 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was. 
Eie. Thy father was a traitor to the crown. 
War. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown, 
In fi-ilowing this usurping Henry. 

Cif. Whom should he follow, but his natural king'' 
War. True, Clifford; and that's Richard, duke of 
York. 
K. Hen. And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne ? 
York. It must and shall be so. Content thyself. 
War. Be duke of Lancaster, let him be king. 
West. He is both king and duke of Lancaster ; 
And that the lord of VVestmoreland shall maintain. 

War. And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget, 
That we are those, which chas'd you from the field, 
And slew your fathers, and with colours spread 
March'd through the city to the palace gates. 

North. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief, 
And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. 

West. Plantagenet, of thee, and these thy sons, 
Thy kinsmen and thy friends, I'll have more lives, 
Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. 

Clif. Urge it no more : lest that, instead of words, 
I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger. 
As shall revenge his death, before I stir. 

War. Poor Clifford ! how I scorn his worthless 

threats. 
York. Will you, we shew our title to the crown? 
If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. 

K. Hen. What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown ? 
Thy father wast, as thou art, duke of York ; 
Thy grandfather Roger Mortimer, earl of March : 
I am the son of Henry the Fifth, 
Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop. 
And seiz'd upon their towns and provinces. 

War. Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all. 
K. Hen. The lord protector lost it, and not I ; 
When I was crown'd, I was but nine months old. 
Rich. You are old enough now, and yet, methinks 
you lose : — 
Father, tear the crovra from the usurper's head. 
Edw. Sweet father, do so ; set it on your head. 
Mont. Good brother, [to York,] as thou lov'st and 
honour'st arms, 
Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus. 
Rich. Sound drums and trumpets, and the king 

will fly. 
York. Sons, peace ! 



ACT I.- SCENE I. 



409 



K Hen. Peace thou ! and give King Henry leave 
to speak. 

War. Plantagenet shall speak first : — hear him 
And be you silent and attentive too, [lords , 

For he, that interrupts him, shall not live. 

A'. Hen. Think'st thou, that I will leave my kingly 
Wherein my grandsire, and my father, sat ] [throne, 
No : first shall war unpeople this my realm ; 
Ay, and their colours — often borne in France ; 
And now in England, to our heart's great sorrow, — 
Shall be my winding-sheet. — Why faint you, lords'! 
My title's good, and better far than his. 

War. But prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king. 

A'. Hen. Henry the Fourth by conquest got the 

York. 'Twas by rebellion against his king, [crown, 

A. Hen. I know not what to say ; my title's weak. 
Tell me, may not a king adopt an heirl 

York. What then 1 

K. Hen. An if he may, then am I lav/ful king : 
For Richard, in the view of many lords. 
Resigned the crown to Henry the Fourth ; 
Whose heir my fatiier was, and I am his. 

York. He rose against him, being his sovereign, 
And made him to resign his crown perforce. 

War. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd, 
Think you, "twere prejudicial to his crown ; 

Eie. No; for he could not so resign his crown. 
But that the next heir should succeed and reign. 

A'. Hen, Art thou against us, duke of Exeter 1 

Ere. His is the right, and therefore pardon me. 

York. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not! 

E.ie. My conscience tells me, he is lawful king. 

A'. Hen. AH will revolt from me, and turn to him. 

North. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st. 
Think not, that Henry shall be so depos'd. 

War. Depos'd he shall be, in despite of all. 

North. Thou art deceiv'd: 'tis not thy southern 
Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, — [power 
Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, — 
Can set the duke up, in despite of me. 

Clif. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong. 
Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence : 
May that ground gape, and swallow me alive. 
Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father ! 

K.Heii. O Clifford, how thy words revive myheart! 

York. Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown : — 
What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords ? 

War. Do right unto this princely duke of York ; 
Or I will fill the house with arm'd men, 
And o'er the chair of state, where now he sits. 
Write up his title with usurping blood. 

[He stamps, and the vSoldiers shew themselves. 

K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, hear me but one word; 
Let me, for this my life-time, reign as king. 

York, Confirm the crown to me, and to mine heirs. 
And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou iiv'st. 

K. Hen. I am content : Richard Plantagenet, 
Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. 

Clif. What wrong is this unto the prince your son "! 

War. What good is this to England, and himself? 

West. Base, fearful, and despairing Henry ! 

Clif. How hast thou iiijur'd both thyself and us ? 

West. I cannot stay to hear these articles. 

North. Nor I. 

Clif. Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news. 

West. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king, 
In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides. 

North. Be thou a prey unto the house of York, 
And die in bands for this unmanly deed ! 

Clif. In dreadful war may'st thou be overcome ! 
Or live in peace, abandon'd and despis'd! 

[^Exeunt NouTn., Clif., and West. 



War. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. 

Eie. They seek revenge, and therefore will not yield. 

A'. Hen. Ah, Exeter! 

War. Why should you sigh, my lord ? 

K. Hen. Not for myself, lord Warwick, but my son, 
Whom I unnaturally shall disi-iherit. 
But, be it as it may : — I here entail 
The crown to thee, and to thine heirs for ever; 
Conditionally, that here thou take an oath 
To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, 
To honour me as thy king and sovereign ; 
And neither by treason, nor hostility. 
To seek to put me down, and reign thyself. 

York. This oath I willingly take, and will perform. 
Incoming from the throne. 

War. Long live king Henry ! — Plantagenet em- 
brace him. [sons I 

K. Hen. And long live thou, and these thy forward 

York, Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd. 

Exe. Accurs'd be he that seeks to make them foes ! 
[^Senet. The Lords come forward. 

York. Farewell, my gracious lord ; I'll to my castle. 

War. And I'll keep London, v.'ith my soldiers. 

Norf. And I to Norfolk, with my followers. 

Mont. And I unto the sea, from whence I came. 
[^Exeunt Yotik, and his Sons, Warwick, Non- 
FOi.R, Montague, Soldiers, c\ Attendants. 

K.Hen. And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court. 

Enter Queen Margaret and the Prince of Wai.f.s 

Ere. Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray 
I'll steal away. [her anger : 

A'. Hen. Exeter, so will I. [Going. 

Q. Mar. Nay, go not from me, I will follow thee. 

K. Hen. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay. 

Q. Mar. Who can be patient in such extremes 1 
Ah, wretched man! 'would I had died a maid, 
And never seen thee, never born thee son. 
Seeing thou hast prov'd so unnatural a fatlior! 
Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus 1 
Had'st thou but lov'd him half so well as I ; 
Or felt that pain which I did for him once ; 
Or nourish'd him, as I did with my blood ; 
Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there, 
Rather than made that savage duke thine heir. 
And disinherited thine only son. 

Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me : 
If you be king, why should not I succeed ! [son ; — 

K.Hen. Pardon me, Margaret ; — pardon me, sweet 
The earl of Warwick, and the duke, enforced me. 

Q. Mar. Enforc'd thee! art thou king, and wilt be 
forc'd 1 
I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch 
Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me ; 
And given unto the house of York such head, 
As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. 
To entail him and his heirs unto the crown. 
What is it, but to make thy sepulchre. 
And creep into it far before thy time 1 
Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais ; 
Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrqw seas ; 
The duke is made protector of the realm ; 
And yet shall thou be safe 1 such safety finds 
The trembling Iamb, environed with wolves. 
Had I been there, which am a silly woman. 
The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes. 
Before I would have granted to that act. 
But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour. 
And, seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself. 
Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed. 
Until that act of parliament be repealed, 
Wherfeby my son is disinherited. 
2 I i 



500 



KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 



The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colours, 
Will follow mine, if once they see them spread : 
And spread they shall be ; to thy foul disgrace. 
And utter ruin of the house of York. 
Thus do I leave thee : — Come, son, let's away ; 
Our army's ready ; come, we'll after them. 

A". Hen, Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. 

Q. Mar. Thou hastspoke too much already; getthee 
gone. 

K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me? 

Q. Mar. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. 

Prince. Wi^en I return with victory from the field, 
I'll see your grace : till then, I'll follow her. 

Q. Mar. Come, son, away ; we may not linger thus. 
[Exeunt Quf.en Margaret and the Piunck. 

K. Hen. Poor queen ! how love to me, and to her son. 
Hath made her break out into terms of rage ! 
Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke ; 
Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, 
Will coast my crown, and, like an empty eagle, 
Tire on the flesh of me, and of my son! 
The loss of those three lords torments my heart : 
I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair ; — 
Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger. 

Exe. And I, .1 hope, shall reconcile them all. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Sandal Castle, near 
Wakefield, in Yorkshire. 

Enter Edward, Richard, and Montague. 
Rich, Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave. 
Edw. No, I can better play the orator. 
Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible. 

Enter York. 

York. WHiy, how now, sons and brother, at a strife? 
What is your quarrel ? iiow began it first ? 

Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention. 

York. About what ? 

I?;e/i. About that which concerns your grace, and 
The crown of England, father, which is yours, [us ; 

York. Mine, boy? not till king Henry be dead. 

Rich. Your riglit depends not on his life, or death. 

Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now : 
By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe. 
It will outrun you, father, in the end. 

York. I took an oath, that he should quietly reign. 

Edw. But, for a kingdom, any oath may be broken: 
I'd break a thousand oaths, to reign one year. 

Rich. No ; God forbid, your grace should be for- 

Ynrk. I shall be, if I claim by open war. [sworn. 

J?ic/i. I'll prove the contrar)., if you'll heanne speak. 

York. Thou canst not, son ; it is impossible. 

Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took 
Before a true and lawful magistrate, 
That hath authority over him that swears : 
Henry hath none, but did usurp the place ; 
Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, 
Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. 
Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think, 
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown ; 
Within whose circuit is Elysium, 
And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. 
W^hy do ■■ e linger thus? I cannot rest. 
Until the white rose, that I wear, be dyed 
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. 

York. Richard, enough ; I will be king, or die. — 
Brother, thou shalt to London presently. 
And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. — 
Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk, 
And tell him privily of our intent. 
You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham, 



With whom the Kentish men will willingly rise ; 
In them I trust ; for they are soldiers. 
Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. — 
WHiile you are thus employ'd, what restelh more 
But that I seek occasion how to rise ; 
And yet the king not privy to my drift. 
Nor any of the house of Lancaster 1 

Enter a Messenger. 

But, stay ; What news ? why com'st thou in such post"! 

Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls and 
Intend here to besiege you in your castle : [lords, 
She is hard by with twenty thousand men ; 
And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. 

York, Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou, 
that we fear them ? — 
Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me ; — 
My brother Montague shall post to London : 
Let noble W^arwick, Cobham, and the rest. 
Whom we have left protectors of the king. 
With powerful policy strengthen themselves. 
And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths. 

Mont. Brother, I go ; I'll win them, fear it not : 
And thus most humbly I do take my leave. [EiiJ. 

Enter Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer. 

York. Sir John , and sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles! 
You are come to Sandal in a happy hour ; 
The army of the queen mean to besiege us. 

Sir John. She shall not need, we'll meet her in the 

York. What, with five thousand men ? [field. 

Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. 
A woman's general ; what should we fear ? 

[A march Jar ojf. 

Edw. I hear their drums ; let's set our men in order; 
And issue forth, and bid them battle straight. 

York, Five men to twenty !— though the odds be 
I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. [great, 

JMany a battle have I won in France, 
When as the enemy hath been ten to one ; 
Why should 1 not now have the like success? 

[Alarum, Exeunt 

SCENE ni.— Plains near Sandal Castle. 

Alarums: Excursions. E/iter Rutland, &• /lis Tutor 
Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands 
Ah, tutor ! look, where bloody CliflTord comes ! 

Enter Clifford and Soldiers. 

Clif. Chaplain, away ! thy priesthood saves thy life. 
As for the brat of this accursed duke. 
Whose father slew my father,— he shall die. 

Tut, And I, my lord, will bear him company. 

Clif, Soldiers, away with him. 

Tut. Ah, Clifford! murder not this innocent child, 
Lest thou be hated both of God and man. 

[Exit, forced off hy Soldiers. 

CUf. How now! is he dead already ? Or, is it fear, 
That makes him close his eyes ? — I '11 open them. 

Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch 
That trembles under his devouring paws : 
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey ; 
And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder, — 
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword. 
And not with such a cruel threat'ning look. 
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die ;^ 
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath. 
Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live. 

Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy ; my father's 

blood [enter. 

Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should 







rii;^]!! 'i|isii^ 










KINa HENRY VI.— PART III. 



Tutor. Ah, Clifford! murder not this innocent child. 
Lest thou he hated hoth of God and man 

Art t., Srrm 3, 



ACT I.— SCENE IV. 



501 



Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again ; 
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. 

Ciif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and thine 
Were not revenae sufficient for me ; 
No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves, 
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, 
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. 
The sight of any of the house of York 
Is as a fury to torment my soul ; 
And till I root out their accursed line, 
And leave not one alive, I live in hell. 
Therefore [Lifting xt-p his hand. 

Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death : — 
To thee I pray ; Sweet Clifford, pity me ! 

Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. 

Jf«(. I never did thee harm; Why wilt thou slay me? 

Clif. Thy father hath. 

Rut. But 'twas ere I was born. 

Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me ; 
Lest in revenge thereof, — sith God is just, — 
He be as miserably slain as I. 
Ah, let me live in prison all my days ; 
And when I give occasion of offence, 
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. 

Clif. No cause ] 
Thy father slew my father ; therefore, die. 

[Clifford stabs him. 

Rut. Diifaciutu, Utudis sumnia sit ista tua: ! [Dies. 

Clif. Plantagenet ! I come, Plantagenet! 
And this thy son's blood, cleaving to my blade, 
Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood 
Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— The same. 

Alarum, Enter York. 

York. The army of the queen hath got the field : 
My uncles both are slain in rescuing me ; 
And all my followers to the eager foe 
Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind, 
Or lambs pursu'd by hungry starved wolves. 
My sons — God knows, what hath bechanced them : 
But this I know, — they have demean'd themselves 
Like men born to renown, by life, or death. 
Three times did Richard make a lane to me ; 
And thrice cried, — Courage, father ! fight it out ! 
And full as oft came Edward to my side, 
With purple faulchion, painted to the hilt 
In blood of those that had encounter'd him ; 
And when the hardiest warriors did retire, 
Richard cried, — Charge ! and give noj'oot of ground ! 
And cried, — A crown, or else a glorious tomb .' 
A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre! 
With this we chargr'd atrain : but, out, alas ! 
We bodg'd again ; as I have seen a swan 
With bootless labour swim against the tide, 
And spend her strength with over-matching waves. 

[A short alarum within. 
Ah, hark ! the fatal followers do pursue ; 
And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury : 
And, were I strong, I would not shun their fury : 
The sands are nuniber'd, that make up my life ; 
Here must I stay, and here my life must end. 

Enter Queen Margaret, Ciifford, Northum- 
berland a)id Soldiers. 
Come, bloody Clifford, — rough Northumberland, — 
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage ; 
I am your butt, and 1 abide your shot. 

North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. 
Clif. Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm, 
W^ith downright payment, shew'd unto my father. 



Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car. 
And made an evening at the noontide prick. 

I'ork. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth 
A bird that will revenge upon you all : 
And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven, 
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. 
Why come you not ! what ! multitudes, and fear? 

Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no further; 
So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons ; 
So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, 
Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. 

York. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, 
And in thy thought o'er-run my former time : 
And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face ; 
And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice 
Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this. 
Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word ; 
But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. [Urates. 
Q.Ai(i?-.Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes, 
I would prolong awhile the traitor's life : — 
Wrath makes him deaf : speak thou, Northumberland. 
North. Hold, Clifford ; do not honour him so much. 
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart : 
Wiiat valour were it, when a cur doth grin. 
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth. 
When he might spurn him with his foot away 1 
It is war's prize to take all vantages ; 
And ten to one is no impeach of valour. 

[Thetf laii hands on York, ti/io struggles. 
Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gia. 
North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. 

[York is taken prisoner. 
York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd 
booty ; 
So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-match'd. 
North. What would your grace have done unto him 
now? [land, 

Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumbei- 
Come, make him stand upon this moleliill here ; 
That raught at mountains with outstretclied arms, 
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. — 
What ! was it you that would be England's king ? 
Was't you, that revell'd in our parliament. 
And made a preachment of your high descent ? 
Where are your mess of sons, to back you now ? 
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George ? 
And where 's that valiant crook-back prodigy, 
Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice. 
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies ? 
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland 1 
Look, York ; I stain'd this napkin with the blood 
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point. 
Made issue from the bosom of the boy : 
And, if thine eyes can water for his death, 
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. 
Alas, poor York I but that I hate thee deadly, 
I should lament thy miserable state. 
I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York ; 
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. 
\Miat, haih thy fiery heart so parch'd thiae entrails. 
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death ? 
Wliy art thou patient, man ? thou should'st be mad ; 
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. 
Thou would'st be fee'd, I see, to make me sport ; 
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. — ■ 
A crown for York ; — and, lords, bow low to him. — 
Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. — 

[Putting a paper croivn on his head. 
Ay, many, sir, now looks he like a king ! 
Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair; 
And this is he was his adopted heir. — 
But how IS it, that great Plantagenet 



502 



KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 



Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath 1 

As I bethink me, you should not be king. 

Till our king Henry had shook hands with death. 

And will you pale your head in Henry's glory. 

And rob his temples of the diadem, 

Kow in his life, against your holy oath 1 

O, 'tis a fault too, too unpardonable ! — 

Off with the crown ; and, with the crown, his head ; 

And, whilst we breath, take time to do him dead. 

Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake. 

Q. Mar. Nay, stay ; let's hear the orisons he makes. 

York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves 
of France, 
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth ! 
How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex. 
To triumph like an Amazonian trull. 
Upon their woes, whom fortune captivates ? 
But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging. 
Made impudent with use of evil deeds, 
I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush : 
To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd. 
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not 

shameless. 
Thy father bears the type of king of Naples, 
Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem ; 
Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. 
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? 
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen , 
Unless the adage must be verified, — 
That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death. 
Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud ; 
But God, he knows, thy share thereof is small ; 
'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd ; 
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at ; 
'Tis government that makes them seem divine j 
The want thereof makes thee abominable; 
Thou art as opposite to every good, 
As the Antipodes are unto us. 
Or as the south to the septentrion. 
O, tiger's heart, wrappd in a woman's hide ! 
How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the child. 
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal. 
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face ? 
Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible ; 
Thou, stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. 
Bid'st thou me rage 1 why now thou hast thy wish : 
"Would'st havemevveep? why, now thou hast thy will : 
For raging wind blows up incessant showers, 
'Vnd, when the rage allays, the rain begins. 
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies ; 
And every drop cries vengeance for his death, — 
'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, — and thee, false French- 
woman. 

North. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so. 
That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. 

York. That face of his the hungry cannibals 
Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with 

blood : 
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, — 
O, ten times more, — than tigers of Hyrcania. — 
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears : 
This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy. 
And I with tears do wash the blood away. 
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this : 

[He gives buck the handkerchief, 
A.nd, if thou tell'st the heavy story right. 
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears ; 
Yea, even my foes will shed fast falling tears. 
And say, — Alas, it was a piteous deed ! — 
There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse; 
And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee. 
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand I — 



Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world ; 
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads ! 

North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, 
I should not for my life but weep with him. 
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. 

Q.Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northum- 
Think but upon the wrong he did us all, [berland? 
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. 

CLif. Here 's for my oath, here 's for my father's 
death. [Stabbing him. 

Q. Mar. And here 's to right our gentle-hearted 
king. [Stabbing him. 

York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God ! 
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. 

[Dies. 

Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates ; 
So York may overlook the town ot York. [Lieuni. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. 

A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire. 

Drums. Enter Edward, and Richard, with their 
Forces, marching. 

Edw. I wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd ; 
Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no, 
From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit ; 
Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news ; 
Had he been slain, we should have heard the news ; 
Or, had he 'scap'd, methinks, we should have heard 
The happy tidings of his good escape. — 
How fares my brother 1 why is he so sad ? 

Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd 
Where our right valiant father is become. 
I saw him in the battle range about ; 
And watch'd him, how he singled Clifford forth. 
Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop, 
As doth a lion in a herd of neat : 
Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs ; 
Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry. 
The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. 
So far'd our father with his enemies ; 
So fled his enemies my warlike father ; 
Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. 
See how the morning opes her golden gates, 
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun ? 
How well resembles it the prime of youth, 
Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love \ 

Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do 1 see three suns ? 

Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun ; 
Not separated with the racking clouds, 
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. 
See, see ! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss. 
As if they vow'd some league inviolable : 
Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. 
In this the heaven figures some event. 

EdiD. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never 
I think, it cites us, brother, to the field ; [heard of. 
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, 
Each one already blazing by our meeds. 
Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together. 
And over-shine the earth, as this the world. 
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear 
Upon my target three fair shining suns. 

Rich. Nay, bear three daughters ;— by your leave I 
You love the breeder better than the male, [speak it, 

Enter a Messenger, 
But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretel 
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue i 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



503 



Mess. Ah, one that was a woeful looker on, 
When as the noble duke of York was slain, 
Your princely father, and my loving lord. 

Edw. O, speak no more ! for I have heard too much. 

Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. 

Mess. Environed he was with many foes ; 
And stood against them, as the hope of Troy 
Against the Greeks, that would have enter'd Troy. 
But Hercules himself must yield to odds ; 
And many strokes, though with a little axe, 
Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. 
By many hands your father was subdu'd ; 
But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm 
Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen : 
Who crown'd the gracious duke, in high despite ; 
Laugh'd in his face ; and, when with grief he wept, 
The ruthless queen gave hira, to dry his cheeks, 
A napkin steeped in the harmless blood 
Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain : 
And, after many scorns, many foul taunts. 
They took his head, and on the gates of York 
They set the same ; and there it doth remain. 
The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. 

Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon ; 
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay ! — 
O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain 
The flower of Europe for his chivalry ; 
And treaclierously hast thou vanquish'd him. 
For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee ! — 
Now my soul's palace is become a prison : 
Ah, would she break from hence ! that this my body 
Might in the ground be closed up in rest : 
For never henceforth shall I joy again, 
Never, O never, shall I see more joy. 

Rich. I cannot weep ; for all my body's moisture 
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart : 
Nor can. my tongue unload my heart's great burden; 
For self-same wind, that I should speak withal, 
Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast, 
And burn me up with flames, that tears would quench. 
To weep, is to make less the depth of grief : 
Tears, then, for babes ; blows, and revenge for me ' — 
Richard, I bear thy name, I '11 venge thy death. 
Or die renowned by attempting it. 

Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with thee ; 
His dukedom and his chair with me is left. 

Rich. Nay, if thou be tliat princely eagle's bird, 
Shew thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun : 
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say ; 
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. 

March. Enter Warwick a7id IMontague, with Farces- 
War. How now, fair lords 1 What fare 1 what news 

abroad ? 
Rich. Great lord of W^arwick, if we should recount 
Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance. 
Stab poniards in our flesh, till all were told, 
The words would add more anguish than the wounds. 

valiant lord, the duke of York is slain. 

Edw. O Warwick ! Warwick ! that Plantagenet 
Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption. 
Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death. 

War. Ten days ago 1 drown'd these news in tears : 
And now, to add more measure to your woes, 

1 come to tell you things since then befall'n. 
After the bloody fray at W^akefield fought. 
Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp. 
Tidings, as swiftly as the post could run. 
Were brought me of your loss, and his depart. 

I then in London, keeper of the king, 
Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, 
And very well appointed, as I thought. 



March'd towards Saint j^ Iban's to intercept the queen. 
Bearing the king in my behalf along : 
For by my scout I was advertised, 
That she was coming with a full intent 
To dash our late decree in parliament, 
Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession. 
Short tale to make, — we at Saint Alban's met. 
Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought: 
But, whether 'twas the coldness of the king, 
Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, 
That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen ; 
Or whether 'twas report of her success ; 
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour. 
Who thunders to his captives — blood and death, 
I cannot judge : but, to conclude with truth, 
Their weapons like to lightning came and went ; 
Our soldiers — like tiie night-owl's lazy flight, 
Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail, — 
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. 
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, 
With promise of high pay, and great rewards : 
But all in vain ; they had no heart to fight. 
And we, in them, no hope to win the day. 
So that we fled : the king, unto the queen ; 
Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself, 
In haste, poste- haste, are come to join with you ; 
For in the marches here, we heard, you were. 
Making another head to fight again. 

£(in'. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick^ 
And when came George from Burgundy to England! 

War. Some six miles off the duke is with the sol- 
And for your brother, he was lately sent [diers : 
From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy, 
With aid of soldiers to this needful war. 

Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick 
Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, [fled: 

But ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire. 

War. Nor now my scandal , Richard, dost thou hear ; 
For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine 
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, 
And wring the awful scepter from his fist ; 
Were he as famous and as bold in war, 
As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer. 

Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick : blame me not 
'Tis love, 1 bear thy glories, makes me speak. 
But, in this troublous time, what's to be donel 
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, 
And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, 
Numb'ring our Ave-Maries with our beads 1 
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes 
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? 
If for the last, say, — Ay, and to it, lords. 

U'ac.Why, thereforeWarwick came to seek you out; 
And therefore comes my brother Montague. 
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen. 
With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland, 
And of their feather, many more proud birds. 
Have wrought the easy melting king like wax. 
He swore consent to your succession, 
His oath enrolled in the parliament ; 
And now to London all the crew are gone, 
To frustrate both his oath, and what beside 
May make against the house of Lancaster. 
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:. 
Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself. 
With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March, 
Amongst the loving Welshmen can'st procure. 
Will but amount to five and twentv thousand. 
Why, Via ! to London will we march amain ; 
And once again bestride our foaming steeds, 
And once again cry — Charge upon our foes ! 
But never once again turn back, and %. 



r)04 



KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 



Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick 
Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, [speak 
That cries — Retire, if Warwick bid him stay. 

Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; 
And when thou fall'st (as God forbid the hour !) 
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend ! 

War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York ; 
The next degree is, England's royal throne : 
For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd 
In every borough as we pass along ; 
And he that throws not up his cap for joy, 
Sliall for the fault make forfeit of his head. 
King Edward, — valiant Richard, — Montague, — 
Stay we no longer dreaming of renown, 
But sound the trumpets, and about our task. 

Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, 
(As thou hast shewn it flinty by thy deeds,) 
I come to pierce it, — or to give thee mine. 

Edw. Then strike up, drums ; — God, and Saint 
George, for us ! 

Enter a Messenger. 

War. How now 1 what news ? 

Mess. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by me. 
The queen is coming with a puissant host ; 
And craves your company for speedy counsel. 

War. Why, then it sorts, brave warriors : Let's 
away. [£ieu/i£. 

SCENE II.— Before York. 

Enter Kino Henry, Queen Margaret, the Prince 
OF Wales, Clifford, and Northumberland, 
with Forces. 

Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of 
Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy, [York. 

That sought to be encompass'd with your crown : 
Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? 

K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their 
To see this sight, it irks my very soul. — [wreck ; — 
Withhold revenge, dear God ! 'tis not my fault, 
Not wittingly have I infring'd my vow. 

Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity 
And harmful pity must be laid aside. 
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks 1 
Not to the beast that would usurp their den. 
Whose hand is that, the forest bear doth lick 1 
Not his, that spoils her young before her face. 
Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting 1 
Not he that sets his foot upon her back. 
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on ; 
And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood. 
Ambitious York did level at thy crown, 
Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows : 
He, but a duke, would have his son a king, 
And raise his issue, like a loving sire ; 
Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son, 
Didst yield consent to disinherit him, 
Which argued thee a most unloving father. 
Unreasonable creatures feed their young : 
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes. 
Yet, in protection of their tender ones. 
Who hath not seen them, (^even with those wings 
Which sometime they have used with fearful flight,) 
Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest. 
Offering their own lives in their youngs' defence? 
For shame, my liege, make them your precedent ' 
Were it not pity, that this goodly boy 
Should lose his birthright by his fatlier's fault ; 
And long hereafter say unto his child, — 
What mi/ great-grandfather and grandsire got. 
My careless father fond iy gave away? 



Ah, what a shame were this ! Look on the boy , 
And let his manly face, which promiseth 
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart, 
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him. 

K. Hen. Full well hath ClifTord play'd the orator, 
Inferring arguments of mighty force. 
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear, — 
That things ill got had ever bad success? 
And happy always was it for that son. 
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell ? 
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind ; 
And 'would, my father had left me no more ! 
For all the rest is held at such a rate. 
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep, 
Than in possession any jot of pleasure. 
Ah, cousin York I 'would thy best friends did know. 
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here ! [nigh, 

Q.Mar. ]Mylord,cheerupyourspirits; ourfoesare 
And this soft courage makes your followers faint. 
You promis'd knighthood to our forward son ; 
Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently. — 
Edward, kneel down. 

K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight ; 
And learn this lesson, — Draw thy sword in right. 

Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave, 
I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, 
And in that quarrel use it to the death. 

Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness: 
For, with a band of thirty thousand men. 
Comes Warwick backing of the duke of York ; 
And, in the towns, as they do march along, 
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him : 
Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. 

Clif. I would, your highness would depart the field; 
The queen hath best success when you are absent. 

Q.Mar. Ay , good my lord, and leave us to ou r fortune. 

K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too ; therefore I'll 

North. Be it with resolution then to fight, [stay. 

Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords. 
And hearten those who fight in your defence : 
Unsheath your sword, good father; ciy, Saint George! 

March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, War- 
wick, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers. 

Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel for 
And set thy diadem upon my head ; [grace. 

Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ? 

Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy ! 
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms. 
Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king? 

Edw. 1 am his king, and he should bow his knee ; 
I was adopted heir by his consent : 
Since when, his oath is broke ; for, as I hear. 
You — that are king, though he do wear the crown,— 
Have caus'd him, by new act of parliament. 
To blot out me, and put his own son in. 

Ciif. And reason too ; 
Who should succeed the father but the son? 

Rich. Are you there, butcher ? — O, I cannot speak ! 

Clif. Ay, crook-back ; here I stand, to answer thee, 
Or any he the proudest of thy sort. [not? 

Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it 

Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfy 'd. 

Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. 

War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield tlie 
crown ? [dare you speak ? 

Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick? 
When you and 1 met at Saint Alban's last. 
Your legs did better service than youi hands. 



ACT II.— SCENE III 



505 



War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and how 'tis thine. 

CliJ'. You said so much before, and yet you fled. 

War. 'Twas not your valour, Cliftord, drove me 
thence. [stay. 

North. No, nor your manhood that durst make you 

Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently; — 
Break off the parle ; for scarce I can refrain 
The execution of my big-swoln heart 
Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. 

Clif. I slew thy father: Call'st thou him a child? 

Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward. 
As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland ; 
But, ere sun-set, I'll make thee curse the deed. 

K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and hear 
me speak. 

Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. 

A'. Hen. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue; 
1 am a king, and privileg'd to speak. 

Clif. My liege, the wound that bred this meeting 
Cannot be cur'd by word ; therefore be still. [here, 

Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword : 
By iiim that made us all, I am resolv'd, 
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. 

Edw. Say, Henry, shall 1 have my right or no 1 
A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day. 
That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown. 

War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; 
For York in justice puts his armour on. 

Prince. If that be right, whichWarwick says is right, 
There is no wrong, but every thing is right. 

Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands ; 
For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. 

Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam ; 
But like a foul misshapen stigmatic, 
Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, 
As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. 

Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt, 
Whose father bears the title of a king, 
(As if a channel should be call'd the sea,) 
Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, 
To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart 1 

Edw. Awispof straw were worth a thousand crowns, 
To make this shameless callet know herself. — 
Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, 
Although thy husband may be Menelaus ; 
And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd 
By that false woman, as this king by thee. 
His father revell'd in the heart of France, 
And tam'd the king, and made the dauphin stoop ; 
And had he match'd according to his state. 
He might have kept that glory to this day : 
But when he took a beggar to his bed, 
And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day ; 
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him. 
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, 
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. 
For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride ? 
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept : 
And we, in pity of a gentle king. 
Had slipp'd our claim until another age. 

Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy 
And that thy summer bred us no increase, [spring. 
We set the axe to thy usurping root : 
And though tiie edge hath something hit ourselves. 
Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike, 
We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee down. 
Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods. 

Edw. And, in this resolution, 1 defy thee ; 
Not willing any longer conference, 
Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak. — 
Sound trumpets ! — let our bloody colours wave ! — 
And either victory, or else a grave. 



Q. Mar. Stay, Edward. 

Edw. No, wrangling woman ; we'll nc longer stay • 
These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— ^ Field of Battle between Towton 
and Saxton in Yorkshire. 

Alarums : Excursions. Enter Warwick. 

War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, 
I lay me down a little while to breathe : 
For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid. 
Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, 
And, spite of spite, needs must I rest awhile. 

Enter Edward, running. 

Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle 
death ! 
For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. 
War. How now, my lord? what hap? what hope of 
good? 

Enter George. 

Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair ; 
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us : 
What counsel give you, whither shall we fly 1 

Edu\ Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings : 
And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit. 

Enter Richard. 

Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thy- 
Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hali; drunk, [self? 
Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance : 
And, in the very pangs of death, he cry'd, — 
Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, — 
Warwick, recenge! brother, revenge mi/ death! 
So underneath the belly of their steeds, 
That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood. 
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. 

War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood 
I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. 
Why stand we like soft-hearted women here. 
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage ; 
And look upon, as if the tragedy 
Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors'! 
Here on my knee I vow to God above, 
I'll never pause again, never stand still. 
Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine, 
Or fortune given me measure of revenge. 

Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine ; 
And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine. — 
And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, 
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, 
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings ! 
Beseeching thee,— if with thy will it stands. 
That to my foes this body must be prey, — 
Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope. 
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul ! — 
Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, 
Where-e'er it be, in heaven, or on earth. 

Rich. Brother, give me thy hand ; — and, gentle 
Let me embrace thee in my weary arms : [ Warwick, 
I, that did never weep, now melt with woe. 
That winter should cut off our spring-time so. 

War. Away, away ! Once moie, sweet lords, fare- 

Geo. Let us ail together to our troops, [well. 

And give them leave to fly that will not stay ; 
And call them pillars, that will stand to us ; 
And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards 
As victors wear at the Olympian games : ^ 
This may plant courage in their quailing breasts ; 
For yet is hope of life and victory. — 
Fore-slow no longer, make we hence amain. [Exeun/ 



506 



KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 



SCENE IV.— The same. Another Furt of the Field. 
Excursions. Enter Richard ami Clifford. 

Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singlea thee alone : 
Suppose this arm is for the duke of York, 
And this for Rutland , both bound to revenge, 
Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. 

CUf. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone : 
This is the hand, that stabb'd thy father York ; 
And this the hand, that slew thy brother Rutland ; 
And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death. 
And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and bro- 
To execute the like upon thyself ; [ther, 

And so, have at thee. 

[Theiijight. Warwick exfers ; Ci-iFFoun ^;es. 

Rich. Nay, Warwick, singleout some other chase ; 
For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Eieunt. 

SCENE Y.— Another Part of the Field. 

Alarum. Enter King Henrv. 

K, Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's war. 
When dying clouds contend with growing light ; 
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails. 
Can neither call it perfect day, nor nighl. 
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea, 
Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind : 
Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea 
Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind : 
Sometime, the flood prevails ; and, then, the wind : 
Now, one the better ; then, another best ; 
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, 
Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered : 
So is the equal poise of this fell war. 
Here on this molehill will I sit me down. 
To whom God will, there be the victory ! 
For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too. 
Have chid me from the battle ; swearing both, 
They prosper best of all when I am thence. 
'Would I weie dead! if God's good will were so: 
For what is in this world but grief and woe ? 
O God ! methinks it were a happy life. 
To be no better than a homely swain ; 
To sit upon a hill, as I do now. 
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, 
Thereby to see the minutes how they run : 
How many make the hour full complete, 
How many hours bring about the day. 
How many days will hnish up the year, 
How many years a mortal man may live. 
When this is known, then to divide the times : 
So many hours must I tend my flock ; 
So many hours must I take my rest ; 
So many hours must 1 contemplate ; 
So many hours must I sport myself; 
So many days my ewes have been with young ; 
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean ; 
So many years ere I shall sheer the fleece ; 
So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, 
Pass'd over to the end they were created. 
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 
Ah, what a life were this I how sweet! how lovely! 
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade 
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, 
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy 
To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery 1 
O, yes it doth ; a thousand fold it doth. 
And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely curds, 
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle. 
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade 
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys 
Is far beyond a prince's delicates, 



His viands sparkling in a golden cup, 

His body couched in a curious bed, 

When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him. 

Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his Father 
dragging in the dead body. 

Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits no-body. — 
This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight. 
May be possessed with some store of crowns : 
And I, that haply take them from him now, 
]May yet ere night yield both iny life and them 
To some man else, as this dead man doth me. — 
Who's this 1 — God ! it is my father's face. 
Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd. 
O heavy times, begetting such events I 
From London by the king was I press'd forth , 
My father, being the earl of Warwick's man. 
Came on the part of York, press'd by his master. 
And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life. 
Have by my hands of life bereaved him. — 
Pardon me, God, I knew not what 1 did ! — 
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee ! — 
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks , 
And no more words, till they have flovv'd their fill. 

A'. Hen. O piteous spectacle ! O bloody times ' 
Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens, 
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity, — 
Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee, tear for tear, 
And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war, 
Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with grief. 

Enter a Father, uho has hilled his Son, bearing the 
body in his arms. 

Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me. 
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold ; 
For I have bought it with an hundred blows. — 
But let me see : — is this our foeman's face 1 
Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son ! — 
Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee. 
Throw up thine eye ; see, see, what showers aiise, 
Blown with the windy tempest of my heart. 
Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart ! — 
O, pity, God, this miserable age ! — 
What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly. 
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, 
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget ! — 
O boy, thy father gave thee life too soo_., 
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late. fsi'''^^ 

K. Hen. Woe above woe ! grief more than common 
O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds ! — 
O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity ! — 
The red rose and the white are on his face, 
The fatal colours of our striving houses : 
The one, his purple blood right well resembles ; 
The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present '• 
W^ither one rose, and let the other flourisii I 
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. 

Son. How will my mother, for a father's death. 
Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied ! 

Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son, 
Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied ? 

A'. Hen. How will the country, for these woeful 
Misthink the king, and not be satisfied 1 [chances. 

Son. Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death ] 

Fath. Was ever father, so bemoan'd a son ? 

K. Hen. Was ever king, sogriev'd for subjects' woel 
Much is your sorrow ; mine, ten times so much. 

Son. I '11 bear thee hence, where I may weep my 
fill. [Exit, with the body 

Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet; 
My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulclire ; 
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go. 



ACT II.— SCENE VI. 



507 



My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell ; 

And so obsequious will thy father be, 

Sad for the loss of thee, having no more, 

As Priam was for all his valiant sons. 

I '11 bear thee hence ; and let them fight that will, 

For I have murder'd where I should not kill. 

[Eait, with the body 
K. //en. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care. 
Here sits a king more woeful than you are. 

Alarums: Eictirs'wns. E?ifer Queen Margaret, 
Prince of Wales, and Exeter. 

Prince. Fly, father, fly ! for all your friends are fled, 
And Warwick rages like a chafed bull : 
Away ! for death doth hold us in pursuit. 

Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord ; towards Berwick 
post amain : 
Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds 
Having the fearful flying hare in sight, 
With fiery eyes, sparkling for veiy wrath. 
And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, 
Are at our backs ; and therefore hence amain. 

Exe. Away ! for vengeance comes along with them : 
Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed ; 
Or else come after, I'll away before. 

A'. Hen. N ay , take me with thee , good sweet Exeter ; 
Not that I fear to stay, but love to go 
Whither the queen intends. Forward ; away ! 

[^Exeunt, 

SCENE YL— The same. 

A loud Alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded. 

Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies, 
Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light. 

0, Lancaster ! I fear thy overthrow, 
More than my body's parting with my soul. 

My love, and fear, glew'd many friends to thee ; 
.A.nd, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt. 
Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud York, 
The common people swarm like summer flies : 
And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun 1 
.\nd who shines now but Henry's enemies 1 

Phoebus ! hadst thou never given consent 
That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds. 
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth : 
And Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do. 
Or as thy father, and his father, did, 

Giving no ground unto the house of York, 
Ihey never then had sprung like summer flies ; 

1, and ten thousand in this luckless realm. 
Had left no mourning widows for our death. 
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. 
For what doth cherish weeds, but gentle airl 

And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity? 
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds : 
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight ; 
The foe is merciless, and will not pity ; 
For, at their hands, I have deserved no pity. 
The air hath got into my deadly wounds, 
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint : — 
Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest; 

1 stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. 

[He faints. 

Alarum and letreat. Enter Edward, George, 
Richard, Montague, Warwick, 6^ Soldiers. 

Edw. Now breathe we, lords ; good fortune bids 
us pause, 
And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. — 
Some trooj)s pursue the bloody-minded queen ; — 
'I'hat led calm Henry, though he were a king, 



As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, 

Command an argosy to stem the waves. 

But think you, lords, that Clifl^ord fled with them ? 

War, No, 'tis impossible he should escape : 
For, though before his face I speak the words. 
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave : 
And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. 

[Clifford groans, and dies 

Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy 
leave ? [ing- 

Bicli. A deadly groan, like life and death's depart- 

Edw. See who it is : and, now the battle's ended. 
If friend, or foe, let him be gently us'd. 

Bicli. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford ; 
Who, not contented that he lopp'd the branch 
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth. 
But set his murdering knife unto the root 
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, 
I mean, our princely father, duke of York, [head. 

War. From off" the gates of York fetch down the 
Your father's head, which Clifford placed there : 
Instead whereof, let this supply the room ; 
Measure for measure must be answered. 

Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house. 
That nothing sung but death to us and ours : 
Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, 
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. 

[Attendants bring the hodu forward. 

War. I think his understanding is bereft : — 
Speak, Clifford, dost thouknow who speaks to thee? — 
Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, 
And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say. 

Rich. O, would he did ! and so, perhaps, he doth ; 
'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, 
Because he would avoid such bitter taunts 
Which in the time of death he gave our father. 

Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words. 

Rirh. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace. 

Edw. Clift'ord, repent in bootless penitence. 

War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. 

Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. 

Rich, Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. 

Edw. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee. 

Geo. Where's captain JMargaret, to fence you now? 

War. They mock thee, Clifford! swear as thou wast 
wont. [hard. 

Rich, What, not an oath 1 nay, then the world goes 
When Cliff"ord cannot spare his friends an oath : — 
I know by that, he's dead ; And, by my soul, 
If this right hand would buy two hours' life. 
That I in all despite might rail at him, [blood 

This hand should chop it off"; and with the issuing 
Stifle the villain, whose unstaunched thirst 
York and young Rutland could not satisfj*. 

War. Ay, but he's dead : Oft" with the traitor's head, 
And rear it in the place your father's stands. — 
And now to London with triumphant march, 
There to be crowned England's royal king. 
From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France 
And ask tiie lady Bona for thy queen : 
So shall thou sinew both these lands together ; 
And, having France thy friend thou shalt not dread 
The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again ; 
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, 
Yet look to have them buz, to off"end thine ears. 
First, will I see the coronation ; 
And then to Britany I'll cross the sea. 
To efl'ecl this marriage, so it please my lord. 

Ediu. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it bo 
For on thy shoulder do 1 build my seat; 
And never will I undertake the thing. 
Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.— 



608 



KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 



Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster ; — 
And George, of Clarence ; — Warwick, as ourself, 
Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best. 

Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence ; George, of 
For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous. [Gloster ; 

War. Tut, that's a foolish observation ; 
Richard, be duke of Gloster ; Now to London, 
To see these honours in possession. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I.— A Chace in the North of England. 
Enter two Keepers, with cross-bows in their liands. 

1 Keep. Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud 
ourselves ; 
For through this laund anon the deer will come ; 
And in this covert will we make our stand, 
Culling the principal of all the deer. 

U Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. 

1 Keep. That cannot be ; the noise of thy cross-bow 
Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. 

Here stand we both, and aim we at the best : 
And, for the time shall not seem tedious, 
I'll tell thee what befell me on a day, 
In this self-place where now we mean to stand. 

2 Keep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be past. 

F.nter King Henry, dn^guised, with a prayer-book. 

K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure 
To greet mine own land with my wishful sight, [love, 
No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine ; 
Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee. 
Thy balm wash'd off, wherewith thou wast anointed : 
No bending knee will call thee Caesar now. 
No humble suitors press to speak for right. 
No, not a man comes for redress of thee ; 
For how can I help them, and not myself. [fee : 

1 Keep. Ay, here's a deer, whose skin's a keeper's 
This is the quondam king ; let's seize upon him. 

K. Hen. Let me embrace these sour adversities . 
For wise men say, it is the wisest course. 

2 Keep. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him. 
1 Keep. Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more. 
K. Hen. My queen, and son, are gone to France 

for aid ; 
And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick 
Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister 
To wife for Edward : If this news be true. 
Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost ; 
For Warwick is a subtle orator, 
And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. 
By this account, then, Margaret may win him ; 
For she's a woman to be pitied much : 
Her sighs will make a battery in his breast ; 
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart ; 
The tiger will be mild, while she doth mourn ; 
And Nero will be tainted with remorse. 
To hear, and see, her plaints, her brinish tears. 
Ay, but she's come to beg ; Warwick, to give : 
She, on his left side, craving aid for Menry ; 
He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. 
She weeps, and says — her Henry is depos'd ; 
He smiles and says — his Ed\^'ard is install'd ; 
That she poor wretch, for gr'ef can speak no more : 
Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong, 
Inferreth arguments of mighty strength ; 
And, in conclusion, wins the king from her. 
With promise of his sister, and what else. 



To strengthen and support king Edward's place. 

Margaret, thus 'twill be; and tliou, poor soul, 
Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn. 

2 Keep. Say, what art thou, that talk'st of kings 
and queens ? [born to : 

A'. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I was 
A man at least, for less I should not bo ; 
And men may talk of kings, and why not 1 1 

2 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. 

A'. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind ; and that's enough. 

2 Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown ? 

A'. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my head ; 
Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones. 
Nor to be seen : my crown is call'd, content -, 
A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy. [tent, 

2 Keep. Well, if you be a king crown'd with con- 
Your crown content, and you, must be contented 
To go along with us : for, as we think, 
You are the king, king Edward hath depos'd ; 
And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance, 
Will apprehend you as his enemy. [oath? 

A'. Hen. But did you never swear, and break an 

2 Keep. No, never such an oath ; nor will not now. 

K, Hen. ^Vhere did you dwell, when I was king 
of England ? 

2 Keep. Herein this country, where we now remain. 

A'. Hen. 1 was anointed king at nine months old ; 
My father, and my grandfather, were kings ; 
And you were sworn true subjects unto me : 
And tell me then, have you not broke your oaths 1 

1 Keep. No ; 
For we were subjects, but while you were king. 

A'. Hen. Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man^ 
Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear. 
I,ook, as I blow this feather from my face, 
And as the air blows it to me again. 
Obeying with my wind when I do blow. 
And yielding to another when it blows, 
Commanded always by the greater gust ; 
Such is the lightness of you common men. 
But do not break your oaths ; for, of that sin 
IMy mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. 
Go where you will, the king shall be commanded ; 
And be you kings ; command, and I'll obey. 

] Keim. We are true subjects to the king, king Ed - 

A', lien. So would you be again to Henry, [ward. 
If he were seated as king Edward is. 

1 Keep. We charge you, in God's name, and in the 
king's. 
To go with us unto the officers. 

A. Hen. In God's name, lead ; your king's name 
be obey'd: 
And what God will, then let your king perform ; 
And what he will, I humbly yield unto. [Exeunl. 

SCENE II. — London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Edward, Gloster, Clarence, and 
Lady Grey. 

K. Edw. Brother of Gloster, at Saint Alban's field 
This lady's husband, sir .fohn Grey, was slain, 
His lands then seiz'd on by the conqueror ; 
Her suit is now, to repossess those lands; 
Which we in justice cannot well deny, 
Because in quarrel of the house of York 
The worthy gentleman did lose his life. 

Glo. Your highness shall do well, to grant her suit; 
It were dishonour, to deny it her. 

A'. Edw. It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause. 

Glo. Yea ! is it so ? 

1 see, the lady hath a thing to grant. 
Before the kirg will grant her humble suit. 



ACT III.— SCENE II. 



509 



Clar. He knows the game ; How true he keeps 
the wind ! [Aside. 

Glo. Silence! [Aside. 

K. Edw. Widow, w8 will consider of your suit ; 
And come some other time, to know our mind. 

L. Grey, Right gracious lord, I cannot brook de- 
May it please your highness to resolve me now ; [lay : 
And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me. 

Glo. [Aside.] Ay, widow? then I'll warrant you 
all your lands. 
An if what pleases him, shall pleasure you. 
fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow. 
Clar. 1 fearhernot,unlessshechancetofall. [Aside. 
Glo. God tbrbid that ! forhe'll take vantages. [Aside. 
K. Edw. How many children hast thou, widovi' ] 

tell me. 
Clar Ithink.he meanstobegachildof her. [Aside. 
Glo. Nay, whip me then ; he'll rather give her two. 

[Aside. 

L. Crrey. Three, my most gracious lord. 

Glo. You shall have four, if you'll be rul'd by 

him. [Aside. 

K. Edw. "I'were pity, they should lose their father's 

land. 

L. Grey, lie pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. 

K. Edw. Lords, give us leave ; I'll try this widow's 

wit. [leave, 

Glo. Ay, good leave have you ; for you will have 

Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch. 

[Gloster and Clarence retire to the other side. 

K. Edw. Now tell me, madam, do you love your 

children ■? 
L. Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. 
K. Edw. And would you not do much, to do them 
good ? [harm. 

L. Grey. To do them good, I would sustain some 
K. Edw. Then get your husband's lands, to do 

them good. 
L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty, 
A'. Edw. I'll tell you how these lands are to be got. 
L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your highness' 

service. 
A'. Edw. What service wilt thou do me, if I give 
them 1 [do. 

L. Grey. What you command, that rests in me to 
A'. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my boon. 
L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. 
K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. 
L. Grey. Why, then I will do what your grace 

commands. 

Glo. He plies her hard ; and much rain wears the 

marble. [Aside. 

Clar. As red as fire ! nay, then her wax must 

melt. [Aside. 

L. Grey. Why stops my lord 1 shall I not hear 

my task ? 
K. Edvi. An easy task ; 'tis but to love a king. 
L. Grey. That's soon perform'd, because I am a 
subject. [give thee. 

K. Edw. Why then, thy husband's lands I freely 
i.Cret/.I take my leave with many thousand thanks. 
G/o. The match is made; she seals it withacurt'sy. 
A'. Edw. But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean. 
L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. 
A'. Edw. Ay, but I fear me, in another sense. 
What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to gef! 
L. Grey. My love till death, my humble thanks, 
my prayers ; 
That love, which virtue begs, and virtue grants. 
A'. Edw. No, by my troth, I did notmean such love. 
L. Grey, Why, then you mean, not as I thought 
you did. 



K Edw. But now you partly may perceive my mind. 
L. Grey. My mind will never grant what 1 perceive 
Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. 

A. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. 

L. Grey. 'Jo tell you plain, 1 had rather lie in 

piison. [band's lands. 

K. Edw. Why, then thou shall not have thy hus- 

L. Grey. Why, then mine honesty shall be my 

For by that loss I will not purchase them, [dower"; 

A'. £</» .Therein thouwrong'stthychildren mightily. 

L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both them 

But, mighty lord, this merry inclination [and me. 

Accords not with the sadness of my suit; 

Please you dismiss me, either with ay, or no. 

A'. Edw. Ay ; if thou wilt say ay, to my request: 
No ; if thou dost say no, to my demand. 

L. Grey. Tlien, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. 
Glo. The widow likes him not, she knits her brows. 

[Aside. 
Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom. 

[Aside. 
K, Edw. [Aside.l Her looks do argue her replete 
with modesty ; 
Her words do shew her wit incomparable. 
All her perfections challenge sovereignty : 
One way, or other, she is for a king ; 
And she shall be my love, or else my queen. — ■ 
Say, that king Edward take thee for his queen? 

L. Grey, 'lis better said than done, my gracious 
I am a subject fit to jest withal, [lord : 

But far unht to be a sovereiirn. 

A. Edw. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee, 
I speak no more than what my soul intends ; 
And that is, to enjoy thee for my love- 

L. Grey. And that is more than I will yield unto : 
I know, I am too mean to be your queen : 
And yet too good to be your concubine. 

K. Edw. You cavil, widow ; I did mean, my queen. 
L. Grey. 'J'will grieve your grace, my son should 

call you — father. 
A'. Edw. No more, than when thy daughters call 
thee mother. 
Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children : 
And, by God's mother, 1, being but a bachelor, 
Have other some : why, 'tis a happy thing 
To be the father unto many sons. 
Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. 

Glo. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. 

[.iside. 
Clar. When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shift. 

[Aside, 
K. Edw. Brothers, you muse what chat we two 

have had. 
Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks sad. 
A'. Edw. You'd think it strange, if I should marry 
Clar. To whom, my lord 1 [her. 

A'. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself. 

Glo. That would be ten days' wonder, at the least. 
Clar. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts. 
Glo. By so much is the wonder in extremes. 
K. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers : I can tell you 
Her suit is granted for her husband's lands, [both. 

Enter a Nobleman. 

Nob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken. 
And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. 

A'. £(/ii'. See, that he be convey 'd unto the I'ower: — 
And go we, brotliers, to the man that took him, 
To question of his apprehension. — 
Widow, go you along ; — Lords, use her honourable 
[Exeunt King Edward, Lady Grey^ 
Clarence, and Lord. 



510 



KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 



Glo. Ay, Edward will use women honourably. 
'Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all, 
That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, 
To cross me from the golden time I look for ! 
And yet, between my soul's desire, and me, 
(Theluslful Edward's title buried,) 
Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, 
And all the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies, 
To take their rooms, ere I can place myself : 
A cold premeditation for my purpose I 
Why, then 1 do but dream on sovereignty ; 
Like one that stands upon a promontory. 
And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, 
Wishing his foot were equal with his eye ; 
And chides the sea that sunders him from thence. 
Saying— he'll lade it dry to have his way : 
So do I wish the crown, being so far off; 
And so I chide the means that keep me from it ; 
And so I say — I'll cut the causes off. 
Flattering me with impossibilities. — 
My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much. 
Unless my hand and strength could equal them. 
Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard ; 
Wh^t other pleasure can the world afford 1 
I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap. 
And deck my body in gay ornaments, 
And wilch sweet ladles with my words and looks. 
O miserable thought ! and more unlikely. 
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns ! 
Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb : 
And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, 
She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe 
To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub ; 
To make an envious mountain on my back, 
Where sits deformity to mock my body ; 
To shape my legs of an unequal size ; 
To disproportion me in every part. 
Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp. 
That carries no impression like the dam. 
And am 1 then a man to be belov'd f 
0, monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought! 
Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, 
But to command, to check, to o'erbear such 
As are of better person than myself, 
I'll make my heaven— to dream upon the crown ; 
And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell, 
Until my mis-shap'd trunk that bears this head, 
Be round impaled with a glorious crown. 
And yet 1 know not how to get the crown. 
For many lives stand between me and home ; 
And 1, — like one lost in a thorny wood. 
That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns ; 
Seeking a way, and straying from the way . 
Not knowing how to find the open air, 
But toiling desperately to find it out, — • 
Torment myself to catch the English crown : 
And from that torment I will free myself, 
Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. 
Why, I can smile, and murder while I siniie : 
And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart ; 
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, 
And frame my face to all occasions. 
I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall-, 
I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk ; 
I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, 
Deceive more slily than Ulysses could. 
And, like a Sinon, take another Troy : 
I can add colours to the cameleon ; 
Change shapes, with Proteus, for advantages, 
And set the murd'rous INIachiavel to school. 
Can I dv, this, and cannot get a crown 1 
Tui! were it further off, I'll pluck it down. [Exit 



SCENE III. — France. A Room in the Palace. 

Flourish. Enter Lewis the French King, and Lady 
Bona, attended ; the King takes his slate. Then 
enter Queen Margahet, Prince Edward, her 
son, and the Earl of Oxford. 

A'. Lew. Fair queen of England, worthy Margaret, 

Ionising. 
Sit down with us ; it ill befits thy state, [sit. 

And birth, that thou should'st stand, while Lewis doth 
Q. Mar. No, mighty king of France ; now Margaret 
Must strike her sail, and learn awhile to serve. 
Where kings command. I was, I must confess. 
Great Albion's queen in former golden days : 
But now mischance hath trod my title down, 
And with dishonour laid me on the ground ; 
Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, 
And to my humble seat conform myself. 

A'. Lew. Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this 

deep despair 1 [tears, 

Q. Mar. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with 

And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares. 

A'. Lew. VVhate'er it be, be thou still like thyself. 

And sit thee by our side : yield not thy neck 

[Serits her by him. 
To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind 
Still ride in triumph over all mischance. 
Be plain, queen JMargaret, and tell thy grief j 
It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief. 

Q. Mar. Those gracious words revive my drooping 
thoughts, 
And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak. 
Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis, — 
That Henry, sole possessor of my love. 
Is, of a king, become a banish'd man, 
And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn ; 
While proud ambitious Edward, duke of York, 
Usurps the regal title, and the seat 
Of England's true-anointed lawful king. 
This is the cause, that I, poor Margaret,— 
With this my son, prince Edward, Henry's heir, — 
Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid ; 
And, if thou fail us, all our hope is done : 
Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help ; 
Our people and our peers are both misled, 
Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight. 
And, as thou see'st, ourselves in heavy plight. 

K. Lew. Renowned queen, with patience calm the 

While we bethink a means to break it off. [storm, 

Q, Mar. The more we stay, the stronger grows 

our foe. 
K. Lew. The more I stay, the more I '11 succour thee. 
Q. Mar. O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow : 
And see, where comes the breeder of my sorrow. 

Enter Warwick, attended. 

K. Lew. What's he, approacheth boldly to our pre- 
sence 1 [friend. 

Q. Mar. Our earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest 

A. Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick ! What brings 
thee to France ■? 

[Descendiugfrom his state. Queen Margaret nses. 

Q. Mar. Ay, now begins a second stonii to rise; 
For this is he, that moves both wind and tide. 

War. From worthy Edward, king of Albion, 
My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, 
I come, — in kindness and unfeigned love,— 
First, to do greetings to thy royal person ; 
And, then, to crave a league of amity : 
And, lastly, to confirm that amity > 

With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant 
That virtuous lady Bona, thy fair sister, 



ACT III.— SCENE III. 



511 



To England's king, in lawful marriage. 

Q. Mar. If that go forward, Henry's hope is done. 

IVar. And, gracious madam, [to Bona.] in our 
king's behalf, 
I am commanded, with your leave and favour, 
Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue 
To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart ; 
Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears, 
Hath plac'd thy beauty's image, and thy virtue. 

Q. Mur. King Lewis, — and lady Bona, hear me 
Before you answer Warwick. His demand [speak. 
Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love, 
But from deceit, bred by necessity ; 
For how can tyrants safely govern home, 
Unless abroad they purchase great alliance ? 
To prove him tyrant, this reason may suffice, — 
That Henry liveth still : but were he dead, 
Yet here prince PMward stands, king Henry's son. 
Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage 
Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour : 
For though usurpers sway the rule a while. 
Yet heaveiis are just, and time suppresseth wrongs. 

War. Injurious Margaret! 

Prince. And why not queen ? 

IVar. Because thy father Henry did usurp ; 
And thou no more art prince, than she is queen. 

Oxf. Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt, 
Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain ; 
And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, 
W^hose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest ; 
And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, 
Who by his prowess con<iuered all France : 
From these our Henry lineally descends. 

War. Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth discourse. 
You told not, how Henry the Sixth hath lost 
All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten ? 
Methink, these peers of France should smile at that. — 
But for the rest, — You tell a pedigree 
Of threescore and two years ; a silly time 
To make prescription for a kingdom's worth. 

Oxf. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy 
Whom thou obey'dst thirty and six years, [liege. 
And not bewray thy treason with a blush 1 

War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right. 
Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree ? 
For shame, leave Henry, and call Edward king. 

Oxf, Call him my king, by whose injurious doom 
My elder brother, the lord Aubrey Vere, 
Was done to death? and more than so, my father, 
Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years. 
When nature brought him to the door of death 1 
No, Warwick, no , while life upholds this arm, 
This arm upholds the house of Lancaster. 

War. And I the house of York. 

A'. Le?y.' Queen IMargaret, prince Edward, and Ox- 
Vounhsafe, at our request, to stand aside, [ford, 
While I use further conference with W^arwick. 

Q. Kar. Heaven grant, that Warwick's words be- 
witch him not ! 

[Retiring with the Prince and Oxford. 

K. Lew. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy 
conscience, 
Is Edward your true king 1 for I were loath. 
To link with him that were not lawful chosen. 

War. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour. 

K. Lew. But is he gracious in the people's eye ] 

War. The more, that Henry was unfortunate. 

A^ Lew. Thtn further, — all dissembling set aside. 
Tell me for truth the measure of his love 
Unto our sister Bona. 

War, Such it seems. 

As may beseem a monarch li^e himself. 



Myself have often heard him say, tnd swear,— 
That this his love was an eternal plant; 
Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground. 
The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun ; 
Exempt from envy, but not from disdain. 
Unless the lady Bona quit his pain. 

A'. Lew, Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve. 

Bona. Your grant, or your denial shall be mine : — 
Yet I confess, [to War] that often ere this day, 
W^hen I have heard your king's desert recounted. 
Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. 

A'. Lew. Then, Warwick, thus, — Our sister shall 
be Edward's ; 
And now forthwith shall articles be drawn 
Touching the jointure that your king must make, 
Which with her dowry shall be counterpois'd : — 
Draw near, queen Margaret, and be a witness. 
That Bona shall be wife to the English king. 

Prince. To Edward, but not to the F'nglish king. 

Q. Mar. Deceitful Warwick' it was tiiy device 
By this alliance to make void my suit ; 
Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry's friend. 

K. Lew. And still is friend to him and Margaret: 
But if your title to the crown be weak, — - 
As may appear by Edward's good success, — 
Then 'tis but reason, that I be releas'd 
From giving aid, which late I promised. 
Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand. 
That your estate requires, and mine can yield. 

ir«r. Henry now lives in Scotland, at his ease , 
Where having nothing, nothing he can lose. 
And as for you yourself, out quondam queen, — 
You have a father able to maintain you ; 
And better 'twere, you troubled him than France. 

Q. Mar. Peace, impudent and shameless W^arwick, 
Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings! [peace j 
I will not hence, till with my talk and tears. 
Both full of truth, I make king Lewis behold 
Thy sly conveyance, and thy lord's false love ; 
For both of you are birds of self-same feather. 

[A horn sounded within. 

K. Lew. Warwick, this is some post to us, or thee. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord ambassador, these letters are for you ; 
Sent from your brother, marquis Montague. 
These from our king unto your majesty. — 
And, madam, these for you ; from whom, I know not. 
[To Margaret. Theii all read their letters. 

Oxf. I like it well, that our fair queen and mistress 
Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his. 

Prince. Nay, mark, how Lewis stamps as he were 
I hope, all's for the best. [nettled: 

A'. Lew. Warwick, what are thy news 1 and yours, 
fair queen ? [joys. 

Q. Mar. ]Mine, such as fill my heart with unhop'd 

War. Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent. 

K.Lew. What I has your king married the lady 
And now, to sooth your forgery and his, [Grey ? 
Sends me a paper to persuade me patience ? 
Is this the alliance that he seeks with France ? 
Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner? 

Q. Mar. I told your majesty as much before : 
This proveth Edward's love, and Warwick's honesty. 

War. King Lewis, 1 here protest, — in sight of hea- 
And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, — [ven. 
That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's ; 
No more my king, for he dishonours me ; 
But most himself, if he could see his shame. — 
Did I forget, that by the house of York 
Rly father came untimely to his death t 
Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece 1 



512 



KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 



Did I impale him with the regal crown 1 
Did I put Henry from his native right ; 
And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame? 
Sri;»me on himself: for my desert is honour. 
And to repair my honour lost for him, 
I here renounce him, and return to Henry : 
My noble queen, let former grudges pass, 
And henceforth I am thy true servitor; 
I will revenge his wrong to lady Bona, 
And replant Henry in his former state. 

Q. Mar. Warwick, these words have turned my hate 
And I forgive and quite forget old faults, [to love ; 
And joy that thou becom'st king Henry's friend. 

War. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend, 
That, if king Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us 
With some few bands of chosen soldiers, 
I '11 undertake to land them on our coast, 
And force the tyrant from his seat by war. 
'Tis not his new-made bride shall succour him: 
And as for Clarence, — as my letters tell me, 
He 's very likely now to fall from him ; 
For matching more for wanton lust than honour, 
Or than for strength and safety of our country. 

Bona. Dear brother, how shall Bona be reveng'd. 
But by thy help to this distressed queen 1 

Q. Mar. Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry 
Unless thou rescue him from foul despair 1 [live, 

Bi^ia. My quarrel and this English queen's are one. 

War. And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours. 

K, Lew. And mine with hers, and thine, and Rlar- 
Therefore, at last, I firmly am resolv'd, [garet's. 
You shall have aid. 

Q. Mar. Let me give humble thanks for all at once. 

K.Lew. Then f^ngland's messenger, return in post; 
And tell false Edward, thy supposed king, — 
That Lewis of France is sending over maskers. 
To revel it with him and his new bride: 
Thou seest what's past, go fear thy king withal. 

Bo7m. Tell him. In hope he'll prove a widower, 
I'll wear the willow garland for his sake, [shortly, 

Q. Mar. Tell iiim, Rly mourning weeds are laid 
And I am ready to put armour on. [aside, 

War. Tell him from me. That he hath done me 
wrong ; 
And therefore I'll uncrown him, ere't be long. 
There's thy reward ; be gone. [Exit Mess. 

K. Lew. But, Warwick, thou. 

And Oxford, with five thousand men. 
Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle : 
And, as occasion serves, this noble queen 
And prince shall follow with a fresh supply. 
Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt ;— 
What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty? 

War. This shall assure my constant loyalty: — 
That if our queen and this young prince agree, 
I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy. 
To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands. 

Q. Mar. Yes, I agree, and thank you for your mo- 
Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, [tion : — 
Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick ; 
And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable, 
TUat only Warwick's daughter shall be thine. 

Prince. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it ; 
And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand. 

[He gives his Iiand to Warwick. 

K.Lew. Why stay we now! These soldiers shall be 
And thou, lord Bourbon, our high admiral, [levied. 
Shall waft them over with our royal fleet. — 
I long, till Edward fall by war's mischance, 
For mocking marriage with a dame of France. 

[Eieuiit all but ^VARWICK. 
War. I came from Edward as embassador, 



But I return his sworn and mortal foe : 

Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me, 
But dreadful war shall answer his demand. 
Had he none else to make a stale, but me : 
Then none but 1 shall turn his jest to sorrow. 
I was the chief that raised him to the crown, 
And I'll be chief to bring him down again : 
Not that I pity Henry's misery. 
But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. [E.rU. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Gloster, Clarence, Somerset, Montaguk, 
and others. 

Glo. Now, tell me, brother Clarence, what think you 
Of this new marriage with the lady Grey ■? 
Hath not our brother made a worthy choice T 

Clar. Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to France; 
How could he stay till Warwick made return 1 

Sam. My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the king. 

Flourish. Enter Kino Edward, attended; Ladv 
Grey, as Queen ; Pembroke, Si AFFOun. H \st- 
INGS, and others. 

Glo. And his well-chosen bride. 

Clar. I mind to tell him plainly what I think. 

K. Edw, Now, brother of Clarence, how like you 
our choice, 
That you stand pensive, as half malcontent? 

Clar. As well as Lewis of France, or the earl of 
W^arwick ; 
Which are so weak of courage, and in judgment, 
That they'll take no offence at our abuse. 

K.Edw. Suppose they take offence without a cause, 
They are but Lewis and Warwick ; I am Edward, 
Your king and Warwick's, and must have my will. 

Glo. And you shall have your will, because our 
Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. [king : 

K. Edw. Yea, brother Richard, are you offended 

Glo. Not I. [too ? 

No ; God forbid that I should wish them serer'd 
Whom God hath join'd together ; ay, and 'twere pity. 
To sunder them that yoke so well together. 

K. Edw. Setting your scorns, and your mislike. 
Tell me some reason why the lady Grey [aside, 

Should not become my wife, and England's queen : — 
And you too, Somerset, and Montague, 
Speak freely what you think. 

Clar. Then this is my opinion, — that king Lewis 
Becomes your enemy for mocking him 
About the marriage of the lady Bona. 

Glo. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge. 
Is now dishonoured by this new marriage. 

A". Edw. What, if both Lewis and Warwick be ap- 
By such invention as I can devise? [peas'd, 

Mont, Yet to have joined with France in such al- 
liance, [wealth 
W^ould more have strengthen'd this our common- 
'Gainst foreign storms, than any home-bred marriage 

Hast. W^hy knows not Montague, that of itself, 
England is safe, if true within itself? [France 

Mont. Yes ; but the safer, when it is back'd with 

Hast. 'Tis better using France, than trusting 
France : 
Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas. 
Which he hath given for fence impregnable, 
And with their helps only defend ourselves ; 
In them, and in ourselves, our safety lies. [serves 

Clar, For this one speech, lord Hastings, well de- 



ACT IV._SCENE 11. 



.5i;} 



To have the heir of the lord Hungerford. 

K.Edw. Ay, what of that? itwasiny will.and grant; 
And, for this once, my will shall stand for law. 

Glo. And yet, methinks, your grace hath not done 
To give the heir and daughter of lord Scales [well, 
Unto the brother of your loving bride ; 
She better would have fitted me, or Clarence : 
But in your bride you bury brotherhood. 

Clar. Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir 
Of the lord Bonville on your new wife's son. 
And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere- 

A'. FaIu). Alas, poor Clarence ! is it for a wife, 
That thou art malcontent 1 I will provide thee. 

Clar. In choosing for yourself, you shew'd your 
judgment ; 
Which being shallow, you shall give me leave 
To play the broker in mine own behalf; 
And, to that end, I shortly mind to leave you. 

A'. Edw. Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king, 
And not be tied unto his brother's will. 

Q. Eiiz. My lords, before it pleas 'd his majesty 
To raise my state to title of a queen, 
Do me but right, and you must all confess 
That I was not ignoble of descent. 
And meaner than myself have had like fortune. 
But as this title honours me and mine. 
So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing. 
Do cloud my joys, with danger and with sorrow. 

K.Edw. I\Iy lo\'e, forbear to fawn upon their frowns : 
What danger, or what sorrow can befall thee, 
So long as Edward is thy constant friend, 
And their true sovereign, whom they must obey 1 
Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too, 
Unless they seek for hatred at my hands : 
Which if they do, yet will 1 keep thee safe, 
A nd they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. 

Glo. I hear, yet say not much, but think the more. 

lAside. 

Enter a Messenger. 

K. Edw. Now, messenger, what letters, or what 
From France 1 [news, 

Mess. My sovereign liege, no letters ; and few 
But such as I, without your special pardon, [words, 
Dare not relate. 

K.Edw. Goto we pardon thee : therefore, in brief, 
Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them. 
What answer makes king Lewis unto our letters I 

Mess. At my depart, these were his very words ; 
Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king, — 
That Lewis of France is sending over maskers, 
To revel it with him and his new bride. 

K. Edw. Is Lewis so brave ; belike, he thinks me 
But what said lady Bona to my marriage 1 [Henry, 

Mess. These were her words, utter'd with mild dis- 1 
Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly, [dain ; , 
ril xcear the ivillow garland for liis sake. \ 

K. Edw. I blame not her, she could say little less ; ! 
She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen ] 
For I have heard that she was there in place. 

Mess. Tell him, quoth she, my mourning weeds are 
And I am ready to put armour on. \^done, 

K. Ediv. Belike, she minds to play the Amazon. 
But what said Warwick to these injuries ? 

Mess. He, more incens'd against your majesty 
Than all the rest, discharg'd me with these words ; 
Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong, 
And therefore Ell uncrown him, ere't be long. 

K. Ediv. Ha ! durst the traitor breathe out so proud 
Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd : [words'! 
They shall have wars, and pay for their presumption. 
But say, is Warwick friends with INIargaret ■• 



Mess. Ay, gracious sovereign ; they are so link'd 
in friendship, [daughter 

That young prince Edward marries Warwick's 

Clar. Belike, the elder ; Clarence will have tfse 
younger. 
Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast. 
For I will hence to Warv-iick's otlier daughter ; 
That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage 
I may not prove inferior to yourself. — • 
You, that love me and Warwick, follow me. 

[Exit Clarence, and Somerset ybZfou'S. 

Glo. Not I. 
My thoughts aim at a further matter ; I 
Stay not for love of Edward, but tlie crown. [Aside. 

A. E(/(y. Clarence and Somerset both gone to War- 
Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen ; [wick! 
And haste is needful in this desperate case. — 
Pembroke, and Stafford, you in our behalf 
Go levy men, and make prepare for war. 
They are already, or quickly will be landed : 
Myself in person will straight follow you. 

[E.ieunt Pembroke and Stafford. 
But, ere I go, Hastings, — and Montague, — 
Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest, 
Are near to Warwick, by blood, and by alliance : 
Tell me, if you love Warwick more than me ■! 
If it be so, then both depart to him ; 
I rather wish you foes, than hollow friends ; 
But if you mind to hold your true obedience. 
Give me assurance with some friendly vow, 
That I may never have you in suspect. 

Mont. So God help RIontague, as he proves true ! 

Hast. And Hastings, as he favours Edward's cause ! 

K. Ediv. Now, brother Richard, will you stand 
by us 1 

Glo. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you. 

K. Edw. Why so ; then I am sure of victory. 
Now therefore let us hence ; and lose no hour. 
Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II A Plain in Warwickshire. 

Enter V/arwick and Oxford, with French and 

other Forces. 
War. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well ; 
The common people by numbers swarm to us. 

Enter Clarence and Somerset. 

But, see, where Somerset and Clarence come ; — 
Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends'' 

Clar. Fear not that, my lord. [wick; 

War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto War- 
And welcome, Somerset : — I hold it cowardice. 
To rest mistrustful where a noble heart 
Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love ; 
Else might I think, that Clarence, Edward's brother, 
Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings : 
But welcome, Clarence ; my daughter shall be thine. 
And now what rests, but, in night's coverture. 
Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd, 
His soldiers lurking in the towns about. 
And but attended by a single guard, 
We may surprize and take him at our pleasure 1 
Our scouts have found the adventure very easy : 
That as Ulysses, and stout Diomede, 
With slight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents. 
And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds ; 
So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle. 
At unawares may beat down FLdward's guard. 
And seize himself; I say not — slaughter him, 
For I intend l)ut only to surprize him. — 
You, that will follow me to this attempt, 
a K 



514 



KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 



Applaud the name of Henry, with your leader. 

iThetf all cri/ Henry ! 
Why, then, let's or. our way in silent sort : 
For VVarwick and his friends, God and Saint George ! 

[^Exeunt, 

SCENE III. — Edward's Camp near Warwick. 
Enter certain Watchmen, to guard the Kino's tent. 

1 Watch. Come on, my masters, each man take his 
The king, by this, is set him down to sleep, [stand; 

2 Watch. What, will he not to bed ? 

1 Watch. Why, no: for he hath made a solemn vow 
Never to lie and take his natural rest, 

Till Warwick, or himself, be (luite suppress'd. 

2 Watck. To-morrow then, belike, shall be the day, 
If Warwick be so near as men report. 

3 ]Vutch. But say, I pray, what nobleman is that, 
That with the king here resteth in his tent"! [friend. 

1 Watch. 'Tis the lord Hastings, the king's chiefest 
3 Watch O, is it so 1 But why commands the king. 

That his chief followers lodge in towns about him, 
While he himself keepeth in the cold field] [gerous. 

2 Watch. "I'is the more honour, because more dan- 

3 Watch. Ay ; but give me worship, and quietness, 
I like it better than a dangerous honour. 

If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, 

'Tis to be doubted, he would waken him. [sage. 

1 Watch. Unless our halberds did shut up his pas- 

2 Watch. Ay; wliereforeelseguard we his royal tent, 
But to defend his person from night-foes 1 

Enter Warwick, Ci.arf.nck, Oxford, So.merset, 
and Forces. 

War. This is his tent ; and see, where stand his 
guard. 
Courage, my masters: honour now, or never! 
But follow me, and Edward shall be ours. 

1 Watch, Who goes there ! 

2 Watch. Stay, or thou diest. 

[W'arwick, aw/ the rest, cru all — Warwick! War- 
wick I and set upon the Guard ; ivhojiy, crying 
— Arm! arm! \N arwick, and the rest following 
them. 

The drum beating, and trumpets sounding, re-enter 
Warwick, and the rest, bringing the King out in a 
gown, sitting in a chair: Gi.oster and HASTiNCS^/ii/' 
Som. What are they that fly there? 

War. Richard, and Hastings : let them go, here's 

the duke. 
K.Edw. The duke! why, Warwick, when we parted 

Thou call'dst me king I [last, 



War. Ay, but the case is alter'd : 

When you disgrac'd me in my embassade. 
Then I degraded you from being king, 
And come now to create you duke of York. 
Alas ! how should you govern any kingdom. 
That know not how to use ambassadors ; 
Nor how to be contented with one wife ; 
Nor how to use your brothers brotherly ; 
Nor how to study for the people's welfare ; 
Nor how to shrowd yourself from enemies'? 

A'. Erf 11' . Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou here too 1 
Nay, then I see, that Edward needs must down. — 
Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance. 
Of thee thyself, and all thy complices, 
Edward will always bear himself as king : 
Though fortune's malice overthrow my state. 
My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel. 

War. Then, for his mind, be Edward England's 
king : [Takes ojf' his crown. 

But Henry now shall wear the English crown. 



And be true king indeed ; thou but the shadow. — 

My lord of Somer^et, at my request. 

See that forthwith duke Edward be convey'd 

Unto my brothei, archbishop of York. 

When 1 have fought with Pembroke and his fellows, 

I'll follow you, and tell what answer 

Lewis, and the lady Bona, send to him : — 

Now, for a while, farewell, good duke of York. 

K. Edw. What fates impose, that men must needs 
It boots not to resist both wind and tide. [abide; 

[Exit Kino Evwaud, led out ; Somerset u'it/j /;/;». 

Ojf. What now remains, my lords, for us to do. 
But march to London with our soldiers 1 

War. Ay, that 's the first tiling that we have to do ; 
To free king Henry from imprisonment. 
And see him seated in the regal throne. [Eiennt. 

SCENE IV. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Queen Elizabeth and Rivers. 

Riv. Madam, what makes you in this sudden change? 

Q. Eliz. ^Vhy, brotlier Rivers, are you yet to leain. 
What late misfortune is befall'n king Edward ? 

Riv. What, loss of some pitch'd battle against W^ar- 
wick ? 

Q. Eliz. No, but the loss of his own royal person. 

Riv. Then is my sovereign slain ? 

Q. Eliz. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner; 
Either betray 'd by falsehood of his guard, 
Or by his foe surpriz'd at unawares : 
And, as I further have to understand. 
Is now committed to the bishop of York, 
Fell W^arwick's brother, and by that our foe- 

Riv. These news, I must confess, are full of grief • 
Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may ; 
VVarwick may lose, that now hath won the day. 

Q. Eliz. Till then, fair hope must hinder life's decay. 
And I the rather wean me from despair, 
For love of F>dvvard's offspring in my womb : 
This is it that makes me bridle passion 
And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross ; 
Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear. 
And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs. 
Lest with my sighs or tears 1 blast or drown 
King Edward's fruit, true heir to the English crown. 
Riv. But, madam, where is Warwick then become' 
Q. Eliz. I am informed, that he comes towards 
London, 
To set tlie crown once more on Henry's head : 
Guess thou the rest ; king Edward's friends must down. 
But, to prevent the tyrant's violence, 
(For trust not hiin that once hath broken faith,) 
1 '11 hence forthwith unto the sanctuary. 
To save at least the heir of Edward's right ; 
There shall 1 rest secure from force, and fraud. 
Come therefore, let us fly, while we may fly; 
If Warwick take us, we are sure to die. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. 
A Park near Middleham Castle in Yorkshire. 

Enter Gloster, Hastings, Sir William Stanley 
and others. 
Glo. Now, my lord Hastings, and sir William Stan- 
Lea\e ofl" to wonder, wliy 1 drew you hither, [ley 
Into this chiefest thicket of the park. 
Thus stands the case : You know, our king, my brother 
Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands 
He hath good usage and great liberty ; 
And often, but attended with weak guard. 
Comes hunting this way to disport himself. 
1 liave advertis'd him by secret means. 
That if, about this hour, he make this way. 



ACT IV.— SCENE VII. 



Under the colour of his usual game, 

He shall here find his friends, with horse and men, 

To set him free from his captivity. 

Enter King Edwaud, and a Huntsman. 
Hunt. This way, my lord ; for this way lies the game. 
K. Edw. Nay, this way, man ; see, where the hunts- 
men stand. — 
Now, brother of Glosler, lord Hastings, and the rest, 
Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's deer? 

(Ho. Brother, the time and case requireth haste ; 
Your horse stands ready at the park corner. 
A'. Edw. But whither shall we then 1 
Hast. To Lynn, my lord ; and ship from thence to 
Flanders. [meaning. 

Glo. Well guess'd, believe me ; for that was my 
K. Edw. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness. 
Glo. But wherefore stay we ^. 'tis no time to talk. 
K. Edw. Huntsman, what say'st thou 1 wilt thou 

go along? ' 

Hunt. Better do so, than tarry and be hang'd. 
Glo. Come then, away ; let's have no more ado. 
K. Edw. Bishop, farewell; shield thee from War- 
wick's frown ; 
And pray that I may repossess the crown. [ExeuHt. 

SCENE VI.— ^ Room in the Tower. 

Enter King Henry, Clarence, Warwick, Somer- 
SKT, young Richmond, Oxford, Montague, Lieu- 
tenant of the Tower, and Attendants. 

A'. Hen. Waster lieutenant, now that God and friends 
Have shaken Edward from the regal seat ; 
And turn'd my captive state to liberty, 
My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys ; 
At our enlargement what are thy due fees'! 

Lieu. Subjects may challenge nothingof their sove- 
But, if an humble prayer may prevail, [reigns; 

I then crave pardon of your majesty. 

K. Hen. For what, lieutenant ! for well using me ? 
Nay, be thou sure, 1 '11 well requite thy kindness, 
For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure : 
Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds 
Conceive, when, after many moody thoughts. 
At last, by notes of household harmony, 
They quite forget their loss of liberty. — 
But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free. 
And chiefly therefore, I thank God, and thee ; 
He was the author, thou the instrument. 
Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite. 
By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me ; 
And that the people of this blessed land 
May not be punish'd with my tiiwarting stars ; 
Warwick, although my head still wear the crown, 
I here resign my government to thee, 
For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. 

War. Your grace hath still been fam'd for virtuous; 
And now may seem as wise as virtuous. 
By spying, and avoiding, fortune's malice. 
For few men rightly temper with the stars : 
Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace, 
For choosing me, when Clarence is in place. 

CUir. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway. 
To whom the heavens, in thy nativity, 
Adjudg'd an olive branch, and laurel crown. 
As likely to be blest in peace, and war ; 
And therefore I yield thee my free consent. 

War. And 1 choose Clarence only for protector. 

K. Hen. Warwick, and Clarence, give me both your 
hands ; 
Now join your hands, and, with your hands, your 
That no dissention hinder government : [hearts. 



515 



I make you both protectors of this land ; 
While I myself will lead a private life, 
And in devotion spend my latter days, 
To sin's rebuke, and my Creator's praise. 

]\'ar. What answers Clarence to his sovereign's will' 

Clar. That he consents, if Warwick yield consent; 
For on thy fortune I repose myself. 

War. Why then, though loath, yet must I be con- 
We 'II yoke together, like a double shadow [tent : 
To Henry's body, and supply his place ; 
I mean, in bearing weight of government, 
^VhiIe he enjoys the honour, and his ease. 
And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful. 
Forthwith that Edward be pronounc'd a traitor, 
And all his lands and goods be confiscate. 

Clar.W hat else"! and that succession be determin'd. 

War. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part. 

A. Hen. But, with the first of all your chief affairs, 
Let me entreat, (for I command no more,) 
That Margaret your queen, and my son Edward, 
Be sent for, to return from France with speed : 
For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear 
My joy of liberty is half eclips'd. 

Clar. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed. 

A'. Hen. My lord of Somerset, what youth is that. 
Of whom you seem to have so tender care 1 

Som. My liege, itis young Henry.earl of Richmond. 

A. Hen. Come hither, England's hope : If secret 
powers [Lni/s his hand on his head. 

Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, 
This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss. 
His looks aie full of peaceful majesty ; 
His head by nature fram'd to wear a crown. 
His hand to wield a scepter ; and himself 
Likely, in time, to bless a regal throne. 
Make much of him, my lords ; for this is he 
Must help you more than you are hurt by me. 

Enter a Messenger. 

War. What news, my friend 1 

Mess. That Edward is escaped from your brother. 
And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. 

War. Unsavoury news : but how made he escaped 

Mess. He was convey'd by Richard duke of Gloster, 
And the lord Hastings, who attended him 
In secret ambush on the forest side. 
And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him : 
For hunting was his daily exercise. 

War. My brother was too careless of his charge. — 
But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide 
A salve for any sore that may betide. 

[E.Ie^iMt King Hen'ky, Warwick, Clarence, 
Lieutenant, and Attendants. 

Som. My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's : 
For, doubtless. Burgundy will yield him help ; 
And we shall have more wars, before't be long. 
As Henry's late presaging prophecy 
Did glad my heart, with hope of thisyoung Richmond; 
So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts 
What may befall him, to his harm, and ours : 
Therefoie, lord Oxford, to prevent the worst. 
Forthwith we'll send him hence to Britany, 
Till storms be past of civil enmity. 

Oif. Ay ; for, if Edward repossess the crowii, 
'Tis like, that Richmond with the rest shall down. 

■Som. It shall be so ; he shall to Britany. 
Come, therefore, let's about it speedily. [Eieunl 

SCENE Ylh— Before York. 
Enfer King Edward, Glostek, Hastings, (5r Forcei 
K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, lord Hastings, and 
Yet thus far fortune inaketh us amends, [the rest; 
2 K 2 



016 



RING HENRY VI.— PART HI. 



And says — that once more 1 shall interchange 

M\ waned state for Henry's regal crown. 

Well have we pass'd, and now repass'd the seas, 

And brought desired help from Burgundy : 

^\'hat then remains, we being thus arriv'd 

l-'rom Ravenspurg haven before the gates of York, 

15ut that we enter, as into our dukedom t 

Gin. The gates made fast! — Brother, I like not this; 
For many men, that stumole at the threshold, 
Are well foretold— that danger lurks within. 

A'. Ediv. Tush, man ! abodements must not now af- 
By fair or foul means we must enter in, [fright us: 
For iiither will our friends repair to us. [them. 

Hast. My liege, I'll knock once more, to summon 

Enter on the walls, (/le Mayor n/" York, 3f his brethren. 

Maj/; My lords, we were forewarned of yourcoming, 
And shut the gates for safety of ourselves ; 
For now we owe allegiance unto Henry. 

K. Edu\ But, master mayor, if Henry be your king, 
Yet Edward, at the least, is duke of York. 

Mto;. True, my good lord ; I know you for no less. 

K.Edw. VVhy,andI challenge notliingbutmyduke- 
As being well content with that alone. [dom ; 

Glci. But, wlien the fox hath once got in his nose. 
He'll soon find means to make the body follow. [Aside. 

H((si.VVhy,mastermayor,why stand you in a doubt? 
Open the gates, we are king Henry's friends. 

May. Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be open'd. 

[^Exeunt from above. 

Glo. A wise stout captain, and persuaded soon ! 

Hast. The good old man would fain that all were well. 
So 'twere not 'long of him : but, bein^ enter'd, 
1 doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade 
Both him, and all his brothers, unto reason. 

JU-enter the Mayor, and two Aldermen, below. 

K. Edw. So, master mayor, these gates must not be 
But, in the night, or in the time of war. [shut. 

What ! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys ; 

[Takes his keys. 
For Edward will defend the town, and thee, 
And all those friends that deign to follow me. 

Drum, Enter IMontgo.meey, and Forces, marchino-. 

Glo. Brother, this is sir John Montgomery, 
Our trusty friend, unless I be deceiv'd. [arms? 

K.Edw. Welcome, sir John ! but why come you in 

Mont. To help king Edvv'ard in his time of storm. 
As every loyal subject ought to do. 

A". Edw. Thanks, good Montgomery : But we now 
Our title to the crown ; and only claim [forget 

Our dukedom, till God please to send the rest. 

Mont. Then fare you well, for I will hence again ; 
I came to serve a kinEc, and not a duke, — 
Drummer, strike up, and let us march away. 

[A marcli begun. 

K.Edw. Nay, stay, sir John, awhile ; and we '11 de- 
By what safe means the crownmay berecover'd. [bate, 

Mont. What talk you of debating? in few words, 
If you'll not here proclaim yourself our king, 
I'll leave you to your fortune ; and be gone, 
'I'o keep them back that come to succour you : 
Why should we fight, if you pretend no title ? 

Glo. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice 
points ? 

K. Edw. When we grow stronger, then we'll make 
our claim : 
Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning, [rule. 

Hast. Away with scrupulous wit ! now arms must 

Glo. And fearless minds climb soonest into crowns. 
Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand ; 
I'lie bruit thereof will bring you many friends. 



K. Edw. Then be it as you will : for 'tis my right, 
And Henry but usurps the diadem. 

Mont. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like him. 
And now will I be Edward's champion. [self, 

Hast. Sound, trumpet; Edward shall be here pro- 
claini'd : — 
Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation. 

[Gives him a paper. Flourish. 

Sold. [Reads.l Edward the Fourth, by the grace of 
God, king of England and France, and lord of Ire- 
land, &c. 

Mont. And whosoe'er gainsays king Edward's right, 
By this I challenge him to single fight. 

[Throws down his gauntlet. 

All. Long live Edward the Fourth ! 

K.Edw. Thanks, brave Montgomery ; — and thanks 
unto you all. 
If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness. 
Now, for this night, let 's harbour here in York : 
And, when the morning sun shall raise his car 
Above the border of this horizon, 
We '11 forward towards Warwick, and his mates ; 
For, well I wot, that Henry is no soldier. — 
Ah, froward Clarence ! — how evil it beseems thee. 
To flatter Henry, and forsake thy brother ! 
Yet, as we may , we'll meet both thee and Warwick. — 
Come on, brave soldiers ; doubt not of the day ; 
And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. 

[Eie^int. 

SCENE VIII.— London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry, Warwick, Clarence, Mon- 
tague, Exeter, a7(rf Oxford. 

War. WHiat counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia, 
With hasty Germans, and blunt Hollanders, 
Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas. 
And with his troops doth march amain to London ; 
And many giddy people flock to him. 

Ojf. Let's levy men, and beat him back again. 

Clar. A little fire is quickly trodden out ; 
Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench. 

War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends. 
Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war ; 
Those will I muster up : — and thou, son Clarence, 
Shalt stir, in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent, 
The knights and gentlemen to come with thee : — 
Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, 
Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find 
Men well inclin'd to hear what thou command'st : — 
And thou, brave O.xford, woiidrous well belov'd, 
In Oxfordsiiire shalt muster up thy friends. — 
RIy sovereign, with the loving citizens, — 
Like to his island, girt in with the ocean. 
Or modest Dian, circled with her nymphs, — 
Shall rest in London, till we come to him. 
Fair lords, take leave, and stand not to reply. — 
Farewell, my sovereign. [hope. 

A'. Hen. Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's true 

Clar. In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' hand. 

A'. Hen. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate. 

Mont. Comfort, my lord ; — and so I take my leave 

0.if. And thus [kissing Henry's hand.'\ 1 seal mj 
truth, and bid adieu. 

K. Hen. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague 
And all at once, once more a happy farewell. 

War. Farewell, sweet lords; let's meet at Coventrj 
[Eieunt War. Ci.au. Oxf. and MoNT. 

K. Hen. Here at the palace will I rest a while. 
Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship ? 
Methinks, the power that Edward hath in field. 
Shall not be able to encounter mine. 

Exe. The doubt is, that he will seduce the rest. 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



517 



K. H«it, That's not my fear, my meed hath got me 
I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands, [tame. 
Nor posted otf their suits with slow c^lays , 
My pi<y halh been bahn to heal their wounds, 
My mildness halli allay'd their swelling griefs, 
My mercy dry'd their water flowing tears : 
I have not been desirous of tlieir wealth, 
Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies. 
Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd ; 
Then why should they love Edward more than me 1 
No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace : 
And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb. 
The lamb will never cease to follow him. 

[Shmit within. A Lancaster 1 A Lancaster ! 

Eie. Hark, hark, my lord ! what shouts are these ? 

Enter King Edwaud, Gloster, and Soldiers. 

Edw. Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry, bear him 
hence. 
And once again proclaim us king of Engbnd. — 
You are the fount, that makes small brooks to flow. 
Now stops thy spring , my sea shall suck them dry. 
And swell so much the higher by their ebb. — 
Hence with him to the Tower ; let him not speak. 

[E.ieinit some with Kixo Henry. 
And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course. 
Where peremptory Warw^ick now remains : 
The sun shines hot, and, if we use delay, 
Cold-biting winter mars our hop"d-for hay. 

Glo. Away betimes, before his forces join. 
And take the great- grown traitor unawares : 
Brave warriors march amain towards Coventry. 

[£xcn;U. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. -Coventry. 

Enter, upon the xcalls, Warwick, the Mayor of 
Coventry, two Messengers, and others. 

War. Where is the post, that came from valiant 
Oxford 1. 
How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow 1 

1 Mess. By thisatDunsmore, marching hitherward. 
War. How far off is our brother Montague? — 

Where is the post that came from Montague ? 

2 Mess. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop. 

Enter Sir John Somerville. 
War. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son ? 
And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now 1 

Som. At Southam I did leave him with his forces. 
And do expect him here some two hours hence. 

[Drum heard. 
War. Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum. 
Som. It is not his, my lord ; here Southam lies ; 
The drum your honour hears, marcheth from War- 
wick, [friends. 
War. Who should that be? belike, unlook'd-for 
Som. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know. 

Drums. Enter King Edward, Glosteb, 
and Forces, marching. 

K.Edw. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle. 

Glo. See, how the surly Warwick mans the wall. 

War. O, unhid spite ! is sportful Edward come? 
Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduc'd. 
That we could hear no news of his repair ! 

K.F.dtv. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates, 
Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee ? — 
Call Edward — king, and at his hands beg mercy, 
And he shall pardon thee these outrages. 



War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence, 
Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down ? — 
Call Warwick — patron, and be penitent. 
And thou shalt still remain the duke of York. 

Gla. I thought, at least, he would have said--the 
Or did he make the jest against his will ? [king ; 

War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift? 

Glo. Ay, by my faitii, for a poor earl to give ; 
I'll do thee service for so good a gift. [ther. 

War. 'Twas I, that gave the kingdom to thy bro- 

K. Edw. Why, then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's 
gift. 

War. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight : 
And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again ; 
And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject. 

A". Edw. But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner- 
And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this, — 
What is the body when the head is ofi" ! 

Glo. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast, 
But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten. 
The king was slily finger'd from the deck ! 
You left poor Henry at the bishop's palace, 
And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower. 

K. Edw. 'Tis even so ; yet you are Warwick still. 

Gio. Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down, 
kneel down : 
Nay, when ? strike now, or else the iron cools. 

War. I had rather chop this hand ofl" at a blow, 
And with the other fling it at thy face. 
Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee. 

A'. Edw. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide 
thy friend ; 
This hand fast wound about thy coal-black hair. 
Shall, whiles the head is warm, and new cut off. 
Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood, — 
Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more. 

Enter Oxfoud, with drum and colours. 

War. O cheerful colours! see, where Oxford comes! 

Oif. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancastei ! 

[OxFDRD and his Forces enter the City. 

Glo. The gates are open, let us enter too. 

A'. Edw. So other foes may set upon our backs. 
Stand we in good array ; for they, no doubt. 
Will issue out again, and bid us battle : 
If not, the city, being but of small defence, 
We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same. 

Wo'-. O, welcome Oxford! for we want thy kelp. 

Enter Montague, with drum and colours. 

Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster ! 

[He and his Forres enter the Citu. 

Glo. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this trea- 
Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear [sou 

A. Edw. The harder match'd, the greater victory 
My mind presageth happy gain, and conquest. 

Enter Somerset, with drum and colours, 

Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster! 

[He and his Forces enter the Citif 

Glo. Two of thy name, both dukes of Somerset, 
Have sold their lives unto the house of York ; 
And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold. 

Enter Clarence, with drum and colours. 

War. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps 
Of force enough to bid his brotiier battle ; [along 
With whom an uprigiit zeal to right prevails. 
More than the nature of a brotlier's love : 
Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick calls. 

Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what thi.s 
means ? [Taking the red rose out of his cap 



510 



KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 



Look here, I throw my infamy at tliee : 

1 will not ruinate my father's house, 

Who gave his blood to lime the stones togethei, 

And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'stthou, Warwick, 

'J'hat Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural. 

To bend the fatal instruments of war 

Against his brother and his lawful king? 

Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath : 

To keep that oath were more impiety 

Than Jephtha's, when he sacrificed his daughter. 

I am so sorry for my trespass made. 

That, to deserve well at my brother's hands, 

I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe : 

With resohition, wlieresoe'er I meet thee, 

(As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad,) 

To plague thee for thy foul misleading me. 

And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee, 

And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks. — ■ 

Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends ; 

And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults, 

P'or I will henceforth be no more inconstant. 

A'. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times more 
Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate, [belov'd, 

Glo, Welcome, good Clarence ; this is brother-like. 

War. passing traitor, perjur'd, and unjust! 

K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town, 
and fight 1 
Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears 1 

War. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence : 
I will away towards Barnet presently, 
And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st. 

K. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads 
the way : — 
Lords, to the field ; Saint George, and victory. 

l_March. Exeunt. 

SCENE 11.—^ Field of Battle near Barnet. 

Alarums, and Excursions. Enter King Edwaud, 
bringing in Warwick wounded, 

K. Edw. So, lie thou there : die thou, and die our 
For Warwick was a bug, that fear'd us all. — [fear ; 
Now, Montague, sit fast ; I seek for thee. 
That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. 

[Exit. 

War. Ah, who is nigh! come to me, friend or foe, 
And tell me, who is victor, York, or Warwick? 
Why ask I that? my mangled body shews. 
My blood, my want of strengtii, my sick lieeirt shews, 
That I must yield my body to the earth. 
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. 
Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, 
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, 
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept: 
Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree. 
And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. 
These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black 
Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun, [veil, 
To search the secret treasons of the world : 
The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood, 
Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres ; 
For who liv'd king, but 1 could dig his grave ? 
And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow? 
Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood .' 
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had. 
Even now forsake me ; and of all my lands, 
Is notliing left me, but my body's length I 
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? 
And, live we how we can, yet die we must. 

Enter Oxford and Somerset. 
Som. Ah,Warwick,Warwick ! wert thou as we are. 



[ Wa might recover all our loss again ; 
I I'liequeen from France hath brought a puissant power: 
Even now we heard the news: Ah, could'st thou flyi 
War. Why, then I would not fly. — Ah, /Montague, 
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, 
.'Vnd with thy lips keep in my soul awhile ! 
Thou lov'st me not ; for, brother, if thou didst. 
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood, 
That glews my lips, and ^vill not let me speak. 
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. [last ; 

Som. Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breath'd his 
And to the latest gasp, cried out for Warwick, 
And said, — Commend me to my valiant brother. 
And more he would have said ; and more he spoke. 
Which sounded like a cannon in a vault. 
That might not be distinguish'd ; but, at last, 
I well might hear deliver'd with a groan, — 
O, farewell, Warwick I 

War. Sweet rest to his soul ! 

Fly, lords, and save yourselves ; for War^vick bids 
You all farewell, to meet again in heaven. [Dies. 
Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great power ! 
[Exeunt, bearing oj/' Warwick's body. 

SCENE lU.^Another Part of the Field. 

Flourish. Enter King Edward, ?'/i triumph ; with 
Clarence, Gloster, and the rest. 

K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward 
And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory, [course, 
But, in the midst of this bright shining day, 
I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud. 
That will encounter with our glorious sun. 
Ere he attain his easeful western bed : 
I mean, my lords, — those powers, that the queen 
Hath rais'd in Gallia, have arriv'd our coast, 
And, as we hear, march on to fight with us. 

Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud. 
And blow it to the source from whence it came: 
Thy very beams v.'ill dry those vapours up ; 
For every cloud engenders not a storm. 

Glo. The queen is valu'd thirty thousand strong, 
And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her; 
If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd. 
Her faction will be full as strong as ours. 

A'. Edw. We are advertis'd by our loving friends, 
That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury ; 
We having now the best at Barnet field. 
Will thither straight, For willingness rids way : 
And, as we march, our strength will be augmented 
In every county as we go along. — 
Strike up the drum; cry — Courage! and away. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Plains near Tewksbury 

March. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, 
Somerset, Oxford, and Soldiers. 

Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail 
their loss, 
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. 
What though the mast be now blown over-board. 
The cable broke, the holding anchor lost, 
And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood ; 
Yet lives our pilot still : Is't meet, that he 
Should leave the helm, and like a fearful lad, 
With tearful eyes add water to the sea. 
And give more strength to that which hath too much ; 
Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock, 
Which industry and courage might have sav'd? 
Ah, what a shame ! ah, what a fault were this I 
Say, Warwick was our anchor; What of that! 



ACT v.— SCENE V. 



r>i9 



And Montague, our top-mast ; What of him "! 

Our slaughter'd friends the tackles ; What of these 1 

Why, IS not Oxford here another anchor 1 

And Somerset another goodly mast"? 

The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings t 

And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I 

For once allow'd the skilful pilots charge 1 

We will not from the helm, to sit and weep ; 

But keep our course, though the rough wind say — no, 

From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck. 

As good to chide the waves, as speak them lair. 

And what is Edward, but a ruthless sea 1 

What Clarence, but a quicksand of deceit ■! 

And Richard, but a ragged fatal rockl 

All these the enemies to our poor bark. 

Say, you can swim ; alas, 'tis but a while : 

Tread on the sand ; why there you quickly sink : 

Bestride the rock ; the tide will wash you oft', 

Or else you famish, that's a threefold death. 

'J'his speak 1, lords, to let you understand. 

In case some one of you would fly from us, 

That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the brothers. 

More than with ruthless waves, with sands and rocks. 

Why, courage, then ! what cannot be avoided, 

'Twere childish weakness to lament, or fear. 

Prince. Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit 
Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, 
Infuse his breast with magnanimity. 
And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. 
I speak not this, as doubting any here : 
For, did I but suspect a fearful man. 
He should have leave to go away betimes ; 
I^est, in our need, he might infect another, 
And make him of like spirit to himself. 
If any such be here, as God forbid ! 
Let him depart before we need his help. 

Oif. Women and children of so high a courage ! 
And warriors faint' why, 'twere perpetual shame ! — 

brave young prince ! thy famous grandfather 
Doth live again in thee ; Long may'st thou live. 
To bear his image ana renew his glories ! 

Sonu And he that will not fight for such a hope, 
Go home to bed, and, like the owl by day. 
If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at. [thanks. 
Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset; — sweet Oxford, 
Prince. And take his thanks, that yet hath no- 
thing else. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand. 
Ready to fight ; therefore be resolute. 

Oif. 1 thought no less : it is his policy. 
To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided. 

Som. But he's deceiv'd, we are in readiness, [ness. 

Q. Mar. This cheers my heart, to see your forward- 

Oif. Here pitch our battle ; hence we will notbudge. 

March. Enter, at a distance, King Edward, 
Clarence, Glosteu, and Forces. 

K. Ediv. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny 
wood, 
»Vhich, by the heavens' assistance, and your strength. 
Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. 

1 need not add more fuel to your fire. 

For, well 1 wot, ye blaze to burn them out : 
Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords. 

Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what 1 
should say, 
My tears gainsay; for every word I speak, 
Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes. 
Therefore, no more but this : — Henry, your sovereign. 
Is prisoner to tiie (oe ; his state usurp 'd. 



His realm a slaughterhouse, his subjects slain, 
His statutes cancell'd, and his treasure spent ; 
And yonder is the wolf, that makes this spoil. 
You fight in justice ; then, in God's name, lords. 
Be valiant, and give signal to the fight. 

{_Exeu7it both armies. 

SCENE Y.— Another Part nf the same. 

Alarums: Excursions: and afterwards a retreat. Then, 
enter King Edwaiid, Clarence, Gloster, and 
Forces: ivith Queen Margaret, Oxford, and 
Somerset, prisoners. 

K. Edw. Now, here a period of tumultuous broils. 
Away with Oxford to Hammes' castle straight : 
For Somerset, off with his guilty head. 
Go, bear them hence ; I will not hear them speak. 

Oj/1 For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words. 

Som. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune. 
[Eieunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded. 

Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous w^rld, 
To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem. 

A'. Edw. Is proclamation made, — that, who finds 
Shall have a high reward, and he his life? [Edward, 

Glo. It is : and lo, where youthful Edward comes. 

Enter Soldiers, with Prince Edward. 

K. Edw. Bring forth the gallant, let us hear him 
What ! can so young a thorn begin to prick 1 [speak. 
Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make. 
For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects. 
And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to 1 

Prince. Speak like a subject, proud ambitiousYork. 
Suppose that I am now my father's mouth ; 
Resign thy chair, and, where 1 stand, kneel thou, 
Whilst I propose the self-same words to thee. 
Which, traitor, thou would'st have me answer to. 

Q. Mar, Ah, that thy father had been so resolv'd ! 

Glo. That you might still have worn the petticoat, 
And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. 

Prince. Let ^Esop fable in a winter's night ; 
His currish riddles sort not with this place. 

Glo. By heaven, brat, I'll plague you for that word 

Q. Mar, Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men. 

Glo. For God's sake, take away this captive scold. 

Prince. Nay, take auay this scolding crook-back 
rather. [tongue. 

K. Edw. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your 

Clat. Gntutor'd lad, thou art too malapert. 

Prince, I know my duty, you are all undutiful : 
Lascivious Edward, — and thou perjui'd George, — 
And thou misshapen Dick, — I tell ye all, 
I am your better, traitors as ye are ; — 
And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine. 

K. Edw. Take that, the likeness of this railer here. 

[Stabs him. 

Glo. Sprawl'st thou 1 take that, to end thy agony. 

[Gi.o. stabs him. 

Clar. And there's for twitting me with perjury. 

[Clar. stabs him, 

Q. Mar. 0, kill me loo ! 

Glo. Marry, and shall. [Offers to kill her. 

K. Edw. Hold, Richard, hold, for we have done 
too much. [words ? 

Glo. Why should she live, to fill the world with 

K. Edw. What! doth she swoon? use means for 
her recovery. 

Glo. Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother; 
I'll hence to London on a serious matter : 
Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news .' 

Clar. What? what? 

Glo. The Tower ! the Tower ! [ Exit. 



520 



KING HENRY VI.--PART 111. 



Q. Mar. O, Ned, sweet Ned ! speak to thy mother, 
boy! 
Canst thou not speak 1 — O traitors ! murderers ! — 
1 hey, that stabb'd Csesar, shed no blood at all, 
Did not oft'end, nor were not worthy blame. 
If this foul deed were by, to equal it. 
He was a man : this, in respect, a child ; 
And men ne'er spend their fury on a child. 
What's worse than murderer, that I may name it? 
No, no ; my heart will burst, an if I speaK : — 
And I will speak, that so my heart may burst, — 
Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals ! 
How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd ! 
You have no children, butchers ! if you had. 
The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse ; 
But, if you ever chance to have a child, 
Look in his youth to have him so cut oflf. 
As, deathsmen ! you have rid this sweet young prince ! 

K. Ediu. Away with her; go, bearher hence perforce. 

Q.Mar. Nay, neverbearme hence, despatchme here; 
Here «heath thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death : 
What! wilt thou not? — then, Clarence, do it thou. 

Clar. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease. 

Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do 
thou do it. [do it? 

Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear, I would not 

Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself : 
'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity. 
What! wilt thou not? where is that devil's butcher, 
Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou? 
Thou art not here : Murder is thy alms-deed ; 
Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back. 

K. Edw. Away, I say ; I charge ye, bear her hence. 

Q. Mar. So come to you, and yours, as to this 
prince ! [Exit, led out forcibly. 

K. Edw. Where's Richard gone? 

Clar. To London, all in post ; and, as I guess, 
To make a bloody supper in the Tower. 

A'. Edw. He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head. 
Now march we hence : discharge the common sort 
With pay and thanks, and let's away to London, 
And see our gentle queen how well she fares ; 
By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — London. A Room in the Tower. 

King Henry is discovered sitting with a booh in his 
hand, the Lieutenant attending. Enter Gloster. 

G/o. Good day, my lord ! What, atyourbook so hard? 

A'. Hen. Ay, my good lord : My lord, I should say 
'Tis sin to flatter, good was little better: [rather: 
Good Gloster, and good devil, were alike. 
And both preposterous ; therefore, not good lord. 

Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves : we must confer. 

[Eiit Lieutenant. 

K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf : 
So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece, 
And next his throat unto the butcher's knife. — 
What scene of death hath Roscius now to act ? 

Glo. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind ; 
The thief doth fear each bush an officer. 

K.Hen. The bird that hath been limed in a bush. 
With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush : 
And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird. 
Have now the fatal object in my eye, [kill'd. 

Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught, and 

Gio. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete, 
That taught his son the oflfice of a fowl ? 
And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd. 

A'. Hen. I, Daedalus ; my poor boy, Icarus ; 
Thy father, Minos, that denied our course ; 
The sun, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy^ 



Thy brother Edward ; and thyself, the sea. 
Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. 
Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words ! 
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point. 
Than can my ears that tragic history. — 
But wherefore dost thou come ? is't for my life ? 

Glo. Think'st thou, 1 am an executioner? 

K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art ; 
If murdering innocents be executing, 
Why, then thou art an executioner. 

Glo. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption. 

K.Hen. Hadst tlioubeenkill'd, when first thou didst 
Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine, [presume, 
And thus I prophecy, — that many a thousand. 
Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear ; 
And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's, 
And many an orplian's water-standing eye, — 
Men for their sons, wives for their husbands' fate. 
And orphans for their parents' timeless death, — 
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. 
The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign ; 
The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time ; 
Dogs howFd, and hideous tempests shook down trees , 
The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top, 
And chattering pies in dismal discords sung. 
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain. 
And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope ; 
To wit, — an indigest deformed lump. 
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. 
Teeth hadst thou in thy head, when thou wast bom, 
To signify, thou cam'st to bite the world : 
And, if the rest be true which 1 have heard. 
Thou cam st — 

Glo. I'll hear no more; — Die, prophet, in thy 
speech: [Stabs hitn. 

For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. 

K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this. 

God! forgive my sins, and pardon thee! [Dies, 
Glo. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster 

Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted. 
See, how my sword weeps for the poor king's death ! 

0, may such purple tears be always shed 

From those that wish the downfal of our house ' — 
If any spark of life be yet remaining, 
Down, down to hell ; and say — I sent thee thither, 

[Stabs him again, 

1, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. — 
Indeed, 'tis true, that Henry told me of; 
For I have often heard my mother say, 

1 came into the world with my legs forward : 
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste, 
And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right ? 
The midwife wonder'd : and the women cried, 
0, Jesus bless ns, he is born with teeth ! 

And so I was ; which plainly signified — 

That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. 

Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so. 

Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. 

I have no brother, I am like no brother : 

And this word— love, which greybeards call divine. 

Be resident in men like one another. 

And not in me ; I am myself alone. 

Clarence, beware ; thou keep'st me from the light; 

But I will sort a pitchy day for thee : 

For I will buz abroad such prophecies. 

That Edward shall be fearful of his life ; 

And, then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death. 

King Henry, and the prince his son, are gone : 

Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest ; 

Counting myself but bad, till I be best. — 

I '11 throw thy body in another room. 

And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. [Esii. 



ACT V. -SCENE VII. 



521 



SCENE VII. — The same A Room in the Palace. 

King Edward is discovered sitting on his throne ; 
Queen Elizabeth with the infant PniNCE, Cla- 
IIENCE, Gloster, Hastings, and others, near him. 

K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royal throne, 
Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies. 
What valiant foe-men, like to autumn's corn, 
Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride 1 
Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd 
For hardy and undoubted champions : 
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son, 
And two Northumberlands : two braver men 
Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound : 
With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Mon- 
That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion, [tague. 
And made the forest tremWle when they roar'd. 
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat, 
And made our footstool of security. — 
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy : — 
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles, and myself, 
Have in our armours watch'd'the winter's night ; 
Went all a foot in summer's scalding heat. 
That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace ; 
And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain. 

Glo. I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laid; 
For vet I am not look'd on in the world. 



This shoulder was ordain'd so thick, to heave ; 
And heave it shall some weight, or break my back :— 
Work thou the way, — and tliou shalt execute. [Aside. 

K. Edw. Clarence, and Gloster, love my lovely 
queen, 
And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both. 

Cliir. The duty, that I owe unto your majesty, 
I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. 

K. Edw. Thanks, noble Clarence ; worthy brother, 
thanks. [sprang'st, 

Glo. And, that I love tiie tree from whence thou 
Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit : 
To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master; 1 
And cried — all hail! when as he meant— L 
all harm. 3 

K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul delio-hts, 
Having my country's peace, and brothers' lo'ves. 

Clar. VVhat will your grace have done with Mar- 
Reignier, her father, to the king of France [garet 1 
Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem 
And hither have they sent it for her ransome. 

K. Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence to 
France. 
And now what rests, but that we spend the time 
With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows. 
Such as befit the pleasures of the court? — 
Sound, drums and trumpets I — farewell, sour annoy ! 
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. [_Exeunl. 



^ Aside. 



Of the three parts of King Henry the Siith, it is now agreed 
that thsjirst part is entirely spurious, or at most does not con- 
tain above ten or twelve lines from the hand of Shakspeare : and 
that of the two last parts iie was not the author, but merely the 
improver and enlarger. The total number of lines contained in 
these two plays is, according to Malone, six thousand and forty- 
three ; of these, one thousand seven hundred and seventy-one 
were written by Marlowe, or by Marlowe and his associates : 
two thousand three hundred aud seventy-three were framed by 
Shakspeare. ou the foundatioo laid by his preducessors : oae 



I thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine were entirely his own 

1 couiuosiiion. 
, Of the three plays, the first is indeed, as Mr. Morgan has 
justly described it, a drum-and-tnimpet thing;" the second 
aiid third have some very beautiful pa^sages. " I'hey l\ave noi " 
says Dr. Johnson, " sufficient variety of action, for the incidents 
are too often of the same kind ; yet many of the characters are 
well discriminated. King Henry and his queen, king Edwanl, 
the duke ot Gloster, and the earloi' Warwick, are very strongly 
aoa aistmr.tly paiaied." 



LIFE AND DEATH OF 

KING RICHARD III. 



This play was entered at Stationers' Hall by Andrew Wise, I 
Oct. CO, 1597i and published in quaiio tiie same yeir. It 
appears to liavc Leen a popular trai^edy so early as ISy.i, 1 
as we learn from a small volume of epigrams by John I 
Weever, in the collection of IMr. Comb, of Henley. Of 
this volume, which was written in the year 1595, the twenty- 
second epigram is addressed to William Shakspeare, and in I 



the poetical catalogue of his works enumerates Konieo and 
K I c H A K D. 
The space of time comprised in this drama, is about fourteen 
years -, the second scene commences with the funeral of King 
Henry VI., who, according to the received account, was mur- 
dered on the 21st of May, 1471, and closes with the death of 
Richard at Bosworth-field, 22d of August, i4ti5. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

King Edward the Fouiith. 
Edward, Prince of Wales, after- 1 

wards King Edward V. sons to the King. 

Richard, Du/ce ()/' York. j 

George, Ditfe o/' Clarence, li , t 

Rn 1 jw'i . r^ tnrotliers to the 
icHARD, Unke of (jloster, after- J- ... 

wards King Richard III. ' ) ^"^" 

A young Son o/' Clarence. 

Henrv, £(tr/ o/' Richmond, afterwards King 

Henry VII. 

Cardinel BouRCHiER, Archbishop c/' Canterbuiy. 

Thomas Rotheram, Archbishop of York. 

John Morton, Bishop o/' Ely. 

Duke of Buckingham. 

DitKE OF Norfolk. 

Earl of Surrey, his so,i. 

Earl Rivers, brother to King Edward's Queen, 

Marquis of Dorset and Lord Grev, hei' sojis. 

Earl of Oxford. 

Lord Hastings. 

Lord Stanley. 

Lord Lovel. 

Sir Thomas Vaughan. 

Sir Richard Ratcliff. 

Sir William Cateshy. 

Sir James Tyrrel. 

Sir James Blount. 

Sir Walter Herbert. 

Sir Robert Br AKENBURY, LieiUenant of the "Tower, 

Christopher Urswick, a Priest. 

AnotJier Priest. 

Lord Mduor of London. 

Slie-^iff of Wiltshire. 

Elizabeth, Queen n/'King Edward IV. 
(Margaret, loidow of King Henry VL 
Duchess of York, mother to King Edward IV., 

Clarence, and Gloster. 
Lady Anne, widow of Edward, Prince of Wales, 

son to King Henry VI.; afterwards married to the 

Duke of Gloster. 
A young Daughter of Clarence. 

Lords, and other Attendants ; two Gentlcmev, a Pur- 
suivant, Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Messengers, 
Ghosts, Soldiers, &c. 

SCENE, — England. 



Glo. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.— London. A itreet. 

Enter Gloster. 

Now is the winter of our discontent, 



Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; 



j And all the clouds, that lowr'd upon our house, 
In the deep bosom of the ocean bury'd. 
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; 

I Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; 
Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings, 
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. 
Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front ; 
And now — instead of mounting barbed steeds. 
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, — 
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, 
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. 
But I, — that am not shap'd for sportive tricks. 
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass : 
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty ; 
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph ; 
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, 
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, 
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time 
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up. 
And that so lamely and unfashionable, 
The dogs bark at me, as I halt b}' them ; 
W'hy I, in this weak piping time of peace. 
Have no delight to pass away the time ; 
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun, 
And descant on mine own deformity ; 
And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover. 
To entertain these fair well-spoken days, — 
I am determined to prove a villain. 
And hate the idle pleasures of these days. 
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, 
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams. 
To set my brother Clarence, and the king, 
In deadly hate the one against the other 
And, if king Edward be as true and just, 
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous. 
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up ; 
About a prophecy, which says — that G 
Of Edward's heirs, the murderer shall be. 
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul ! hereClarence comes. 

Enter Clarence, guarded, and Brakenbury. 
Brother, good day : What means this armed guard, 
That waits upon your grace ? 

Clar. His majesty, 

Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed 
This conduct to convey me to the Tower. 

Glo. Upon what cause ? 

Clar. Because my name is — George. 

Glo. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours ; 

He should, for that, commit your godfathers : • 

O, belike, his majesty hath some intent, 

That you should be new christen'd in the Tower. 

But what's the matter, Clarence ? may I know "! 

Clar. Yea, Richard, when 1 know ; for, I protest. 
As yet I do not : But, as I can learn, 
He hearkens after prophecies, and dreams ; 
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, 
And says — a wizard told him, that by G 



ACT I.- SCENE II. 



523 



His issue disinherited should be ; 
And, for my name of George begins with G, 
It follows in his thought, that 1 am he : 
These, as I learn, and such like toys as these, 
Have mov'd his highness to commit me now. 

Gin. Why, this it is, when men are rul'd by women : — 
'Tis not the king, that sends you to the Tower ; 
My lady Grey, liis wife, Clarence, 'tis she, 
That tempers him to this extremity. 
VVas it not she, and that good man of worship, 
Antony VVoodeville, her brother there. 
That made him send lord Hastings to the Tower; 
From whence this present day he is deliver'd 1 
W'eare not safe, Clarence, we are not safe. 

Clar, By heaven, 1 think, there is no man secure, 
But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds 
That trudge betwixt the king and mistress Shore. 
Heard you not, what an humble suppliant 
Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery ? 

Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity 
Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. 
I'll tell you what, — I think, it is our way, 
If we will keep in favour with the king. 
To be her men, and wear her livery : 
The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself, 
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen, 
Are mighty gossips in this monarchy. 

Bnik. I beseech your graces both to pardon me ; 
His majesty hath straitly given in charge. 
That no man shall have private conference, 
Of what degree soever, with his brother. 

Glo. Evensol an please yourworship, Brakenbury, 
You may partake of any thing we say : 
We speak no treason, man : — We say, the king 
Is wise, and virtuous ; and his noble queen 
Well struck in years ; fair, and not jealous : — 
We say, that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, 
A cherry lip, 

A bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue : 
And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks : 
How say you, sir ? can you deny all this ? 

Brak. With this, my lord, myself have nought to do. 

Glo. Nought to do with mistress Shore? I tell thee, 
He that doth nought with her, excepting one, [fellow. 
Were best to do it secretly, alone. 

Brak, What one, my lord "! [me? 

Glo. Her husband, knave : — Would'st thou betray 

Bra/c.I beseech your grace to pardon me; and, withal, 
Forbear your conference with the noble duke. [obey. 

Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will 

Glo. W'e are the queen's abjecls, and must obey. 
Brother, farewell: I will unto the king; 
And whatsoe'er you will employ me in, — 
Were it, to call king Edward's widow, — sister, — 
I will perform it, to enfranchise you. 
Mean time, tiiis deep disgrace in brotherhood. 
Touches me deeper than you can imagine. 

Clar. I know, it pleaseth neither of us well. 

Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; 
I will deliver you, or else lie for you : 
Mean time, have patience. 

Clar. I must perforce ; farewell. 

\_Eieunt Ci-ARENCE, Bhakknbi'uy, and Guard. 

Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return. 
Simple, plain Clarence! — 1 do love thee so, 
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven. 
If heaven will take the present at our hands. 
But who comes here ! the new-deliver'd Hastings ? 

Enter Hastings. 

Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord! 
Gio. As much unto my good lord chamberlain ! 



Well are you welcome to this open air. 

How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? 

Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must: 
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks. 
That were the cause of my imprisonment. 

Glo. Nodoubt, no doubt ; and so shall Clarence too ; 
For they, that were your enemies, are his. 
And have prevail'd as much on him, as you. 

Hast. More pity, that the eagle should be mew'J, 
While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. 

Glo. What news abroad ? 

Ha.u. No news so bad abroad, as this at home ; — 
The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy, 
And his physicians fear him mightily. 

Glo. Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed. 
O, he hath kept an evil diet long. 
And over-much consumed his royal person ; 
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. 
What, is he in his bed ? 

Hast. He is. 

Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you. 

[Exit Hastings. 
He cannot live, I hope ; and must not die, 
Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to heaven. 
I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, 
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments ; 
And, if I fail not in my deep intent, 
Clarence hath not another day to live : 
Which done, God take king Edward to his mercy, 
And leave the world for me to bustle in ! 
For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter : 
What, though I kill'd her husband, and her father ! 
The readiest way to make the wench amends. 
Is — to become her husband, and her father : 
The which will I ; not all so much for love. 
As for another secret close intent. 
By marrying her, which I must reach unto. 
But yet I run before my horse to market : 
Clarence still breathes ; Edward still lives, and reigns ; 
When they are gone, then must I count my gains. [Ex. 

SCENE II.— The savie. Another Street. 

Enter the corpse i^'King Henry the Sixth, borne m 
an open coffin, Gentlemen bearing halberds, to guard 
it ; and Lady Anne as mourner, 

Anne. Setdown, set down your honourable load, — 
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, — 
Whilst I a while obsequiously lament 
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. — 
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king ! 
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster ! 
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood ' 
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost. 
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, 
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, 
Slabb'd by the self- same hand that made these wounds! 
Lo, in these windows, that let forth thy life, 
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes : — 
O, cursed be the hand that made these holes ! 
Cursed the heart, that had the heart to do it ! 
Cursed the blood, that let this blood from hence ! 
More direful hap betide that hated wretch. 
That makes us wretched, by the death of thee, 
Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads. 
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives ! 
If ever he have child, abortive be it, 
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light. 
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect 
May fright the hopeful mother at the view ; 
And that be heir to his unhappiness ! 
If ever he have wife, let her be made 



524 



KING RICHARD III. 



More miserable by the death of him, 

Tlian I am made by my young lord, and thee ! — 

Come, now, toward Chertsey with your holy load. 

Taken from Paul's to be interred there ; 

And, still as you aiie weary of the weight, 

Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's corse. 

[_The bearers take wp the corpse, and advance. 

Enter Gloster. 

Glo. Stay you, that bear the corse, and set it down. 

Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend, 
To stop devoted charitable deeds '! 

Gio. Villains, set down the corse: or, by Saint Paul, 
I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. 

1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. 

G/o. Unmanner'd dog ! stand thou when I command : 
Advance thy halberd higher than my breast, 
Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot. 
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. 

[The bearers set down the coffin. 

Anne. What, do you tremble? are you all afraid? 
Alas, I blame you not ; for you are mortal. 
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. — 
Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell ! 
Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, 
His soul thou canst not have ; therefore, be gone. 

Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. 

Anne.leoul devil, forGod's sake, hence, and trouble 
For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, [us not ; 
Fill'd it with cursing cries, and deep exclaims. 
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds. 
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries : 
O, gentlemen, see, see ! dead Henry's wounds 
Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh ! 
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity ; 
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood 
From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells , 
Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural. 

Provokes this deluge most unnatural. 

O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death ! 
O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death ! 
Either, heaven, with lightning strike the murderer 
Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick ; [dead, 
As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood. 
Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered ! 

Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity. 
Which renders good forbad, blessings for curses. 

^n»e. Villain, thou know'st nolawofGod nor man , 
No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity. 

Gto. But I know none, and therefore am no beast. 

Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth ! 

Glo. More wonderful, when angels are so angry. — 
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman. 
Of these supposed evils, to give me leave, 
By circumstance, but to acquit myself 

Anne. Vouchsafe, difFus'd infection of a man. 
For these known evils, but to give me leave. 
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. 

Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have 
Some patient leisure to excuse myself. 

Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst 
No excuse current, but to hang thyself. [make. 

Glo By such despair, I should accuse myself 

Anne. And, by despairing, shalt thou stand excus'd ; 
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself. 
That didst unworthy slaughter upon others. 

Glo. Say, that I slew them not 1 

Anne. Why then, they are not dead : 

But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. 

Glo. I did not kill your husband. 

Anne. Why, then he is alive. 

Glo. Nay, he is dead ; and slain by Edward's hand. 



Anne. In thy soul's throat thou lies t ; queen Mar- 
garet saw 
Thy murderous faulchion smoking in his blood ; 
The which thou once didst bend against her breast, 
But that thy brothers beat aside the point. 

Glo. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue, 
That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. 

Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, 
That never dreamt on aught but butcheries: 
Didst thou not kill this king] 

Glo. I grant ye. [me too, 

Ajine. Dost grant me, hedge-hog'! then, God grant 
Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed ! 
O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous. 

G/o. The fitter for the Kingof heaven that hath him. 

Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. 

Glo. Let him thank me, that holp to send him thi- 
For he was fitter for that place, than earth, [ther ; 

Anne. And thou unfit for any place, but hell. 

Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name 

Anne. Some dungeon. [it. 

Glo. Your bed-chamber. 

Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest! 

Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you. 

Anne. I hope so. 

Glo. I know so. — But, gentle lady Anne, — 
To leave this keen encounter of our wits. 
And fall somewhat into a slowermethod; — 
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths 
Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, 
As blameful as the executioner 1 

A nne. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs'd efiect. 

Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect; 
Your beauty, which did haunt me in my sleep, 
To undertake the death of all the world. 
So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom. 

Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, 
These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. 

Glo. These eyes could not endure that beauty's 
You should not blemish it, if I stood by: [wreck, 
As all the world is cheered by the sun, 
So I by that ; it is my day, my life. [thy life ! 

Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death 

Glo. Cursenot thyself, fair creature; thou art both. 

Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee. 

Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural, 
To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee. 

Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, 
To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband. 

G/o. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband. 
Did it to help thee to a better husband. 

Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth. 

Crlo. He lives, that loves you better than he could. 

Anne. Name him. 

Glo. Plantagenet. 

Anne. Why, that was he. 

Glo. The self-same name, but one of better nature. 

Anne. Where is he ? [at me ? 

Glo. Here: [She spits at /urn.] Why dost thou spit 

Anne. 'Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake ! 

Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place. 

Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. 
Out of my sight ! thou dost infect mine eyes. 

Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. 

Anne. 'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee 
dead ! 

Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once ; 
For now they kill me with a living death. 
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn saltteais, 
Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops : 
These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear, — 
Not, when my father York and Edward wept, 













KING RICHARD III. 



Glos^'Kr Take up the sword agam, or take up mc 

Act J^ Mlchc 'i. 



ACT I. -SCENE III. 



525 



To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made. 
When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him : 
Nor when liiy warlike father, like a child, 
Told the sad story of my father's death ; 
And twenty times made pause, to sob, and weep, 
That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks, 
Like trees bedash'd with rain : in that sad time, 
JMy manly eyes did scorn an humble tear ; 
And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, 
Thy beauty jiath, and made them blind with weeping. 
I never su'd to friend, uor enemy ; 
My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word; 
But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee, 
My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to 
speak. [Site looks sconij'idlij on him. 

Teach not thy lips such scorn ; for it was made 
Fcr kissing, lady, not for such contempt. 
If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, 
Lo! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; 
Which if thou please to hide in this true breast, 
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, 
1 lay it naked to the deadly stroke, 
And humbly beg the death upon my knee. 

[if e lays his breast open ; she offers at it with 
his sword. 
Nay, do not pause; for I did kill king Henry; — 
But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. 
Nay, now despatch; 'twas 1 that stabb'd young Ed- 
ward: — [5/ie offers again at his breast. 
But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. 

[Slie lets Jail the sword. 
Take up the sword again, or take up me. 

Aline. Arise, dissembler : though 1 wish thy death, 
I will not be thy executioner. 

Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. 

Anne. 1 have already. 

Glo, That was in thy rage 

Speak it again, and even with the word. 
This hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love. 
Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love ; 
To both their deaths shall thou be accessary. 

Anne. I would, I knew thy heart. 

Glo. 'Tis figur'd in 

My tongue. 

Anne. I fear me, both are false. 

Glo. Then man 

Was never true. 

Anne. Well, well, put up your sword. 

Glo. Say then, my peace is made. 

Anne. That shall you know 

Hereafter. 

Glo. But shall I live in hope ? 

Aline, All men, 

I hope, live so. 

Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. 

Anne. To take, is not to give. [^Shepntson therinf^. 

Glo. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger, 
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart ; 
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. 
And if thy poor devoted servant may 
But beg one favour at tJiy gracious hand, 
Tliou dost confirm his happiness for ever. 

Anne. What is it] 

Glo. That it may please you leave these sad designs 
To him that halh more cause to be a mourner. 
And presently repair to Crosby-place: 
Where — after 1 have solemnly interr'd. 
At Chertsey inonast'ry, this noble king. 
And wet his grave with my repentant tears, — 
I will with all cxjiedient duty see you; 
For divers unknown reasons, 1 beseech you 
(J rant me this boon. 



Anne. With all my heart ; and much it joys me too, 
To se« you are become so penitent. — 
Tressel, and Berkley, go along with me. 

Glo. Bid me farewell. 

Anne. 'Tis more than you deserve: 

But, since you teach me how to flatter you. 
Imagine I have said farewell already. 

l^Exeuiit Lady Anne, Tiiksskl, and Berkley. 

Glo. Take up the corse, sirs. 

Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord. 

Glo. No, to White-Friars ; there attend my coming. 
[L'j(?«)it the rest, with the corse. 
Was ever woman in this humour woo'd ! 
Was ever woman in this humour won? 
I'll have her, — but 1 will not keep her long. 
What ! I, that kill'd her husband, and his father. 
To take her in her heart's extremest hate ; 
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, 
The bleeding witness of her hatred by ; 
With God, her conscience, and these bars against me, 
And I no friends to back my suit withal. 
But the plain devil, and dissembling looks, 
And yet to win her, — all the world to nothing! 
Ha! 

Hath she forgot already that brave prince, 
Edward, her lord, whom I some three months sini^e, 
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury ] 
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, — 
Fram'd in the prodigality of nature. 
Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, — 
The spacious world cannot again afford : 
And will she yet abase her eyes on me. 
That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prmce, 
And made her widow to a woeful bed? 
On me, whose all not equals Edward's moietyl 
On me, that halt, and am mis-shapen thus? 
My dukedom to a beggarly denier, 
I do mistake my person all this while : 
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot. 
Myself to be a marvellous proper man. 
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass ; 
And entertain a score or two of tailors, 
To study fashions to adorn my body : 
Since 1 am crept in favour with myself, 
I will maintain it with some little cost. 
But, first, I'll turn yon' fellow in his grave ; 
And then return lamenting to my love. — 
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, 
That 1 may see my shadow as I pass. [F.iit. 

SCENE III.— The same. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Queen Elizabeth, Lord Rivers, and 
Lord Grf.v. 

Riv. Have patience, madam; there's no doubt his 
majesty 
Will soon recover his accustom'd health. 

Grel^. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse : 
Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comlbrt, 
And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. 

Q. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide of me? 

Grey. No other harm, but loss of such a lord. 

y. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all harms. 

Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly 
To be your comforter, when he is gone. [son. 

Q. Eliz. Ah, he is young ; and his minority 
Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloster, 
A man that loves not me, nor none of you, 

Riv. Is it concluded, he shall be protector? 

Q. Eliz. It is determin'd, not concluded yet: 
But so it must be, if the king miscarry. 



52(5 



KING RICHARD III. 



Enter Buckingham and Stanley. 

Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham and 
Stanley. 

Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace ! 

Stan. God make your majesty joyful as you have 
been. [Stanley, 

Q. Eliz. The countess Richmond, good my lord of 
To your good prayer will scarcely say — amen. 
Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife, 
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd, 
I hate not you for her proud arrogance. 

Stan. I do beseech you, either not believe 
The envious slanders of her false accusers ; 
Or, if she be accus'd on true report. 
Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds 
From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice. 

Q. Eliz. Saw you the king to-day, my lord of Stanley? 

Stun. But now, the duke of Buckingham, and 1, 
Are come from visiting his majesty. 

Q. Eliz. What likelihood of liis amendment, lords 1 

Buck. Madam, good hope ; his grace speaks cheer- 
fully. ' [him? 

Q.EUz. God grant him health ! did you confer with 

Buck. Ay, madam : he des>ires to make atonement 
Between the duke of Gloster and your brotliers, 
And between them and my lord chamberlain ; 
And sent to warn them to his royal presence. 

Q.EUz. 'Wouldallwere well! — but thatwil) never 
I fear our happiness is at the height. [be ; — 

Enter Gi.oster, Hastings, and Dorset. 

Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it : — 
Who are they, that complain unto the king, 
Tliat I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not? 
By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly, 
That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. 
Because I cannot flatter, and speak fair. 
Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, 
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, 
I must be held a rancorous enemy. 
Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm, 
But thus his simple truth must be abus'd 
By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks? [grace? 

Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks your 

Glo. To thee, that hast nor honesty, nor grace. 
When have I injured thee? when done thee wrong? — 
Or thee? — or thee ? — or any of your faction ? 
A plague upon you all ! His royal grace, — 
Whom God preserve better than you would wish ! — 
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, 
But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. 

Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the 
The king, of his own royal disposition, [matter : 
And not provok'd by any suitor else ; 
Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred, 
Tliat in your outward action shews itself. 
Against my children, brothers, and myself, 
Makes him to send ; that thereby he may gather 
The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. 

Glo. I cannot tell ;— The world is grown so bad, 
That wrens may prey where eagles dare not perch : 
Since every Jack became a gentleman. 
There's many a gentle person made a Jack. 

Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your meaning, 
brother Gloster ; 
You envy my advancement, and my friends ; 
God grant, we never may have need of you ! 

Glo. Meantime, God grants that we have need of 
Our brother is imprison'd by your means, [you : 
Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility 
Held in contempt ; while great promotions 
Art daily given, to ennoble those 



That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble. 

Q. Eliz. By Him, that rais'd me to this careful 
From that contented hap which I enjoy'd, [height 
I never did incense his majesty 
Against the duke of Clarence, but have been 
An earnest advocate to plead for him. 
Rly lord, you do me shameful injury. 
Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. 

Glo. You may deny that you were not the cause 
Of my lord Hastings' late imprisonment, 

Riv. She may, my lord ; for 

Glo. She may, lord Rivers ? — why, who knows not 
She may do more, sir, than denying that : [^o ? 

She may help you to many fair preferments ; 
And then deny her aiding hand therein, 
And lay those honours on your high desert. 
What may she not? She may, — ay, marry, may 

Riv. What, marry, may she ? [she, — 

Glo. 'What, marry, may she ? marry with a king, 
A bachelor, a handsome stripling too : 
I wis, your grandam had a worser match. 

Q. Eliz. My lord of Gloster, I have too long borne 
Your blunt upbraidings, and your bitter scoffs • 
By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty, 
Of those gross taunts 1 often have endur'd. 
I had rather be a country servant-maid. 
Than a great queen, with this condition — 
To be so baited, scorn'd, and stonn'd at: 
Small joy have I in being England's queen. 

Enter Queen Margaret, behind. 

Q. Mar. Andlessen'dbethat small, God, I beseech 
Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me. [thee ! 

Glo. What? threat you me with telling of the king? 
Tell him, and spare not : look, what I have said 
I will avouch, in presence of the king : 
I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. 
'Tis time to speak, my pains are quite forgot. 

Q. Mar. Out, devil ! I remember them too well: 
Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower, 
And PJdward, my poor son, at Tevvksbury. 

Glo. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband king, 
I was a pack-horse in his great affairs ; 
A weeder out of his proud adversaries, 
A liberal rewarder of his friends ; 
To royalize his blood, I spilt mine own. [thine. 

Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood than his, or 

Glo. In all which time, you, and your husbandGrey, 
Were factious for the house of Lancaster ; — 
And, Rivers, so were you : — Was not your husband 
In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain ? 
Let me put in your minds, if you forget. 
What you have been ere now, and what you are ; 
Withal, what I have been, and what I am. 

Q. Mar. A murd'rous villain, and so still thou art. 

Glo. Poor Clarence did forsake his father Warwick, 
Ay, and forswore himself, — Which Jesu pardon! — 

Q. Mar. Which God revenge ! 

Glo. To fight on Edward's party, for the crown ; 
And, for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up : 
I would to God, my heart were flint like Edward's, 
Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine ; 
I am too childish-foolish for this world. 

Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave this 
Thou cacodsmon ! there thy kingdom is. [world, 

Riv. My lord of Gloster, in those busy days. 
Which here you urge, to prove us enemies. 
We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king ; 
So should we you, if you should be our king. 

Glo. If I should be ?— I had rather be a pediar : 
Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof ! 

Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose 



\ 



ACT I.— SCENE III. 



527 



Vou should enjoy, were you this country's king ; 

As little joy you may suppose in me, 

That I enjoy, being the queen thereof. 

..^Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the queen thereof! 

For I am she, and altogetlier joyless. 

I can no longer hold me patient. — [Arlvancing. 

Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out 

In sharing that whicli you li.ive pill'd fiom me : 

Which of you trembles not, that looks on me 1 

If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects ; 

Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels 1— 

Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away ! [sight? 

Glo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my 

Q. I\hir. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd ; 
That will I make, before I let tiiee go. 

Gin. Wert thou not banished on pain of death ? 

Q. Mar. I was ; but I do find more pain in banish- 
Than death can yield me here by my abode, [ment, 
A husband, and a son, thou ow'st to me, — 
And thou, a kingdom ; — all of you, allegiance : 
This sorrow that I have, by riglit is yours ; 
And all the pleasures you usurp, are mine. 

Glo. The curse my noble father laid on thee, — 
When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper. 
And with thy scorns drevv'st rivers from his eyes ; 
And then, to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout, 
Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland ; — 
His curses, then from bitterness of soul 
Denounc'd against thee, are all fallen upon thee ; 
And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed. 

Q. Eliz. So just is God, to right the innocent. 

Hast. O 'twas the foulest deed, to slay that babe, 
And the most merciless, that e'er was heard of. 

Biv. Tyrants themselves weptwhen it was reported. 

Dor. No man but prophesy'd revenge for it. 

Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. 

Q. Mar.What! were you snarlingall, beforelcame, 
Ready to catch each other by the throat, 
And turn you all your hatred now on me? 
Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven, 
That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, 
'Their kingdom's loss, my woeful banishment, 
Could all but answer for that peevisli brat? 
Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven? — 
Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick 

curses 1 

Though not by war, by surfeit die your king ! 

As ours by murder, to make him a king ! 

Edward, thy son, that now is prince of Wales, 

For Edward, my son, tliat was prince of Wales, 

Die in his youth, by like untimely violence ! 

Thyself a queen, forme that was a queen. 

Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self I 

Long niay'st thou live, to wail thy children's loss ; 

And see another, as I see thee now, 

Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine ! 

Long die thy happy days before thy death ; 

And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief, 

Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen ! — 

Rivers, — and Dorset, — you were standers by, — 

And so wast thou, lord Hastings, — when my son 

Was stabb'd with bloody daggers : God, I pray him, 

1 hat none of you may live your natural age, 

But by some unlook'd accident cut off! [hag. 

Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd 

Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou 
shalt hear me. 
If heaven have any grievous plague in store. 
Exceeding those that I can wish upon tliee, 
O, let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe. 
And then liurl down their indignation 
On thee, tlie troubler of the poor world's peace ! 



The worm of conscience still bc-gnaw thy soul! 
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st, 
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! 
No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, 
I'nless it be while some tormenting dream 
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils I 
Thou elvish-mark 'd, abortive, rooting hog ! 
Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity 
'J'he slave of nature, and the son of hell ! 
Thou slander of thy motiier's heavy womb! 
Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins ! 
Thou rag of honour ! thou detested • 

Glo. Margaret. 

Q. Mar. Richard ! 

Glo. Ha ? 

Q- Mar. I call thee not. 

Glo. I cry thee mercy then ; for I did think, 
That thou had'st call'd me all these bitter names. 

Q. Mar. Why, so 1 did ; but look'd for no reply. 
0, let me make the period to my curse. 

Glo. 'lis done by me ; and ends in — Margaret. 

Q. Eliz. Thus have you breath'd your curse against 
yourself. 

Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my 
fortune I 
Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider. 
Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about ? 
Fool, fool I thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. 
The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me 
To help thee curse this pois'nous bunch-back'd toad. 

Hast, False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse ; 
Lest, to thy harm, thou move our patience, [mine, 

Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you I you have all mov'd 

Riv. Were you well serv'd, you would be tauo-ht 
your duty. [duty, 

Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me 
Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects; 
O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty. 

Dor. Dispute not with her, she is lunatic. 

Q. Ma/-. Peace, master marquis, you are malapert : 
Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current : 
O, that your young nobility could judge. 
What 'twere to lose it, and be m.iserable ! 
They that stand high have many blasts to shake them ; 
And, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. 

Glo. Good counsel, marry ; learn it, learn it, 
marquis. 

Dor. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. 

Glo. Ay, and much more : But I was born so high. 
Our aiery buildeth in the cedar's top, 
And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun, 

Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade ; — alas ! alas! 
W^itness my son, now in the shade of death : 
Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath 
Hath in eternal darkness folded up. 
Your aiery buildeth in our aiery's nest : — 
O God, that see'stit, do not suffer it ; 
As it was won with blood, lost be it so ! 

Buck. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity. 

Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to me; 
Uncharitably with me have you dealt. 
And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd. — 
My charity is outrage, life my shame, — 
And in my shame still live my sorrow's rage ! 

Buck, llave done, have done. 

Q. Mar. O princely Buckingham, I kiss thy hand. 
In sign of league and amity with thee : 
Now fair befal thee, and thy noble house ! 
Thy garments are not spotted with our blood. 
Nor thou within the compass of my curse. 

Buck. Nor no one here ; for curses never pass 
The lips of those that breatlie them in the air. 



528 



KING RICHARD III, 



Q. ]\]ar. I'll not believe but they ascend the sky, 
And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. 

Buckingham, beware of yonder dog ; 

Look, when he fawns, he bites ; and, wtien he bites, 

His venom tooth will rankle to the death: 

Have not to do with him, beware of him ; 

Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him; 

And all their ministers attend on him. 

Glo. What doth she say, my lord of Buckingham'? 

Back. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. 

Q. Mar What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle 
And sooth the devil that I warn thee from? [counsel ! 
O, but remember this another day. 
When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow : 
And say, poor Margaret was a prophetess. — 
Live each of you the subjects to his hate, 
And he to yours, and all of you to God's ! [Exit. 

Hast. My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses. 

Riv. And so doth mine; I muse, why she's at liberty. 

Glo. I cannot blame her, by God's holy mother ; 
She hath had too much wrong, and I repent 
My part thereof, that I have done to her. 

Q. Eliz. I never did her any, to my knowledge. 

Glo. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong. 

1 was too hot to do somebody good. 
That is too cold in thinking of it now. 
Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid ; 
He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains ; — 
God pardon them that are the cause thereof! 

lUi'. A virtuous and a christian-like conclusion, 
To pray for them that have done scath to us. 

Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd ; — 
For had I curs'd now, I liadcurs'd myself. [Aside. 

Enter Catesby. 

Gates. Madam, his majesty doth call for you, — 
And for your grace, — and you, my noble lords, [me"! 

Q. Eliz. Catesby, I come ; — Lords, will you go with 

Riv. Madam, we will attend upon your grace. 

[Exeunt all hut Gloster. 

Glo. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. 
The secret mischiefs that I set abroach, 
1 lay unto the grievous charge of others. 
Clarence, — whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness, ^ 
I do beweep to many simple gulls ; 
Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham ; 
And tell them — 'tis the queen and her allies. 
That stir the king against the duke my brother. 
Now they believe it ; and withal whet me 
To be reveng'd on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey : 
But then I sigh, and, with a piece of scripture. 
Tell them— that God bids us do good for evil : 
And tlius I clothe my naked villany 
Witli old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ ; 
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. 

Enter two Murderers. 
But soft, here come my executioners. — 
How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates? 
Are you now going to despatch this thing ? 

1 Murd. W'e are, my lord; and come to have the 
That we may be admitted where he is. [warrant, 

Glo. Well thought upon, 1 have it here about me : 

[Gives the warrant. 
When you have done, repair to Crosby-place. 
But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, 
Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead ; 
For Clarence is well spoken, and, perhaps. 
May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. 

■[ Murd. Tut, tut.mylord.wewillnot stand to prate. 
Talkers are no good doers ; be assur'd. 
We go to use our hands, and not our tongues. 



Glo. Your eyes drop mill-stones, when fools' eyes 
drop tears : 
I like you, lads ; — about your business straight ; 
Go, go, despatch 

1 Murd. We v/ill, my noble lord. [Eieunt. 

SCENE IV.— The same A Room in the Tower. 
Efiter Ct.ARENCE and BRAKENnuiiY. 

Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day ? 

Clar. O, 1 have pass'd a miserable night. 
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, 
That, as I am a christian faithful man, 
I would not spend another such a nigiit, 
Though 'twere to buy a world of happier days ; 
So full of dismal terror was the time. [tell me. 

Brak. What was your dream, my lord? Iprayyou, 

Clar. Methought, that I had broken from the Tower, 
And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy ; 
And, in my company, my brother Gloster . 
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 
Upon the hatches ; thence we look'd toward England, 
And cited up a thousand heavy times. 
During the wars of York and Lancaster 
That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along 
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 
Methought, that Gloster stumbled ; and, in falling. 
Struck me, that thought to stay him, over-board. 
Into the tumbling billows of the main. 

Lord ! methought, what pain it was to drown ! 
What dreadful noise of water in mine ears ! 
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes ! 
Methought, I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ; 

A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon ; 

Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 

Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, 

All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea. 

Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and, in those holes 

Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept 

(As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems. 

That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep. 

And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. 

Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death, 
To gaze upon these secrets of the deep ? 

Clar. Methought, I had ; and often did I strive 
To yield the ghost ; but still the envious flood 
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth 
To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air; 
But smother'd it within my panting bulk. 
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. 

Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony ? 

Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life; 
O, then began the tempest to my soul ! 

1 pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, 
With that grim ferryman, which poets write of. 
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 

The first that there did greet my stranger soul, 
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick ; 
Who cry'd aloud, — M'hat scourge for perjnrij 
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence! 
And so he vanish'd : Then came wand'ring by 
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair 
Dabbled in blood ; and he shriek'd out aloud, — 
Clarence is come, false, Jieeting, perjurd Clarence,- 
That stabb'd me in the f eld by Tewksbury ; — 
Seize on liim, furies, take him to your torments ! — - 
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends 
Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears 
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, 
I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after. 
Could not believe but that I was in hell ; 
Such terrible impression made my dream. 



ACT I.— SCENE IV. 



52.0 



Brak. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you ; 
T am afraid, methinks, to liear you tell it. 

Clar. O, Brakenbury, 1 have done these things, — 
That now give evidence against my soul, — 
For Edward's sake ; and, see, how he requites me! — 

God! if my deep prayers cannot appease tliee. 
But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds. 

Yet execute thy wrath on me alone : 

O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children ! — 

1 pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me ; 

My soul is heavy, and 1 fain would sleep, [rest! — 
Hrak. I will, my lord ; God give your grace good 
[Clahknck re]>()ses liimself on n chair. 
Sorrow breaks seasons, and reposing hours, 
INIakes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. 
Princes have but tlieir titles for their glories, 
An outward honour for an inward toil ; 
And, for unfelt imaginations. 
They often feel a world of restless cares ; 
So that, between their titles, and low name. 
There 's nothing differs out the outward fame. 

Enter the two IMurderers. 

1 Mvrd. IIo! who's here? 

B>ak. What would'&tthou, fellow ? and howcam'st 
thou hither? 

1 Mnrd. 1 would speak with Clarence, and I came 
hither on my legs. 

Brak. What, so brief? 

2 Murd.O, sir, 'tis better to be brief than tedious: — 
Let him see our commission ; talk no more. 

[/I paper is delivered to BuAKENiiURv, tvhn reads it. 
Bruk. I am, in this, comma-ided to deliver 
The noble duke of Clarence to your hands : — 
I will not reason what is meant hereby, 
Because 1 will be guiltless of the meaning. 
Here are the keys ; — tliere sits the duke asleep : 
I '11 to the king ; and signify to him, 
That thus I have resign'd to you my charge. 

1 Murd. You may, sir ; 'tis a point of wisdom : 
Fare you well. [Exit Brakenbury. 

2 Murd. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps ? 

1 Murd. No ; he'll say, 'twas done cowardly, when 
he wakes. 

2 Murd. When he wakes ! why, fool, he shall never 
wake until the great judgment day. 

1 Murd. Why, then he '11 say, we stabb'd him 
sleeping. 

2 Murd. The urging of tiiat word, judgment, hath 
bred a kind of remorse in me. 

1 Murd. What ? art thou afraid ? 

2 Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant for it ; 
but to be damn'd for killing him, from the which no 
warrant can defend me. 

1 Murd. I thought, thou had'st been resolute. 

2 Murd. So I am, to let him live. 

1 Murd. I'll back to the duke of Gloster, and tell 
him so. 

2 Murd. Nay, 1 pr'ythee, stay a little : I hope, this 
holy humour of mine will change ; it was wont to 
hold me but while one wo\dd tell twenty. 

1 Murd. 'llow dost thou feel thyself now ? 

2 Miird, 'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience 
are yet witliin me. 

lA/ur.llemefiiberour reward, when the deed's done. 
2 Murd. Come, he dies ; I had forgot the reward. 

1 Murd. Where's thy conscience now? 

2 ]\Iu?-d. In the duke of Gloster's purse. 

1 Murd. So, when he opens his purse to give us 
our reward, thy conscience tiies out. 

2 I\iurd. 'Tis no matter; let it go; there's few, 
or none, will entertain it. 



1 Mnrd, What if it come to thee again ? 

2 Murd. I'll not meddle with it, it is a dangerous 
thing, It makes a man a coward ; a man cannot steal, 
but it accuseth liim ; a man cannot swear, but it 
checks him ; a man cannot lie with his neighbour's 
wife, but it detects him : 'lis a blushing shame-faced 
spirit.that mutinies in a man's bosom ; it fills one full 
of obstacles : it made me once restore a purse of gold, 
that by chance I found ; it beggars any man that 
keeps it : it is turned out of all towns and cities for 
a dangerous thing ; and every man, that means to 
live well, endeavours to trust to himself, and live 
without it. 

1 Murd. 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, 
persuading me not to kill the duke. 

2 Mnrd. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe 
him not : he would insinuate with thoe, but to make 
thee siu^h. 

1 Murd, I am strong-fram'd, lie cannot prevail 
with me. 

2 Murd. Spoke like a tnll fellow, that respects 
his reputation. Come, shall v/e fall to work? 

1 Murd. Take him over the costard witti the hilts 
of thy sword, and then throw him into the malmsey- 
butt, in the ne.xt room. 

2M(()-rf. Oexcellentdevice ! and make asopofhim. 

1 Murd. Soft ! he wakes. 

2 Murd. Strike. 

1 Murd. No, we'll reason with him. 

Clar. Where arttliou, keeper? givemeacupof wine. 

1 Mffrrf. You shall have wine enough, my lord, auon. 

Clar. In God's name, what art thou '< 

1 Murd. A man, as you are. 

Clar. But not, as I am, royal. 

1 Mnrd. Nor you, as we are, loyal. 

C/n;\Thy voice is thunder. hut thy looks are Iiumble. 

1 Murd. My voice is now the king's, my looks mine 
own. 

Clar. How darkly, and how deadly dost thou speak ! 
Your eyes do menace me : Why look you pale ? 
Who sent you hither ? wherefore do you come ? 

Both Murd. To, to, to, 

Clar. To murder me ? 

Both Mnrd. Ay, ay. 

Clar. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so. 
And tlierefore cannot have the hearts to do it. 
Wherein, my friends, have I offended you ? 

1 Murd. Offended us you have not, but the king. 
Clar. I shall be reconcil'd to him again. 

2 Murd. Never, my lord ; therefore prepare to die. 
Clar. Are you call'd forth from out a world of men, 

To slay the innocent ! What is my offence ? 
^Vhere is the evidence that doth accuse me ? 
What lawful quest have given their verdict up 
Unto the frowning judge ? or who pronounc'd 
Tile bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death ? 
Before I be convict by course of law, 
I'o threaten me with-death, is most unlawful. 
1 charge you, as you hope to have redemption, 
By Christ's dear blood siied for our grievous sins, 
I'hat you depart, and lay no hands on me ; 
The deed you undertake is damnable. 

1 Murd. What we will do, we do upon command. 

2 Mnrd. And he, that hath commanded, is ourkinr. 
Clar. Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings 

Hath in the table of his law commanded, 
That thou shalt do no murder ; Wilt thou then 
Spurn at his edict, and fulfil a man's? 
Take heed ; for he holds vengeance in his hand, 
To hurl upon their heads that break his law. 

2 Murd. And that same vengeance doth he hurl on 
For false forswearing, and for murder too : [thee, 
2 L 



5.30 



KING RICHARD III. 



Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight 
In quarrel of the house of Lancaster. 

1 Murd And, like a traitor to the name of God, 
Didst break that vow ; and, with thy treacherous blade, 
Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. 

2 Miird. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and de- 

fend, [to us, 

1 Murd. How canst thou urge God's dreadful law 
When thou hast broke it in such dear degree ? 

Clur. Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed? 
For Jxiward, for my brother, for his sake : 
He sends you not to murder me for this ; 
For in that sin he is as deep as I. 
If God will be avenged for the deed, 
O, know you, that he dolh it publicly ; 
Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm ; 
He needs no indirect nor lawless course, 
To cut off those tliat have offended him. 

1 Mitrrf. Who made thee then a bloody minister, 
When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet, 
That princely novice, was struck dead by thee? 

Clin: My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. 

1 Murd. Thy brother's love, ourduty, and thy fault, 
Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. 

Clur, If you do love my brother, hate not me; 
I am his brother, and I love him well. 
If you are hir'd for meed, go back again, 
And I will send you to my brother Gloster ; 
Who shall reward you better for my life. 
Than Edward will for tidings of my death. 

2 MH?d. You are deceiv'd.your brother Gloster hates 

you, 

Clar. O, no ; he loves me, and he holds me dear . 
Go you to him from me. 

Both Murd. Ay, so we will. 

Clar. Tell him, when that our princely father York 
Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm. 
And charg'd us from his soul to love each other. 
He little thought of this divided friendship : 
Bid Gloster think on this, and he will weep. 

1 Murd. Ay, mill-stones ; as he lesson'd us to weep. 

Clar. O, do not slander him, for he is kind. 

1 Murd. Right, as snow in harvest.— Come, you 
deceive yourself : 
'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here. 

Clur. It cannot be ; for he bewept my fortune. 
And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, 
That he would labour my delivery. 

1 Murd. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you 
From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven. 

2 Murd. Make peace with God, for you must die, 

my lord. 

Clar. Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul, 
To counsel me to make my peace with God, 
And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind. 
That thou wilt war with God, by murdering me ? — 
Ah, sirs, consider, he, that set you on 
To do this deed, will hate you for the deed. 

2 Murd. What shall we do ? 

Clar. Relent, and save your souls. 

1 Murd. Relent! 'tis cowardly, and womanish. 

Clar. Not to relent, is beastly, savage, devilish. — 
Which of you, if you were a prince's son, 
Being pent from liberty, as I am now, — 
If two such murderers as yourselves came to you, — 
Would not entreat for life 1 — 
My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks ; 
O, if thine eye be not a flatterer. 
Come thou on my side, and entreat for me. 
As you would beg, were you in my distress. 
A begging prince what beggar pities not 1 

a Murd. Look behind you, my lord 



1 Murd. Take that, and that ; if all this will not 

do, " [Stabs him. 

I '11 drown you in the malmsey-butt within. 

[Exit, ivith the body. 

2 Murd. A bloody deed, and desperately despatch'd' 
How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands 

Of this most grievous guilty murder done! 

Re-enter first Murderer. 

1 Murd. How now ? what mean'st thou, that thou 

hclp'st me not? [been. 

By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you have 

"i Murd. 1 would he knew, that I had saved his bro- 
Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say, [ther! 
For I repent me that the duke is slain. [Eaif. 

1 Murd. So do not I ; go, coward, as thou art. — 
Well, I'll go hide the body in some hole. 
Till that the duke give order for his burial: 
And when I have my meed, I will away ; 
For this will out, and then I must not stay. [Exit. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — The same. A Room hi the Palace. 

Enter King Eowaud, (Jed in sick,) Queen Eliza- 
beth, Dorset, Rivehs, Hastings, Buckingham, 
Grey, and others. 

K. Edw. Why, so : — now have I done a good day's 
You peers, continue this united league: [work; — 
1 every day e.xpect ar embassage 
From my ifledeemer to redeem me hence ; 
And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven, 
Since I have made my friends at peace on earth. 
Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand ; 
Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. 

Riv. By lieaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging 
And with my hand I seal my true heart's love, [hate ; 

Hast. So tlnive I, as 1 truly swear the like ! 

A". Edtf. Take heed, you dally notbefore your king, 
Lest he, that is the supreme King of kings. 
Confound your hidden falsehood, and award 
Either of you to be the other's end. 

Hast. So prosper I, as 1 swear perfect love ! 

Riv- And I, as I love Hastings with my heart! 

A'. Edw. Madam, yourself are not exempt in this, — 
Nor your son Dorset, — Buckingham, nor you ; — 
You have been factious one against the other. 
Wife, love lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand ; 
And what you do, do it unfeignedly. 

Q. Eliz. There, Hastings ; — 1 will never more re- 
Our former hatred, so thrive I, and mine! [member 

K. Edw. Dorset, embrace him, — Hastings, love 
lord marquis. 

Dor. This interchange of love, I here protest, 
Upon my part shall be inviolable. 

Hast. And so swear 1. [Embraces Dorset. 

K. A'rfic.Now, princely Buckingham, seal tliou this 
With thy embracements to my wife's allies, [league 
And make me happy in your unity. 

Buck. Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate 
Upon your grace, [to the Qin-x.] but with all duteous 
Doth cherish you, and yours, God punish me [love 
With hate in those where I expect most love 1 
When I have most need to employ a friend. 
And most assured that he is a friend. 
Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, 
Be he unto me! this do 1 beg of heaven. 
When I am cold in love, to you, or yours. 

[Embracing Rivers, Src. 

K. Edw. A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham, 



ACT If.--SCENE II. 



531 



Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. 
There wanteth now our brother Gloster here, 
To make the blessed period of this peace. 

Buck. And, in good tin e, here comes the noble duke. 

Enter Gi.oster, 

G/o. Good morrow to my sovereign king, and (lueen ; 
And, princely peers, a happy time of day ! 

K, Edw. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day : — 
Brother, we have done deeds of charity ; 
Made peace of enmity, fair love of hale, 
Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. 

GiiK A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege. — 
Among this princely heap, if any here, 
By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, 
Hold me a foe ; 

If I unwittingly, or in my rage. 
Have aught committed that is hardly borne 
By any in this presence, I desire 
To reconcile me to his friendly peace : 
'Tis death to me, to be at enmity ; 
I hate it, and desire all good men's love. — 
First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, 
Which I will purchase with my duteous service ; — 
Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, 
It ever any grudge were lodg'd between us ; — 
Of you, lord Rivers, — and lord Grey, of you, — 
That all without desert have frown'd on me ; 
Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen ; indeed, of all, 
I do not know that Englishman alive. 
With whom my soul is any jot at odds. 
More than the infant that is born to-night ; 
I thank my God for my humility. 

Q. Eliz, A holy-day shall this be kept hereafter: — 
I would to God, all strifes were well compounded. — 
My sovereign lord, I do beseech your highness 
To take our brother Clarence to your grace. 

Glo. Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this, 
To be so flouted in this royal presence ? 
Who knows not, that the gentle duke is dead ? 

[Thet) all start. 
You do him injury, to scorn his corse. [he is ? 

K. Edw. Who knows not, he is dead! who knows 

Q. Eliz. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this! 

Buck. Look I so pale, lord Dorset, as the rest? 

Dor, Ay, my good lord ! and no man in the pre- 
But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks, [sence, 

K.Edw. Is Clarence dead"! the order was revers'd. 

Glo. But he, poor man, by your first order died. 
And that a winged Mercury did bear ; 
Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, 
That came too lag to see him buried : — 
God grant, that some, less noble, and less loyal, 
Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood. 
Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, 
And yet go current from suspicion ! 

Enter Stanley. 

Stan. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done! 

A'. Edw. Ipr'ythee,peace; my soul is full of sorrow. 

Stan. I will not rise, unless your highness hear me 

K. Edw. Then say at once, what is it thou request'st. 

Stan. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life ; 
Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman, 
Lately attendant on the duke of Norfolk. 

K.Edw. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death, 
And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave ? 
My brother kill'd no man, his fault was thought. 
And yet his punishment was bitter death. 
Wiio sued to me for himl who, in my wrath, 
Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advis'd ? 
Who spoke of brotherhood ! who spoke of lovel 



Who told me, how the poor soul did forsake 
The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me ? 
Who told me in the field at Tewksbury, 
When Oxford had me down, he rescu'd me, 
And said, Dear brother, live, and be a king? 
Who told me, when we both lay in the field, 
Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me 
Even in his garments ; and did give himself, 
All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night ? 
All this from my remembrance brutish wrath 
Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you 
Had so much grace to put it in my mind. 
But, when your carters, or your waiting-vassals, 
Have done a drunken slaughter, and defac'd 
The precious image of our dear Redeemer, 
You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon 
And I, unjustly too, must grant it you : — 
But for my brother, not a man would speak, 
Nor I (ungracious) speak unto myself 
For him, poor soul. — The proudest of you all 
Have been beholden to him iu his life ; 
Yet none of you would once plead for his life.-- 
O God ! I fear, thy justice will take hold 
On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this. — 
Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. O, 
Poor Clarence ! [Eieuut King, Queen, Hastings, 
Rivers, Dorset, and Grey. 
Glo. This is the fruit of rashness! — ftlark'dyou not, 
How that the guilty kindred of the queen 
Look'd pale, when they did hear of Clarence' death l 

! they did urge it still unto the king : 

God will revenge it. Come, lords ; will you go, 
To comfort Edward with our company ? 

Bw^k. We wait upon your grace. \_Eieunt 

SCENE 11.— The same. 

Enter the Duchess of York, with a Son and 
Daughter of Clarence. 

Son. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead ' 

Duck. No, boy. 

Daugh. Why do you weep so oft? and beat your 
And cry — O Clarence, mil itnhappii son ! breast ; 

Son. Why do you look on us, and shake your head, 
And call us — orphans, wretches, cast-aways. 
If that our noble father be alive ? 

Duck. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both ; 

1 do lament the sickness of the king, 

As loath to lose him, not your father's death ; 
It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. 

Son. Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead 
The king my uncle is to blame for this : 
God will revenge it ; whom I will importune 
With earnest prayers all to that effect. 

Daugh. And so will I. 

Duck. Peace, children, peace! the king doth love 
Incapable and shallow innocents, [you well : 

You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death. 

Son. Grandam, we can : for my good uncle Gloster 
Told me, the king, provok'd to'tby the queen, 
Devis'd impeachments to imprison him : 
And when my uncle told me so, he wept, 
And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek ; 
Hade me rely on him, as on my father. 
And he would love me dearly as his child. 

Duck. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, 
And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice ! 
He is my son, ay, and therein my shame, 
Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. 

Son. Think you. my uncle did dissemble, grandam ? 

Duch. Ay, bov. 

Son. I cannot liiink it. Hark! what noise is llii-s ! 
2 L'2 



532 



KING RICHARD IN. 



Enter Queen Elizabeth, distractedly ; Rivers 
and Dorset following her. 

Q.Elis. Ah! who shall hinder me to wail and weep? 
To chide my fortune, and torment myself: 
I '11 join with black despair against my soul. 
And to myself become an enemy. 

Duch. What means this scene of rude impatience? 

Q. ELiz. To make an act of tragic violence : — 
Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead. — 
Wliy grow the branches, when the root is gone ? 
Why wither not the leaves, that want their sap ! — 
If you will live, lament; if die, be brief; 
That our swift winged souls may catch the king's ; 
Or, like obedient subjects, follow him 
To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. 

Duch. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow, 
As I had title in thy noble husband ! 
1 have bewept a worthy husband's death. 
And liv'd by looking on his images : 
But now, two mirrors of his princely semblance 
Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death ; 
And I for comfort have but one false glass. 
That grieves me when I see my shame in him. 
Thou an a widow ; j'et thou art a mother. 
And hast the comfort of thy children left thee : 
But death hath snatch'd my husband from my arms. 
And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble hands, 
Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I, 
(Thine being but a moiety of my grief,) 
To over-go thy plaints, and drown thy cries? 

Son. Ah, aunt ! you wept not for our father's death ; 
How can we aid you with our kindred tears ? 

Daitgh. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd, 
Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept ! 

Q. Eliz. Give me no help in lamentation, 
I am not barren to bring forth laments : 
All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes. 
That I, being govern'd by the watry moon. 
May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world ! 
Ah, for my husband, for my dear lord Edward ! 

Chil. Ah, for our father, for our dear lord Clarence. 

Duch. Alas, for both, both mine, Edward and Cla- 
rence ! [gone. 

Q. Eliz. What stay had I, but Edward ? and he's 

(-'/)(/. What stay had we, but Clarence? and he's 
gone. [gone. 

Duch. What stays had I, but they? and they are 

Q. Eliz. Was never widow, had so dear a loss. 

Chil. Were never orphans, had so dear a loss. 

Duch. Was never mother, had so dear a loss. 
Alas ! I am the mother of these griefs ; 
Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general. 
She for an Edward weeps, and so do I ; 
I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she : 
These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I : 
I for an Edward weep, so do not they : 
Alas ! you three, on me, threefold distress'd. 
Pour all your tears, 1 am your sorrow's nurse. 
And 1 will pamper it with lamentations. [pleas'd. 

Dor. Comfort, dear mother : God is much dis- 
That you take with unthankfulness his doing ; 
In common worldly things, 'tis call'd— ungrateful, 
With dull unwillingness to repay a debt. 
Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent ; 
Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, 
Eor it requires the royal debt it lent you. 

Riv. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother. 
Of the young piince your son : send straight ibr him, 
Let him be crown'd ; in him your comfort lives : 
Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave, 
And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. 



Enter Glostek, Buckingiiam, Stanley, Hastings 
Ratcliff, and others. 

Glo. Sister, have comfort : all of us have cause 
To wail the dimming of our shining star ; 
But none can cure their harms by waihng them. — 
Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy, 
I did not see your grace : — Humbly on my knee 
I crave your blessing. 

Duch. God bless thee ; and put meekness in thy 
Love, charity, obedience, and true duty ! [breast, 

Glo. Amen ; and make me die a good old man ! — 
That is the butt end of a mother's blessing ; 
I marvel, that her grace did leave it out [Aside. 

Buck. You cloudy princes, and heart-sorrowing 
That bear this mutual heavy load of moan, [peers, 
iSow cheer each other in each other's love : 
Though we have spent our harvest of this king. 
We are to reap the harvest of his son. 
The broken rancour of your high swoln hearts. 
But lately splinted, knit, and join'd together, 
Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd, and kept : 
Me seemeth good, that, with some little train, 
Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetcb'd 
Hither to London, to be crown'd our king, [ingham? 

Riv. VViiy with some little train, my lord of Buck- 

Buck, JMarry, my lord, lest by a multitude, 
The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out ; 
Which would be so much the more dangerous, 
By how much the estate is green, and yet ungovern'd : 
Where every horse bears his commanding rein. 
And may direct his course as please himself. 
As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent. 
In my opinion, ought to be prevented. 

Glo. 1 hoye, the king made peace with all of us ; 
And the compact is firm, and true, in me. 

Riv. And so in me ; and so, 1 think, in all : 
Yet, since it is but green, it should be put 
To no apparent likelihood of breach. 
Which, haply, by much company might he urg'd' 
J'herefore I say, with noble Buckingham, 
That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. 

Hast. And so say I. 

Glo. Then be it so ; and go we to determine 
Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow 
Madam, — and you my mother, — will you go 
To give your censures in this weighty business ? 

[Exeunt all but Buckingham and Gloster. 

Buck. My lord, whoever journeys to the prince. 
For God's sake, let not us two stay at home : 
For, by the way, I'll sort occasion, 
As index to the story we late talk'd of. 
To part the queen's proud kindred from the prince. 

Glo. My other self, my counsel's consistory, 
My oracle, my prophet ! — My dear cousin, 
I, as a child, will go by thy direction. 
Towards Ludlow then, for we '11 not stay behind. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE HI.— T7ie same. A Street. 
Entf- two Citizens, meeting. 

1 Cit. Good morrow, neighbour : Whither away 
so fast ? 

y Cit. I promise you, I scarcely know myself: 
Hear you the news abroad ? 

1 Cit. Yes ; that the king is dead. 

'■2 Cit. Ill news, by'r lady ; seldom comes the better ; 
I fear, I fear, 'twill prove a giddy world. 

Enter another Citizen. 

3 Cit. Neighbours, God speed! 

1 Cii. Give you good morrow, sir. 



ACT 111.— SCENE 1. 



r>33 



3 Cit. Doth the news hold of good king Edward's 
death "! 

2 Cit. Ay, sir, it is too true ; God help, the while ! 

3 Cit. Then, masters, look to see a troublous world. 
1 C'tt. No, no; by God's good grace, his son shall 

reign. 

3 Cit, Woe to that land, that's govern 'd by a child ! 

^ Cit. In him there is a hope of government ; 
That, in his nonage, council under him. 
And, in his full and ripen'd years, himself, 
No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well. 

1 Cit. So stood the state, when Henry tlie Sixth 
Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old. 

3 Cit. Stood the state so ? no, no, good friends, God 
For then this land was famously enrich'd [wot ; 

With politic grave counsel ; then the king 
Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. [ther. 

1 Cit. Why, so hath this, both by his father and mo- 

3 Cit. Better it were, they all came by his father ; 
Or, by his father, there were none at all : 
For emulation now, who shall be nearest. 
Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not. 
O, full of danger is the duke of Gloster ; 
And the queen's sons, and brothers, haught and proud : 
And were they to be rul'd, and not to rule, 
This sickly land might solace as before. [well. 

1 Cit. Come, come, we fear the worst ; all will be 
3 Cit. When clouds are seen, wise men put on their 

cloaks ; 
When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand : 
W^hen the sun sets, who doth not look for night 1 
Untimely storms make men expect a dearth : 
All may be well ; but, if God sort it so, 
'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect. 

2 Cit. Truly, the hearts of men are full of fear : 
You cannot reason almost with a man 

That looks not heavily, and full of dread. 

3 Cit. Before the days of change, still is it so : 
By a divine instinct, men's minds mistrust 
Ensuing danger ; as, by proof, we see 

The water swell before a boist'rous storm. 
But leave it all to God. Whither away ? 

2 C'lt. Marry, we were sent for to the justices. 

3 Cit. And so was I ; 1 '11 bear you company 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The same. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter the Archbishop of Youk, the ifoung Duke of 
York, Queen Elizabeth, «Mrf t/ieDucHESSOF York. 

Arch. Last night, I heard, they lay at Stony-Strat- 
And at Northampton they do rest to night ; [ford ; 
To-morrow, or next day, they will be here. 

Diich. I long with all my heart to see the prince; 
I hope, he is much grown since last I saw him. 

Q. Eliz. But 1 hear, no ; they sav, my son of York 
Hath almost overta'en him in his growth. 

York. Ay, mother, but I wouhl not have it so. 

Dtich. Why, my young cousin ? it is good to grow. 

York. Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper. 
My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow 
More than my brother ; An, quoth my uncle Gloster, 
Small herbs hare grace, great wectis do grow apace: 
And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast. 
Because sweet flowers are slow, and weeds make haste. 

D((c/i. 'Good faith, 'good faith.the saying did not hold 
fn him that did object the same to thee : 
He was the wretched'st thintc, when he was young, 
^o long a growing, and so leisurely, 
That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious. 

Arch. And so, no doubt, he is, my gracious madam. 

Duch. I hope, he is ; but yet let mothers doubt. 



York. Now, by my troth, if I had been remember'd 
I could have given my uncle's grace a flout, 
To touch liis growth, nearer than he touch'd mine. 

Duch. How, my young York? I pr'ythee, let me 
hear it. 

York. Marry, they say, my uncle grew so fast, 
That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old ; 
'I'was full two years ere I could get a tooth. 
Grandam, this would have been a biting jest. 

Duch. 1 pr'ythee, pretty York, who told thee thisl 

York Grandam, his nurse. [born. 

Duch. His nurse! why, she was dead ere thou wast 

York. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me. 

Q Eliz. A parlous boy : Go to, you are too shrewd. 

Arch. Good madam, be not angry with the child. 

Q. Eliz, Pitchers have ears. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Arch. Here comes a messenger: 

What news 1 

Mess. Such news, my lord, 

As grieves me to unfold. 

Q. Eliz. How doth the prince f 

Mess. Well, madam, and in health. 

Duch. What is thy news ? 

Mess. Lord Rivers, and lord Grey, are sent to Pom- 
With them sir Thomas Vail gh an, prisoners. [fret, 

Duch. Who hath committed them 1 

Mess. The mighty dukes, 

Gloster and Buckingham. 

Q. Eliz. For what offence ? 

Mess. The sum of all I can, I have disclos'd ; 
Why, or for what, the nobles were committed, 
Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady. 

Q. Eliz. Ah me, I see the ruin of my house ! 
The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind ; 
Insulting tyranny begins to jut 
I'pon the innocent and awless throne : — 
Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre ' 
I see, as in a map, the end of all. 

Duch. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days ! 
How many of you have mine eyes beheld 1 
My husband lost his life to get the crown ; 
And often up and down my .'ions were tost, 
For me to joy, and weep, their a:ain, and loss : 
And being seated, and domestic broils 
Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors. 
Make war upon themselves ; brother to brother. 
Blood to blood, self 'gainst self : — O, preposterous 
And frantic courage, end thy damned spleen : 
Or let me die, to look on deatli no more ! 

Q. Eli~. Come, come, my boy, we will to sanc- 
IMadam, farewell. [tuary. — 

Duch. Stay, I will go with you. 

Q. Eliz. You have no cause. 

Arch. ]\Ty gracious lady, go, [To the Queen. 

And thither bear your treasure and your goods. 
For my part, I'll resign unto vour grace 
The seal I keen ; And so betide to me. 
As well I tender you, and all of yours ! 
Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. ^Exeunt 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — The same. A Street. 
The trumpets snuiuL Enter the Prince of Waiks, 

Gl.OSTER, BUCKIKOHAM, CaKDINAL BoUUCHIER, 

and others. 

Buck. Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your 
chamber. 



534 



KING RICHARD III. 



G/o.Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sovereign : 
The weary way hath made you melancholy. 

Prince. No, uncle ; but our crosses on the way 
Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy : 
I want more uncles here to welcome me 

iiin. Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years 
Plath not yet div'd into the world's deceit: 
No more can you distinguish of a man, 
Than of his outward show ; which, God he knows, 
Seldom, or never, jumpeth with the heart. 
Those uncles, which you want, were dangerous ; 
Your grace attended to their sugar'd v/ords. 
But look'd not on the poison of their hearts : 
God keep you from them, and from such false friends ! 

Prince. God keep me from false friends I but they 
were none. [you. 

Gh. My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet 

Enter the Lord Mayor, and his Train. 

Mfliy. God bless your grace, with health and happy 

days ! 
Prince. I thank you, good my lord;— and thank 
you all — [E.ieunt Mayor, 6ic. 

I thought, my mother, and my brother York, 
Would long ere this have met us on the way : 
Fye, what a slug is Hastings ? that he comes not 
To tell us, whether they will come, or no. 

Enter Hastings. 

Buck. And in good time, here comes the sweating 
lord. [come ? 

Prince. Welcome, my lord : What, will our mother 

Hast. On what occasion, God he knows, not 1, 
The queen your mother, and your brother York, 
Have taken sanctuary : The tender prince 
Would tain have come with me to meet your grace, 
But by his mother was perforce withheld. 

Buck. Fye! what an indirect and peevish course 
Is this of hers ? — Lord cardinal, will your grace 
Persuade the queen to send the duke of York 
Unto his princely brother presently? 
If she deny, — lord Hastings go with him, 
And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce. 

Card. My lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory 
Can from Ins mother win the duke of York, 
Anon expect him here : But if she be obdurate 
To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid 
We should infringe the holy privilege 
Of blessed sanctuary ! not for all this land, 
Would 1 be guilty of so deep a sin. 

Buck. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord, 
Too ceremonious, and traditional : 
Weigh it but with the grossness of this age, 
You break not sanctuary in seizing him. 
Tlie benefit thereof is always granted 
To those whose dealings have deserv'd the place, 
And those who have the wit to claim the place : 
This prince hath neither claim'd it, nor deserv'd it ; 
And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it : 
Then, taking him from thence, that is not there, 
Y'ou break no privilege nor charter there. 
Oft have I heard of sanctuary men ; 
But sanctuary children ne'er till now. 

Card. My lord, you shall o'errule my mind for once. 
Come on, lord Hastings, will you go with me"? 

Hast. I go, my lord. 

Prince. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you 
may. \^Eieunt Cardinal and Hastings. 
Say, uncle Gloster, if our brother come. 
Where shall we sojourn till our coronation? 

Glo. Where it seems best unto your royal self. 
If I may counsel you, some day, or two. 



Your highness shall repose you at the Tower : 
Then where you please, and shall be thought most fit 
For your best health and recreation. 

Prince. I do not like the Tower, of any place : — 
Did Julius Czesar build that place, my lord ? 

Glo. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place ; 
Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified. 

Prince. Is it upon record ? or else reported 
Successively from age to age, he built it? 

Buck, Upon record, my gracious lord. 

Prince. But say, my lord, it were not register'd ; 
Methinks, the truth should live from age to age, 
As 'twere retail'd to all posterity. 
Even to the general all-ending day. 

Glo. So wise, so young, they say, do ne'er live long. 

lAside. 

Prince, What say you, uncle ? 

Glo. I say, without characters, fame lives long. 
Thus, like the formal vice. Iniquity, f ^^.^^ 

I moralize two meanings in one word. S 

Prince. That Julius Caesar was a famous man • 
With what his valour did enrich his wit. 
His wit set down to make his valour live : 
Death makes no conquest of this conqueror ; 
For now he lives in fame, though not in life. — 
I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham. 

Buck. What, my gracious lord? 

Prince. An if I live until I be a man, 
I'll win our ancient right in France again, 
Or die a soldier, as I liv'd a king. 

Glo. Short summers lightly have a forward spring. 

[Aside. 

Enter York, Hastings, and the Cardinal. 

Buck. Now, in good time, here comes the duke of 
York. [brother ? 

Prince, Richard of York ! how fares our loving 

For/c.Well, my dread lord ; so must I call you now. 

Prince. Ay, brother ; to our grief, as it is yours : 
Too late he died, that might have kept that title. 
Which by his death hath lost much majesty. 

Glo. How fares our cousin, noble lord of York ? 

York. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord. 
You said, that idle weeds are fast in growth : 
The prince my brother hath outgrown me far. ' 

Glo. He hath, my lord. 

York. And therefore is he idle 1 

Glo. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so. 

York. Then is he more beholden to you, than I. 

Glo. He may command me, as my sovereign ; 
But you have power in me, as in a kinsman. 

York. I pray you, uncle, then, give me this dagger. 

Glo, My dagger, little cousin f with all my heart. 

Prince. A beggar, brother ? 

York. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give ; 
And, being but a toy, which is no grief to give. 

Glo. A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin. 

York. A greater gift ! 0, that's the sword to it? 

Gin. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough. 

York. O then, 1 see, you'll part but with light gifts; 
In weightier things you"'l say a beggar, nay. 

Glo. It is too weighty for your grace to wear. 

York. 1 weigh it lightly, were it heavier. 

Glo. What, would you have my weapon, little lord 1 

York. I would, that 1 might thank you as you call me. 

Glo. How? 

York. Little. 

Prince. My lord of York will still becrossintalk ; — 
Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him. 

York. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with ine: — 
Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me ; 
Because that I am little, like an ape.' 



ACT III.— SCENE II. 



535 



He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders. 

Buck.With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons ! 
To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle. 
He prettily and aptly taunts himself : 
So cunning, and so young, is wonderful. 

Glo, My gracious lord , vvill't please you pass along 1 
Myself, and my good cousin Buckingham, 
Will to your mother ; to entreat of tier, 
To meet you at the Tower, and welcome you. 

York. What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord 1 

Prince. My lord protector needs will have it so. 

York. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower. 

Glo. Why, sir, what should you fear? 

York. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost ; 
My grandam told me, he was murder'd there. 

Prince. I fear no uncles dead. 

Glo, Nor none that live, I hope. 

Prince. An if they live, I hope, I need not fear. 
But come, my lord, and, with a heavy heart, 
Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. 

\_Eteutit Prince, York, Hastings, Cardinal, 
and Attendants. 

Buck. Think you, my lord, this little prating York 
Was not incensed by his subtle mother, 
To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously "? 

Glo. No doubt, no doubt : O, 'tis a parlous boy ; 
Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable ; 
He's all the mother's, from the top to toe. 

Buck. Well, let them rest. — 
Come hither, gentle Catesby ; thou art sworn 
As deeply to effect what we intend, 
As closely to conceal what we impart : 
Thou know'st our reasons urg'd upon the way ; 
What think'st thou 'i is it not an easy matter 
To make William lord Hastings of our mind, 
For the instalment of this noble duke 
In the seat royal of this famous islel 

Cate. He for his father's sake so loves the prince, 
That he will not be won to aught against him. 

Buck. What think'st thou then of Stanley 1 will not 

Cate. He will do all in all as Hastings doth, [he 1 

Buck. Well then, no more but this : Go, gentle 
Catesby, 
And, as it were far off, sound thou lord Hastings, 
How he doth stand affected to our purpose ; 
And summon him to-morrow to the Tower, 
To sit about the coronation. 
If thou dost find him tractable to us. 
Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons: 
If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling. 
Be thou so too ; and so break off the talk, 
And give us notice of his inclination : 
For we to-morrow hold divided councils. 
Wherein thyself shalt highly be employed. 

G/o. Commendme to lord William: tell him, Catesby, 
His ancient knot of dangeious adversaries 
To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret- castle ; 
And bid my friend, for joy of this good news, 
Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more. 

£Hc/c.GoodCatesby,go,effect this business soundly. 

Cate. My good lords both, with all the heed I can. 

Glo. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep? 

Cate. You shall, my lord. 

Glo. At Crosby-place, there shall you find us both. 

[E.iii Catesdy. 

Buck. Now, my lord, what sliall wedo,if we perceive 
Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots ? 

Glo. Chop off his head, man ; — somewhat we will 
And, look, when 1 am king, claim thou of me [do: — 
The earldom of Hereford, and all the moveables 
Whereof the king my brother was possess'd. 

Bu^k, I'll claim that promise at your grace's hand. 



Glo. And look to have it yielded with all kindness. 
Come, let us sup betimes ; that afterwards 
We may digest our complots in some form. ^Exeunt, 

SCENE II.— Before Lord Hastings' House. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, my lord, — [Knocking. 

Hast. [Within.] Who knocks'! 

Mess. One from lord Stanley. 

Hast. [Within.] What is't o'clock? 

Mess. Upon the stroke of four. 

Enter Hastings. 

Hast. Cannot thy master sleep the tedious nights ? 

Mess. So it should seem by that I have to say. 
First, he commends him to your noble lordship. 

Hast. And then, — 

Mess. And then, he sends you word he dreamt 
To-night the boar had rased off liis helm : 
Besides, he says, there are two councils held ; 
And that may be determin'd at the one. 
Which may make you and him to rue at the other. 
Therefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure, — 
If, presently, you will take horse with him, 
And with all speed post with him toward the north, 
To shun the danger that his soul divines. 

Hast. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord: 
Bid him not fear the separated councils : 
His honour, and myself, are at the one ; 
And, at the otlier, is my good friend Catesby ; 
Where nothing can proceed, that toucheth us, 
\Vhereof 1 shall not have intelligence. 
Tell him, his fears are shallow, wanting instance : 
And for his dreams. — I wonder, he 's so fond 
To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers : 
To fly the boar, before the boar pursues, 
Were to incense the boar to follow us. 
And make pursuit, where he did mean no chase. 
Go, bid thy master rise and come to me ; 
And we will both together to the Tower, 
Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly. 

Mess. 1 '11 go my lord, and tell him what you say. 

[El it. 
Enter Catesby. 

Cate. Many good morrows to my noble lord ! 

Hnst. Good morrow, Catesby ; you are early stirring 
What news, what news, in this our tottering state I 

Caie. It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord ; 
And, I believe, will never stand upright. 
Till Richard wear the garland of the realm. 

Hast. How ! wear the garland? dost thou mean the 

Cate. Ay, my good lord. [crown? 

Hnst. I'll iiave this crown of mine cut from my shoul- 
Before I'll see the crown so foul misplac'd. [ders. 
But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it ? 

Cate. Ay, on my life ; and hopes to find you forward 
Upon his party, for the gain thereof: 
And, thereupon, he sends you this good news,- - 
That, this same very day, your enemies, 
The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret. 

Hast. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news, 
Because they have been still my adversaries : 
But, that Til give my voice on Richard's side. 
To bar my master's heirs in true descent, 
God knows, 1 will not do it, to the death. 

Cate. God keep your lordship in that gracious mind! 

Hast. But I shall laugh at this a twelvemonth 
hence, — 
That they, who brought me in my master's hate, 
I live to look upon their tragedy. 
Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older. 



5:m 



KING RICHARD III. 



I'll send some packing-, that yet think not on't. 

Gate. 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, 
When men are unprepar'd, and look not for it. 

Hast. O monstrous, monstrous! and so falls it out 
AVith Rivers, Vaughan, Grey : and so "twill do 
With some men else, who think themselves as safe 
As thou and I ; who, as thou know'st, are dear 
'J'o princely Richard, and to Buckingham. 

Gale. I'he ])rincesboth make high accountof you, — 
For they account his head upon the bridge. [Aside. 

Hast. 1 know, they do ; and I have well deserv'd it. 

Enter Stanley. 
Come on, come on, where is your boar-spear, man? 
Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided ! 

Stan. JNIy lord, good morrow ; and good morrow, 
Catesby : — 
You may jest on, but, by the holy rood 
I do not like these several councils, I. 

Hast. My lord, I hold my life asdear as you do yours; 
And never, in my life, 1 do protest. 
Was it more precious to me than 'tis now : 
Think you, but that I know your state secure, 
I would be so triumphant as I am ? [London, 

Stan. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from 
Were jocund, and suppos'd their states were sure, 
And they, indeed, had no cause to mistrust; 
But yet, you see, how soon the day o"er-cast. 
This sudden stab of rancour 1 misdoubt ; 
Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward ! 
What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is spent. 

Hast. Come, come, have with you. — Wot you what, 
my lord 1 
To-day, the lords you talk of are beheaded, [heads, 

Stan. They, for "their truth, might better wear their 
Than some, that have accus'd them, wear their hats. 
But come, my lord, let's away. 

Enter a Pursuivant. 

Hast. Go on before, I '11 talk with this good fellow. 
[Eieunt Stan, and Catesby. 
How now, sirrah ? how goes the world with thee ? 

Purs. The better, that your lordship please to ask. 

Hast. I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now. 
Than when thou met'st me last where now we meet: 
Then was I going prisoner to the Tower, 
By the suggestion of the queen's allies ; 
But now, I tell thee, (keep it to thyself,) 
This day those enemies are put to death, 
And I in better state than ere I was. 

Piirs. God hold it, to your honour's good content ! 

Hast. Gramercy, fellow : There, drink that for me. 
[Throwing him his purse. 

Purs. I thank your honour. [Ea-it Pursuivant. 

Enter a Priest. 

Pr. Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour. 

Hast. I thank thee, good sir John, with all my heart. 
I am in your debt for your last exercise ; 
Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you. 

Enter Buckingham. 

Buck. What,talkingwithapriest,lordchamberlain? 
Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest ; 
Your honour hath no shriving work in hand. 

Hast. 'Good faith, and when I met this holy man, 
The men you talk of came into my mind. 
What, go you toward the Tower ? 

Buck. I do, my lord ; but long I cannot stay there : 
I shall return before your lordship thence. 

Hast. Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there. 

Buck, And supper too, although thou know'stit not. 

[Aiide. 



Come, will you go ? 

Hast. I'll wail upon your lordship. [Exeunt, 

SCENE III— Pomfret. Before the castle. 

Enter RATCi.itF, u'ith a guard, cojtducting Rivers, 
Gkey, and Vauchan, to execution. 

Pat. Come, bring forth the prisoners. 

Riv. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this, — 
To-day, shalt thou behold a subject die. 
For truth, for duty, and for loyalty. 

Grey. God keep the prince from all the pack of you! 
A knot you are of damned blood-suckers. 

Vaug. You live that shall cry woe for this hereafter. 

Rat. Despatch ; the limit of your lives is out. 

Riv. O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison. 
Fatal and ominous to noble peers ! 
Within the guilty closure of thy walls, 
Richard the Second here was hack'd to death : 
And, for more slander to thy dismal seat, 
We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink. 

G7?v-NowMargaret's curse is fallen upon our heads, 
When she exclaim'd on Hastings, you, and I, 
For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son. 

Riv. Then curs'd she Hviiiings, then cursed she 
Buckingham, 
Then curs'd she Richard: — O, remember, God, 
To hear hei' prayers for them, as now for us ! 
And for my sister, and her princely sons,^ 
Be satisfied, dear God, with our true bloods. 
Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt! 

Rat. Make haste, the hour of death is expirate. 

Riv. Come, Grey,— come, Vaughan, — let us here 
embrace : 
Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. [_Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.-^London. A Room in the Tower. 

Buckingham, Stanley, Hastings, the Bishop ov 
Ely, Catesby, Lovel, and others, sitting at a table: 
officers of the council attending. 

Hast. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met 
Is — to determine of the coronation : 
In God's name, speak, when is the royal day? 

Buck. Are all things ready for that royal time? 

Stan. They are ; and wants but nomination 

Ely. To-morrow then I judge a happy day. 

Buck. Who knows the lord protector's mind herein? 
Who is most inward with the noble duke ? [mind. 

Elu- Your grace, we think, should soonest know his 

Buck. We know each other's faces: for our hearts, — • 
He knows no more of mine, than I of yours ; 
Nor I, of his, my lord, than you of mine : 
Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love. 

Hast. I thank his grace, I know he loves me well: 
But, for his purpose in the coronation, 
I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd 
His gracious pleasure any way therein : 
But you, my noble lord, mq^ name the time; 
And in the duke's behalf 111 give my voice, 
Which, 1 presume, he'll take in gentle part. 

Enter Gloster. 

Elij. In happy time, here comes the duke himself. 

Glo. My noble lords, and cousins, all, good morrow; 
I have been long a sleeper ; but, I trust. 
My absence doth neglect no great design, 
Which by my presence might have been concluded. 

Buck. Had you not come upon your cue, my lord, 
William lord Hastings had pronounc'd your part, — 
I mean, your voice, — for crowning of the king. 

Glo. Than my lord Hastings, no mau might be 
bolder ; 



ACT III,— SCENE V. 



537 



His lordship knows me well, and loves me well. — 

Hast. I tliank your grace. 

Glo. My lord of Ely, when I was last in Ilolborn, 
I saw good strawberries in your garden there ; 
I do beseech you, send for some of them. 

Ely. Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart. 

[Exit Ely. 

Glo. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. 

[Takes him aside. 
(Jatesby hath sounded Hastings in our business ; 
And finds the testy gentleman so hot. 
That he will lose his head, ere give consent. 
His master's child, as worshipfully he terms it, 
Shall lose the royalty of England's throne. 

Buck. Withdraw yourself awhile, I'll go with you. 
[Exeunt Gr.osTKR and Buckingham. 

Si an. We have not yet set down this day of triumph. 
To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden ; 
For I myself am not so well provided. 
As else I would be, were the day prolong'd. 

Re-enter Bishop of Ely. 

Ely. Where is my lord protector? I have sent 
For these strawberries. [morning ; 

Hast. His grace looks cheerfully and smooth this 
There's some conceit or other likes him well, 
W^hen he dotli bid good morning with such spirit. 
I think, there's ne'er a man in Christendom, 
Can lesser hide his love, or hate, than he ; 
For by his face straiglit shall you know his heart. 

Sian. What of his heart perceive you in his face, 
By any likelihood he shew'd to-day! 

Hast. Rlarry, that with no man here he is ofiended ; 
For, were he, he had shewn it in his looks. 

Stan. I pray God he be not, 1 say. 

Re-enter Gloster and Buckingham. 

Glo. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve, 
That do conspire my death with devilish plots 
Of damned witchcraft ; and that have prevail'd 
Upon my body with their hellish charms 1 

Hast. The tender love I bear your grace, my lord, 
Makes me most forward in this noble presence 
To doom the offenders : Whosoe'er they be, 
I say, my lord, they have deserv'd death. 

Glo. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil, 
Look how I am bewitch'd ; behold mine arm 
Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up : 
And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch, 
Consorted with that harlot, strumpet Shore, 
I'hat by their witchcraft thus have marked me. 

Hast. If they have done this deed, my noble lord, — 

Glo. If ! thou protector of this damned strumpet, 
Talk'st thou to me of ifs? — Thou art a traitor : — 
Off with his head : — now, by saint Paul 1 swear, 
1 will not dine until 1 see the same. — 
Lovel, and Catesby, look that it be done ; 
The rest, that love me, rise, and follow me. 

[Exeunt Council, with Gi.os. and Buck. 

Hast. W^oe, woe, for England ! not a whit for me ; 
For I, too fond, might have prevented tliis : 
Stanley did dream, the boar did rase his helm ; 
But I disdain'd it, and did scorn to fly. 
Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble, 
And startled, when he look'd upon the lower. 
As loath to bear me to the slaughterhouse. 
O, now I want the priest that spake to me: 
I now repent I told the pursuivant, 
As too triumphing, how mine enemies. 
To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd, 
And I myself secure in grace and favour. 
O, Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse 



Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head. 

Cate. Despatch, my lord, the duke would beatdin« 
Make a short shrift, he longs to see your head, [ner; 

Hast. O momentary grace of mortal men, 
Which we more hunt for than the grace of God ! 
Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks, 
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast ; 
Ready, with every nod, to tumble down 
Into the fatal bowels of the deep. 

Ldu. Come, come, despatch; 'tis bootless to exclaim. 

Hast. O, bloody Richard! — miserable England ' 
I prophesy the fearful'st time to thee. 
That ever wretched age hath look'd upon. — 
Come, lead me to the block, bear him my head , 
They smile at me, who shortly shall be dead 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE v.— The same. The Tower Walls. 

Enter Gloster and BurKiNGii..\M, in rusty armour, 
marvellous ill-favoured. 

Glo. Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and change 
thy colour! 
Murder thy breath in middle of a word, — 
And then again begin, and stop again, 
As if thou wert distraught, and mad with terror ? 

Bi:ck. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian ; 
Speak, and look back, and pry on every side, 
Tremble and start at wagging of a straw. 
Intending deep suspicion : ghastly looks 
Are at my service, like enforc'd smiles ; 
And both are ready in their offices. 
At any time, to grace my stratagems. 
But what, is Catesby gone ? 

Glo. He is ; and, see, he brings the mayor along. 

Enter the Lord INIayor and Catesby. 
Buck Let me alone to entertain him.. — Lord 
Glo. Look to the draw-bridge there. [major, — 
Buck. Hark, hark ! a drum. 

Glo. Catesby, o'erlook the walls. [you,— 

Buck. Lord mayor, the reason we have sent for 
Glo. Look back, defend thee, here are enemies. 
Buck.God and our innocence defend and guard us ! 

Enter Lovei, and Ratcliff, with Hastings' head. 

Glo. Be patient, they are friends ; Ratcliff, and 
Lovel. 

J.du. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor. 
The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. 

Glo. So dear I lov'd the man, that I must weep. 
I took him for the plainest harmless't creature, 
That breath'd upon the earth a Christian ; 
IVTade him my book, wherein my soul recorded 
The history of all her secret thoughts : 
So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue. 
That, his apparent open guilt omitted, — 
I mean, his conversation with Shore's wife, — 
He liv'd from all attainder of suspect. 

Buck. Well, well, he was the covert'st shelter'd 
That ever liv'd. — Look you, my lord mayor, [traitor 
Would vou imagine, or almost believe, 
( Were't not, that l)y great preservation 
We live to tell it you, ) the subtle traitor 
This day had plotted, in the council-house, 
To murder me, and my good lord of Gloster? 

Mau. What ' had he so! 

Glo. What ' think you we are Turks, or infidels? 
Or that we would, against the form of law. 
Proceed thus rashly in the villain's death ; 
But that the extreme peril of the case, 
The peace of England, and our persons' safety, 
Enforc'd us to this execution 1 



538 



KING RICHARD III. 



May. Now, fair befal you ! he deserv'd his death ! 
And your good graces both have well proceeded, 
To warn false traitors from the like attempts. 
I never look'd for belter at his hands, 
After he once fell in with mistress Shore. 

Buck. Vet had we not determin'd he should die, 
Until your lordship came to see his end ; 
Which now the loving haste of tliese our friends, 
Somewhat against our meaning hath prevented: 
Because, my lord, we would have had you heard 
The traitor speak, and timorously confess 
The manner and the purpose of his treasons ; 
That you might well h-ave signified the same 
Unto the citizens, who, haply, may 
Misconstrue us in him, and wail his death, [serve. 
May. But, my good lord, your grace's word shall 
As well as I had seen, and heard him speak : [serve. 
And do not doubt, right noble princes both. 
But I '11 acquaint our duteous citizens 
With all your just proceedings in this case. 

Glo. And to that end we wish'd your lordship here, 
To avoid the censures of the carping world. 

Buck. But since yon came too late of our intent, 
Yet v^itness what you hear we did intend : 
And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell. 

[F.Ait Lord Mayor. 
Glo. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham, 
The mayor towards Guildhall hies him with all post: — 
There, at your meetest vantage of the time. 
Infer the bastardy of Edward's children : 
Tell them, how Edward put to death a citizen. 
Only for saying — he would make his son 
Heir to the crown ; meaning, indeed, his house, 
Which, by the sign thereof was termed so. 
Moreover, urge his hateful luxury. 
And bestial appetite in change of lust ; I 

Whichstretch'd unto their servants, daughters, wives. 
Even where his raging eye, or savage heart. 
Without control, listed to make his prey. 
Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person : — 
Tell them, when that my mother went with child 
Of that insatiate Edward, noble York, 
My princely father, then had wars in France ; 
And, by just computation of the time. 
Found, that the issue was not his begot ; 
Which we'l appeared in his lineaments. 
Being nothing like the noble duke my father : 
Yet touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off; 
Because, my lord, you know, my mother lives. 

Buck. Doubt not, my lord : I'll play the orator. 
As if the golden fee, for which I plead, 
Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu, [castle; 
Glo. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's 
Where you shall find me well accompanied. 
With reverend fathers, and well-learned bishops. 
Back. 1 go ; and, towards three or four o'clock, 
Look for the news that the Guildhall aflbrds. 

[Elit BUCKINGHA^M. 

Glo. Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw, — 
Go thou [id Cat.] to friar Penker ; — bid them both 
iNIeet me, within this hour, at Baynard's castle. 

[^Eieunt LovKi, and Catesbv. 
Now will I in, to take some privy order 
To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight ; 
And to give notice, that no manner of person 
Have, any time, recourse unto the princes. [Eiit. 

SCENE VI.— /I Street. 
Enter a Scrivenei 
Scriv. Here is the indictment of the good lord 
Hastings ; 
Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd, 



That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's, 

A nd mark how well the sequel hangs together ; 

Eleven hours I have spent to write it over, 

For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me ; 

The precedent was full as long a doing: 

And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd, 

Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty. 

Here's a good world the while I — Who is so gross. 

That cannot see this palpable device ? 

Yet who so bold, but says — he sees it not? 

Bad is the world ; and all will come to nought. 

When such bad dealing must be seen in thought. 

[Exit. 

SCENE VU.— The same. Coiu-f of Baynard's Castle. 
Enter Glostf.r and Buckingham, meeting. 
Glo. How now, how now? what say the citizens? 
Buck. Now by the holy mother of our Lord, 
The citizens are mum, say not a word. [dren ' 

Glo. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's chil 
Buck. I did ; with his contract with lady Lucy, 
,\nd his contr;ict by deputy in France : 
The insatiate greediness of his desires, 
And his enforcement of the city wives ; 
His tyranny for trifles ; his own bastardy, — 
As being got, your father then in France ; 
And his resemblance, being not like the duke. 
Withal, I did infer your lineaments, — 
Being the rigiit idea of your father, 
Both in your form and nobleness of mind : 
Laid open all your victories in Scotland, 
Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace, 
Your bounty, virtue, fair humility ; 
Indeed, left nothing, fitting for your purpose, 
Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse. 
And, when mine oratory grew to an end, 
I bade them, that did love their country's good, 
Cry — God save Richard, England's royal king ! 
Glo. And did they so ? 

Buck. No, so God' help me, they spake not a word ; 
But, like dumb statuas, or breathless stones, 
Star'd on each other, and look'd deadly pale. 
Which when I saw, I reprehended them ; 
And ask'd the mayor, what meant this wilful silence: 
His answer was — the people were not us'd 
To be spoke to, but by the recorder. 
Then he was urg'd to tell my tale again ; — 
Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke infcrr'd ; 
But nothing spoke in warrant from himself. 
When he had done, some followers of mine own, 
At lower end o' the hall, hurl'd up their caps. 
And some ten voices cried, God save king Richard! 
And thus 1 took the vantage of those few, — 
Thanks, gentle citizens, and t'rieuds, (juoth I ; 
This general applause, and Jieerjul shout. 
Argues your wisdom, and your love to Richard: 
And even here brake off, and came away. 

CjIo. What tongueless blocks were they ; Would 
they not speak ! 
Will not tiie mayor then, and his brethren, come ' 

Buck. The mayor is here at liand, intend some fear ; 
Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit : 
And look you, get a prayer-book in your hand, 
And stand between two churchmen, good my loid ; 
For on that ground I'll make a holy descant : 
And be not easily won to our requests ; 
Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it. 

Glo. I go ; and if you plead as well foi them. 
As I can say nay to thee for myself, 
No doubt we'll bring it to a happy iss\ie 

Buck. Go, go, up" to the leads ; the lord mayor 
knocks. [Exit Glosteii. 



ACT III.— SCENE VII. 



539 



Enter the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Citizens. 
Welcome, my lord : 1 dance attendance here ; 
I think, the duke will not be spoke withal. — 

Enter from the castle, Catesby. 
Now, Calesby ! what says your lord to my request? i 
Cate. He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord, ; 
To visit him to-morrow, or next day : 
He is within, with two right reverend fathers. 
Divinely bent to meditation : 
And in no worldly suit would he be mov'd. 
To draw him from his holy exercise. 

Buck. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious duke ; 
Tell him, myself, the mayor and aldermen. 
In deep designs, in matter of great moment, 
No less importing than our general good. 
Are come to have some conference with his grace. 
Cate. ril signify so much unto him straight. [Eiit- 
Buck. Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Ed- 
He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed, [ward ! 
But on his knees at meditation ; 
Not dallying with a brace of courtezans, 
But meditating with two deep divines ; 
Not sleeping, to engross his idle body. 
But praying, to enrich his watchful soul : 
Happy were England, would this virtuous prince 
Take on himself the sovereignty thereof: 
But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it. [nay ! 
May. Marry, God defend, his grace sliould say us 
Buck. I fear, he will : Here Catesby comes again ; — 

Re enter Catesby. 
Now, Catesby, what says his grace ? 

Cate. He wonders to what end you have assembled 
Such troops of citizens to come to him, 
His grace not being warn'd thereof before ; 
He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him. 

Buck. Sorry I am, my noble cousin should 
Suspect me, that I mean no good to him ; 
By heaven, we come to him in perfect love ; 
And so once more return and tell his grace. 

[Eiit Catesby. 
When holy and devout religious men 
Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence ; 
So sweet is zealous contemplation. 

Enter Gloster, in a gallery above, between Two 
Bishops, Catesby returns. 

May. See, where his grace stands 'tween two cler- 
gymen ! 

Buck. 'I' wo props of virtue for a christian prince. 
To stay him from the fall of vanity : 
And, see, a book of prayer in his handl 
True ornaments to know a holy man. — 
Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, 
Lend favourable ear to our requests ; 
And pardon us the interruption 
Of tliy devotion, and right christian zeal. 

Glo. My lord, there needs no such apology ; 
I rather do beseech you pardon me, 
Who, earnest in the service of my God, 
Neglect the visitation of my friends. 
But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure? 

Buck. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above, 
And all good men of this ungovern'd isle. 

Glo. 1 do suspect, I have done some offence. 
That seems disgracious in the city's eye ; 
And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. 

Buck. Vou have, my lord; Would it might please 
your grace, 
On our entreaties to amend your fault ! 

Glo. Else, wherefore breatlie I in a Christian land? 

Buck. Know, then, it is your fault, that you resign 



The supreme seat, the throne majestical, 

'i'he scepter'd office of your ancestors. 

Your state of fortune, and your due of birth, 

The lineal glory of your royal house, 

To the corruption of a blemish'd stock : 

Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts, 

(Which here we waken to our country's good,) 

The noble isle doth want her proper limbs ; 

Her face defac'd with scars of infamy. 

Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants, 

And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf 

Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion. 

Which to recure we heartily solicit 

Your gracious self to take on you the charge 

And kingly government of this your land 

Not as protector, steward, substitute, 

Or lowly factor for another's gain : 

But as successively, from blood to blood, 

Your right of birth, your empery, your own. 

For this, consorted with the citizens. 

Your very worshipful and loving friends. 

And by their vehement instigation. 

In this just suit come I to move your grace. 

Glo. I cannot tell, if to depart in silence. 
Oi bitterly to speak in your reproof, 
Best fitteth my degree, or your condition : 
If, not to answer, — you might haply think. 
Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded 
To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty. 
Which fondly you would here impose on me ■ 
If to reprove you for this suit of yours. 
So season'd with your faithful love to me. 
Then, on the other side, 1 check'd my friends. 
Therefore, — to speak, and to avoid the first ; 
And then, in speaking, not to incur the last, — 
Definitively, thus I answer you. 
Your love deserves my thanks ; but my desert 
Unmeritable, shuns your high request. 
First, if all obstacles were cut away. 
And that my path were even to the crown, 
As the ripe revenue and due of birth ; 
Yet so much is my poverty of spirit. 
So mighty, and so many, my defects. 
That 1 would rather hide me from my greatness, — 
Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, — 
Than in my greatness covet to be hid. 
And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. 
But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me ; 
(And much I need to help you, if need were ;) 
The royal tree hath left us royal fruit, 
Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time, 
Will well become the seat of majesty. 
And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. 
On him I lay what you would lay on me. 
The right and fortune of his happy stars, — 
Which, God defend, that I should wring from him ! 

Buck. My lord, this argues conscience in your grace 
But the respects thereof are nice and trivial. 
All circumstances well considered. 
You say that Edward is your brother's son ; 
So say we too, but not by Edward's wife : 
For first he was contract to lady Lucy, 
Your mother lives a witness to his vow ; 
And afterwards by substitute betroth'd 
To Bona, sister to the king of France. 
These both put bv, a poor petitioner, 
A care-craz'd mother to a many sons, 
A beauty-waning and distressed widow. 
Even in the afternoon of her best days. 
Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye, 
Seduc'd the pilch and height of all liis thoughts 
To base declension, and loath 'd bigamy ; 



540 



KING RICHARD III. 



By hei, in his unlawful bed, he got 

This Edward, whom our manners call — the prince. 

More bitterly could 1 expostulate. 

Save that, for reverence to some alive, 

I give a sparing limit to ray tongue. 

Ttieri, good my lord, take to your royal self 

This profter'd benefit of dignity : 

If not to bless us and the land withal, 

Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry 

From the corruption of abusing time, 

Unto a lineal true-derived course. 

Mail. Do, good my lord ; your citizens entreat you. 

Buck. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proflfer'd love. 

Gate. Omake them joyful, grant their lawful suit. 

Glo. Alas, why would you heap those cares on me ! 
I am unfit for state and majesty: — 
I do beseech you, take it not amiss ; 
I cannot, nor I will not yield to you. 

Btick. If you refuse it, — as in love and zeal, 
Loath to depose the child, your brother's son ; 
As well we know your tenderness of heart, 
And gentle, kind, efieminate remorse. 
Which we have noted in you to your kindred, 
And equally, indeed, to all estates, — 
Yet know, whe'r you accept our suit or no, 
Your brother's son shall never reign our king ; 
But we will plant some other in your throne. 
To the disgrace and downfal of your house. 
And, in tiiis resolution, here we leave you ; — 
Come, citizens, we will entreat no more. 

[Exeunt Buckingham and Citizens. 

Cate. Call them again, sweet prince, accept their 
If you deny them, all the land will rue it. [suit, 

Glo. Will you enforce me to a world of cares 1 
Well, call them again ; I am not made of stone. 
But penetrable to your kind entreaties, [Exit Cate. 
Albeit against my conscience and my soul — 

Be-enter Buckingham, and the rest. 
Cousin of Buckingham, — and you sage, grave men, — 
Since you will buckle fortune on my back. 
To bear her burden, whe'r I will, or no, 
I must have patience to endure the load : 
But if black scandal, orfoul-fac'd reproach, 
Attend the sequel of your imposition. 
Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me 
From all the impure blots and stains thereof ; 
For God he knows, and you may partly see. 
How far 1 am from ti»e desire of this. [say it. 

May. God bless your giace ! we see it, and will 

Glo. In saying so, you shall but say the truth. 

Buck. Then 1 salute vou with this royal title,— 
Long live king Richard, England's worthy king ! 

All.. Amen. 

Buck. To-morrow may it please you to be crown'd ? 

Glo. Even when you please, since you will tiaveitso. 

Buck. To-morrow then we will attend your grace ; 
And so most joyfully, we take our leave. 

Glo. Come, let us to our holy work again : — 

[To the Bishops. 
Farewell, good cousin ; — farewell, gentle friends. 

[E.ieunt. 

ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — Before the Tower. 

Enter, on one side. Queen F2i,izabeth, Duchess of 
York, and Mapquis of Dorset ; on the other, 
Anne, Duchess of Gi.oster, leading Lady Mar- 
garet Plantagenet, Clarence's young daughter. 
Duch. Who meets us here? — my niece Plantagenet 

Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloster ? 



Now, for my life, she's wand'ring to .he Tower, 
On pure heart's love, to greet the tender piince. — 
Daughter, well met. 

Anne. God give your graces both 

A happy and a joyful time of day ! [away ! 

Q. Eliz. As much to you, good sister! Whither 

Anne. No further than the Tower; and, as I guess, 
Upon the like devotion as yourselves, 
To gratulate the gentle princes there. 

Q. Eliz. Kind sister, thanks; we'll enter alltogetlier. 

Enter Brakenuury. 

And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes. — 
Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave, 
How doth the prince, and my young son of York? 

Brak. Right well, dear madam : By your patience, 
I may not suffer you to visit them ; 
The king hath strictly charg'd the contrary. 

Q. Eliz. The king ! who's that 1 

Brak. I mean, the lord protector. 

Q. Eliz. The Lord protect him from that kingly title! 
Hath he set bounds between their love and me 1 
I am their mother, who shall bar me from them 1 

Duch. I am their father's mother, I will see them. 

Anne. Their aunt am 1 in law, in love their mother: 
Then bring me to their sights ; I'll bear thy blame, 
And take thy office from thee, on my peril. 

Brak. No, madam, no, I may not leave it so; 
I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. 

[Eitt Brakenburv. 
Enter Stanley. 

Stan. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence. 
And I'll salute your grace of York as mother, 
And reverend looker-on of two fair queens. — 
Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster, 

[To the Duchess of Gloster. 
There to be crowned Richard's royal queen. 

Q. Eliz. Ah, cut my lace asunder! 
That my pent heart may have some scope to beat, 
Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news. 
Anne. Despiteful tidings ! O unpleasing news ! 
Dor. Be of good cheer : — Mother, how fares your 

grace ? 
Q. Eliz. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee gone 
Death and destruction dog thee at the heels ; 
Thy mother's name is ominous to children : 
If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas, 
And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell. 
Go, hie thee, hie thee, from this slaughter-house. 
Lest thou increase the number of the dead ; 
And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse, — 
Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen. 

Stan. Fullof wise care is thisyour counsel, madair: — 
Take all the swift advantage of the hours ; 
You shall have letters from me to my son 
In your behalf, to meet you on the way : 
Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay. 

Duch, O ill-dispersing wind of misery! — 
O my accursed womb, the bed of death ; 
A cockatrice hast thou hatch 'd to the world, 
Whose unavoided eye is murderous!. 
Stan. Come, madam, come ; I in all haste was sent, 
Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go. — 
O, would to God, that the inclusive verge 
Of golden metal, that must round my brow. 
Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain! 
Anointed let me be with deadly venom ; 
And die, ere men can say, — God save the queen ! 

Q. Eliz. Go, go, poor soul, 1 envy not thy glory ; 
To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm. 

Anne. No! why? — When he, that is my husband 
Came to me, as 1 followed Henry's cor.se ; [now. 



ACT IV.-SCENE IL 



5 a 



When scarce the blood was well wasli'd from his 

Which issu'd from my other angel husband, [hands, 

And that dead saint which then 1 weeping foUow'd; 

O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face. 

This was my wish, — Be thou, quoth I, accursed, 

For making me, so iioiiiig, si> old a iiidoic ! 

And, when thou wed'st, let sorrmr haicit tliij bed; 

And be ihij wife (if anij be so mad) 

More miserable bi/ the life of thee. 

Than thou host made me hu jny dear lord's death ! 

Lo, ere 1 can repeat this curse again. 

Even in so short a space, my woman's heart 

Grossly grew captive to his honey words, 

And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse : 

Which ever since hath held mine eyes from rest; 

For never yet one hour in his bed 

Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, 

But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd. 

Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick ; 

And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me. 

Q. FJiz. Poor heart, adieu ; 1 pity thy complaining. 

Anne. No more than with my soul I mourn foryours. 

Dor. Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory ! 

Anne. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it! 

Duck, Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune 
guide thee ! [Td Dorset. 

Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee ! — 

[To Anne. 
Go thou to sanctuary, and good tlioughts possess 
thee! [Tr* Q. Emzahktii. 

1 to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me ! 
Eighty odd years of sorrow have 1 seen, 
And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen. 

Q. Eliz. Stay yet ; look back, with me, unto the 
Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes, [Tower. — 
Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls ! 
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones ! 
E-ude ragged nurse! old sullen playfellow 
For tender princes, use my babies well ! 
So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A Room, of State in the Palace. 

Flourish of trumpets. Richard, as King itpon his 
throne ; Buckingham, Cati;sbv, a Page, and others, 

K.Uich. Stand all apait — Cousin of Bucking- 

Buck. My gracious sovereign. [ham, — 

K, Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy ad- 
And thy assistance, is king Riciiard seated : — [vice. 
But shall we wear these glories for a day? 
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them? 

Buck. Still live *hev, and for ever let them last! 

A'. Rich. Ah, Buc<vingham, now do I play the touch, 
To try if thou be current gold indeed : — 
YoungEdward lives; — Think nov/whati would speak. 

Buck. Say on, my loving lord. 

A'. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king. 

Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned liege. 

A'. Rich. Ha! am I king? 'Tisso: butEdward lives. 

Bucr:. True, noble prince. 

A". Rich. bitter conseijuence. 

That Edward still should live, — true, noble prince ! -- 
Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull: — 
Shall I be plain ? I wish the bastards dead ; 
And I would have it suddenly perform'd. 
What say'st thou now? speak suddenly, be brief. 

Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure. 

A'. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness 
Say, have I thy consent, that they sliall die ? [freezes: 

Back. Give me some breath, some little pause, dear 
Before I positively speak in this : [lord, 

I will resolve your grace immediately. [Exii Bvj(,k. 



Cate. The king is angry; see,he gnaws his lip. [Aside. 

K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted fools, 

[Descends from his thront. 
And unrespective boys ; none are for me. 
That look into me with considerate eyes ; — 
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. — 
Boy, 

Page. My lord. 

A'. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting 
Would tempt unto a close exploit of death ? [gold 

Page. I know a discontented gentleman. 
Whose humble means match not his haughty mind • 
Gold were as good as twenty orators. 
And will, no doubt, teii^pt liim to any thing. 

A'. Rich, \\ iiat is his name ? 

Page. His name, my lord, is — Tyrrel. 

K.Ricli. 1 partly know the man; Go, call liim 
hither, boy. — [E.tit Page. 

The dtep-revolving witty Buckingham 
No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels : 
Hath he so long held out with me untir'd. 
And stops he now for breath ? — well, be it so.— 

Enter Stanley. 

How now, lord Stanley ? what's the news ? 

Stan. Know, my loving lord, 

The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled ^ 

To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. 

A. Rich. Come hither, Catesby: rumour it abroad, 
That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick ; 
I will take order for her keeping close. 
Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman, 
\Vhom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter. — 
The boy is foolish, and 1 fear not him. — 
Look, how thou dream'st ! — 1 say again, give out. 
That Anne my queen is sick, and like to die : 
About it ; for it stands me much upon. 
To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.- 

[ Eiit CAiy.sny. 
I must be married to my brother's daughter. 
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass : — • 
Murder her brothers, and tiien marry her I 
Uncertain wav of gain ! But 1 am in 
So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin. 
Tearfalling pity dwells not in this eye. 

Re-enter Page, with Tvurel. 

Is thy name — Tyrrel ? 

Tur. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject. 

A. Rich. Art thou, indeed ? 

Tiir, Prove me, my gracious lord. 

A". Rich. Dar'sttho'i resolve to kill a friend of mine? 

Ttjr. Please you ; but i had rather kill two enemies. 

A. Rich, Wiiy, then thou hast it ; two deepenemies. 
Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers. 
Are they that I would have thee deal upon : 
Tyrrel, 1 mean those bastards in the Tower. 

Tur. Let me have open means to come to them. 
And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them. 

A. Rich Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come 
hither, Tyrrel ; 
Go.by tills token: — Rise, and lend thine ear:[H''/!is/)er4. 
There is no more but so. — Say, it is done. 
And 1 will love thee, and prefer thee for it. 

Ti/r. 1 will despateli it straight. [Exit, 

Re-enter Buckingham. 

Buck. My lord, 1 have consider'd in my mind ' 
The late demand that you did sound me in. 

A. ttich. Well, let that rest. Dorset is Hcd to 
Buck. 1 hear the news, my loid. [Riciimond. 

K'. Ricli. Stanley, he is your wife's son: — Well, 
look to it. 



542 



KING RICHARD III. 



Buck. My lord, T claim the gift, my due by promise, 
For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd ; 
The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables, 
Which you have promised 1 shall possess. 

K. Rich. Stanley, look to your wife ; if she convey 
Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. 

Buck. What says your highness to my just request T 

K, Rich. 1 do remember me, — Henry the Sixth 
Did prophesy, that Richmond should be king, 
When Richmond was a little peevish boy. 
A king ! — perhaps 

Buck. My lord, [that time 

K. Ricli. How chance, the prophet could not at 
Have told me, I being by, that 1 should kill him? 

Buck. My lord, your promise for the earldom, — 

A". Rich. Richmond! — When last I was at Exeter, 
The mayor in courtesy shew'd me the castle. 
And cail'd it — Rouge-mont : at which name I 
Because a bard of Ireland told me once [started; 
1 should not live long after I saw Richmond. 

Buck. I\Iy lord, 

A'. Rich. Ay, what's o'clock ? 

Buck. 1 am thus bold 

To put your grace in mind of what you promis'd me? 

A". Rich. Well, but what is't o'clock ? 

Buck. Upon the stroke 

Often. 

K. Rich. Well, let it strike. 

Buck. Why, let it strike ? 

7i'. Rich. Because that, like a Jack, thou keep 'st 
Betwixt thy begging and my meditation, [the stroke 
I am not in the giving vein to-day. 

Buck. W hy , then resolve me whe'r you will , or no. 

K. Rich. Thou troublest me ; I am not in the vein. 
[Eieunt King Richard and Train, 

Buck. And is it thus? repays he my deep service 
With such contempt? made 1 him king for this? 
O, let me think on Hastings ; and be gone 
To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on. [Eijt. 

SCENE III.— ne same. 

Enter Tyrrel 

Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody act is done ; 
The most arch deed of piteous massacre, 
That ever yet this land was guilty of. 
Dighton, and Forrest, whom I did suborn 
To do this piece of ruthless butchery. 
Albeit they were Hesh'd villains, bloody dogs, 
Melting with tenderness and mild compassion, 
Wept like two children, in their death's sad story. 
thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes, — 
This, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another 
Within their alabaster innocent arms : 
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, 
IVhich, in their summer beauty, kiss'd each other. 
A book oj praners on their pillow lai] : 
Which o»ce, quoth Forrest, almost chang'd my mind: 
But, 0, the devil — there the villain stopp'd ; 
When Dighton thus told on, — we smothered 
The most replenished sweet work of nature. 

That, frooi the prime creation, e'er slie f ram' d. 

Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse. 
They could not speak ; and so I left them both, 
To bear this tidings to the bloody king. 

Enter King Richard. 

And here he comes : — All health, my sovereign lord 1 
A'. Rich. Kind Tyrrel : am 1 happy in thy news ? 
Tyr. if to have done the thing you gave in charge 

Beget your happiness, be happy then, 

For it is done. 



K Rich. But didst thou see them dead ? 

Tyr. 1 did, my lord. 

K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel 

Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them ; 
But where, to say the truth, I do not know. 

K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after supper, 
When thou shall tell the process of their death. 
Mean time, but think how I may do thee good, 
And be inheritor of thy desire. 
Farewell, till then. 

Tyr. 1 humbly take my leave. [Exit 

K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I penn'd up 
close ; 
His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage ; 
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom. 
And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night. 
iS'ow, for I know the Bretagne Richmond aims 
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, 
And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown. 
To her go 1, a jolly thriving wooer. 

Enter Catesby. 

Gate. My lord,— 

A'. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou com'st in 
so bluntly? [mond ; 

Gate. Bad news, my lord : INIorton is fled to Rich- 
Aud Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen, 
Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. 

A*. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near 
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength. 
Corne, — I have learn'd, that fearful commenting 
Is leaden servitor to dull delay ; 
Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary 
Then fiery expedition be my wing, 
Jov»'.'s Mercury, and herald for a king ! 
Go, muster men : My counsel is my shield ; 
We must be brief, when traitors brave the field. [Ex. 

SCENE IV.— The same. Before the Palace. 

Enter Queen Margaret. 

Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow, 
And drop into the rotten mouth of death. 
Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd. 
To watch the waning of mine enemies. 
A dire induction am I witness to. 
And will to France ; hoping, the consequence 
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. 
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret! whocomes here? 

Enter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of York. 

Q. Eliz. Ah, my poor princes ! ah, my tender babes! 
My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets ' 
If yet your gentle souls fly in the air. 
And be not fix'd in doom perpetual. 
Hover about me with your airy wings, 
And hear your mother's lamentation ! 

Q. Mar. Hover about her ; say, that right for right 
Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. 

Duch. So many miseries, have craz'd my voice, 
That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute, — 
Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead ? 

Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, 
Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. 

Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle 
And throw them in the entrails of the wolf ? [lambs, 
When didst thou sleep, when such a deed was done? 

Q. Mar. When holy Harry died, and my sweet son. 

Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living 
ghost, 
Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life 
Brief abstract and record of tedious days, [usurp'd 



r^ 



^^ 



ACT IV.- SCENE IV. 



643 



Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, 

[Sitting down. 
L'nlawfuHy made drunk with innocent blood ! 

Q. Eliz. Ah, that thou would'st as soon afford a 
As thou canst yield a melancholy seat ; (grave. 

Then woukl 1 hide n^y bones, not rest them here! 
Ah, who hath any czise to mourn, but we ? 

[Sitting down hif Iter, 

Q. Mar, If ancient sorrow be most reverent, 
Give mine the benefit of seniory, 
And let my griefs frown on the upper hand. 
If sorrow can admit society. [Sitting down with them. 
Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine • — 
I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; 
I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him: 
'I'hou hadstan fc^dward, till a Richard kill'd him; 
Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him. 

Dncli. I had a Richard too, and tliou didst kill 
I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. [him ; 

Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard 
kind him. 
From foith the kennel of thy womb hath crept 
A hell-hound, that doth hunt us all to death : 
That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, 
To worry lambs, and lap their gentle blood, 
That foul defacer of God's handy-work ; 
That excellent grand tyrant of the earth. 
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, 
Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves. — 

upright, just, and true disposing God, 
flow do 1 thank thee, that this carnal cur 
Preys on the issue of his mother's body, 

And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan! 

Duel). O, Harry's wife, triumph not in my Avoes ; 
God witness with me, I have wept for thine. 

Q. Maj; Bear with me ; I am hungry for revenge, 
And now I cloy me with beholding it. 
Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward ; 
Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward ; 
Young York he is but boot, because both they 
Match not the high perfection of my loss. 
Thy Clarence he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward ; 
And the beholders of this tragic play, 
The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, 
Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. 
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer; 
Only reserv'd their factor, to buy souls, 
And send them thither : But at hand, at hand, 
Ensues his piteous and unpitied end : 
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, 
To have him suddenly convey'd from hence : — 
Cancel his bond of life, dear God, 1 pray. 
That I may live to say, The dog is dead ! 

Q. Eli::. O, thou didst prophesy, the time would 
That 1 should wish for thee to help me curse [come. 
That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad. 

Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my 
fortune ; 

1 call'd 'hee then, poor shadow, painted queen ; 
The presentation of but what I was. 

The flattering index of a direful pageant. 

One heav'da high, to be hurl'd down below : 

A mother only mock'd with two fair babes ; 

A dream of what thou wast ; a garish flag, 

To be the aim of every dangerous shot ; 

A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble ; 

A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. 

AVhere is thy husband now? whtre be thy brothers? 

W here be thy two sons? wherein dost thou joy ? 

Who sues, and kneels, and says — God save the queen? 

\Vhere be the bending peers that flatter'd thee ? 

Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee ? 



Decline all this, and see what now thou art. 
For happy wife, a most distressed widow ; 
For joyful mother, one that wails the name ; 
For one being sued to, one that humbly sues ; 
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care: 
For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me • 
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one ; 
For one commanding all, obey'd of none. 
Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about, 
And left thee but a very prey to time ; 
Having no more but thought of what thou wert. 
To torture thee the more, being what thou art. 
Thou didst usurp my place, And dost thou not 
Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow? 
Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke ; 
From which even here I slip my wearied head. 
And leave the burden of it all on thee, [chance,-— 
Farewell, York's wife, — and queen of sad mis- 
These English woes shall make me smile in France. 

Q. Eliz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while, 
And teach me how to curse mine enemies. 

Q. Mar. Forbearto sleep thenight, and fast the day ; 
Compare dead happiness with living woe ; 
Think that thy babes were fairer than they were, 
And he, that slew them, fouler than he is : 
Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse : 
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse, [thine ! 

Q. Eliz. My words are dull, O, quicken them with 

Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and 
pierce like mine. [Exit Q. Margaret. 

Duch. Why should calamity be full of words ? 

Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes, 
Airy succeeders of intestate joys, 
Poor breathing orators of miseries ! 
Let them have scope : though what they do impart 
Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart. 

Duch. If so, then be not tongue-ty'd : go with me, 
And in the breath of bitter words let's smother 
Biy damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd. 

[Drum, within. 
1 hear his drum, — be copious in exclaims. 

Enter King Richard, and his Train, marching. 

K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition? 

Duch. O, she, that might have intercepted thee, 
By strangling thee in her accursed womb. 
From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done. 

Q. Eliz. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden 
crown, 
Where should be branded, if that right were right. 
The slaughter of the prince that ow'd that crown, 
And the dire death of my poor sons, and brothers ? 
Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children ? 

Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother 
And little Ned Plantagenet, his son ? [Clarence ? 

Q. Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey ? 

Duch. Where is kind Hastings? [drums! 

K.Rich. A flourish, trumpets! — strike alarums, 
Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women 
Rail on the Lord's anointed : Strike, I say. — 

[Flourish. Alarums. 
Either be patient, and entreat me fair. 
Or with the clamorous report of war 
Thus will I drown your exclamations. 

Duch. Art thou my son ? 

K. Rich. Ay ; 1 thank God, my father, and yourself. 

Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience. 

K. Rich. Madam, 1 have a touch of your condition. 
That cannot brook the accent of reproof. 

Duch. O, let me speak. 

K. Rich. Do, then ; but I '11 not hear. 

DulH, I will be mild and gentle in my words. 



544 



KING RICHARD III. 



A'. Rich. And brief, good mother ; for I am in haste. 

Duch. Art thou so hasty 1 I have staid for thee, 
God knows, in torment and in agony. 

A'. Ricli. And came I not at last to comfort you ? 

Duch. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well, 
Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell. 
A grievous burden was thy birth to me ; 
Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy ; 
Thy school-days frightful, desperate.wild and furious ; 
Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous. 
Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody, 
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred : 
What comfortable hour canst thou name, 
That ever grac'd me in thy company 1 

K. Rich, T'aith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that 
call'd your grace 
To breakfast once, forth of my company. 
If I be so disgracious in your sight. 
Let me march on, and not offend you, madam. — 
Strike up the drum. 

Duch. I pr'ythee, hear me speak. 

A'. Rich. You speak too bitterly. 

Duch. Hear me a word, 

For I shall never speak to thee again. 

K.Rich. So. 

Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordinance, 
Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror ; 
Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish, 
And never look upon thy face again. 
Therefore, take with thee my most heavy curse ; 
Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more, 
Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st ! 
My prayers on the adverse party fight: 
And there the little souls of Edward's children 
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies, 
And promise them success and victory. 
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end ; 
Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend. 

[ Exit. 

Q. E/iz. Though far more cause, yet much less 
spirit to curse 
Abides in me ; I say amen to her. \_Going. 

K. Rich. Stay, madam, Imustspeakaword with you. 

Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal blood. 
For thee to murder : for my daughters, llichard, — 
They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens ; 
And therefore level not to hit their lives. 

A. Rich. You have a daughter call'd — Elizabeth, 
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. 

Q. Eliz. And must she die for this 1 O, let her live. 
And I '11 corrupt her manners, stain her beauty ; 
Slander myself, as false to Edward's bed ; 
Throw over her the veil of infamy : 
So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter, 
1 will confess she was not Edward's daughter. 

A', Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood. 

Q. Eliz. To save her life, I'll say — she is not so. 

K. Rich. Her life is safest only in her birth. 

Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her brothers. 

K. Rich. Lo, at their births good stars were opposite. 

Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were contrary. 

A'. Rich. All \inavoided is the doom of destiny. 

Q Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny : 
I\Iy babes were destin'd to a fairer death, 
If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life. [sins. 

A. Rich. Vou speak, as if that 1 had slain mycou- 

Q. Eliz. Cousins, iud ed ; and by theirunclecozen'd 
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. 
Whose hands soever lanc'd their tender hearts, 
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction : 
No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt. 
Till it was wiietted en thy slonehard heart, 



To revel in the entrails of my lambs. 

But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame, 

My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys. 

Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes ; 

And I, in such a desperate bay of death. 

Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft, 

Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom. 

K. Rich, ftladam, so thrive I in my enterpnze, 
And dangerous success of bloody wars, 
As I intend more good to you and yours. 
Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd ! 

Q. Eliz. What good is cover 'd with the face of hea- 
To be discover'd, that can do me good ? [veu, 

A. Rich. The advancement of your children, gentle 
lady. [heads ? 

Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their 

A. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune. 
The high imperial type of this earth's glory. 

Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it ; 
Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honoui. 
Canst thou demise to any chid of mine ] 

A. Rich. Even all I have ; ay, and myself and all 
Will I withal endow a child of thine ; 
So in the Lethe of thy angry soul 
Thou drown tlie sad remembrance of those wrongs. 
Which, thou supposest, I have done to thee. 

Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy kind- 
Last longer telling than thy kindness' date. [ness 

A. Rich. Then know, that, from my soul, I love thy 
daughter. 

Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her 

A". Rich. What do you think 1 [soul. 

Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter, from 
thy soul : 
So, from thy soul's love, didst thou love her brothers ; 
And, from my heart's love, 1 do thank thee for it. 

A. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning ; 
I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter, 
And do intend to make her queen of England. 

Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall be 
her king 1 

K. Rich. Even he, that makes her queen ; Who else 

Q. Eliz. What thou ? [should be ? 

A'. Rich. Even so : What think you of it, madam ] 

Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her ? 

A. Rich. That I would learn of you, 

As one being best acquainted with her humour. 

Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me 1 

K. Rich. Madam, with all my heart. 

Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew her bro- 
A pair of bleeding hearts ; thereon engrave, [thers, 
Edward, and York ; then, haply, will she weep : 
Therefore present to her, — as sometime Margaret 
Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood, — 
A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain 
The purple sap from her sweet brother's body, 
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal. 
If this inducement move her not to love. 
Send her a letter of thy noble deeds ; 
Tell her, thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence, 
Her uncle Rivers ; ay, and for her sake, 
Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne. 

A'. Rich. You mock me, madam ; this is not the way 
To win your daughter. 

Q. Eliz. There is no other way ; 

Unless thou couhi'st put on sonie other shape. 
And not be Richard that hath done all this. 

A'. Rich. Say, that 1 did rJl this for love of her? 

Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose but 
have thee. 
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil. 
K. Piich. Look, whalis done cannot be now amended ; 



ACT IV.— SCENE IV. 



545 



Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, 

Which after-hours give leisure to repent. 

If I did take the kingdom from your sons, 

To make amends, I '11 give it to your daughter. 

If I have kill'd the issue of your womb. 

To quicken your increase, 1 will beget 

Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter. 

A grandam's name is little less in love. 

Than is the doating title of a mother ; 

They are as children, but one step below, 

Even of your mettle, of your very blood ; 

Of all one pain, — save for a night of groans 

Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrov* , 

Your children were vexation to your youth, 

But mine shall be a comfort to your age. 

The loss, you have, is but — a sou being king, 

And, by tliat loss, your daughter is made queen. 

I cannot make you what amends 1 would, 

Therefore accept such kindness as I can. 

Dorset, your son, that with a fearful soul, 

Leads discontented steps in foreign soil, 

This fair alliance quickly shall call home 

To high promotions and great dignity : 

The king, that calls your beauteous daughter, — wife, 

Familiarly shall call thy Dorset — brother ; 

Again shall you be mother to a king. 

And all the ruins of distressful times 

Repair'd with double riches of content. 

What ! we have many goodly days to see: 

The liquid drops of tears that you have shed, 

Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl ; 

Advantaging their loan, with interest 

Of ten-times double gain of happiness. 

Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go , 

Make bold her bashful years with your experience •, 

Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale ; 

Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame 

Of golden sov'reignty ; acquaint the princess 

W^ith the sweet silent hours of marriage joys : 

And when this arm of mine hath chastised 

The petty rebel, duU-braia'd Buckingham, 

Bound with triumphant garlands will 1 come. 

And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed ; 

To whom 1 will retail my conquest won. 

And she shall be sole victress, Cresar's Cassar. 

Q. Eliz. What were I best to say I her father's bro- 
Wouldbe her lord"! Or shall I say, her uncle ? [ther 
Or, he that slew her brothers, and her uncles'! 
Under what title shall I woo for thee. 
That God, the law, my honour, and her love, 
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years 2 

K. lUch. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance. 

Q. Eliz, Which she shall purchase with still last- 
ing war. [entreats. 

K.Rich. Tell her, the king, that may command, 

Q. Eliz. That at her-hands, which the king's King 
forbids. 

K. Rich. Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen. 

Q. Eliz. To wail the title, as her mother doth. 

K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly. 
^ Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title, ever, lastl 

K. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end. 

Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet life 
kst '! [it. 

K. Rich, As long as heaven, and nature lengthens 

Q. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard, likes of it. 

A'. Rich. Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject low. 

Q.£/i:.Butshe,yoursubject,loaths such sov'reignty. 

A'. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. 

Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best, bemg plainly 
told. [tale. 

A'. Rich. Then, in plain terms tell her my loving 



Q Eliz. Plain, and not honest, !« too harsh a style. 
A. Rich. Yourreasons are tooshallowandtooquick. 
Q.Eliz. O, no, my reasons are too deep and dead ; — 
Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves. 
A'. /?('(• /(.Harp not on that string, madam ; that is past. 
Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall 1, till heart-strings 
break. [crown, — 

A'. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, and my 
Q.£/(2.Profan'd,dishonour'd, and the third usurp'd. 
K. Rich. I swear. 

Q. Eliz. By nothing: for this is no oath. 

Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his holy honour ; 
Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue; 
Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory: 
If something thou wouldst swear to be believ'd. 
Swear then by something tliat thou hast not wrong'd. 
A. Rich. Now by the world, — 
Q. Eliz. 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs. 

A. Rich. My father's death,— 
Q. Eliz. Thy life hath that dishonour'd. 

A. Rich. Then, by myself,— 
Q, Eliz. Thyself is self-mis -us'd. 

A. Rich. Why then, by God,— 
Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all. 

If thou had'st fear'd to break an oath by him. 
The unity, the king thy brother made, 
Had not been broken, nor my brother slam. 
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him. 
The imperial metal, circling now thy head. 
Had grac'd the tender temples of my child ; 
And both the princes had been breathing here, 
Which now, two tender bed-fellows for dust, 
Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms. 
Wliat canst thou swear by now ? 

A. Rich, By the time to come. 

Q. Eliz. That thou hast wronged in the time o'er- 
For I myself have many tears to wash [past ; 

Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee. 
The children live.whose parents thou hast slaughter'd. 
Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age : 
The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd, 
Old barren plants, to wail it with their age. 
Swear not by time to come ; for that thou hast 
INIis-us'd ere used, by times ill-us'd o'er-past. 

A. Rich. As I intend to prosper, and repent ! 
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt 
Of hostile arms ! myself myself confound ! 
Heaven, and fortune, bar me happy hours I 
Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night thy rest ' 
Be opposite all planets of good luck 
To my proceeding, if, with pure heart's love. 
Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, 
I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter ' 
In her consists my happiness, and thine ; 
Without her, follows to myself, and thee. 
Herself, the land, and many a christian soul, 
Death, desolation, ruin, and decay : 
It cannot be avoided, but by this ; 
It will not be avoided, but by this. 
Therefore, dear mother, (I must call you so,) 
Be the attorney of my love to her. 
Plead what I will be, not what I have been ; 
Not my deserts, but what I will deserve : 
Urge the necessity and state of times. 
And be not peevish found in great designs. 
Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus? 
A'. Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good. 
Q. Eliz. Shall I forget myself, to be myself! 
A. Rich.Ay, if yourselfs remembrance wrong your- 
Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children. [self. 
K.Rich. But in your daughter's womb I bury them: 
Where, in that nest of spicerv, they shall breed 
2 M" 



/)46 



KING RICHARD III. 



Selves of themselves to your recomforture. 

Q. Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will 1 

K. Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed. 

Q, Eliz. I go. — Write to me very shortly, 
And you shall understand from me her mind. 

A'. lUch. Bear her my true love's kiss, and so fare- 
well. [A'issing- her. Exit Q. Elizabeth. 
Relenting fool, and shallow, changing — woman! 
How now 1 what news 1 

Enter Ratcliff ; Catesby following. 

Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast 
Rideth a puissant navy ; to the shore 
Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, 
Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back : 
'Tis thought, that Richmond is their admiral ; 
And there they hull, expecting but the aid 
Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore. [Norfolk: 

A'. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the duke of 
Ratcliff, thyself, — or Catesby ; where is he 1 

Gale. Here, my good lord. 

A'. Rich. Catesby, fly to the duke. 

Cate. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste. 

A. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither : Post toSalisbuiy ; 
When thou com'st thither, — Dull, unmindful villain, 

[2b Catesby. 
Why'stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke ? 

Gate. First, mighty liege, tell me your highness' plea- 
What from your grace I shall deliver to him. [sure, 

/v'.y<ic/?.0, true, good Catesby ; Bid him levy straight 
The greatest strength and power he can make, 
And meet me suddenly at Salisbury. 

Cate. 1 go. [Exit. 

7?u«. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury? 

A'. iiic/(. Why, what would'st thou do there, before 
I go? 

Rat. Your highness told me, I should post before. 

Enter Stanley. 

K. Rich. ]My mind ischang'd. — Stanley, what news 
with you "! [hearing ; 

Stan. None good, my liege, to please you with the 
Nor none so bad, but well may be reported. 

A'. Rich. Heyday, a riddle ! neither good nor bad ! 
What need'st thou run so many miles about. 
When thou may'st tell thy tale the nearest way? 
Once more, what news ? 

Stan. Richmond is on the seas. 

A. Rich. There let him sink, and be the seas on him ! 
White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there ? 

Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess. 

A. Rich. Well, as you guess ? [ton, 

Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Mor- 
He makes for England, here to claim the crown. 

K.Rich. Is the chair empty ? Is the sword unsway'd ? 
Is the king dead? the empire unpossess'd ? 
What heir of York is there alive, but we ? 
And who is England's king, but great York's heir? 
Then, tell me, what makes he upon the seas? 

Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. 

A'. Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your liege. 
You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes. 
Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. 

Stan. No, mighty liege, therefore mistrust me not. 

A. i?iVfc.Whereis thy powerthen, to beat him back? 
Where be thy tenants, and thy followers ? 
Are they not now upon the western shore, 
Safe-c6nducting the rebels from their ships ? 

Stat . No, my good lord, my friends are in the north. 

A'. Rich. Cold friends, to me : What do they in the 
north, 
When they should serve their sovereign in the west? 



S<an. They have notbeen commanded, mighty king: 
Pleaseth your majesty to give me leave, 
I'll muster up my friends ; and meet your grace. 
Where, and what time, your majesty shall please. 

A. Rich. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with 
I will not trust you, sir. [Richmond : 

Stan. Most mighty sovereign, 

You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful ; 
I never was, nor never will be false. [behind 

A. Ric/i.Well, go, muster men. But, hear you, leave 
Your son, George Stanley ; look your heart be firm, 
Or else his head's assurance is but frail. 

Stan. So deal with him, as I prove true to you. 

[Exit Stanley. 

Enter a Messenger. 

]\Iess, My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, 
As I by friends am well-advertised. 
Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate, 
Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother. 
With many more confederates, are in arms. 

Enter another Messenger. 

2 Mess. In Kent, my liege, the Guilfordsare inarms ; 
And every hour more competitors 

Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong. 

Enter another Messenger. 

3 Mess. My lord, the army of great Buckingham — 
A. Rich. Out on ye, owls 1 nothing but songs of 

death ? [He strikes hint. 

There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. 

3 Mess. The news I have to tell your majesty. 
Is, — that, by sudden floods and fall of waters, 
Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd ; 
And he himself wander'd away alone, 
No man knows whither. 

A. Rich. O, I cry you mercy: 

There is my purse, to cure that blow of thine. 
Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd 
Reward to him that brings the traitor in ? 

3 Mfss. Such proclamation hath been made, my liege. 

Enter atiother Messenger. 

4 Mess. Sir Thomas Lovel, and lord marquis Dorset, 
'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire, are in arms. 

But this good comfort bring I to your highness, — 
The Bretagne navy is dispers'd by tempest : 
Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat 
Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks. 
If they were his assistants, yea, or no ; 
Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham 
Upon his party : he, mistrusting them, 
Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bretagne. 
A. Rich. March on, march on, since we are up in 
If not to fight with foreign enemies, [arms ; 

Yet to beat down these rebels here at home. 

Enter Catesby. 

Cate. My liege, the duke of Buckingham is taken. 
That is the best news ; That the earl of Richmond 
Is with a mighty power landed at Milford, 
Is colder news, but yet they must be told. 

A. Rich. Away towards Salisbury ; while we reason 
A royal battle might be won and lost. — [here, 

Some one take order, Buckingham be brought 
To Salisbury ; — the rest march on with me. [Exeunt 

SCENE v.— ^ Room in Lord Stanley's House. 

Enter Stanley and Sir Christopher Uhswick. 

Stan. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me* 
That, in the sty of this most bloody boar. 



ACT v.— SCENE III. 



547 



My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold ; 
If I revolt, off goes young George's head ; 
The fear of that withholds my present aid. 
But tell me, where is princely Richmond now 1 

Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in Wales. 

Stan. What men of name resort to him 1 

Chris. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier ; 
Sir Gilbert Talbot, sir William Stanley ; 
Oxford, redoubled Pembroke, sir James Blunt, 
And Rice-ap-Thomas, with a valiant crew ; 
And many other of great fame and worth : 
And towards London do they bend their course. 
If by the way they be not fought withal. 

5(rt)j.VVell,hietheeto thy lord ; commend me to him; 
Tell him the queen hath heartily consented 
He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter. 
These letters will resolve him of my mind. 
Farewell. [_Gives papers to Sir CmusTorjiETi. Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — Salisbury. An open Place. 

Enter the Sheriff ««<; Guard, with Buckingham, 
led to execution. 

Buck. Will not king Richard let me speak with him 1 

Sher. No, my good lord : therefore be patient. 

B/ic/'v. I lastingsandEdward'schildren, Rivers, Grey, 
Holy king Henry, and thy fair son Edward, 
^'aughan, and all that have miscarried 
By underhand corrupted foul injustice: 
If that your moody discontented souls 
Do through the clouds behold this present hour. 
Even for revenge mock my destruction! — 
This is All Souls' day, fellows, is it not? 

Sher. It is, my lord. 

Bitcfc. Why, then AU-SouIs'day is my body's dooms- 
This is the day, which, in king Edward's time, [day, 
I wish'd might fall on me, when I was found 
False to his children, or his wife's allies : 
This is the day, wherein I wish'd to fall 
By the false faith of him whom most I trusted : 
This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul. 
Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs. 
That high All-seer which I dallied with. 
Hath turned my feigned prayer on my head, 
And given in earnest what 1 begg'd in jest. 
Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men 
To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms : 
Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck, — 
When he, quoth she, shall split thi^ heart with sorrow, 
Remember Margaret was a prophetess. — 
Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame ; 
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. 

[^Exeunt Buckingham, S;c. 

SCENE II.— Plain near Tamworth. 

Enter, with drum and colours, Richmond, Oxford, 
Sir James Blunt, Sir Walter Herbert, and 
others, with Forces, marching. 

Rich. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends, 
Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny, 
Thus far into the bowels of the land 
Have we march'd on without impediment ; 
And here receive we from our father Stanley 
Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. 
The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, I 

That spoil'd your summer fields, and fruitful vines, 
Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough 
In your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine 



Lies now even in the center of this isle, 
Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn : 
From Tamworth thither is but one day's march. 
In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends, 
To reap the harvest of perpetual peace 
By this one bloody trial of sharp war. 

Oxf. Every man's conscience is a thousand swords. 
To fight against that bloody homicide. 

Herb. I doubt not, but his friends will turn to us. 

Blunt. He hath no friends, but who are friends for 
Which, in his dearest need, will fly from him. [fear; 

Rich. All for our vantage. Then, in God's name, 
march : 
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings. 
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. 

[^Eieunt. 

SCENE III.— Bosworth Field. 

Enter King Richard, and Forces ; the Duke of 
Norfolk, Earl of Surrey, and others. 

K. Rich. Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth 
My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad? [field. — 

Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. 

A'. Rich. My lord of Norfolk, 

Nor. Here, most gracious liege. 

K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks ; Ha! must 
we not? 

Nor. We must both give and take, my loving lord. 

A'. Rich. Up with my tent: Here will I lie to-night , 
[Soldiers begin to set up the King's tent. 
But where, to-morrow? — Well, all's one for that. — 
Who hath descried the number of the traitors ? 

Nor Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. 

A'. Rich. Why, our battalia trebles that account : 
Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength. 
Which they upon the adverse faction want. 
Up with the tent. — Come, noble gentlemen. 
Let us survey the vantage of the ground ; — 
Call for some men of sound direction : — 
Let's want no discipline, make no delay; 
For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. {^Exeunt, 

Ejiter, on the other side of the field, Richmond, Sir 
William Brandon, Oxford, and other Lords. 
Some of the Soldiers pitch Richmond's tent. 

Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden set, 
And, by the bright track of his fiery car, 
Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. — 
Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard. — 
Give me some ink and paper in my tent ; — 
I '11 draw the form and model of our battle. 
Limit each leader to his several charge. 
And part in just proportion our small power. 
My lord of Oxford, — you, sir ^Villiam Brandon, — 
And you, sir Walter Herbert, stay with me : 
The earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment ; — 
Good captain Blunt, bear my good night to him. 
And by the second hour in the morning 
Desire the earl to see me in my tent: — 
Yet one thing more, good captain, do for me ; 
Where is lord Stanley quarter'd, do vou know ? 

Blunt. Unless I have mista'en his colours much, 
(Whicii, well I am assur'd, I have not done,) 
His regiment lies half a mile at least 
South from the mighty power of the king. 

Richm. If without peril it be possible, [him. 

Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with 
And give him from me this most needful note. 

Blunt. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake it ; 
And so, God give you quiet rest to-night ! 

Richvi. Good night, good captain Blunt. Come, 
gentlemen, 

2 .M 2 



548 



KING RICHARD III. 



Let us consult upon to-morrow's business ; 
la to my tent, the air is raw and cold. 

[TheQ withdraw into the tent. 

Enter, to his tent, Kino Richard, Norfolk, 
Ratcliff, and Catesby. 

A'. Rich. What is it o'clock ? 

Gate. It's supper time, my lord ; 

It's nine o'clock. 

K.Rich. I will not sup to-night. — 

Give me some ink and paper. — 
What, is my beaver easier than it was 1 — 
And all my armour laid into my tent.' 

Cate. It is, my liege ; and all things are in readiness. 

K. Rich. Good Norfolk, hie tliee to thy charge ; 
Use careful watch, ciioose trusty sentinels. 

Nor. I go, my lord. [folk. 

K. Ricli. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Nor- 



Nor. I warrant you, my lord. 



lEiit. 



K.Rich. Ratclitr, 

Rat. My lord? 

K. Rich. Send out a pursuivant at arms 

To Stanley's regiment : bid him bring his power 
Before sun-rising, lest his son George fall 
Into the blind cave of eternal night. — 
Fill me a bowl of wine. — Give me a watch : — 

[To Catesby. 
Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. — 
Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy. 
Ratclift",— 

Rat. My lord ? [berland 1 

K. Rich. Saw'st thou the melancholy lord Northum- 

Rat. Thomas the earl of Surrey, and himself. 
Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop, 
Went through the army cheering up the soldiers. 

A'. Rich. 1 am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine: 
I have not that alacrity of spirit, 
Nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have. — 
So, set it down. — Is ink and paper ready 1 

Rat. It is, my lord. 

A'. Rich. Bid my guard watch ; leave me. 

About the mid of night, come to my tent. 
And help to arm me. — Leave me, 1 say. 

[King Richard retires into his tent. Eieunt 
Ratcliff and Catesby. 
Richmond's tent o;ww,^discoi;erj>/ijmi) /lis Officers, ^c. 
Enter Stanley. 

Stan. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm ! 

Richm. All comfort that the dark nig lit can afford 
Be to thy person, noble father-in-law ! 
Tell me how fares our loving mother 1 

Stan. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother, 
Who prays continually for Richmond's good : 
So much for that. — The silent hours steal on. 
And flaky darkness breaks within the east. 
In brief, for so the season bids us be, 
Prepare thy battle early in the morning ; 
And put thy fortune to the arbitrement 
Of bloody strokes, and mortal-staring war, 
I, as I may, (that which I would, I cannot,) 
With best advantage will deceive the time. 
And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms: 
But on thy side I may not be too forward. 
Lest, being seen, thy brother tender George 
Be executed in his father's sight. 
Farewell : The leisure and the fearful time 
Cuts oflf the ceremonious vows of love, 
And ample interciiange of sweet discouise, 
Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell u{>on ; 
God give us leisure for these rites of love ! 
Once more, adieu : — Be valiant, and speed well ! 



Richm. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment . 
I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap j 
Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow, 
When I should mount with wings of victory : 
Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. 

lEieunt Lords, (Sfc. with Stanley. 
O Thou ! whose captain I account myself. 
Look on my forces with a gracious eye ; 
Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath. 
That they may crush down with a heavy fall 
The usurping helmets of our adversaries' 
Make us thy ministers of chastisement. 
That we may praise thee in thy victory ! 
To thee I do commend my watchful soul. 
Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes ; 
Sleeping, and waking, O, defend me still! [Sleeps. 

The Ghost of Prince Edward, son to Henry the 
Sixth, i ises between the tuo tents. 

Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow ! 

[To King Riciiahd. 
Think, how thou stab'dst me in my prime of youth 
At Tewksbury ; Despair therefore, and die ! — 

Be cheerful, Richmond ; for the wronged souls 
Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf : 
King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee. 

The Ghost ofKisc Henry the Sixth rises. 

Ghost. When I was mortal, my anointed body 

[To King Riciiahd. 
By thee was punched full of deadly holes : 
Think on the Tower and me ; Despair, and die ; 
Harry the Sixth bids thee despair, and die. — 
Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror ! 

[7(7 Richmond- 
Harry, that prophesy'd thou should'st be king, 
Doth comfort thee in thy sleep ; Live, and flourish ' 

Tlie Ghost of Clarence rises. 

Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow ! 

[To King Richard. 
I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wirte, 
Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death ! 
'J"o-morrovv in the battle think on me. 
And fall thy edgeless sword ; Despair, and die ! — 

Thou ofl'spring of the house of Lancaster, 

[To Richmond. 
The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee ; 
Good angels guard thy battle ! Live, and flourish ! 

The Ghosts o/' Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan rise. 

Riv. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow, 

[To King Richard. 
Rivers, that died at Pomfret ! Despair, and die ! 
Greu. Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair! 

[To King Richard. 
Fa lio-^. Think upon Vaughan; and, with guilty fear. 
Let fall thy lance ! Despair, and die ! — 

[To King Richard. 
All. Awake! and think, our wrongs in Richard's 
bosom [To Richmond. 

Will conquer him ; awake, and win tlie day ! 

The Ghost of Hastings rises. 

Gliost. Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake, 

[7"li King Richard. 
And in a bloody battle end thy days! 
'1 hink on lord Hastings ; and despair, and die ! — 
(^uiel untroubled soul, awake, awake 1 

[To Richmond. 
Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake! 



ACT v.— SCENE III. 



519 



The Ghosts of the two young Princes rise. 

Ghosts. Dream on thy cousins smother'd in the 
Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard, [Tower, 
And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death ! 
Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair, and die — 

Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy; 
Good angels guard' thee from the boar's annoy! 
Live, and beget a happy race of kings ! 
Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish. 

The Ghost o/" Queen Anne rises. 

Ghost, Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy 
That never slept a quiet hour with thee, [wife, 

Now fills thy sleep with perturbations: 
To-morrow in the battle think on me. 
And fall thy edgeless sword ; Despair, and die! — 

Thou, quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep ; 

[To RlCH.MOND. 

Dream of success and happy victory ; 
Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee. 

The Ghost of Buckingham rises. 

Ghost. The first was I, that help'd thee to the crown ; 

[To King Ricuard. 
The last was I that felt thy tyranny : 
O, in the battle think on Buckingham, 
And die in terror of thy guiltiness ! 
Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death ; 
Fainting, despair ; despairing, yield thy breath ! — 
I died for hope, ere I could lend thee aid : 

[To Richmond. 
But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay 'd : 
God, and good angels, fight'on Richmond's side; 
And Richard falls in height of all his pride. 

\_The Ghosts vanish. King Richard starts 
ottt of his dream. 
K. Rich. Give me another horse, — bind up my 
wounds, — 
Have mercy, Jesu! — Soft ; I did but dream. — 

coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! — 
The lights burn blue. — It is now dead midnight. 
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. 
What do I fearl myself ? there's none else by: 
Richard loves Richard ; that is, I am I. 

Is there a murderer here 1 No ; — Yes ; I am : 
Then fly, — What, from myself ■! Great reason: Why? 
Lest I revenge. What? Myself on myself ? 

1 love myself. Wherefore? for any good, 
That I myself have done unto myself? 

O, no: alas, I rather hate myself, 

For hateful deeds committed by myself. 

I am a villain: Yet I lie, I am not. 

Fool, of thyself speak well : — Fool, do not flatter. 

My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, 

And every tongue brings in a several tale. 

And every tale condemns me for a villain. 

Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree ; 

ISIurder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree; 

All several sins, all us'd in each degree. 

Throng to the bar, crying all, — Guilty! guillv! 

I shall despair. —There is no creature loves me ; 

And, if I die, no soul will pity me : — 

Nay, wherefore should they? since that I myself 

Find in myself no pity to myself. 

Methought, the souls of all that I had murder'd 

Came to my tent : and every one did threat 

To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. 

Enter Ratcliff. 

Bat. My lord, 

A'. Rich. Who's there ? 

Rat. RatclifF, my lord ; 'tis I. The early village cock 



Hath twice done salutation to the morn ; 

Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour. 

A'. Rich. (), Ratcliff, I have dreain'd a fearful 
dream ! — 
Whatthinkest tiiou, will our friends prove all true? 

7?((f. No doubt, my lord. 

A'. Rich. Ratclifl", I fear, I fear,— 

Rat. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows. 

A'. Rich. By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night 
Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, 
Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers. 
Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond. 
It is not yet near day. Come, go with me ; 
Under our tents I'll play the eaves dropper, 
To hear if any mean to shrink from me. 

[Eieiiiit King Richard aud Ratcliff. 

Richmond wakes. Enter Oxford and others. 

Lords. Good morrow, Richmond. 

Richm. 'Cry mercy, lords, and watchful gentlemen, 
That you have ta'tn a tardy slugijard here. 

Lords. How have you slept, my lord ! 

Richm. The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding 
That ever enter'd in a drowsy head, [dreams, 

Have I since your departure had, my lords. 
Methought, their souls, whose bodies Richard mui- 
Came to my tent, and cried — On I victory ! [der'd, 
I promise you, my heart is very jocund 
In the remembrance of so fair a dream. 
How far into the morning is it, lords? 

Loidf. Upon the stroke of four. 

Richm Why, then 'tis time to arm, and give direc- 
tion. — [He adva?ices to the troops. 
More than 1 have said, loving countrymen, 
The leisure and enforcement of the time 
Forbids to dwell on : Yet remember this, — 
God, and our good cause, fight upon our side ; 
The prayers of holy saints, and wronged souls. 
Like high-reai'd bulwarks, stand before our faces ; 
Richard except, those, whom we figlit against, 
Had rather have us win, than him they follow. 
For what is he they follow ? truly, gentlemen, 
A bloody tyrant, and a homicide ; 
One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd ; 
One that made means to come by what he hath. 
And slaughter'd those that were the means to help 
A base foul stone, made precious by the foil, [him; 
Of England's chair, where he is falsely set ; 
One that hath ever been God's enemy : 
Then if you fight against God's enemj', 
God will, in justice, ward you as his soldieis , 
If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, 
You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain, 
If you do figlit against your country's foes. 
Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire , 
If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, 
\'our wives shall welcome home the conquerors ; 
If you do fiee your children from the sword. 
Your children's children quit it in your age. 
Then, in the name of God, and all these rights. 
Advance your standards, draw your willing swords : 
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt 
Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face ; 
Rut if I thrive, the gain of my attempt 
The least of you shall share his part thereof. 
Sound, drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully , 
God, and Saint George! Richmond and victory I 

[Exeunt, 

Re-enter King Richarh, Ratcliff, Attendants, 
and Forref. 

K.Rich. What said Northumberland, as touching 
Richmond ! 



550 



KING RICHARD III. 



Rat. Tliat he was never trained up in arms. 

K.Rich. He said the trutli ; And what said Surrey 
then? 

Rat. Hesmil'd and said, the better for our purpose. ' 

A'. Rich, He was i' the right; and so, indeed, it is. 

l^Clock itrikes. 
Tell the clock there. — Give me a calendar. — I 

Who saw the sun to-day ? 

Rat. Not 1, my lord. 

K.Rich. Then he disdains to shine; for, by the book, 
He should have brav'd the east an hour ago : 
A black day will it be to somebody. — 
Ratcliff.— 

Rat. My lord ? 

A'. Rich. The sun will not be seen to-day ; 

The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. 
I would, these dewy tears were from the ground. 
Not shine to-day ! Why, what is that to me, 
More than to Richmond ? for the selfsame heaven. 
That frowns on me, looks sadly upon him. 

Enter Norfolk. 

Nor. Arm, arm, my lord ; the foe vaunts in the 
field. [horse ; 

K.Rich. Come, bustle, bustle; — Caparison my 
Call up lord Stanley, bid him bring his power: 
I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, 
And thus my battle shall be ordered. 
My forward shall be drawn out all in length, 
Consisting equally of horse and foot ; 
Our archers shall be placed in the midst : 
John duke of Norfolk, Thomas earl of Surrey, 
Shall have the leading of this foot and horse." 
They thus directed, we ourself will follow 
In the main battle ; whose puissance on either side 
Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. 
This, and Saint George to boot! — VV hat think'st thou, 
N/)rfolk ? 

Nor. A good direction, warlike sovereign. 
This found I on my tent this morning. 

[Giving a scrowl. 

K. Rich. [Reads.] Jockii of Kcyrfolk, be 7wt too bold, 
For Dickon thij master is bimght and soid. 
A thing devised by the enemy. — 
Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge : 
Let not our babbling dreams affrigiit our souls ; 
Conscience is but a word that cowards use, 
Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe ; 
Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law. 
March on, join bravely, let us to't pell-mell ; 
If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.— 

What shall I say more than 1 have inferr'd 1 
Remember whom you are to cope withal ; — 
A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and run-aways, 
A scum of Bretagnes, and base lackey peasants, 
Whom their o'er-cloy'd country vomits forth 
To desperate ventures and assur'd destruction. 
You sleeping safe, tiiey bring you to unrest ; 
You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives. 
They would restrain the one, distain the other. 
And who doth lead them, but a paltry fellow, 
Long kept in Bretagne at our mother's cost 1 
A milk-sop, one that never in his life 
Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow 1 
Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again ; 
Lash hence these over-weening rags of France, 
These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives; 
Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit, 
For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves. 
If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us. 
And not these bastard Bretagnes, wiiom our fathers 
Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd. 



And, on record, left them the heirs of shame. 
Shall these enjoy our lands 1 lie with your wives'? 
Ravish our daughters 1— Hark, I hear their drum. 

[Drum afar ojf. 
Fight, gentlemen of England ! fight, bold yeomen ! 
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! 
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood ; 
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves 1 — 

Enter a Messenger. 
What says lord Stanley'! will he bring his power'! 

Mess. My lord, he doth deny to come. 

A'. Rich. Off instantly with his son George's head. 

Nor. My lord, the enemy is pass'd the marsh ; 
After the battle let George Stanley die. 

A'. Rich. A thousand hearts are great within my bo- 
Advance our standards, set upon our foes ; [som: 
Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, 
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons ! 
Upon them ! Victory sits on our helms. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Another- Part of the Field. 

Alarum : Eicursioiis. Enter Norfolk, and Forces ; 
to him Catesby. 

Cote. Rescue, my lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue ! 
The king enacts more wonders than a man. 
Daring an opposite to every danger ; 
His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights. 
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death : 
Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost! 

Alarums, Enter King Richard. 

K. Rich. A horse ! a horse I my kingdom for ahorse! 
Cote. Withdraw, my lord, I'll help you to a horse 
A. Rich. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast. 
And 1 will stand the hazard of the die: 
I think, there be six Richmonds in the field ; 
Five have 1 slain to-day, instead of him : — 
Ahorse! ahorse! my kingdom for a horse ! [Eieunt. 

Alarums. Enter King Richard and Richmond ; 
and exeunt, fghling. Retreat, and Jionrish. Then 
enter Richmond, Stanley bearing the crown, with 
divers other Lords, and Forces. 

Richm. God, and your arms, be prais'd, victorious 
The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead, [friends ; 

Stan. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit 
Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty, [thee ! 

From the dead temples of this bloody wretch 
Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal ;, 
Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. 

Richm. Great God of heaven, say, amen, to all ! — ■ 
But, tell me first, is young George Stanley living'' 

Stan. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town, 
Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us. 

Richm. What men of name are slain on either side? 

Stan. John duke of Norfolk, Walter lord Ferrers, 
Sir Robert Brakenbury, and sir William Brandon. 

Richm. Inter their bodies as becomes their births. 
Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers Hed, 
That in submission will return to us ; 
And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament, 
We will unite the white rose with the red : — 
Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, 
That long hath frown'd upon their enmity ! — 
What traitor hears me, and says not, — amen ? 
England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself; 
The brother blindly shed the brother's blood. 
The father rashly slaughter'd his own son. 
The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire ; 
All this divided York and Lancaster, 
Divided, in their dire division. — 



ACT v.— SCENE IV. 



551 



O, now let Richmond and Elizabeth, 
The true succeedeis of each royal house, 
By God's fair ordinance conjoin together ! 
And let their heirs, iGod, if thy will he so,) 
Enrich the lime to come with smooth-fac'd peace, 
With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days ! 
Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, 



That would reduce these bloody days again, 

And make poor England weep in streams of blood ! 

Let them not live to taste this land's increase. 

That would with treason wound this fair land's peace ! 

Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again ; 

That she may long live here, God say — Amen ! 

[^Exeunt. 



This IS one of the most celebrated of our author's performances ; yet I know not whether it has not happened to him astootders, 
to be praised most, when praise is not most deserved. That this plav has scenes noble in themselves, and very well contrived 
to strike lu the exhibition, cannot be denied ; but some parts are Iritiing, others shocking, and some improbable.— Johnson 



KING HENRY VIII. 



This play was not published till it appeared in the collected 
edition of our author's works, in the year 162.1. It was pro- 
bably writien in 1001 or 1602. 

In June, le;."!, this play was revived under the name of A!l is 
True, at the Globe theaire. when the prologue, which con- 
tains several manifest allusions to the new title ; the epiioKue, 
and the complimentary lines to King lames, in Archbishop 
Cranmer's prophetic speech, were probably added, this re- 
presentation was most unibrtunate for the theatre ; for, m dis- 



charging " rer<ain cannons at the kind's entry to a masque ai 
the Cardinal lioheu's house," the theatre was set ou fire and 
burut to the ground. 
This historical drama comprises a period of twelve years, com- 
mencinf; in the twelfth year of King Henry's reign, (1521,) 
and ending with the christening of Elizabeth in 15:i:L Shak- 
speare has deviated from history in placing the death of Queen 
Katharine before the birth of Elizabeth, for in fact KathaniiB 
did not die till 1536. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

King Henry the Eighth. 

Cardinal VVolsey. 

Cardinal Campeius. 

Capucius, Ambassador from the Emperor, Charles V. 

Cranmer, A~chbhhop (^Canterbury. 

Duke of Norfolk. 

Duke of Buckingham. 

Duke of Suffolk. 

Earl of Surrey. 

io7(rChamberlain. 

Lord Chancellor. 

Gardiner, Bis/iop (i/'Winchester. 

Bishop of Lincoln. 

Loud Abergavenny. 

Lord Sands. 

Sir Henry Guilford. 

Sir Thomas Lovell. 

Sir ANrHONY Denny. 

Sir Nicholas Vaux. 

Secretaries to Wolsey. 

CnoMWELL, servant to Wolsey. 

Griffith, Gentleman-Usher to Queen Katharine. 

Three other Gentlemen. 

Doctor Butts, physician to the King. 

Garter, King at Arms. 

Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham. 

Brandon, and a Seroeant at Arms. 

Door-keeper of the Council-Chamber, 

Porter, and his man. 

Page to Gardiner. 

A Crier. 

Queen Katharine, icife to King Henry, afterwards 

divorced. 
ANNEBuLLEN,/ier Ma id of Honour, afterwards Quee7i. 
An old Lady, friend to Anne BuUen. 
Patience, woman to Queen Katharine. 

Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows ; Women 
attending upon the Queen ; Spirits which appear to 
her ; Scribes, Officer-, Guards, and other Attendanti. 

SCENE, — chiefiy in. London and Westminster 
once at Kimbolton. 



PROLOGUE. 

I come no more to make you laugh ; things now, 
That bear a weighty and a serious brow. 
Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe. 
Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, 
We now present. Those that can pity, here 
May, if they think it well, let fall a tear ; 
The subject will deserve it. Such, as give 
Their money out of hope they may believe, 
May here find truth too. Those, that come to see 
Only a show or two, and so agree. 
The play may pass ; if they be still, and willing, 
I '11 undertake, may see away their shilling 
Richly in two short hours. Only tliey. 
That come to hear a merry, bawdy play, 
A noise of targets ; or to see a fellow 
In a long motley coat, guarded with yellow, 
Will be deceiv'd : for, gentle hearers, know, 
To rank our chosen truth with such a show 
As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting 
Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring, 
(To make that only true we now intend, ) 
Will leave us never an understanding friend. 
Therefore, for goodness' sake, and, as you are known 
The first and happiest hearers of the town. 
Be sad, as we woald make you: Think, ye see 
The very persons of our noble story, 
As they were living ; think, you see them great. 
And follow'd with the general throng, and sweat, 
Of thousand friends ; then, in a moment, see 
How soon this mightiness meets misery ! 
And if you can be merry then, I'll say, 
A man may weep upon his wedding day. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — London. An Ante-chamber in the Palace. 

Enter the Duke of Norfolk, at one door; at the 
other, the Duke of Buckingham, and the Lord 
Abergavenny. 

Buck, Good morrow, and well met. How have you 
Since last we saw in France 1 [done, 



552 



KING HENRY VIII 



Nar, J thank your grace : 

Healthful ; and ever since a fresh admirer 
Of what I saw there. 

Buck. An untimely ague 

Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber, when 
Those suns of glory, those two lights of men. 
Met in the vale of Arde. 

Nor. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde : 

I was then present, saw them salute on horseback ; 
Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung 
In their embracement, as they grew together ; 
Which had they, what four thron'd ones could have 

weigh'd 
Such a compounded one ? 

Buck. All the whole time, 

I was my chamber's prisoner. 

Nor. Then you lost 

The view of earthly glory : Men might say. 
Till this time, pomp was single ; but now married 
To one above itself. Each following day 
Became the next day's master, till the last 
Made former wonders it's: To-day, the French, 
All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods, 
Shone down the English ; and, to-morrow, they 
Made Britain, India : every man, that stood, 
Shew'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were 
As cherubins, all gilt : the madams too, 
Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear 
The pride upon them, that their very labour 
Was to them as a painting : Now this mask 
Was cry'd incomparable ; and the ensuing night 
Made it a fool, and beggar. The two kings. 
Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst. 
As presence did present them ; him in eye 
Still him in praise ; and, being present both, 
'Twas said they saw but one ; and no discerner 
Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns 
( For so they phrase them,) by their heralds challeng'd 
The noble spirits to arms, they did perform 
Beyond thought's compass ; that former fabulous 
Being now seen possible enough, got credit, [story, 
That Bevis was believ'd. 

Buck. O, you go far. 

Nor. As I belong to worship, and affect 
In honour honesty, the tract of every thing 
VVould by a good discourser lose some life, 
Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal ; 
To the disposing of it nought rebell'd. 
Order gave each thing view ; the office did 
Distinctly his full function. 

Buck. Who ^id guide, 

I mean, who set the body and the limbs 
Of this great sport together, as you guess ? 

Nor, One, certes, that promises no element 
In such a business. 

Buck. I pray you, who, my lord 1 

Nm; All this was order'd by the good discretion 
Of the right reverend cardinal of York. 

Buck, The devil speed him ! no man's pie is free'd 
From his ambitious finger. What had he 
To do in these fierce vanities 1 I wonder. 
That such a keech, can with his very bulk 
Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun, 
And keep it from the earth. 

Nor. Surely, sir. 

There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends : 
For, being not propp'd by ancestry, (whose grace 
Chalks successors their way,) nor call'd upon 
For high feats done to the crown ; neither allied 
To eminent assistants, but, spider-like, 
Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note. 
The force of his own merit makes his way } 



A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys 
A place next to the king. 

Aher, I cannot tell 

What heaven hath given him, let some graver eye 
Pierce into that ; but I can see his pride 
Peep through each part of him : Whence has he thai? 
If not from hell, the devil is a niggard ; 
Or has given all before, and he begins 
A new hell in himself. 

Buck. W'hy the devil. 

Upon this French going-out, took he upon him. 
Without the privity o' the king, to appoint 
Who should attend on him 1 He makes up the file 
Of all the gentry ; for the most part such 
Too, whom as great a charge as little honour 
He meant to lay upon ; and his own letter, 
The honourable board of council out. 
Must fetch him in the papers. 

Aher. I do know 

Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have 
By this so sicken'd their estates, that never 
They shall abound as formerly. 

Buck, O, many 

Have broke their backs with laying manors on them 
For this great journey. What did this vanity, 
But minister communication of 
A most poor issue I 

Nor. Grievingly I tiiink, 

The peace between the French and us not values 
The cost that did conclude it. 

Buck. Every man, 

After the hideous storm that follow'd, was 
A thing inspir'd ; and, not consulting, broke 
Into a general prophecy, — That this tempest. 
Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded 
The sudden breach on't. 

Nor. Which is budded out ; 

For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd 
Our mercliants' goods at Bourdeaux. 

Aber. Is it therefore 

The ambassador is silenc'd ? 

Nor. Marry, is't. 

Aber. A proper title of a peace ; and purchas'd 
At a superfluous rate ! 

Buck. Why, all this business 

Our reverend cardinal carried. 

Nor. 'Like it your grace. 

The state takes notice of the private difference 
Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you, 
(And take it from a heart tliat wishes towards you 
Honour and plenteous safety,) that you read 
The cardinal's malice and his potency 
Together : to consider further, that 
What his high hatred would effect, wants not 
A minister in his power: You know his nature, 
That he's revengeful ; and I know, his sword 
Hath a sharp edge : it's long, and, it may be said. 
It reaches far ; and where 'twill not extend, 
Thither he darts it. liosom up my counsel. 
You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock. 
That I advise your shunning. 

Enter Cardinal Wolsev, {the purse borne hefoie 
him,) certain of the Guard, and Two Secretaries 
with papers, i/ie Cakdinal in his passage Jiaeth 
his eyes on Buckingham, and Buckingham on him, 
both full of disdain. 

Wol. The duke of Buckingham's surveyor ? ha 7 
Where's his examination? 

1 Seer. Here, so please you. 

IFo/ Is he in person ready ? 

1 Seer. Ay, please your grace. 



ACT I.— SCENE H. 



553 



Wot. Well, we shall then know more ; and Buck- 
Shall lessen this big look. [ingham 
[Exeunt WoLSEY and Train, 

Buck. This butcher's cur is venom-niouth'd, and I 
Have not the power to muzzle him ; therefore, best 
Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book 
Out-worths a noble's blood. 

Nor. What, are you chafd ? 

Ask God for temperance ; that's the appliance only, 
Which your disease requires. 

Buck, I read in his looks 

Matter against me ; and his eye revil'd 
Me, as his abject object : at this instant 
He bores me with some trick : He's gone to the king ; 
I'll follow, and out-stare him. 

Nor, Stay, my lord. 

And let your reason with your choler question 
What 'tis you go about : To climb steep hills. 
Requires slow pace at first: Anger is like 
A full-hot horse ; who being allow'd his way, 
S«If-mettle tires him. Not a rean in England 
Can advise me like you : be to yourself 
As you would to your friend. 

Buck. I'll to the king : 

And from a mouth of honour quite cry down 
This Ipswich fellow's insolence ; or proclaim, 
There's dift'erence in no persons. 

Nor. Be advis'd : 

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot 
That it do singe yourself: We may outrun, 
By violent swiftness, that which we run at, 
And lose by over-running. Know you not, 
The fire, that mounts the liquor till it run o'er, 
In seeming to augment it, wastes it"! Be advis'd : 
I say again, there is no English soul 
More stronger to direct you than yourself; 
If with the sap of reason you would quench, 
Or but allay, the fire of passion. 

Buck. Sir, 

1 am thankful to you : and I'll go along 
By your prescription : — but this top-proud fellow, 
(Whom from the flow of gall I name not, but 
From sincere motions,) by intelligence. 
And proofs as clear as founts in .luly, when 
We see each grain of gravel, 1 do know 
To be corrupt and treasonous. 

Nor. Say not, treasonous. 

Buck. To the king I'll say't ; and make my vouch as 
As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox, [strong 
Or wolf, or both, (for he is equal ravenous 
As he is subtle ; and as prone to mischief, 
As able to perform it : his mind and place 
Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally,) 
Only to shew his pomp as well in France 
As here at home, suggests the king our master 
To this last costly treaty, the interview. 
That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass 
Did break i' the rinsing. 

Nor. 'Faith, and so it did. 

Buck. Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning car- 
The articles o' the combination drew, [dinal 

As himself pU-as'd ; and they were ratified. 
As he cried, Thus let be : to as much end, 
As give a crutcii to the dead : But our count-cardinal 
Has done this, and 'tis well ; for worthy VVolsey, 
Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows, 
(Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy 
'i'o the old dam, treason,) — Charles the emperor, 
Under pretence to see the queen his aunt, 
(For 'twas, indeed, his colour ; but he came 
To whisper Wolsey,) here makes visitation: 
His fears were, that the interview, betwixt 



England and France, might, through their amity, 
Breed Irm some prejudice ; for from this league 
Peep'd harms that menac'd him : He privily 
Deals with our cardinal ; and, as I trow, — 
Which I do well ; for, I am sure, the emperor 
Paid eie he promis'd ; whereby his suit was granted 
Ere it was ask'd ; — but when the way was made. 
And pav'd with gold, the emperor thus desir'd ; — 
That he would please to alter the king's course. 
And break the foresaid peace. Let tiie king know, 
(As soon he shall by me,) that thus the cardinal 
Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases. 
And for his own advantage. 

Nor. I am sorry 

To hear this of him ; and could wish, he wero 
Something mistaken in't. 

Buck. No, not a syllable , 

I do pronounce him in that very shape. 
He shall appear in proof. 

Enter Brandon ; a Sergeant at Arms before him, 
ami tivo or three of the Guard. 

Brail. Your office, sergeant ; execute it. 

Sei-g. Sir, 

My lord the duke of Buckingham, and earl 
Of Hereford, StafTord, and Northampton, I 
Arrest thee of high treason, in the name 
Of our most sovereign king. 

Buck. Lo you, my lord, 

The net has fall'n upon me ■, I shall perish 
Under device and practice. 

Bran. I am sorry 

To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on 
The business present : 'Tis his highness' pleasure. 
You shall to the Tower. 

Duck. It will help me nothing. 

To plead mine innocence ; for that die is on me. 
Which makes my whitest part black. The will of heaven 
Be done in this and all things ! — I obey. — 

my lord Aberga'ny, fare you well. 

Bran. Nay, he must bear you company : — The king 

[To Abergavenny. 
Is pleas'd, you shall to the Tower, till you know 
How he determines further. 

Aber. As the duke said, 

The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure 
By me obey'd. 

Bran. Here is a warrant from 

The king, to attach lord Rlontacute ; and the bodies 
Of the duke's confessor, John de la Court, 
One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor, — 

Buck. So, so ; 

These are the limbs of the plot : no more, I hope. 

Bran. A monk o' the Chanreux. 

Buck. O, Nicholas Hopkins? 

Bratt. He. 

Buck. My surreyor is false ; the o'er-great cardinal 
Hath shew'd him gold : my life is spann'd already: 

1 am the shadow of poor Buckingham ; 
Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on. 
By dark'ning my clear sun, — My lord, farewell, 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE U,—The Council-Chamber. 

Cornets. Enter King Henuy, CARniNAL Woi.sey, 
the Lords of the Council, Sir Tiio.mas Lovell, 
Officers, and Attendants. The King enters, lean' 
ing on the Cardinal's shoulder. 

K. Hen. My life itself, and the best heart of it. 
Thanks you for this great care : I stood i' the level 
Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks 
i To you that chok'd it.— Let be call'd before us 



554 



KING HENRY VIII. 



That gentleman of Buckingham's . in person 
I'll hear him his confessions justify ; 
And point by point the treasons of his master 
He shall again relate. 

The King takes his State. The Lords of the Council 
take their several -places. The Cardinal places 
himself under the KiNo's/eet, on his right side. 

A noise within, crying, Iloom for the Queen! E7iter 
the QvT.r.s, ushered by the Dukes of Norfolk and 
Suffolk : she kneels. The King riseth from his 
State, takes her up, kisses, and placeth her by him, 
Q. Kath. Nay, wemust longer kneel ; I am asuitor. 
K. Hen. Arise, and take place by us :— Half your 
Never name to us ; your have half our power; [suit 
The other moiety, ere you ask, is given ; 
Repeat your will, and take it. 

Q. Kath. Thank your majesty. 

That you would love yourself ; and, in that love, 
Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor 
The dignity of your office., is the point 
Of my petition. 

A'. Hen. Lady mine, proceed. 

Q. Kath. I am solicited, not by a few. 
And those of true condition, that your subjects 
Are in great grievance : there have been commissions 
Sent down among them, which have flaw'd the heart 
Of all their loyalties :— wherein, although. 
My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches 
Most bitterly on you, as putter-on 
Of these exactions, yet the king our master, 
(Whose honour heaven shield from soil!) even he 

escapes not 
Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks 
The sides of loyalty, and almost appears 
In loud rebellion. 

Nor. Not almost appears, 

It doth appear : for upon these taxations, 
The clothiers all, not able to maintain 
The many to them 'longing, have put off 
The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who. 
Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger, 
And lack of other means, in desperate manner 
Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar, 
And Danger serves among them 

K. Hen. Taxation! 

Wherein 1 and what taxation? — My lord cardinal, 
You that are blam"d for it alike with us, 
Know you of this taxation 1 

Wol. Please you, sir, 

I know but of a single part, in aught 
Pertains to the state ; and front but in that file 
Where others tell steps with me. 

Q. Kath. No, my lord, 

You know no more than others : but you frame 
Things, tliat are knownalike; which are not wholesome 
To those which would not know them, and yet must 
Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions 
Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are 
Most pestilent to the hearing ; and to bear them. 
The back is sacrifice to the load. They say. 
They are devis'd by you ; or else you sufter 
Too hard an exclamation. 

K. Hen. Still exaction ! 

The nature of it "! In what kind, let's know. 
Is this exaction"! 

Q. Kath. I am much too venturous 

In tempting of your patience ; b\it am bolden'd 
Under your promis'd pardon. The subject's grief 
Comes "through commissions, which com pel fromeach 
The sixth part of his substance, to be levied 
Without delay ; and the pretence for this 



Is uam'd, your wars in France : This makes bold 

mouths : 
Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze 
Allegiance in them ; their curses now. 
Live where their prayers did ; and it's come to pass. 
That tractable obedience is a slave 
To each incensed will. I would, your highness 
Would give it quick consideration, for 
There is no primer business. 

K. Hen. By my life. 

This is against our pleasure 

Wol. And for me, 

I have no further gone in this, than by 
A single voice ; and that not pass'd me, but 
By learned approbation of the judges. 
If I am traduc'd by tongues, which neither know 
My faculties, nor person, yet will be 
Tile chronicles of my doing, — let me say, 
'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake 
That virtue must go through. We must not stinl 
Our necessary actions, in the fear 
To cope malicious censurers ; which ever. 
As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow 
I'hat is new trimm'd ; but benefit no further 
Than vainly longing. What we oft do best. 
By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is 
Not ours, or not allow'd ; what worst, as oft, 
Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up 
For our best act. If we shall stand still. 
In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, 
We should take root here where we sit, or sit 
State statues only. 

K. Hen. Things done well. 

And with a care, exempt themselves from fear; 
Things done without example, in their issue 
Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent 
Of this commission 1 I believe, not any. 
We must not rend our subjects from our laws. 
And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each? 
A trembling contribution ! Why, we take. 
From every tree, lop, bark, and part o'the timber ; 
And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd. 
The air will drink the sap. To every county. 
Where this is question'd, send our letters, with 
Free pardon to each man that has denied 
The force of this commission : Pray, look to't ; 
1 put it to your care. 

Wol. A word with you. 

[To the Secretary. 
Let there be letters writ to every shire, 
Of the king's grace and pardon. The griev'd commons 
Hardly conceive of me ; let it be nois'd, 
That, through our intercession, this revokement 
And pardon comes : I shall anon advise you 
Further in the proceeding. [Exit Secretary 

Enter Surveyor. 

Q. Kath. I am sorry, that the duke of Buckingham 
Is run in your displeasure. 

A'. Hen. It grieves many : 

The gentleman is learn'd. and a most rare speaker, 
To nature none more bound ; his training such, 
I'hat he may furnish and instruct great teachers, 
And never seek for aid out of himself. 
Yet see 

When these so noble benefits shall prove 
Not well dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt. 
They turn to vicious forms ten times more ugly 
Than ever they were fair. This man so complete, 
Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we, 
Almost with ravish'd list'ning, could not find 
His hour of speech a minute ; he, my lady, 



ACT I.-SCENE III. 



555 



Hath into monstrous habits put the graces 

Tliat once were his, and is become as black 

As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us ; you shall hear 

(This was his gentleman in trust,) of him 

Things to strike honour sad. — Bid him recount 

The fore-recited practices : whereof 

We cannot feel too little, hear too much. 

IVel. Stand forth ; and with bold spirit relate what 
Most like a careful subject, have collected [you, 
Out of the duke of Buckingham. 

A'. Heii. Speak freely. 

Surv. First, it was usual with him, every day 
It would infect his speech. That if the king 
Should without issue die, he'd carry it so 
To make the scepter his : These very words 
I have heard him utter to his son in law. 
Lord Aberga'ny ; to whom by oath he menac'd 
Revenge upon the cardinal. 

Wol. Please your highness, note 

This dangerous conception in this point. 
Not friended by his wish, to your high person 
His will is most malignant ; and it stretches 
Beyond you, to your friends. 

Q. Kath. My learu'd lord cardinal. 

Deliver all with charity. 

K. Hen. Speak on : 

How grounded he his title to the crown, 
Upon our fail 1 to this point hast thou heard him 
At any time speak aught 1 

Surv. He was brought to this 

By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. 

K. Hen. What was that Hopkins ? 

Surv. Sir, a Chartreux friar. 

His confessor ; who fed him every minute 
With words of sovereignty. 

A. Hen. How know'st thou this? 

Surv. Not longbefore your highness sped to France, 
The duke being at the Rose, within the parish 
Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand 
What was the speech amongst the Londoners 
Concerning the French journey : I replied, 
Men fear'd, the French would prove perfidious. 
To the king's danger. Presently the duke 
Said, 'Twas the fear, indeed ; and that he doubted, 
'Twould prove the verity of certain words 
Spoke by a holy monk : that oft, says he, 
Hath setU to me, wishing me to permit 
John de la Court, mtj chaplain, a choice hour 
To hear from him a matter of some moment : 
Whom after under the confession's seal 
lie solemnly had sworn, that, what he spoke. 
My chaplain to 710 creature living, but 
To me, should utter, with demure confidence 
Thus pausinglij ensu'd — Neitfier the hing, nor )iis heirs, 
(Tell you the duke) hall prosper : hid him strive 
To gain the love of the commonalty ; the duke 
Shall govern England. 

Q. Kath, If I know you well, 

You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office 
On the complaint o' the tenants : Take good lieed, 
You charge not in your spleen a noble persou. 
And spoil your nobler soul ! 1 say, take heed ; 
Yes, heartily beseech you. 

A'. Hen. Let him on : — 

Go forward. 

Surv. On my soul, I'll speak but truth. 

I told my lord the duke. By the devil's illusions 
The monk might be deceiv'd ; and that 'twas dan- 

g'rous for him 
To ruminate on this so far, until 
It forg'd him some design, which, being bellev'd. 
It was much like to do : He answer'd, Ttuk ! 



It can do me no damage : adding further. 
That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd, 
The cardinal's and sir Thomas Lovell's heads 
Should have gone off. 

A. Hen. Ha! what so rank? Ah, ah! 
There's mischief in this man : Canst thou say fur- 

Surv. I can, my liege. [ther? 

A'. Hen. Proceed. 

Surv. Being at Greenwich, 

After your highness had reprov'd the duke 
About sir William Blomer, — 

A. Hen. I remember 

Of such a time — Being my servant sworn, 
The duke retain'd him his. But on; What hence? 

Surv. Jf, quoth he, 1 for this had been committed, 
As, to the Tower, 1 thought, — / uould have play'd 
The part my father meant to act upon 
The usurper Richard : uho, being at Salisbury, 
Blade suit to come into his presence ; uhich if granted. 
As he made semblance of his duty, would 
Have put his knife into him. 

K. Hen. A giant traitor ! 

Wol. Now, madam, may his highness live in free- 
And this man out of prison ? f dom, 

Q. Kath. God mend all ! 

A. Hen. There's something more would out of 
thee? What say'st? 

Surv. After — the duke his father, — with t/if kyiife, — 
He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger. 
Another spread on his breast, mounting his eyes, 
He did discharge a horrible oath ; whose tenour 
Was, — Were he evil us'd, he would oul-go 
His father, by as much as a performance 
Does an irresolute purpose. 

A. Hen. There's his period, 

To sheath his knife in us. He is attach'd ; 
Call him to present trial : if he may 
Find mercy in the law, 'tis his ; if none, 
Let him not seek't of us ; by day and night, 
He's traitor to the height. [Eieunt 

SCENE III.— ^ Room in the Palace. 

Enter the Lord Chamberlain and Lohd Sands. 

Cham. Is it possible, the spells of France should 
Men into such strange mysteries ? [juggle 

Sands. New customs, 

Though they be never so ridiculous. 
Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are follow'd. 

Cham. As far as I see, all the good our English 
Have got by the late voyage, is but merely 
A fit or two o' the face ; but they are shrewd ones ; 
For when they hold them, you would swear directly. 
Their very noses had been counsellors 
To Pepin, or Clotharius, they keep state so. 

Sands. They have all new legs, and lame ones ;. 
one would take it, 
That never saw them pace before, the spavin, 
A springhalt reign'd among them. 

Cham. Death ! my lord, 

Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, 
That, sure, they have worn out Christendom. How 
What news, sir I'homas Lovell ? [now ? 

Enter Sir Thomas Lovkll. 
Lov. 'Faith, my lord. 

I hear of none, but the new proclamation 
That's clapp'd upon the court-gate. 

Cham. What is't for ■» 

Lov. 'I'he reformation of our travell'd gallants, 
That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. 
Cham. 1 am glad, 'tis there ; now 1 would pray 
our mousicurs 



.5.50 



KING HENRY VIII. 



To think an English courtier may be wise, 
And never see the Louvre. 

Lov. They must either 

(For so run the conditions,) leave tiiese remnants 
Of fool, and feather, that they got in France, 
With all their honourable points of ignorance, 
Pertaining thereunto, (as fights, and fireworks ; 
Abusing better men than tliey can be, 
Out of a foreign wisdom,) renouncing clean 
The faitii they have in tennis, and tall stockings. 
Short blister'd breeches, and those types of travel, 
And understand again like honest men ; 
Or pack to their old playfellows : there, I take it, 
They may, cum priviiegio, wear away 
The lag end of their lewdness, and be laugh'd at. 

Sands, "lis time to give them physic, their diseases 
Are grown so catching. 

Cham. What a loss our ladies 

Will have of these trim vanities ! 

Lov. Ay, marry. 

There will be woe indeed, lords ; the sly whoresons 
Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies ; 
A French song, and a fiddle, has no fellow, [going; 

Sands. The devil fiddle them ! 1 am glad, they're 
(For, sure, there's no converting of them ;) now. 
An honest country lord, as 1 am, beaten 
A long time out of play, may bring his plain-song. 
And have an hour of hearing ; and, by'r lady, 
Held current music too. 

Cham. Well said, lord Sands ; 

Your colt's tooth is not cast yet. 



Sand.') 



No, my lord ; 



Nor shall not, while I have a stump 

Cham. Sir Thomas, 

Whither were you a going'! 

Lov. To the cardinal's ; 

Your lordship is a guest too. 

Cham. O, 'tis true : 

This night he makes a supper, and a great one. 
To many lords and ladies ; there will be 
The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you. 

Lot). That churchman bears a bounteous mind in- 
A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us ; [deed. 
His dews fall every where. 

Cham. No doubt, he's noble ; 

He had a black mouth, that said other of him, 

AV/n(/s.He may, my lord, he has wherewithal; inhim. 
Sparing would shew a worse sm than ill doctrine : 
J\ien of his way should be most liberal. 
They are set here for examples. 

Cham. True, they are so ; 

But few now give so great ones. Wy barge stays ; 
Your lordship shall along :— Come, good sir Thomas, 
We shall be late else : which 1 would not be, 
For I was spoke to, with sir Henry Guildford, 
This nigiit to be comptrollers. 

Saudi. 1 am your lordship's, [^Exeunt. 

SCENE \Y.—The Preseuce-Chamberin York-Place. 

Hauthoifs. A small table under a state for the Car- 
DiMAL, a longer table for the guests. Enter at one 
door, Anne But.len, and divers Lords, Ladies, a»«/ 
Gentlewomen, as guests ; at another door, enter Sir 

HeXHV GVILDFOUD. 

Guild. Ladies, a general welcome from his grace 
Salutes ve all: This night he dedicates 
To fair content, and you : none here, he hopes, 
In all this noble bevy, has brought with her 
One care ab:oad : he would have all as merry 
As first-good company, good wine, good welcome, 
(Jan make good people" — O. my lord, you are tardy ; 



Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lokd Sands, and 
Sir Thomas Lovell. 

The very thought of this fair company 
Clapp'd wings to me. 

Cham. You are young, sir Harry Guildford 

Sands. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal 
But half my lay- thoughts in him, some of these 
Should find a running banquet ere they rested, 
I think, would better please them : By my lite, 
They are a sweet society of fair ones. 

Lov. O, that your lordship were but now confessor 
To one or two of these ! 

Sands. I would, I were ; 

They should find easy penance. 

Lov. 'Faith, how easy 1 

Sands. As easy as a down-bed would afford it. 

Cham. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit^ Sir Harry, 
Place you that side, I'll take the charge of this : 
His grace is ent'ring. — Nay, you must not freeze ; 
Two women placed together makes cold weather : — 
My lord Sands, you are one will keep them waking ; 
Pray, sit between these ladies. 

Sands, By my faith. 

And thank your lordship. — By your leave, sweet 
ladies : [i'et;(s himself between Anne Bullen 
and another ladi). 
If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me ; 
I had it from my father. 

Anne. Was he mad, sir? 

Sands. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too : 
But he would bite none ; just as I do now, 
He would kiss you twenty with a breath. [Kisses her. 

Cham. Well said, my lord. — 

So, now you are fairly seated : — Gentlemen, 
The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies 
Pass away frowning. 

Sands. For ray little cure. 

Let me alone. 

Hautboys. Enter Cardinal Wol&ey, attended; 
and takes his state. 

Wol. You are welcome, my fair guests ; that noble 
Or gentleman, that is not freely merry, [lady, 

Is not my friend : This, to confirm my welcome ; 
And to you all good health. [Drinks. 

Sands. Your grace is noble : — 

Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks, 
And save me so much talking. 

Wol. My lord Sands, 

I am beholden to you ; cheer your neighbours. — 
Ladies, you are not merry ; — Gentlemen, 
Whose fault is this"! 

Sands, The red wine first must rise 

In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have them 
Talk us to silence. 

Anne. You are a merry gamester, 

My lord Sands. 

Sands, Yes, if I make my play. 

Here's to your ladyship : and pledge it, mad, ra. 
For 'tis to such a thing, — 

Anne, You cannot shew me. 

Sands. I told your grace, they would talk anon. 

[Drum and trumpets within: Chaj}ibers discharged. 

IVol. What's that 1 

Chum, Look out there, some of you. 

[Exit a Servant. 

IVnl. What warlike voice? 

And to what end is this l— Nay, ladies, fear not ; 
By all the laws of war you are privileged. 

Re-enter Servant. 

Clium. How now? what is't ' 




KING HENRY VIII, 



K. Henry 



Sweetheart. 



I were unmannerly, to take you out, 

And not to kiss you — A health, gentlemen, 

Let it go round. 



<^ 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



557 



Scrv. A noble troop of strangers : 

For so they seem ; they have left their barge, and 
And hither make, as great ambassadors [landed ; 
From foreign princes. 

Wol. Good lord chamberlain, [tongue ; 

Go, give them welcome, you can speak the French 
And, pray, receive tliem nobly, and conduct them, 
Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty 
Shall shine at full upon them: — Some attend him. — 
\_Exii Chamberlain, allcuded. All arise, 
and tables removed. 
You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it. 
A good digestion to you all : and, once more, 
I shower a welcome on you ; — Welcome all. 

Hautboys. Enter the King, and twelve others, as 
maskers, habited like shepherds, with sixteen lorch- 
hearers ; ushered by the Lord Chamberlain. They 
pass direcUy before the Cauoinai., and gracejutiy 
salute him. 

A noble company I what are their pleasures ? 

Chum. Because they speak no English, thus they 
pray'd 
To tell your grace ; — That, having heard by fame 
Of this so noble and so fair assembly 
This night to meet here, they could do no less, 
Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, 
But leave their flocks ; and, under your fair conduct. 
Crave leave to view these ladies, and entreat 
An hour of revels with them. 

Wol. Say, lord cliamberlain, ' [pay them 

They have done my poor house grace ; for which I 

A thousand thanks, and pray them take their pleasures. 

\_Ladies chosen Jor the dunce. The Kino 

chooses Annk 15um.ev. 

A'. Hen. The fairest hand 1 ever touch'd ! O, beauty, 
Till now I never knew thee. [3iusu-'i. Dance. 

Wol. My lord, 

Cham. Your grace f 

Wol. Pray, tell them thus much fiom me : 
There should be one amongst them, by his person, 
INlore worthy this place than myself; to whom, 
If 1 but knew him, with my love and duty 
I would surrender it. 

Cham. 1 will, my lord. 

[Cham, goes to the company, and returns. 

Wol. AVhat say they 1 

Chum. Such a one, they all confess. 

There is, indeed ; which they would have your grace 
Find out, and he will take it. 

Wol. Let me see then. — [Comes from his state. 
By all your good leaves, gentlemen ; — Here I'll make 
I\ly royal choice. 

A'. Hen. You have found liim, cardinal : 

[Unmasking. 
You hold a fair assembly ; you do well, lord : 
You are a churchman, or I'll tell you, cardinal, 
I should judge now unhappily. 

]Vol. I am glad. 

Your grace is grown so pleasant. 

A. Hen. iMy lord chamberlain, 

Pr'ythee, come hither: What fair lady is that? 

Chum. An't please your grace, sir Thomas BuUen's 
daughter. 
The viscount Uochford, one of her highness' women. 

A'. Hen. By heaven, she is a dainty one. — Sweet- 
l were unmannerly, to take you out, [heart, 

And not to kiss you. — A health, gentlemen. 
Let it go round. 

Wol. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready 
I'the privy chamber? 

Lov. Yes, my lord. 



Wol. Your grace, 

I fear, with dancing is a little heated. 

A. Hen. 1 fear, too much. 

Wol. There's fresher air, my lord. 

In the next chamber. [partner, 

A. Hen. Lead in your ladies, every one. — Sweet 
I must not yet forsake you : — Let's be merry ; — 
Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths 
To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure 
To lead them once again ; and then let's dream 
Who's be^t in favour. — Let the music knock it. 

[Exeunt, uitli trumpets. 



1 Gent. 

2 Getit. 
1 Gent. 
•H Gent. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I.— A Street. 
Enter Tu'd Gentlemen, meeting. 

1 Gemt. Whither away so fast ? 

2 Gent. O, — God save you . 
Even to the hall, to hear what shall become 

Of the great duke of Buckingham. 

1 Gent. I'll save you 
That labour, sir. All's now done, but the ceremony 
Of bringing back the prisoner. 

2 Cient. Were you there? 
Yes, indeed, was I. 

Pray, speak, what has happen'd ? 
You may guess quickly what. 

Is lie found guilty ? 

1 Grent. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon it. 

2 Gent. I am sorry for't. 

1 Gent. So are a number more. 

2 Gent. But, pray, how pass'd it ? 

1 Gent. I'll tell you in a little. The great duke 
Came to the bar ; where, to his accusations, 
He pleaded still, not guilty, and alleg'd 
Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. 
The king's attorney, on the contrary, 
Urg'd on the e.xaminations, proofs, confessions 
Of divers witnesses ; which the duke desir'd 
To have brought, viva voce, to his face : 
At which appear'd against him, his surveyor ; 
Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Court, 
Confessor to him ; with that devil-monk, 
Hopkins, that made this mischief. 

S! Gent. That vias he. 

That fed him with his prophecies ? 

1 Gent. The same. 
All these accus'd him strongly ; which he fain 
Would have flung from him, but, indeed, hecoi.ldnot. 
And so his peers, upon this evidence. 

Have found him guilty of high treason. Much 
He spoke, and learnedly, for life ; but all 
Was either pitied in him, or forgotten. 

2 Gent. After all this, how did he bear himielf? 

1 Gent. When he was brought again to the bar, — 

to hear 
His knell rung out, his judgment, — he was stirr'd 
\Vith such an agony, he sweat extremely. 
And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty : 
I'ut he fell to himself again, and, sweetly, 
In all the rest shew'd a most noble patience. 

2 Gent. I do not think he fears death. 

1 Gent. Sure, he does not. 
He never wqs so womanish ; the cause 

He may a little grieve at. 

2 Gent. Certainly, 
The cardinal is the end of this. 

1 Gent. "Lis likely, 



558 



KING HENRY VIII. 



By all conjectures: First, Kildare's aUainder, 
Then deputy of Ireland : who remov'd, 
Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too, 
Lest he should help his father. 

"i Gent. That trick of state 

Was a deep envious one. 

1 Gent. At his return, 

No doubt, he will requite it. This is noted, 
And generally ; whoever the king favours. 
The cardinal instantly will find employment, 
And far enough from court too. 

"l Gent. All the commons 

Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience. 
Wish him ten fathom deep : this duke as much 
They love and dote on ; call him bounteous Buck- 
The mirror of all courtesy ; — [ingham, 

1 Gent. Stay there, sir. 

And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. 

Enter Buckingham/j-oto his arraignment ; Tipstaves 
before him ; the aie with the edge towardshim ; hal- 
berds on each side ; with him, iiir Thomas Lovell, 
Sir Nicholas Vaux, Sir William Sands, and 
common people. 

i Gent. Let's stand close, and behold him. 

Buck. All good people. 

You that thus far have come to pity me. 
Hear what 1 say, and then go home and lose me. 
I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment, _ 
And by that namemustdie ; Yet, heaven bear witness, 
And, if I have a concience, let it sink me. 
Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful ! 
The law 1 bear no malice for my death, 
It has done, upon the premises, but justice : 
Butthose, that sought it, 1 could wish more christians: 
Be what they will, I heartily forgive them : 
Vet let them look they glory not in mischief. 
Nor build their evils on the graves of great men ; 
For then my guiltless blood must cry against them. 
For further life in this world I ne'er hope, 
Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies 
More than 1 dare make faults. You few that lov'dme. 
And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, 
His noble friends, and fellows, whom to leave 
Is only bitter to him, only dying. 
Go with me, like good angels, to my end ; 
And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, 
Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, 
And lift my soul to heaven. — Lead on, o'God's name. 

Lov. 1 do beseech your grace, for charity, 
If ever any malice in your heart 
Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. 

Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you, 
As I would be forgiven : I forgive all ; 
There cannot be those numlierless offences 
'Gainst me, I can't take peace with : no black envy 
Shall make my grave. — Commend me to his grace ; 
And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him. 
You met him half in heaven : my vows and prayers 
Yet are tiie king's ; and, till my soul forsake me. 
Shall cry foi blessings on him : May he live 
Longer than 1 have time to tell his years ! 
Ever belov'd, and loving, may his rule be ! 
And, when old time shall lead him to his end. 
Goodness and he fill up one monument ! 

Lov. To the water side I must conduct your grace ; 
Then give my charge up to sir Nicholas Vaux, 
Who undertakes you to your end. 

Vanx. Prepare there, 

The duke is coming ; see, the barge be ready ; 
And tit it with such furniture, as suits 
The greatness of his person. 



Buck. Nay, sir Nicholas, 

Let it alone ; my state now will but mock me. 
When I came hither, I was lord high constable, 
And duke of Buckingham ; now, poor Edward Bohun: 
Yet I am richer than my base accusers. 
That never knew what truth meant; I now seal it ; 
And with that blood will make them one day groan 
My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, [for't. 

Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard, 
Flving for succour to his servant Banister, 
Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray 'd. 
And without trial fell ; God's peace be with him ! 
Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying 
My father's loss, like a most royal prince, 
Restor'd me to my honours, and, out of ruins. 
Made my name once more noble. Now his son, 
Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all 
That made me happy, at one stroke has taken 
For ever from the world. I had my trial. 
And, must needs say, a noble one ; which makes me 
A tittle happier than my wretched father : 
Yet thus far we are one in fortunes, — Both 
Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most ; 
A most unnatural and faithless service ! 
Heaven has an end in all : Yet, you that hear me. 
This from a dying man receive as certain : 
Where you are liberal of your loves, and counsels, 
Be sure, you be not loose ; for those you make friends 
And give your hearts to, when they once perceive 
The least rub in your fortunes, fall away 
Like water from ye, never found again 
But where they mean to sink ye. All good people, 
Pray for me 1 I must now forsake ye ; the last houi 
Of my long weary life is come upon me. 
Farewell : 

And when you would say something that is sad. 
Speak how 1 fell. — I have done ; and God forgive me ! 
[Exeunt Buckingham and Train, 
1 Gent. O, this is full of pity ! — Sir, it calls, 
I fear, too many curses on their heads 
That were the authors. 

9. Gent. If the duke be guiltless, 

'Tis full of woe : yet I can give you inkling 
Of an ensuing evil, if it fall, 
Greater than this. 

1 Crejit. Good angels keep it from us ! 
Where may it be ? You do not doubt my faith, sir? 

2 Gent. This secret is so weighty, 'twill require 
A strong faith to conceal it. 

1 Gent. Let me have it ; 
I do not talk much. 

2 Gent. I am confident ; 
You shall, sir : Did you not of late days hear 
A buzzing, of a separation 
Between the king and Katharine 1 

1 Gent, Yes, but it held not 
For when the king once heard it, out of anger 
He sent command to the lord mayor, straight 
To stop the rumour, and allay those tongues 
That durst disperse it. 

2 Gent. But that slander, sir. 
Is found a truth now : for it grows again 
Fresher than ere it was ; and held for certain. 
The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal 
Or some about him near, have, out of malice 
To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple 
That will undo her : To confirm this too. 
Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd, and lately ; 
As all think, for this business. 

1 Gent. 'Tis the cardinal ; 

And merely to revenge him on the emperor. 
For not bestowing on him, at his asking. 



ACT II.— SCENE II. 



559 



The archbishoprick of Toledo, this is purpos'd. 

'^ Cent. I think, you have hit the mark : But is't 
not cruel, 
Tliat she should feel the smart of this t The cardinal 
Will have his will, and she must fall. 

1 Gent. 'Tis woeful. 

We are too open here to argue this ; 
Let's think in private more. [^Eieunt.^ 

SCENE II. — An Ante-chamber in the Palace, 

Enter the Lord Chamberlain, reading; a letter. 
Cham. Ml/ lord, — The horses tiour lordship sent for, 
whh all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and 
furnished. They were young, nnd handsome ; and oj 
the best breed in the north. When they were ready to 
set out for London, a man of my lord cardinal's, by 
commission, and main power, took 'emjrom me ; with 
this reason, — His master wouldbe served before asnbject, 
it not before the king ; which stopped our mouths, sir. 

I fear, he will, indeed : Well, let him have them : 
He will have all, I think. 

Enter the Dukes of NonFOLK and Suffolk. 

Nor. Well met, my good 

Lord Chamberlain. 

Cham. Good day to both your graces. 

iiiif. How is the king employ'd ! 

Cham. 1 left him private. 

Full of sad thoughts and trouble^. 

Kor, What's the cause ■? 

Cham. It seems the marriage with his brother's wife 
Has crept too near his conscience. 

Suf. No, his conscience 

Has crept too near another lady. 

Nor. 'Tis so : 

This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal : 
That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune, 
Turns what he lists. The king will know him one day. 

■Si(/. Pray God, he do ! he'll never know himself else. 

Nor. How holily he works in all his business ! 
And with what zeal! For now he has crack'd the league 
Between us and the emperor, the queen's great nephew. 
He dives into the king's soul ; and there scatters 
Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience, 
Fears, and despairs, and all these for his marriage : 
And out of all these to restore the king, 
He counsels a divorce : a loss of her, 
That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years 
About his neck, yet never lost her lustre : 
Of her, that loves him with that excellence 
That angels love good men with ; even of her 
That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls. 
Will bless the king: And is not this course pious 1 

Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel ! 'Tis 
most true, [them. 

These news are every where ; every tongue speaks 
And every true heart weeps for 't : All, that dare 
Look into these affairs, see this main end, — 
The French king's sister. Heaven will one day open 
The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon 
This bold bad man. 

Suf. And free us from his slavery. 

Nor. We had need pray, 
And heartily for our deliverance ; 
Or this imperious man will work us all 
From princes into pages ; all men's honours 
Lie in one lump before him, to be fashion'd 
Into what pitch he please. 

Suf. For me, my lords, 

I love him not, nor fear him ; there's my creed : 
yVs I am made without him, so I 'II stand, 



If the king please ; his curses and his blessings 
Touch me alike, they are breath 1 not believe in. 
I knew him, and 1 know him ; so I leave him 
To him that made him proud, the pope. 

Nor, Let 's in ; 

And with some other business, put the king 
From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon 
My lord, you'll bear us company ! [him : 

Cham. Excuse me ; 

The king hath sent me other-where ; besides. 
You 'II find a most unfit time to disturb him : 
Health to your lordships. 

Nor. Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. 

[Exit Lord Chamberlain 

Norfolk opens a folding-door. The King is dis- 
covered sitting, and reading pensively. 

Suf. How sad he looks ! sure, he is much afflicted. 

A'. Hen. Who is tiiere ! ha? 

Nor. 'Pray God, he be not angry. 

A'. Hen. Who's there, 1 say] How dare you thrust 
Into my private meditations ? [yourselves 

Who am 1? ha? 

Nor. A gracious king, that pardons all offences 
Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty, this way 
Is business of estate ; in which, we come 
To know your royal pleasure. 

A. Hen. You are too bold , 

Go to ; I 'II make ye know your times of business : 
Is this an hour for temporal affairs ? ha ? — 

Enter Wolsev and Campeius. 

Who 's there ? my good lord cardinal ? — O my Wolsey, 

The quiet of my wounded conscience. 

Thou art a cure fit for a king. — Vou 're welcome, 

[7'() Campeius. 
Rlost learned reverend sir, into our kingdom ; 
Use us, and it : — My good lord, have great care 
I be not found a talker. [To VVolsey. 

IVol. Sir, you cannot. 

I would, your grace would give us but an hour 
Of private conference. 

A. Hen. We are busy ; go. 

[To Norfolk and Suffolk. 

AW. This priest has no pride in him ? 

Suf. Not to speak of ; 

I would not be so sick though, for his place : 
But this cannot continue. yAside. 

Nor. If it do, i 

I 'II venture one heave at him. 

Suf. I another. J 

[Exeunt Norfolk and Suffolk. 

Wol. Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom 
Above all princes, in committing freely 
Your scruple to the voice of Christendom : 
Who can be angry now? what envy reach you? 
The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her, 
Must now confess, if they have any goodness, 
The trial just and noble. All the clerks, 
I mean, the learned ones, in christian kingdoms, 
Have their free voices ; Rome, the nurse of judgment, 
Invited by your noble self, hath sent 
One general tongue unto us, this good man, 
This just and learned priest, cardinal Campeius; 
Whom, once more, I present unto your highness. 

K. Hen. And, once more, in mine arms I bid him 
welcome. 
And thank the holy conclave for their loves ; [for. 
They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd 

Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' 
You are so noble : To your highness' hand [loves, 
I tender my commission ; by whose virtU';, 



560 



KING HENRY VIII. 



rrhe court of Rome commanding,) — yon, my lord 
Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant. 
In the unpartial judging of this business, [quainted, 

K. Hen. Two equal men. The queen shall be ac- 
Forthwith, for what you come : — Where's Gardiner! 

Wol. I know, your majesty has always lov'd her 
So dear in heart, not to deny her that 
A woman of less place might ask by law. 
Scholars, allow'd freely to argue for her. [favour 

A'. Hen. Ay, and the best, she shall have ; and my 
To him that does best ; God forbid else. Cardinal, 
Pr'ythee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary ; 
I find him a fit fellow. [Eiit VVolsey. 

Re-enter Wolsey, with Gardineh. 
Wol. Give me your hand: much joy and favour to 



You are the king's now. 



[you; 



Gard. But to be commanded 

Forever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me. 

l^ Aside. 

K. Hen. Come hither, Gardiner. 

[7'/ieu converse apart. 

Cam. ]\Iy lord of York, was not one doctor Pace 
In this man's place before him 1 

IVol. Yes, he was. 

Cam. Was he not held a learned man "! 

Wol. Yes, surely. 

Cam. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then 
Even of yourself, lord cardinal. 

Wol. How ! of me ? 

Cam. They will not stick to say, you envied him ; 
And, fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous, 
Kept him a foreign man still ; which so griev'd him, 
That he ran mad, and died. 

Wol. Heaven's peace be with him! 

That's christian care enough: for living murmurers, 
There's places of rebuke. He was a fool ; 
For he would needs be virtuous : This good fellow. 
If I command him, follows my appointment ; 
I will iiave none so near else. Learn this, brother, 
We live not to begrip'd by meaner persons. 

K. Hen. Deliver this with modesty to the queen. 

[E^if Gardiner. 
The most convenient place that I can think of, 
For such receipt of learning, is Black-Friars; 
There ye shall meet about this weighty business : — 
My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. — my lord, 
Would it not grieve an able man, to leave 
So sweet a bedfellow 1 But, conscience, conscience, — 
O, 'tis a tender })lace, and I must leave her. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. 

An Ante-Chamber in the Queen's Apartments. 
Enter Anne Bullen and an old Lady. 

Anne. Not for that neither; — Here's the pang that 
pinches : 
His highness having liv'd so long with her : and she 
So good a lady, that no tongue could ever 
Pronounce dishonour of her, — by my life, 
She never knew harm-doing ; — O now, after 
So many courses of the sun enthron'd. 
Still growing in a majesty and pomp, — the which 
To leave is a thousand -fold more bitter, than 
'Tis sweet at first to acquire, — after this process, 
To give her the avaunt 1 it is a pity 
Would move a monster. 

Old L. Hearts of most hard temper 

Melt and lament for her. 

Anne. O, God's will ! much better, 

She ne'er bad known pomp : though it be temporal, 
Yet, if that quarrel fortune do divorce 



It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance, panging 
As soul and body's severing. 

Old L. Alas, poor lady ! 

She's a stranger now again, 

Anne. So much the more 

Must pity drop upon her. Verily, 
I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born. 
And range with humble livers in content. 
Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief. 
And wear a golden sorrow. 

Old L. Our content 

Is our best having. 

Anne. By my troth, and maidenhead, 

I would not be a queen. 

Old L. Beshrew me, I would. 

And venture maidenhead for 't ; and so would you, 
For all this spice of your hypocrisy : 
You, that have so fair parts of woman on you, 
Have too a woman's heart : which ever yet 
Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; 
Which, to say sooth, are blessings : and which gifts 
(Saving your mincing) the capacity 
Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive, 
If you might please to stretch it. 

Anne. Nay, good troth, — [queen 1 

Old L. Yes, troth, and troth, — You would not be a 
Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven. 
Old L. 'Tis strange : a three-pence bowed would 
hire me. 
Old as I am, to queen it : But, I pray you. 
What think you of a duchess 1 have you limbs 
To bear that load of title? 

Anne. No, in truth. 

Old L. Then you are weakly made : Pluck off a 
I would not be a young count in your way, [little ; 
For more than blushing comes to : if your back 
Cannot vouchsafe this burden, 'tis too weak 
Ever to get a boy. 

Anne. How you do talk ! 

I swear again, I would not be a queen 
For all the world. 

Old L. In faith, for little England 

You 'd venture an emballing : I myself 
Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 'longed 
No more to the crown but tliat. Lo, who comes here ? 

Enter the Lord Chamberlain. 

Cham. Good morrow, ladies. What wer't worth to 
The secret of your conference ? [know 

Anne. My good lord, 

Not your demand ; it values not your asking : 
Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. 

Cham. It was a gentle business, and becoming 
The action of good women : there is hope, 
All will be well. 

Anne. Now I pray God, amen ! [ings 

Cham. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly bless 
Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, 
Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's 
Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty 
Commends liis good opinion to you, and 
Does purpose honour to you no less flowing 
Than marchioness of Pembroke ; to which title 
A thousand pound a-year, annual support. 
Out of his grace he adds. 

Anne. I do not know. 

What kind of my obedience I should tender ; 
aiore than my all is nothing ; nor my prayers 
Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes 
More worth than empty vanities ; yet prayers, and 

wishes. 
Are all I can return. 'Beseech your lordship. 



ACT II.-.SCENE IV. 



561 



Vouchsafe to speak my thanks, and mv obedience, 
As from a blushing handmaid to his highness ; 
Whose health, and royalty, I pray for. 

Cham. Lady, 

I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit, 
The king hath of you. — I have perus'd her well; 

[Aside. 
Beauty and honour in her are so mingled, 
That they have caught the king : and who knows yet. 
But from this lady may proceed a gem, 
To lighten all this isle? — I'll to the king, 
And say, I spoke with you. 

Anne. My honour'd lord. [Erit Lord Chamberlain. 

Old L. \\ hy, this it is ; see, see ! 
I have been begging sixteen years in court, 
(Am yet a courtier beggarly,) nor could 
Come pat betwixt too early and too lale, 
For any suit of pounds : and you, (O fate !) 
A very fresh-fish here, (fye, fye upon 
This compell'd fortune !) have your mouth filled up, 
Before you open it. 

Anne. This is strange to me. 

Old L, How tastes it"! is it bitter 1 forty pence, no. 
There was a lady once, ('tis an old story,) 
That would not be a queen, th|t would she not, 
For all the mud in Egypt • — Have you heard it? 

Anne. Come, you are pleasant. 

Old L. With your theme, I could 

O'ermount the lark. The marchioness of Pembroke ! 
A thousand pounds a year ! for pure respect ; 
No other obligation : By my life, 
That promises more thousands : Honour's train 
Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time, 
I know, your back will bear a duchess ; — Say, 
Are you not stronger than you were 1 

Anne. Good lady, 

Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy. 
And leave me out on't. 'Would I had no being. 
If this salute my blood a jot ; it faints me. 
To think what follows. 
The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful 
In our long absence : Pray, do not deliver 
What here you have heard, to her. 

Old L. What do you think me 1 [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— A Hall in Black-Friars. 

Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter Two Vergers, 
with sliort silver wands ; next them, Two Scribes, in 
the Itabits of doctors ; after them, the Archbishop 
OF Canterbury alone ; after him, the Bishops of 
Lincoln, Ely, Rochester, and Saint Asaph ; 
next them, with some small distance, follows a Gen- 
tleman bearing the purse, with the great seal, and a 
cardinal's hat ; then Two Priests, hearing each a 
silver cross ; then a Gentleman-Usher hare-headed, 
accompanied with a Serjeant at Arms, bearing a sil- 
ver mace ; then Two Gentlemen, bearing two great 
silver pillars ; after them, side by side, the Two Car- 
dinals WoLSEY and Campeius ; 2'wo Noblemen 
witli the sword and mace. Then enter the King and 
Queen, and their Trains, The King takes place un- 
der the cloth of state ; the Two Cardinals sit under 
him as judges. The Queen takesplace at some dis- 
tance from the King. The Bishops place them- 
selves on each side the court, in manner of a consis- 
tory ; between them, the Scribes. The Lords sit 
next the Bishops. The Crier and the rest of tlie 
Attendants stand in convenient order about the stage. 

Wol Whilst our commission from Rome is read, 
Let silence be commanded. 



K. Hen. What's the need ? 

It hath already publicly been read. 
And on all sides the authority allow'd ; 
You may then spare that time. 

^Vol. Be't so :— Proceed. 

Scribe. Say, Henry king of England, come into the 

Crier. Henry king of England, &:c. [court. 

A'. Hen. Here. 

Scribe. Say, Katharine queen of En gland, come into 

Crier. Katharine queen of England, &c. [court. 

[The Queen 7nukes no answer, rises out of her chair, 
goes about the court, comes to the King, and kneeU 
at his feet; then speaks. 

Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you, do me right and justice , 
And to bestow your pity on me : for 
I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, 
Born out of your dominions ; having here 
No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance 
Of equal friund.-.liip and proceeding. Alas, sir, 
In what have 1 ott'ended you ] what cause 
Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure, 
That thus you sliould proceed to put me off. 
And take your good grace from me ? Heaven witness, 
I have been to you a true and humble wife. 
At all times to your will conformable : 
Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, 
Yea, subject to your countenance; glad, or sorrj'. 
As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour, 
I ever contradicted your oesire, 
Or made it not mine too ? Or which of your friends 
Have I not strove to love, although I knew 
He were mine enemy ? what friend of mine 
That had to him deriv'd your anger, did I 
Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice 
He was from thence discharg'd ? Sir, call to mind 
That I have been your wife, in this obedience. 
Upward of twenty years, and have been blest 
With many children by you ; If, in the course 
And process of this time, you can report. 
And prove it too, against mine honour aught. 
My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty, 
Against your sacred person, in God's name, 
Turn me away ; and let the foul'st contempt 
Shut door upon me, and so give me up 
To the sharpest kind of justice. Please you, sir. 
The king, your father, was reputed for 
A prince most prudent, of an excellent 
And unmatch'd wit and judgment : Ferdinand, 
My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one 
The wisest prince, that there had reign'd by many 
A year before : It is not to be question'd 
That they had gather'd a wise council to them 
Of every realm, that did debate this business, 
Who deem'd our marriage lawful : Wherefore I humbly 
Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may 
Be by my friends in Spain advis'd ; whose counsel 
I will implore ; if not ; i'the name of God, 
Your pleasure be fulfill'd ! 

WoL You have here, lady, 

(And of your choice,) these reverend fathers ; men 
Of singular integrity and learning, 
Yea, the elect of the land, who are assembled 
To plead your cause : It shall be therefore bootless, 
That longer you desire the court ; as well 
For your own quiet, as to rectify 
What is unsettled in the king. 

Cam. His grace 

Hath spoken well, and justly ; Therefore, madam. 
It's fit this royal session do proceed ; 
And that, without delay, their arguments 
Be now produc'd, and heard. 
iJ N 



562 



KING HENRY VIII. 



Lord cardinal,- 
Your pleasure, madam? 



Sir, 



Q. Kath. 
To you I speak. 
Wol. 
Q. Kath. 
I am about to weep ; but, thinking that 
We are a queen, (or long have dreani'd so,) certain, 
The daughter of a king, my drops of tears 
I'll turn to sparks of fire. 

Wol. Be patient yet. 

Q. Kath. I will, when you are humble ; nay, before, 
Or God will punish me. I do believe, 
Induc'd by potent circumstances, that 
You are mine enemy ; and make my challenge. 
You shall not be my judge : for it is you 
Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me, — 
Which God's dew quench ! — Therefore, I say again, 
I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul. 
Refuse you for my judge : whom, yet once more, 
I hold my most malicious foe, and think not 
At all a friend to truth. 

Wol. I do profess. 

You speak not like yourself ; who ever yet 
Have stood to charity, and display 'd the effects 
Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom 
O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me 
I have no spleen against you ; nor injustice [wrong : 
For you, or any : how far I have proceeded. 
Or how far further shall, is warranted 
By a commission from the consistory, 
Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge me, 
That I have blown this coal : I do deny it : 
The king is present : if it be known to him, 
That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound. 
And worthily, my falsehood ? yea, as much 
As you have done my truth. But if he know 
That I am free of your report, he knows, 
I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him 
It lies, to cure me : and the cure is, to 
Remove these thoughts from you ; The which before 
His highness shall speak in, I do beseech 
You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking. 
And to say no more. 

Q. Kath. My lord, my lord, 

I am a simple woman, much too weak [mouth'd ; 
To oppose your cunning. You are meek, and humble- 
You sign your place and calling, in full seeming 
With meekness and humility : but your heart 
Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. 
You have, by fortune, and his highness' favours. 
Gone slightly o'er low steps ; and now are mounted 
Where powers are your retainers : and your words, 
Domestics to you, serve your will, as't please 
Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you. 
You tender more your person's honour, than 
Your high profession spiritual : That again 
I do refuse you for my judge ; and here. 
Before you all, appeal unto the pope. 
To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness, 
And to be judg'd by him. 

[5/ie curt'sies to the King, and offers to depart. 
Cam. The queen is obstinate. 

Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and 
Disdainful to be try'd by it; 'tis not well. 
She's going away. 

K. Hen. Call her again. [court. 

Crier. Katharine queen of England, come into the 
Grif. Madam, you are call'd back. [your way : 
Q. Kath. What need you note it"! pray you, keep 
When you are call'd, return. — Now the Lord help. 
They vex me past my patience ! — pray you, pass on: 
I will not tarry : no, nor ever more. 
Upon this business, my appearance make 



I In any of their courts. [Eie^tnt Queen, Griffith, 

and her other Attendants. 
I A'. Hen. Go thy ways, Kate : 

I That man i'the world, who shall report he has 
' A better wife, let him in nought be trusted. 
For speaking false in that : Thou art, alone, 
' (If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, 
[ Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government, — 
Obeying in commanding, — and thy parts 
Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out,) 
The queen of earthly queens : — She is noble born ; 
And, like her true nobility, she has 
Carried herself towards me. 

Wol. Most gracious sir, 

In humblest manner I require your highness. 
That it shall please you to declare, in hearing 
Of all these ears, (for where I am robb'd and bound, 
There must I be unloos'd ; although not there 
At once and fully satisfied,) whether ever I 
Did broach this business to your highness ; or 
Laid any scruple in your way, wiiich might 
Induce you to the question on'tl or ever 
Have to you, — but with thanks to God for such 
A royal lady, — spake one the least word, might 
Be to the prejudice of her present state, 
Or touch of her good" person I 

A'. Hen. My lord cardinal, 

I do excuse you ; yea, upon mine honour, 
I free you from't. You are not to be taught 
That you have many enemies, that know not 
Why they are so, but, like to village curs. 
Bark when their fellows do : by some of these 
The queen is put in anger. You are excus'd : 
But will you be more justified ? you ever 
Have wish'd the sleeping of this business ; never 
Desir'd it to be stirr'd ; but oft have iimder'd ; oft 
The passages made toward it : — on my honour, 
I speak my good lord cardinal to this point. 
And thus far clear him. Now, what mov'd me to't, — 
I will be bold with time, and your attention : — 
Then mark the inducement. Thus it came ;— give heed 
My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness, [to't- 

Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd 
By the bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador 
Who had been hither sent on the debating 
A marriage, 'twixt the duke of Orleans and 
Our daughter Mary : F the progress of this business. 
Ere a determinate resolution, he 
(I mean, the bishop) did require a respite ; 
Wherein he might the king his lord advertise 
Whether our daughter were legitimate, 
Respecting this our marriage with the dowager. 
Sometime our brother's wife. This respite shook 
The bosom of my conscience, euter'd me, 
Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble 
The region of my breast ; which forc'd such way, 
That many maz'd considerings did throng, 
And press'd in with this caution. First, methought, 
I stood not in the smile of heaven ; who had 
Commanded nature, that my lady's womb, 
If it conceiv'd a male child by me, should 
Do no more offices of life to 't, than 
The grave does to the dead : for her male issue 
Or died wliere they were made, or shortly after 
This world had air'd them : Hence I took a thought 
This was a judgment on me ; that my kingdom. 
Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should not 
Be gladded in 't by me : Then follows, that 
I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood ia 
By this my issue's fail : and that gave to me 
INI any a groaning throe. Thus hulling in 
The wild sea of my conscience, 1 did steer 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 



563 



Toward this remedy, whereupon we are 
Now present here together ; that's to say, 
I meant to rectify my conscience, — which 
I then did feel full sick, and yet not well, — 
By all the reverend fathers of the land, 
And doctors learn'd. — First, I began in private 
With you, my lord of Lincoln ; you remember 
flow under my oppression I did reek, 
^Vhen I first mov'd you. 

Lin. Very well , my liege. 

K. Htn. I have spoke long; be pleas'd yourself to 
How far you satisfied me. [say 

Lin. So please your highness, 

The question did at first so stagger me, — 
Bearing a state of mighty moment in 't. 
And consequence of dread, — that I committed 
The daring'st counsel which I had, to doubt ; 
And did entreat your highness to this course. 
Which you are running here. 

K, Hen. I then mov'd you, 

My lord of Canterbury ; and got your leave 
To make this present summons : — Unsolicited 
I left no reverend person in this court ; 
But by particular consent proceeded, 
Under your hands and seals. Therefore, go on ; 
For no dislike i' the world against the person 
Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points 
Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward : 
Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life. 
And kingly dignity, we are contented 
To wear our mortal state to come, with her, 
Katharine our queen, before the primest creature 
That's paragon'd o'the world. 

Cam. So pleasure your highness, 

The queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness 
That we adjourn this court till further day : 
Mean while must be an earnest motion 
Made to the queen, to call back her appeal 
She intends unto his holiness. [Theii rise to depart. 

K. Hen. I may perceive, [^Aside. 

These cardinals trifle with me : I abhor 
This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Rome. 
My learn'd and well -beloved servant, Cranmer, 
Pr'ythee, return ! with thy approach, I know, 
My comfort comes along. Break up the court : 
[ say, set on. [Eieunt in manner as they entered. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — Falace at Bridewell. A Room in the 
Queen's Aipartment. 

The Queen, and some of her Women, at work. 

Q. Kath. Take thy lute, wench : my soul grows sad 
with troubles : 
Slug, and disperse them, if thou canst : leave working. 

SONG. 

Orpheus with his lute made trees, 
And the mountain-tops, that freeze, 

Bow themselves, when he did sing ; 
To his m,usic, plants, and floivers. 
Ever sprung ; as sun, and showers. 

There had been a lasting spring. 

Every thing that heard him play, 
Even the billows' of the sea. 

Hung their heads, and then lay by. 
In sweet music is such art : 
Killing care, and grief of heart. 

Fall asleep, or, hearing, die. 



Enter a Gentleman. 



Q. Kath. How now 1 

Gent. An 't please your grace, the two great car- 
Wait in the presence. [dinals 

Q. Kath. Would they speak with me T 

Gent. They will'd me say so, madam. 

Q. Kath. Pray their graces 

Tocomenear. [EiitGent.] What can be their business 
\Vith me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour 1 
I do not like their coming, now I think on't. 
They should be good men ; their affairs as righteous . 
But all hoods make not monks. 

Enter Wolsey and Campeius. 

WoL Peace to your highness ! 

Q. Kath. Your graces find me here part of a house- 
wife ; 
I would be all, against the worst may happen. 
What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords'! 

Wfll. May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw 
Into your private chamber, we shall give you 
The full cause of our coming. 

Q. Kath. Speak it here ; 

There 's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience. 
Deserves a corner : 'Would, all other women 
Could speak this with as free a soul as I do ! 
My lords, I care not, (so much I am happy 
Above a number,) if my actions 
Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw them. 
Envy and base opinion set against them, 
I know my life so even ; If your business 
Seek me out, and that way I am wife in. 
Out with it boldly ; Truth loves open dealing. 

Wol. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina sere- 

Q. Kath. O, good my lord, no Latin ; [^nissi/na, — 
I am not such a truant since my coming. 
As not to know the language I have liv'd in : 
A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, sus- 
picious ; 
Pray, speak in English : here are some will thank you, 
If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake ; 
Believe me, she has had much wrong: Lord cardinal. 
The willing'st sin I ever yet committed, 
May be absolv'd in English. 

Wol. Noble lady, 

I am sorry, my integrity should breed, 
(And service to his majesty and you,) 
So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant. 
We come not by the way of accusation. 
To taint that honour every good tongue blesses ; 
Nor to betray you any way to sorrow ; 
You have too much, good lady: but to know 
How you stand minded in the weighty diflference 
Between the king and you ; and to deliver. 
Like free and honest men, our just opinions, 
And comforts to your cause. 

Cam, Most honour'd madam. 

My lord of York, — out of his noble nature, 
Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace ; 
Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure 
Both of his truth and him, (which was too far,) — 
Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, 
His service and his counsel. 

Q. Kath. To betray me. [Aside 

My lords, I thank you both for your good wills. 
Ye speak like honest m<vi, (pray God, ye prove so !) 
But how to make ye suddenly an answer, 
In such a point of weight, so near mine honour, 
(More near my life, I fear,) with my weak wit. 
And to such men of gravity and learning, 
In truth, I know not. I was set at work 
Among my maids ; full little, God knows, looking 
2N2 



564 



KING HENRY VIIl. 



Either for such men, or such business. 
For her sake that I liave been, (for I feel 
The last tit of my greatness,) good your graces. 
Let me have time, and counsel, for my cause ; 
Alas ! I am a woman, friendless, hopeless. 

Wol. Madam, you wrong the king's love with these 
Your hopes and friends are infinite. [fears ; 

Q. Kath. In England, 

But little for my profit : Can you think, lords, 
Than any Englishman dare give me counsel ? 
Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure, 
(Though he be grown so desperate to be honest,) 
And live a subject ? Nay, forsooth, my friends, 
They that must weigh out my afflictions, 
They that my trust must grow to, live not here 
They are, as all my other comforts, far hence. 
In mine own country, lords. 

Cam. I would, your grace 

Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. 
a. Kath. How, sir? 

Cam. Putyourmain cause into the king's protection; 
He's loving, and most gracious ; 'twill be much 
Both for yo'ur honour better, and your cause ; 
For, if the trial of the law o'ertake you. 
You '11 part away disgrac'd. _ 

If (,/. He tells you rightly. 

Q. Kath. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my ruin : 
Is this your christian counsel "! out upon ye ! 
Heaven is above all yet ; there sits a judge. 
That no king can corrupt. 

Cain. Your rage mistakes us. 

Q. Kath. The more shame for ye ; holy men I 
thought ye ; 
Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues ; 
But cardinal sins, and hollow hearts, I fear ye : 
Mend them, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort? 
The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady ?^ 
A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd ? 
I will not wish ye half my miseiies, 
I have more charity : But say, I warn'd ye ; 
Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once 
The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye. 

Wol. Madam, this is a mere distraction ; 
You turn the good we offer into envy. 

Q. Kalh. Ye turn me into nothing : Woe upon ye. 
And all such false professors ! Would ye have me 
(If you have any justice, any pity ; 
If ye be anvthing but churchmen's habits,) 
Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me? 
Alas ! he has banish'd me his bed already ; 
His love, too long ago : I am old, my lords, 
And all the fellowship I hold now with him 
Is only my obedience. What can happen 
To me above this wretchedness ? all your studies 
Make me a curse like this 

Cy,„_ Your fears are worse. 

Q.Kath. Have I liv'd thus long — (let me speak 
myself. 
Since virtue finds no friends,)— a wife, a true one ? 
A woman (I dare say, without vain-gloiy,) 
Never yet branded with suspicion ? 
Have I with all my full affections 
Still met the king? lov'd him next heaven? obey dhim? 
Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him? 
Almost forgot my prayers to content him ? 
And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords. 
Bring me a constant woman to her husband. 
One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure ; 
And to that woman, when she has done most. 
Yet will I add an honour,— a great patience. 

Wol. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. 
Q. Kath. INIy lord, I dare not make myself so guilty, 



To give up willingly that noble title 

Your master wed me to : nothing but deatb 

Shall e'er divorce my dignities, 

Wol. 'Pray, hear me. 

Q. Kath. 'Would I had never trod this English earth, 
Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it ! 
Ye have angels' faces, but Heaven knows your hearts. 
What will become of me now, wretched lady ? 
I am the most unhappy woman living. — 
Alas ! poor wenches, where are now your fortunes? 

[To her Women. 
Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity. 
No friends, no hope ; no kindred weep for me, 
Almost, no grave allow'd me : — Like the lily. 
That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd, 
I'll hang my head, and perish. 

Wol. If your grace 

Could but be brought to know, our ends are honest. 
You'd feel more comfort: why should we, good lady, 
Upon what cause, wrong you? alas ! our places. 
The way of our profession is against it ; 
We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow them. 
For goodness' sake, consider what you do ; 
How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly 
Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage. 
The hearts of princes kiss obedience. 
So much they love it ; but, to stubborn spirits, 
They swell, and grow as terrible as storms. 
I know, you have a gentle, noble temper, 
A soul as even as a calm ; Pray, think us 
Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants. 
Cam. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your 
virtues 
With these weak women's fears. A noble spirit, 
As yours was put into you, ever casts 
Such doubts, as false coin, from it. Thekinglovesyou; 
Beware, you lose it not : For us, if you please 
To trust us in your business, we are ready 
To use our utmost studies in your service. 

Q. Kath. Do what ye will, my lords: And, pray for- 
If I have used myself unmannerly ; _ [give me 
You know, I am a woman, lacking wit 
To make a seemly answer to such persons. 
Pray do my service to his majesty : 
He has my heart yet, and shall have my prayers, 
While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers. 
Bestow your counsels on me : she now begs, 
That little thought, when she set footing here, 
She should have bought her dignities so dear. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE ll.—Ante-chamher to the King's ayartment. 

Enter the Duke of Nort-qlk, the Duke of Suffolk. 
the Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain. 
Nor. If you will now unite in your complaints 
And force them with a constancy, the cardinal 
Cannot stand under them : If you omit 
The offer of this time, I cannot promise, 
But that you shall sustain more new disgraces, 
With these you bear already, 

Sur. I am joyful 

To meet the least occasion, that may give me 
Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke, 
To be reveng'd on him, 

Suf. W^hich of the peers 

Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least 
Strangely neglected ? when did he regard 
The stamp of nobleness in any person. 
Out of himself ? 

Cham. My lords, you speak your pleaswes 

What he deserves of you and me, I know ; 



ACT III.— SCENE II. 



606 



What wc can do to him, (though now the time 
Gives way to us,) I much fear. If you cannot 
13ar his access to the king, never attempt 
Any thing on him ; for he hath a witchcraft 
Over the king in his tongue. 

Nor. O, fear him not; 

His spell in that is out : the king hath found 
Matter against him, that for ever mars 
The honey of his language. No, he's settled, 
Not to come off, in his displeasure. 

Sur. Sir, 

I should be glad to hear such news as this 
Once every hour. 

Nor, Believe it, this is true, 

In the divorce, his contrary proceedings 
Are all unfolded ; wherein he appears, 
As I could wish mine enemy. 

.S«)-. How came 

His practices to light ? 

Sitf. Most strangely. 

Sur. O, how, how 1 

Siif. The cardinal's letter to the pope miscarried, 
And came to the eye of the king: wherein was read. 
How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness 
To stay the judgment o' the divorce ; For if 
It did take place, / do, quoth he, perceive. 
My king is tangled in affection to 
A creature of the queens, lady Anne Bullen. 

Sur. Has the king this 1 

Suf. Believe it. 

Sur. Will this work? [coasts, 

Cham. The king in this perceives him, how he 
And hedges, his own way. But in this point 
All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic 
After his patient's death ; the king already 
Hath married the fair lady. 

Sur. 'Would he had! 

Sii/l ]\Iay you be happy in your wish, my lord! 
For, I profess, you have it. 

Sur. Now all my joy 

Trace the conjunction '. 

Suf. Jly amen to't ! 

Nor. All men's. 

Suf. There's order given for her coronation : 
Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left 
To some ears unrecounted. — But, my lords, 
She is a gallant creature, and complete 
In mind and feature : I persuade me, from her 
Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall 
In it be memorized. 

Sur. But, will the king 

Digest this letter of the cardinal's I 
The Lord forbid ! 

Nor. Marry, amen ! 

Suf. No, no ; 

There be more wasps that buz about his nose. 
Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius 
Is stolen away to Rome ; hath ta'en no leave ; 
Has left the cause o' the king unhandled ; and 
Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal. 
To second all his plot. I do assure you. 
The king cry'd, ha ! at this. 

Cham. Now, God incense him. 

And let him cry ha, louder 1 

Nor. But, my lord, 

VVhen returns Cranmer? 

Suf. He is return'd, in his opinions ;. which 
Have satisfied the king for his divorce, 
Togetiier with all famous colleges 
Almost in Christendom : shortly, I believe. 
His second marriage shall be publish d, and 
Her coronation. Katharine no more 



Shall be call'd, queen ; but princess dowager. 
And widow to prince Arthur. 

Nor. This same Cranmer's 

A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain 
In the king's business. 

Suf. He has ; and we shall see him 

For it, an archbishop. 

Nor. So 1 hear. 

Suf. 'Tis so. 

The cardinal — 



No 



Enter WoLSEY and Cromwell. 

Observe, observe, he's moody. 



Wol. The packet, Cromwell, gave it you the king? 

Crnm. To liis own hand, in his bedchamber. 

Wol. Look'd he o' the inside of the paper "! 

Crmn. Presently 

He did unseal them : and the first he view'd. 
He did it with a serious mind ; a heed 
Wais in his countenance ! You, he bade 
Attend him here this morning. 

Wol. Is he ready 

To come abroad! 

Crom. I think, by this he is. 

Wol. Leave me a while, — [Exit Cromwell. 

It shall be to the duchess of Alen^ on. 
The French king's sister : he shall marry her. — • 
Anne Bullen! No; I'll no Anne BuUens for him* 
There is more in it than fair visage. — Bullen ! 
No, we'll no Bullens. — Speedily I wish 
To hear from Rome. — The marchioness of Pembroke « 

Nor. He's discontented. 

Suf. May be, he hears the king 

Does whet his anger to him. 

Sur. Sharp enough. 

Lord, for thy justice! [daughter, 

Wol. The late queen's gentlewoman ; a knight's 
To be her mistress' mistress ! the queen's queen ! — 
This candle burns not clear ; 'tis I must snuff'it ; 
Then.outitgoes. — What though I know her virtuous. 
And well deserving 1 yet 1 know her for 
A spleeny Lutheran ; and not wholesome to 
Our cause, that she should lie i' the bosom of 
Our hard-rul'd king. Again, there is sprung up 
An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one 
Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king. 
And is his oracle. 

Nor. He is vex'd at something. 

Stif. I would, 'twere something that would fret the 
The master-cord of his heart ! [string. 

Enter the King, reading a schedule; and Lovell. 

Suf. The king, the king. 

A'. Hen. What piles of weatth hath he accumulated 
To his own portion ! and what expense by the hour 
Seems to flow from him! How, i' the name of thrift. 
Does he rake this together! — Now, my lords; 
Saw you the cardinal 1 

Nor. My lord, we have 

Stood here observing him : Some strange commotion 
Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts ; 
Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground 
Then, lays his finger on his temple ; straight, 
Springs out into fast gait ; then, stops again, 
Strikes his breast hard ; and anon, he casts 
His eye against the moon : in most strange postures 
Wc have seen him set himself. 

K. Hen. It may well be ; 

There is a mutiny in his mind. This morning 
Papers of state he sent me to peruse. 
As I requir'd ; And, wot you, what I found 
There; on my conscience, put unwittingly? 



566 



KING HENRY VIII. 



Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing, — 
The several parcels of his plate, his treasure, 
Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household ; which 
I find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks 
Possession of a subject. 

AW. It's Heaven's will ; 

Some spirit put this paper in the packet 
To bless your eye withal. 

K. Hen. If we did think 

His contemplation were above the earth, 
And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still 
Dwell in his musings: but, I am afraid, 
His thinkings are below the moon, not worth 
His serious considering. 

[/fe takes his seat, and whispers Lovell, who 

goes to WOLSEY. 

Wol, Heaven forgive me ! 

Ever God bless your highness ! 

K. Hen, Good my lord. 

You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory 
Of your best graces in your mind ; the which 
You were now running o'er ; you have scarce time 
To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span 
To keep your earthly audit : Sure, in that 
I deem you an ill husband : and am glad 
To have you therein my companion. 

Wol. Sir, 

For holy offices I have a time ; a time 
To think upon the part of business, which 
I bear i' the state ; and nature does require 
Her times of preservation, which, perforce, 
I her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, 
Must give my tendance to. 

A'. Hen. You have said well. 

Wol. And ever may your highness yoke together, 
As I will lend you cause, my doing well 
With my well-saying. 

K. Hen. 'Tis well said again ; 

And 'tis a kind of good deed, to say well : 
And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you : 
He said, he did ; and with his deed did crown 
His word upon you. Since I had my office, 
I have kept you next my heart ; have not alone 
Employ'd you where high profits might come home, 
But par'd my present havings, to bestow 
My bounties upon you. 

Wol. What should this mean ? 

Snr. The Lord increase this business ! [Aside. 

K. Hen. Have I not made you 

The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell me, 
If what I now pronounce, you have found true : 
And, if you may confess it, say withal. 
If you are bound to us, or no. What say you ? 

Wol. My sovereign, I confess, your royal graces, 
Shower'd on me daily, have been more, than could 
My studied purposes requite ; which went 
Beyond all man's endeavours: — my endeavours 
Have ever come too short of my desiies. 
Yet, fiU'd with my abilities : Mine own ends 
Have been mine so, that evermore they pointed 
To the good of your most sacred person, and 
The profit of the state. For your great graces 
Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, 1 
Can nothing render but allegiant thanks ; 
My prayers to heaven for you ; my loyalty. 
Which ever has, and ever shall be growing. 
Till death, that winter, kill it. 

K. Htn. Fairly answer'd ; 

A loyal and obedient subject is 
Theiein illustrated ; the honour of it 
Does pay the act of it ; as i' the contrary. 
The foulness is the punishment. I presume 



That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you. 
My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd honour more 
On you, than any ; so your hand, and heart. 
Your brain, and every function of your power, 
Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty, 
As 'twere in love's particular, be more 
To me, your friend, than any. 

Wol. I do profess, 

That for your highness' good I ever labour'd 
Rlore than mine own ; that am, have, and will be, 
Though all the world should crack their duty to you. 
And throw it from their soul ; though perils did 
Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and 
Appear in forms more horrid ; yet my duty. 
As doth a rock against the chiding flood, 
Should the approach of this wild river break, 
And stand unshaken yours. 

K. Hen. 'Tis nobly spoken . 

Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast, 
For you have seen him open't. — Read o'er this ; 

[Giving him papers. 
And, after, this : and then to breakfast, with 
W^hat appetite you have. 

[Eii't King, /i-ownjiig upon Cardinal W^OLSEY ; the 
Nobles throng after him, smiling, and ichispering. 

. Wol. What should tlils mean } 

W^hat sudden anger's this ; how have I reap'd it I 
He parted frowning from me, as if ruin 
Leap'd from his eyes : so looks the chafefl lion 
Upon the daring huntsman that has gaJl'd him , 
Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper: 
I fear, the story of his anger. — 'Tis so ; 
This paper has undone me: — 'Tis the account 
Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together 
For mine own ends ; indeed, to gain the popedom. 
And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence. 
Fit for a fool to fall by ! What cross devil 
Made me put this main secret in the packet 
I sent the king ? Is there no way to cure tiiis ? 
No new device to beat this from his brains ? 
I know, 'twill stir him strongly ; yet I know 
A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune 
Will bring me off again. What's this — To the Fopel 
The letter, as I live, with all the business 
I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell ! 
I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness : 
And, from that full meridian of my glory, 
I haste now to my setting. I shall fall 
Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 
And no man see me more. 

Re-enter the Dukes of NonrotK and SvrroLK, the 
Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain. 

Nor. Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal : who com- 
To render up the great seal presently [mands you 
Into our hands ; and to confine yourself 
To Asher-house, my lord of Winchester's, 
Till you hear further from his highness. 

Wol. Stay, 

W'here's your commission lords? words cannot carry 
Authority so weighty. 

Siif. Who dare cross them, 

Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly ? 

Wol. Till I find more than will, or words, to do it, 
(I mean, your malice,) know, officious lords, 
I dare, and must deny it. Now I feel 
Of what coarse metal ye are moulded, — envy. 
How eagerly ye follow my disgraces. 
As if it fed ye ? and how sleek and wanton 
Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin ! 
Follow your envious courses, men of malice ; 
You ha:ve christian warrant for them, and, no doubt, 



ACT III.— SCENE II. 



567 



In time will find their fit rewards. That seal, 
You ask with such a violence, the king, 
(Mine, and your master,) with his own hand gave me: 
Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours, 
During my life, and, to confirm his goodness. 
Tied it by letters patents : Now, who'll take it? 

Sur. The king, that gave it. 

WoL It must be himself then. 

Sur. Thou art a proud traitor, priest. 

Wol. Proud lord, thou liest ; 

Within these forty hours Surrey durst better 
Have burnt that tongue, than said so. 

Sur. Thy ambition, 

Tliou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land 
Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law : 
The heads of all thy brother cardinals, 
(With thee, and all thy best parts bound together,) 
Weigh 'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy 1 
You sent me deputy for Ireland ; 
Far from his succour, from the king, from all 
That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him ; 
Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity, 
Absolv'd him with an axe. 

Wol. This, and all else 

This talking lord can lay upon my credit, 
I answer, is most false. The duke by law 
Found his deserts : how innocent I was 
From any private malice in his end, 
His noble jury and foul cause can witness. 
If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you, 
You have as httie honesty as honour; 
That I, in the way of loyalty and truth 
Toward the king, my ever royal master, 
Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can bei 
And all that love his follies. 

Sur. By my soul, [feel 

Your long coat, priest, protects you ; thou should'st 
My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. — My lords, 
Can ye endure to hear this arrogance? 
And frDra this fellow? If we live thus tamely 
To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet. 
Farewell nobility ; let his grace go forward. 
And dare us with his cap, like larks. 

Wol. All goodness 

Is poison to thy stomach. 

Sur. Yes, that goodness 

Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one. 
Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion ; 
The goodness of your intercepted packets, [ness. 
You writ to the pope, against the king : your good- 
Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious. — 
My lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble, 
As you respect the common good, the state 
Of our despis'd nobility, our issues. 
Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen, — 
Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles 
Collected from his life: — I'll startle you 
Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench 
Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal. 

IVol. Howmuch,methinks,lcould despise this man. 
But that I'm bound in charity against it ! 

Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the king's hand: 
But, tlius much, they are foul ones. 

Wnl. So much fairer. 

And spotless, shall mine innocence arise, 
When the king knows my truth. 

Sur. This cannot save you : 

I thank my memory, I yet remember 
Some of these articles ; and out they shall. 
Now, if you can blush, and cry guilty, cardinal. 
You'll shew a little honesty. 

Wol. Speak on, sir ; 



I dare your worst objections : if I blush, 
It is, to see a nobleman want manners. 

Sur. I'd rather want those, than my head. Have 
at you. 
First, that, without the king's assent, or knowledo-e. 
You wrought to be a legate ; by which power 
You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops. 

Nor. Then, that, in all you writ to Rome, or else 
To foreign princes. Ego et Rei- meus 
Was still inscrib'd ; in which you brought the king 
To be your servant. 

Suf. Then, that, without the knowledge 

Either of king or council, when you went 
Ambassador to the emperor, you made bold 
To carry into Flanders the great seal. 

Sur. Item, you sent a large commission 
To Gregory de Cassalis, to conclude. 
Without the king's will, or the state's allowance, 
A league between his highness and Ferrara. 

iSj(f. That, out of mere ambition, you have caus'd 
Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin. 

Sur. Then, that you have sent innumerable sub- 
stance, 
(By what means got, I leave to your own conscience.) 
To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways 
You have for dignities ; to the mere undoing 
Of all the kingdom. Many more there are ; 
Which, since they are of you, and odious, 
I will not taint my mouth with. 

Cham. O my lord. 

Press not a falling man too far ; 'tis virtue : 
His faults lie open to the laws ; let them. 
Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him 
So little of his great self. 

Sur. I forgive him. 

5u/. Lord cardinal, the king's further pleasure is, — 
Because all those things, you have done of late 
By your power legatine within this kingdom, 
Fall into the compass of a prcemunire, — 
That therefore such a writ be sued against you ; 
To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements. 
Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be 
Out of the king's protection : — This is my charge. 

Nor. And so we'll leave you to your meditations 
How to live better. For your stubborn answer 
About the giving back the great seal to us. 
The king shall know it, and, no doubt, shal 1 thank you. 
So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal. 

[Eieunt all hut Wolsev. 

Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear me. 
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
This is the state of man ; To-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms. 
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : 
The third day, comes a frost, a killing Irost.; 
And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, 
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd. 
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders. 
This many summers in a sea of glory ; 
But far beyond my depth: my high blown pride 
At length broke under me ; and now has left me, 
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. 
Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye; 
I feel my heart new opened : O, how wretched 
Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours! 
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to. 
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin. 
More pangs and fears than wars or women have ; 
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
Never to hone aeain. — 



5(38 



KING HENRY VIII. 



Enter Cromwell, amazedly. 

Why, how now CromwelH 

Croin. 1 have no power to speak, sir. 

Wol, What amaz'd 

At my misfortunes 7 can thy spirit wonder, 
A great man should decline 1 Nay, an you weep, 
I am fallen indeed. 

Crom, How does your grace ? 

Wol. Why, well; 

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 
I know myself now ; and I feel within me 
A peace above all earthly dignities, 
A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me, 
I humbly thank his grace ; and from these shoulders. 
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken 
A load would sink a navy, too much honour: 
O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden. 
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven, [of it. 

Crnm, I am glad, your grace has made that right use 

Wol. I hope, 1 have: 1 am able now, methinks, 
(Out of a fortitude of soul 1 feel,) 
To endure more miseries, and greater far, 
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 
What news abroad 1 

Crom. The heaviest and the worst. 

Is your displeasure with the king, 

Wol. God. bless him ! 

Crom. The next is that sir Thomas More is chosen 
Lord chancellor in your place. 

Wol. That's somewhat sudden : 

But he's a learned man. May he continue 
Long in his highness' favour, and do justice 
For truth's sake, and his conscience ; that his bones. 
When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings. 
May have a tomb of orphan's tears wept on 'em ! 
What more 1 

Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, 
Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury. 

Wol. That's news indeed. 

Crom. Last, that the lady Anne, 

Whom the king hath in secrecy long married. 
This day was view'd in open, as his queen, 
Going to chapel ; and the voice is now 
Only about her coronation. 

Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down. 
O Cromwell, 
The king has gone beyond me, all my glories 
In that one woman I have lost for ever : 
No sun shall ever usher fortli mine honours, 
Or gild again the noble troops tliat waited 
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell; 
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now 
To be thy lord and master : Seek the king ; 
That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him 
What, and how true thou art: he will advance thee; 
Some little memory of me will stir him, 
(I know his noble nature,) not to let 
Thy hopeful service perish too: Good Cromwell, 
Neglect him not ; make use now, and provide 
For thine own future safety. 

Crom. O my lord. 

Must I then leave you ? must I needs forego 
So good, so noble, and so true a master? 
Bear witness, all that liave not hearts of iron. 
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. — 
The king shall have my service ; but my prayers 
For ever, and for ever, shall be yours. 

Wol. Cromwell, 1 did not think to shed a tear 
In all my miseries ; hut thou hast forc'd me 
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. 
Let 's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; 



And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be ; 
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee ; 
Say, Wolsey, — that once trod the ways of glory, 
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, — 
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 
Cromwell, 1 charge thee, fling away ambition-, 
By that sin fell the angels ; how can man then. 
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't"! 
Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee : 
Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace. 
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not; 
Let all the ends, thou aim'st at, be thy country's. 
Thy God's, and truth's ; then, if thou fall'st, O 

Cromwell, 
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king; 
And, — Pr'ythee, lead me in : 
There take an inventory of all I have. 
To the last penny ; 'tis the king's : my robe. 
And my integrity to heaven, is all 
I dare now call mine own. Cromwell, Cromwell, 
Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal 
I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age 
Have left me naked to mine enemies. 

Crom. Good sir, have patience. 

Wol. So I have. Farewell 

The hopes of court ! my hopes in heaven do well. 

[^Eieunt 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — A Street in Westminster- 
Enter Tv)o Gentlemen, meeting. 

1 Gent. You are well met once again. 

2 Gent. And so are you. 

1 Gent. You come to take your stand here and be- 
The lady Anne pass from her coronation ? [hold 

2 Gent. 'Tis all my business. At our last encounter, 
The duke of Buckingham came from his trial. 

iGent. 'Tis very true : but that time offer'd sorrow ; 
This, general joy. 

"i Gent. 'Tis well : The citizens, . 

I am sure, have shewn at full their royal miuds ; 
As, let them have their rights, they are ever forward 
In celebration of this day with shows. 
Pageants, and sights of honour. 

1 Gent. Never greater. 
Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir. 

2 Gent. May I be bold to ask what that contains, 
That paper in your hand 1 

1 Gent. Yes ; 'tis the list 
Of those, that claim their offices this day. 
By custom of the coronation. 

The duke of Sufl^olk is the first, and claims 

To be high steward ; next, the duke of Norfolk, 

He to be earl marshal : you may read the rest. 

2 Gent. 1 thank you, sir; had I not known those cus- 
I should have been beholden to your paper, [toras. 
But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine, 
The princess dowager ? how goes her business ? 

1 Gent. That I can tell you too. The archbishop 
Of Canterbury, accompanied with other 
Learned and reverend fathers of his order. 
Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles off 
From Ampthill, where the princess lay ; to which. 
She oft was cited by them, but appear'd not : 
And, to be short, for not appearance, and 



ACT IV.— SCENE 11. 



560 



The king's late scruple, by the main assent 
Of all these learned men she was divorc'd, 
And the late marriage made of none effect : 
Since which, she was removed to Kimbolton, 
Where she remains now, sick. 

2 Getit. Alas, good lady ! — [Trumpets. 

The trumpets sound : stand close, the queen is coming. 

THE ORDER OF THE PROCESSION. 

A lively jiouriih of Ti~umpets : then, enter 

I . Two Judges, 

a. Lord Chancellor, with the purse and mace before him. 

3. Choristers singing. [JNIusic. 

4. Mayor of London bearing the mace. Then Garter, 

in his coat of arms, and, on his head, a gilt 
copper crown. 

5. Marquis Dorset, bearing a sceptre of gold, on his 

head a demi-coronal of gold. With him, the 
Earl of Surrey, bearing the rod of silver with 
the dove, crowned with an earCs coronet. 
Collars of SS. 

6. Duke of Suffolk, in his robe of estate, his coronet on 

his head, bearing a long white wand, as high- 
steward. With him, the Duke of Norfolk, with 
the rod of marshalship, a coronet on his head. 
Collars of SS. 

7. A canopy borne by four of the Cinque-ports; under 

it, the Queen in her robe; in her hair richly 
adorned with pearl, crowned. On each side of 
her, the Bishops of London and Winchester, 

8. The old Duchess of Noifolk, in a coronal of gold, 

xvrought with flowers, bearing the Queen's train. 

9. Certain Ladies or Countesses, with plain circlets of 

gold without flowers. 

2 Gent. A royal train, believe me. — These I know ; 
Who's that, that bears the scepter? 

1 Gent. Marquis Dorset : 
And that the earl of Surrey, with the rod. 

2 Gent. A bold brave gentleman : And that should 
The duke of Suffolk. " [be 

1 Gent. 'Tis the same; high-steward. 

2 Gent. And that my lord of Norfolk ? 

1 Gent. Yes. 

2 Gent. Heaven bless thee ! [Looking on the Queen. 
Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on. — 
Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel ; 

Our king has all the Indies in his arms, 

And more, and richer, when he strains that lady ; 

I cannot blame his conscience. 

1 Gent. They, that bear 
The cloth of honour over her, are four barons 
Of the Cinque-ports. 

2 Gent. Those men are happy ; and so are all, are 
I take it, she that carries up the train, [near her, 
Is that old noble lady, duchess of Norfolk. 

1 Crent- It is ; and all the rest are countesses. 

2 Gent. Their coronets say so. These are stars, in - 
And, sometimes, falling ones. [deed; 

1 Gent. No more of that. 
[Exit Procession, with a great four ish of trumpets. 

Enter a Third Gentleman. 
God save you, sir! Where have you been broiling'? 

3 Gent. Among the crowd i' the abbey ; where a 

finger 
Could not be wedg'd in more ; and I am stifled 
With the mere rankness of their joy. 

2 Gent. You saw 
The ceremony 1 

3 Gent. That I did. 

1 Gent. How was it ? 

3 Gent. Well worth the seeing. 



2 Gent. Good sir, speak it to us. 

3 Gent. As well as I am able. The rich stream 
Of lords, and ladies, having brcught the queeu 
To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell off 

A distance from her : while her grace sat down 
To rest a while, some half an hour, or so. 
In a rich chair of state, opposing freely 
The beauty of her person to the people. 
Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman 
That ever lay by man : which when the people 
Had the full view of, such a noise arose 
As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest, 
As loud, and to as many tunes : hats, cloaks, 
(Doublets, I think,) flew up; and had their faces 
Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy 
I never saw before. Great-bellied women. 
That had not half a week to go, like rams 
In tlie old time of war, would shake the press. 
And make them reel before them. No man living 
Could say, This is my wife, there ; all were woven 
So strangely in one piece. 

2 Gent. But, 'pray, what followed 1 [paces 

3 Gent. At length her grace rose, and with modest 
Came to the altar : where she kneel'd, and, saint-like, 
Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and prayed devoutly. 
Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people • 
When by the archbishop of Canterbury 

She had all the royal makings of a queen ; 
As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown. 
The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems 
Laid nobly on her ; which perform'd, the choir, 
With all the choicest music of the kingdom. 
Together sung Te Deum. So siie parted, 
And with the same full state pac'_d back again 
To York-place, where the feast is held. 

1 Gent. Sir, you 
Must no more call it York- place, that is past • 
For, since the cardinal fell, that title's lost; 
'Tis now the king's, and call'd — Whitehall. 

3 Gent. I know it ; 

But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name 
Is fresh about me. 

2 Gent. What two reverend bishops 
Were those that went on each side of the queen 1 

SGent. Stokesly and Gardiner, the one, of Win- 
(Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary,) [chester, 
The other, London. 

2 Gent. He of Winchester 

Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's, 
The virtuous Cranmer. 

3 Gent. All the land knows that : 
However, yet there is no great breach ; when it comes, 
Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him. 

2 Crent. Who may that be, I pray you 1 

3 Gent. Thomas Cromwell ; 
A man in much esteem with the king, and truly 

A worthy friend. — The king 

Has made him master o'the jewel-house 

And one, already, of the privy council. 

2 Gent. He will deserve more. 

3 Gent, Yes, without all doubt. 
Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which 

Is to the court, and there ye shall be ray guests ; 
Something I can command. As I walk thither, 
I'll tell ye more. 

Both, You may command us, sir. [Exeunt 

SCENE II.— Kimbolton. 

Enter Katharine, Dowager, sick ; led between 
Griffith and Patience. 

Grif. How does your grace ? 



570 



KING HENRY VIII. 



Kath, O, Griffith, sick to death : 

My legs, like loadcu branches, bow to the earth, 
Willing to leave their burden: Reach a chair; — 
So, — now, methinks, I feel a little ease. 
Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me, 
That the great child of honour, cardinal Wolsey, 
Was dead I 

Grif. Yes, madam ; but, I think, your grace, 
Out of the pain you sufFer'd, gave no ear to't. 

Kath, Pr'ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he died: 
If well, he stepp'd before me, happily, 
For my example. 

Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam : 

For after the stout earl Northumberland 
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward 
(As a man sorely tainted,) to his answer, 
He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill, 
He could not sit his mule. 

Kath. Alas, poor man ! 

Grif. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester, 
Lodg'd in the abbey ; where the reverend abbot. 
With all his convent, honourably receiv'd liim ; 
To whom he gave these words, — father abbot, 
An old man, broken with the storms of state, 
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye , 
Give him a little earth for charity ! 
So went to bed : where eagerly his sickness 
Pursu'd him still ; and, three nights after this, 
About the hour of eight, (which he himself 
Foretold, should be his last,) full of repentance, 
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, 
He gave his honours to the world again. 
His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. 

Kath. So may he rest ; his faults lie gently on him. 
Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, 
And yet with charity, — He was a man 
Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking 
Himself with princes ; one, that by suggestion 
Ty'd all the kingdom : simony was fair play ; 
His own opinion was his law . I' the presence 
He would say untruths ; and be ever double, 
Both in his words and meaning : He was never, 
But where he meant to ruin, pitiful ; 
His promises were, as he then was, mighty ; 
But his performance, as he is now, nothing. 
Of his own body he was ill, and gave 
The clergy ill example. 

Grif. Noble madam. 

Men's evil manners live in brass ; their virtues 
We write in water. May it please your highness 
To hear me speak his good now 1 

Kath. Yes, good Griffith ; 

I were malicious else. 

Grif. This cardinal. 

Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
Was fashion'd to much honour. From his cradle, 
He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one ; 
Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading : 
Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not ; 
But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer. 
And though he were unsatisfied in getting, 
(Which was a sin,) yet, in bestowing, madam, 
He was most princely : Ever witness for him 
Those twins of learning, that he rais'd in you, 
Ipswich, and Oxford ! one of which fell with him. 
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it ; 
The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous. 
So excellent in art, and still so rising. 
That Christendom sha'.l ever speak his virtue. 
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him ; 
For then, and not till then, he felt himself, 
And found the blessedness of being little : 



And, to add greater honours to his age 
Than man could give him, he died fearing God. 
Kath. After my death 1 wish no other herald, 
No other speaker of my living actions. 
To keep mine honour from corruption, 
But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. 
Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, 
With thy religious truth, and modesty. 
Now in his ashes honour : Peace be with him ! — 
Patience, be near me still ; and set me lower : 
I have not long to trouble thee. — Good Griifith, 
Cause the musicians play me that sad note 
I nam'd my knell, whilst 1 sit meditating 
On that celestial harmony I go to. 

Sad and solemn music, 

Grif. She is asleep : Good wench, let's sit down 
quiet. 
For fear we wake her ; — Softly, gentle Patience. 

The Vision. Enter, solemnly tripping one after an- 
other, six Personages, clad in white robes, wearing on 
their heads garlands of bays, and gulden vizards on 
their faces ; branches if bays, or palm, in their ha)ids. 
They first congee unto her, then dance; and at cer- 
tain changes, the first two hold a spare garland over 
her head ; at which, the other four make reverend 
court'sies ; then the two, that held the garland, de- 
liver the same to the other next two, who observe th.e 
same order in their changes, and holding the garland 
over her head: which done, they deliver the san^e 
garland to the last two, who liHewise obitrve the same 
order; at which, («s it u ere by inspiration,) she 
makes in her sleep signs aj rejoicing, and holdeth up 
her hands to heaven : and so in their dancing they 
vatiish, carrying the garland with them. The mu- 
sic continues. 

Kath. Spirits of peace, where are yel Are ye all gonel 
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye 1 

Grif. Madam, we are here. 

Kath. It is not you I call for : 

Saw ye none enter, since I slept 1 

Grif. None, madam. 

Kath. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop 
Invite me to a banquet ; whose bright faces 
Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun ? 
They promis'd me eternal happiness ; 
And brought me garlands, Grirtilh, which I feel 
I am not worthy yet to wear : I shall. 
Assuredly. 

Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams 
Possess your fancy. 

Kath, Bid the music leave. 

They are harsh and heavy to me. [Music cease* 

Pat. Do you note. 

How much her grace is alter'd on a sudden ; 
How long her face is drawn 1 How pale she looks. 
And of an earthly cold 1 Mark you her eyes 1 

Grif. She is going, wench ; pray, pray. 

Pat. Heaven comfort her ! 

Enter a IMessenger. 

Mess, An't like your grace, — 

Kath. You are a saucy fellow . 

Deserve we no more reverence 1 

Grif. You are to blame, 

Knowing, she will not lose her wonted greatness 
To use so rude behaviour : go to, kneel. 

Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon ; 
My haste made me unmannerly : There is staying 
A gentleman^ sent from the king, to see you. 



ACT V._SCENE I. 



r>7i 



Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith: But this fellow 
Let me ne'er see again, [ii. Griffith (5f Messenger. 

Re-enter Griffith, with Capucius. 

If my sight fail not, 
You should be lord ambassador from the emperor, 
IMy royal nephew, and your name Capucius. 

Cup. Madam, the same, your servant. 

Kath. O my lord, 

Tlie times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely 
With me, since first you knew me. But, I pray you, 
What is your pleasure with me 1 

Cap. Noble lady. 

First mine own service to your grace ; the next, 
The king's request that I would visit you ; 
Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me 
Sends you his princely commendations. 
And heartily entreats you take good comfort. 

Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes too late ; 
'Tis like a pardon after execution : 
That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me ; 
But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers. 
How does his highness 1 

Cap. Macara, in good health. 

Kath. So may he ever do ! and ever flourish. 
When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name 
Banish'd the kingdom ! — Patience, is that letter, 
1 caus'd you write, yet sent away? 

Fat. No, madam. [Giving it to Katharine. 

Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver 
This to my lord the king. 

Cap. Most willingly, madam. 

Kath. In which I have commended to his goodness 
The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter: — 
The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her! — 
Beseeching him, to give her virtuous breeding ; 
(She is young, and of a noble modest nature ; 
I hope, she will deserve well ;) and a little 
To love her for her mother's saice, that lov'd him. 
Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition 
Is, that his noble grace would have some pity 
Upon my wretched women, that so long, 
Have foUow'd both my fortunes faithfully : 
Of which there is not one, I dare avow, 
(And now 1 should not lie,) bat will deserve. 
For virtue, and true beauty of the soul, 
For honesty, and decent carriage, 
A right good husband, let him be a noble ; 
And, sure, those men are happy that shall have them. 
The last is, for my men ; — they are the poorest. 
But poverty could never draw them from me ; — 
That they may have their wages duly paid them. 
And something over to remember me by ; 
If heaven had pleas'd to have given rrre longer life. 
And able means, we had not parted thus. 
These are the whole contents : — And, good my lord. 
By that you love the dearest in this world. 
As you wi>h christian peace to souls departed, 
Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king 
To do me this last right. 

Cap. By heaven, I will ; 

Or let me lose the fashion of a man ! 

Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me 
In all humility unto his highness : 
Say, his long trouble now is passing 
Out of this world : tell him, in death I bless'd him, 
For so I will. — Mine eyes grow dim. — Farewell, 
My lord. — Griffith, farewell. — Nay, Patience, 
You must not leave me yet. I must to bed ; 
Call in more women. — When I am dead, good wench, 
Let me be us'd with honour ; strew me over 
With maiden flowers, that all the world may know 



I was a chaste wife to my grave : embalm me, 
Then lay me forth : although unqueen'd, yet like 
A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. 
I can no more. [Exeunt, leading Kathakine 



ACT V. 

SCENE I A Gallery in the Palact. 

Ejiler Gardiner, Binhop o/" Winchester, a Page with 
a torch before him, met by Sir Thomas Loviii.L. 

Gar. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not 1 

Boy. It hath struck. 

Gar. These should be hours for necessities, 
Not for delights ; times to repair our nature 
With comforting repose, and not for us [mas ! 

To waste these times. — Good hour of night, sir Tho- 
Whither so late 1 

Lov. Came you from the king, my lord? 

Gar. I did, sir Thomas ; and left him at primero 
With the duke of Suffolk. 

Lov. I must to him too. 

Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave. 

Gar. Not yet, sir Thomas Lovell. What's the mat- 
It seems, you are in haste ; an if there be [ter ? 
No great offence belongs to't, give your friend 
Some touch of your late business : AflTairs, that walk 
(As, they say, spirits do,) at midnight, have 
In them a wilder nature, than the business 
That seeks despatch by day. 

Lov. My lord, I love you; 

And durst commend a secret to your ear 
Much weightier than this work. The queen'sin labour. 
They say, in great extremity ; and fear'd, 
She'll with the labour end. 

Gar. The fruit, she goes with, 

I pray for heartily ; that it may find 
Good time, and live : but for the stock, sir Thomas, 
I wish it grubb'd up now. 

Lov. Methinks, I could 

Cry the amen ; and yet my conscience says 
She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does 
Deserve our better wishes. 

Gar. But, sir, sir, — 

Hear me, sir Thomas : You are a gentleman 
Of mine own way ; I know you wise, religious ; 
And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well, — 
'Twill not, sir Thomas Lovell, take't of me, 
Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she, 
Sleep in thoir graves. 

Lov. Now, sir, you speak of two 

The most remark'd i' the kingdom. As for Cromwell, — 
Beside that of the jewel-house, he's made master 
O' the rolls, and the king's secretary ; further, sir, 
Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments, 
With which the time will load him : The archbishop 
Is the king's hand, and tongue ; and who dare speak 
One syllable against him ? 

Gar. Yes, yes, sir Thomas, 

There are that dare ; and I myself have ventur'd 
To speak my mind of him : and, indeed, this day. 
Sir, (I may tell it you,) I think, I have 
Incens'd the lords o' the council, that he is 
(For so I know he is, they know he is,) 
A most arch heretic, a pestilence 
That does infect the land : with which they mov'd, 
Have broken with the king ; who hath so far 
Given ear to our complaint, (of his great grace 
And princely care ; foreseeing those fell mischiefs 
Our reasons laid before him,) he hath commanded, 



572 



KING HENRY VIII. 



To-morrow morning to the council-board 
He be convented. He's a rank weed, sir Thomas, 
And we must root him out. From your affairs 
I hinder you too long : good niglit, sir Thomas. 
Lov. Many good nights, my lord; I rest your ser- 
vant. [Exeunt Gaudiner and Page. 

As LovF.LL is going out, enter the King, and the 
Duke of Suffoi^k. 

A'. Hen. Charles, I will play no more to-night , 
My mind's not on't, you are too hard for me. 

Suf. Sir, I did never win of you before. 

K. Hen. But little, Charles ; 
Nor shall uol, when my fancy's on my play. — 
Now, Lovell, from the queen what is the news ? 

Lov. I could not personally deliver to her 
What you commanded me, but by her woman 
I sent your message ; who return'd her thanks 
In the greatest humbleness, and desir'd your highness 
Most heartily to pray for her. 

K. Hen. What say'st thou? ha! 

To pray for her? what, is she crying out? 

Lov. So said her woman ; and that her sufferance 
Almost each pang a death. [made 

A'. Hen. Alas, good lady ! 

Suf. God safely quit her of her burden, and 
With gentle travail, to the gladding of 
Your highness with an heir ! 



A'. Hen 



'Tis midnight, Charles, 



Pr'ythee, to bed ; and in thy prayers remember 
The estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone ; 
For I must think of that, which company 
Will not be friendly to. 

Suf. I wish your highness 

A quiet night, and my good mistress will 
Remember in my prayers 

A'. Hen. Charles, good night. — [Exit Suffolk. 

Enter Sir Anthony Denny. 
Well, sir, what follows? 

Den. Sir, I have brought my lord the archbishop, 
As you commanded me. 

A'. Hen. Ha ! Canterbury ? 

Den. Ay, my good lord. 

A'. Hen. 'Tis true : Where is he, Denny? 

Den. He attends your highness' pleasure. 

K, Hen. Bring him to us. [Exit Denny. 

Lov. This is about that which the bishop spake ; 
T am happily come hither. [Aside. 

Re-enter Denny, with Cranmer. 

K. Hen. Avoid the gallery. [Lovell seems to stay. 
Ha ! — I have said. — Be gone. 
What ! — [Exeunt Lovell and Denny. 

Cran. I am fearful : — Wherefore frowns he thus? 
*Tis his aspect of terror. All's not welL 

A'. Hen. How now, my lord ? You do desire to know 
Wherefore I sent for you. 

Cran. It is my duty, 

To attend your highness' pleasure! 

A- Hen. 'Pray you, arise. 

My good and gracious lord of Canterbury. 
Come, you and I must walk a turn together ; 
I have news to tell you : Come, come, give me your 
Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak, [hand, 
And am right sorry to repeat what follows : 
I have, and most unwillingly, of late 
Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord. 
Grievous complaints of you; which, being consider'd. 
Have mov'd us and our council, that you shall 
This morning come before us ; where, I know, 
You cannot with such freedom purge yourself. 



But that, till further trial in those charges 
Which will require your answer, you must take 
Your patience to you, and be well contented 
To make your house our Tower : You a brother of us, 
It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness 
Would come against you. 

Cran. I humbly thank your highness ; 

And am right glad to catch this good occasion 
Most throughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff 
And corn shall fly asunder : for, I know. 
There's none stands under more calumnious tongues. 
Than I myself, poor man. 

A'. Hen, Stand up, good Canterbury ; 

Thy truth, and thy integrity, is rooted 
In us, thy friend : Give me thy hand, stand up ; 
Pr'ythee, let's walk. Now, by my holy-dame. 
What manner of man are you ? My lord, 1 look'd 
You would have given me your petition, that 
I should have ta'en some pain to bring together 
Yourself and your accusers ; and to have heard you 
Without indurance further. 

Cran. Most dread liege. 

The good I stand on is my truth, and honesty ; 
If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies. 
Will triumph o'er my person ; which 1 weigh not, 
Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing 
What can be said against me. 

A'. Hen. Know you not how 

Your state stands i' the world, with the whole world ? 
Your enemies 

Are many, and not small ; their practices 
Must bear the same proportion ; and not ever 
The justice and the truth o' the question carries 
The due o' the verdict with it : At what ease 
Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt 
To swear against you ? such things have been done. 
You are potently oppos'd ; and with a malice 
Of as great size. Ween you of better luck, 
I mean, in perjur'd witness, than your master. 
Whose minister you are, whiles here he liv'd 
Upon this naughty earth 1 Go to, go to ; 
You take a precipice for no leap of danger, 
And woo your own destruction. 

Cran. God, and your majesty, 

Protect mine innocence, or I fall into 
The trap is laid for me ! 

K. Hen. Be of good cheer ; 

They shall no more prevail, than we give way to. 
Keep comfort to you ; and this morning see 
You do appear before them ; if they shall chance, 
In charging you with matters, to commit you. 
The best persuasions to the contrary 
Fail not to use, and with what vehemency 
The occasion shall instruct you : if entreaties 
Will render you no remedy, this ring 
Deliver them, and your appeal to us 
There make before them. — Look, the good man weeps! 
He's honest, on mine honour. God's blest mother ! 
I swear, he's true-hearted ; and a soul 
None better in my kingdom. — Get you gone, 
And do as I have bid you. — [Exit Cranmer.] He has 
His language in his tears. [strangled 

Enter an old Lady. 

Gent. [IVithin-l Come back ; What mean you ? 

Lady. I'll not come back ; the tidings that I bring 
Will make my boldness manners. — Now, good angels 
Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person 
Under their blessed wings ! 

A'. Hen. Now, by thy looks 

I guess thy message. Is the queen delivered ? 
Say, ay ; and of a boy. 



ACT v.— SCENE II. 



573 



Lady. Ay, ay, my liege ; 

And of a lovely boy : The god of heaven 
Both now and ever bless her — 'tis a girl, 
Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen 
Desires your visitation, and to be 
Acquainted with this stranger ; 'tis as like you. 
As cherry is to cherry. 

A', i/e/t. Lovell, — 

Enter Lovell. 

Lov. Sir. 

A'. Hen. Give her an hundred marks. I'll to the 
queen. [Ej/t King, j 

Liidy. An hundred marks! By this light, I'll have 
An ordinary groom is for such payment. [more. 

I will have more, or scold it out of him. 
Said 1 for this, this girl is like to him ? 
I will have more, or else unsay't ; and now 
While it is hot, I'll put it to the issue. [Exeunt, 

SCENE II. — Lobby before the Council-Chamber. 

Enter Cranmee ; Servants, Door-Keeper, S^c, 
attending. 

Cran. I hope I am not too late ; and yet the gentle- 
That was sent to me from the council, pray 'd me [man. 
To make great haste. All fast! what means this?— Hoa! 
Who waits there 1 — Sure, you know me 1 

D. Keep. Yes, my lord ; 

But yet 1 cannot help you. 

Cran. Why "! 

D. Keep. Your grace must wait, till you be call'd for. 

Enter Doctor Butts. 

Cran. So. 

Butts. This is a piece of malice. I am glad, 
I came this way so happily : The king 
Sliall understand it presently. [Exit Butts. 

Cran. [Aside.] 'Tis Butts, 

The king's physician ; as he past along. 
How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me ! 
Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace ! For certain. 
This is of purpose lay'd, by some that hate me. 
(God turn their hearts ! I never sought tlieir malice,) 
To quench mine honour : they would shame to make 
W^ait else at door , a fellow counsellor, [me 

Among boys, grooms, and lackeys. But tiieir pleasures 
Must be fulnll'd, and I attend with patience. 

Enter, at a window above, the King and Butts. 

Butts. I'll shew your grace the strangest sight, — 

K. Hen. What's that. Butts? 

Butts. I think your highness saw this many a day. 

K. Hen. Body o' me, where is it ? 

Butts. There, my lord : 

The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury ; 
Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants. 
Pages and footboys. 

A'. Hen. Ha ! 'Tis he, indeed : 

Is this the honour they do one another ] 
'Tis well there's one above them yet. I had thought. 
They had parted so much honesty among them, 
(At least, good manners,) as not thus to suffer 
A man of his place, and so near our favour. 
To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures, 
And at the door too, like a post with packets. 
By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery : 
Let them alone, and draw the curtain close ; 
We shall hear more anon. — [Exeunt. 

THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER. 

Enter the Lord Chancellor, the Duke of Suffolk, 
Earl of Surrey, Lord Chamberlain, Gardiner, 
(jJid Cromwell. T/ie Chancellor places himself at 



the upper end of the table on the left hand ; a fe<it 
being left void above him, as for the Archbishop of 
Canierbury. The rest seat themsebes in order mt 
each side. Cromwell at the lower end, as secretary. 

Chan. Speak to the business, master secretary : 
Why are we met in council 1 

Crom. Please your honours, 

The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury. 

Gar. Has he had knowledge of it 1 

Crom. Yes. 

Nor. Who waits there 1 

D. Keep. Without, my noble lords 1 

Gar, Yes. 

D. Keep. My lord archbishop ; 

And lias done half an hour, to know your pleasures. 

Chun. Let him come in. 

D. Keep. \ our grace may enter now. 

[Cranmfr afproaclies the council-liihle. 

Chan. My good lord archbishop, I am very sorry 
To sit here at this present, and behold 
That chair stand empty : But we all are men, 
In our own natures frail ; and capable 
Of our flesh, few are angels : out of which frailty, 
And want of wisdom, you, that best sliould teach us. 
Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little, 
Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling 
The whole realm, by your teaching, and your chap- 
(For so we are inform'd,) with new opinions, [lains. 
Divers and dangerous : which are heresies. 
And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious. 

Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too, 
My noble lords : for those that tame wild horses, 
Pace them not in their hands to make them gentle ; 
But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur 
Till they obey the manage. If we suffer [them, 
(Out of our easiness, and childish pity 
To one man's honour) this contagious sickness. 
Farewell, all physic ; And what follows then? 
Commotions, uproars, with a general taint 
Of the whole state : as, of late days, our neighbours, 
The upper Germany, can dearly witness, 
Yet freshly pitied in our memories. 

Cran. JMy good lords, hitherto, in all the progress 
Both of my life and office, I have labour'd, 
And with no little study, that my teaching, 
And the strong course of my authority, 
Rlight go one way, and safely ; and the end 
Was ever, to do well : nor is there living 
(I speak it with a single heart, my lords,) 
A man that more detests, more stirs against. 
Both in his private conscience, and his place, 
Defacers of a public peace, than I do. 
'Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart 
With less allegiance in it ! Men, that make 
Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment. 
Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships, 
That, in this case of justice, my accusers. 
Be what they will, may stand forth face to face. 
And freely urge against me. 

Suf. Nay, my lord, 

That cannot be ; you are a counsellor. 
And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you. 

Gar. My lord, because we have business of great 
moment, 
We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness' plea- 
And our consent, for better trial of you, [sure, 

From hence you be committed to the Tower, 
Where, being but a private man again. 
You shall know many dare accuse you boldly, 
More than, I fear, you are provided for. 

Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank you, 



674 



KING HENRY VIII. 



You are always my good friend ; if your will pass, 
I shall both find your lordship judge and juror, 
You are so merciful • I see your end, 
'Tis my undoing : Love, and meekness, lord, 
Become a churchman better than ambition ; 
Win straying souls with modesty again. 
Cast none away. That I shall clear myself. 
Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience, 
I make as little doubt, as you do conscience. 
In doing daily wrongs. I could say more. 
But reverence to your calling makes me modest. 

Gar. JNIy lord, my lord, you are a sectary. 
That's the plain truth ; your painted gloss discovers. 
To men that understand you, words and weakness. 

Crom. My lord of Winchester, you are a little. 
By your good favour, too sharp ; men so noble. 
However faulty, yet should find respect 
For what they have been : 'tis a cruelty. 
To load a falling man. 

Gar. Good master secretary, 

I cry your honour mercy ; you may, worst 
Of all this table, say so. 

Crom, Why, my lord 1 

Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer 
Of this new sect ? ye are not sound. 

Crom. Not sound 1 

Gar. Not sound, I say. 

Crom. 'Would you were half so honest I 

Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears. 

Gar. I shall remember this bold language. 

Crom. Do. 

Remember your bold life too. 

Chan. This is too much ; 

Forbear, for shame, my lords. 

Gar. I have done. 

Crom. And L 

Chan. Then thus for you, my lord, — It stands 
I take it, by all voices, that forthwith [agreed. 

You be conveyed to the Tower a prisoner ; 
There to remain, till the king's further pleasure. 
Be known unto us : Are you all agreed, lords'! 

All. We are, 

Cran. Is there no other way of mercy. 

But I must needs to the Tower, my lords ? 

Gar, What other 

Would you expect ? You are strangely troublesome : 
Let some o'the guard be ready there. 

Enter Guard. 

Cran, For me "i 

Must I go like a traitor thither ? 

Gar. Receive him, 

And see him safe i'the Tower. 

Cran, Stay, good my lords ; 

I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords ; 
By virtue of that ring, I take my cause 
Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it 
To a most noble judge, the king my master. 

Cham. This is the king's ring. 

Sur, 'Tis no counterfeit. 

Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven : I told ye all. 
When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling, 
'Twould fall upon ourselves. 

Nor, Do you think, ray lords, 

The king will suflTer but the little finger 
Of this man to be vex'd 2 

Cham. 'Tis now too certain : 

How much more is his life in value with him 1 
'Would I were fairly out on't. 

Crom, My mind gave me, 

In seeking tales, and informations. 
Against this man, (whose honesty the devil 



And his disciples only envy at,) 

Ye blew the fire that burns ye : Now have at ye. 

Enter Kiso, frowning on them ; takes his neat. 

Gar. Dread sovereign, how mucn are we bound to 
In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince ; [heaven 
Not only good and wise, but most religious: 
One that, in all obedience, makes the church 
The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthen 
That holy duty, out of dear respect, 
His royal self in judgment comes to hear, 
The cause betwixt her and this great offender. 

A'. Hen. You were ever good at sudden commenda 
Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not [tions 
To hear such flattery now, and in my presence ; 
They are too thin and base to hide offences. 
To me you cannot reach ; you play the spaniel. 
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me , 
But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I am sure, 
Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody. — 
Good man, [<o Cranmer.] sit down. Now let me 

see the proudest 
He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee : 
By all that 's holy, he had better starve, 
Than but once think his place becomes thee not. 

Sur, May it please your grace, — 

A'. Hen. No, sir, it does not please me. 

I had thought, I had had men of some understanding 
And wisdom, of my council ; but I find none. 
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man. 
This good man, (few of you deserve that title,) 
This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy 
At chamber door ? and one as great as you are 1 
Why, what a shame was this 1 Did my commission 
Bid ye so far forget yourselves 1 I gave ye 
Power as he was a counsellor to try him. 
Not as a groom ; There's some of ye, I see. 
More out of malice than integrity, 
Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean ; 
Which ye shall never have, while 1 live. 

Chan, Thus far, 

My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace 
To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd 
Concerning his imprisonment, was rather 
(If there be faith in men,) meant for his trial, 
And fair purgation to the world, than malice ; 
I am sure, in me. 

A'. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him; 

Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it, 
I will say thus much for him. If a prince 
May be beholden to a subject, I 
Am, for his love and service, so to him. 
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him; 
Be friends, for shame, my lords. — My lord of Canter- 
I have a suit which you must not deny me ; [bury, 
That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism. 
You must be godfather, and answer for her. 

Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory 
In such an honour : How may I deserve it. 
That am a poor and humble subject to you 1 

K, Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your 
spoons ; you shall have [Norfolk, 

Two noble partners with you ; the old duchess of 
And lady marquis Dorset: Will these please you? 
Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you. 
Embrace, and love this man. 

Gar. With a true heart. 

And brother-love, I do it. 

Cran. And let heaven 

Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. 

K. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears shew thy true 
The common voice, I see, is verified [heart. 



ACT v.— SCENE IV. 



575 



Of thee, which says thus, Do my lord of Canterbury 

A shrewd litrn, and he is your friend for ever. — 

Come, lords, we trifle time away ; 1 long 

To have this young one made a christian. 

As I have made ye one, lords, one remain ; 

So I grow stronger, you more honour gain. [Eieunt. 

SCENE III.— The Palace Yard. 
Noise and tumult within. Enter PoTter and /lis Man. 

Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: 
Do you take the court for Paris-garden ? ye rude 
slaves, leave your gaping. [larder. 

[ Within.] Good master porter, I belong to the 

Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you 
rogue : Is this a place to roar in ? — Fetch me a dozen 
crab-tree staves, and strong ones ; these are but 
switches to them. — I'll scratch your heads : You 
must be seeing christenings 1 Do you look for ale and 
cakes here, you rude rascals] [sible 

Man. Pray, sir, be patient ; 'tis as much impos- 
( Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons,) 
To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep 
On May-day morning ; which will never be : 
We may as well push against Paul's, as stir them 

Port. How got they in, and be hang'd. 

Man. Alas, I know not ; How gets the tide in? 
As much as one sound cudgel of four foot 
(You see the poor remainder) could distribute, 
I made no spare, sir. 

Port, You did nothing, sir. 

Man. I am not Samson, norsirGuy, nor Colbrand, 
to mow them down before me : but, if I spared any, 
that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or she, 
cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me never hope to see a 
chine again ; and that I would not for a cow, God 
save her. 

[Within.] Do you hear, master porter? 

Port. I shall be with you presently, good master 
puppy.- Keep the door close, sirrah. 

Man What would you have me dol 

Port. What should you do, but knock them down 
by the dozens 1 Is this Moorfields to muster in 1 or 
have we some strange Indian with the great tool come 
to court, the women so besiege us? Bless me, what 
a fry of fornication is at door I On my christian con- 
science, this one christening will beget a thousand; 
here will be father, godfather, and all together. 

Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is 
a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a bra- 
zier by his face, for, o'my conscience, twenty of the 
dog-days now reign in's nose ; all that stand about 
him are under the line, they need no other penance : 
That fire-drake did I hit three times on the head, and 
three times was his nose discharged against me ; he 
stands there, like a mortar-piece, to blow us. There 
was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that 
railed upon me till her pink'd porringer fell off her 
head, for kindling such a combustion in the state. 
I miss'd the meteor once, and hit that woman, who 
cried out, clubs ! when 1 might see from far some 
forty truncheoneers draw to her succour, which were 
the hope of tlie Strand, where she was quartered. 
They fell on ; I made good my place ; at length they 
came to the broomstaff with me, I defied them still ; 
when suddenly a file of boys behind them, loose shot, 
delivered such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain 
to draw mine honour in, and let them win the work: 
The devil was amongst them, [ think, surely. 

Port. These are the youths that thunder at a play- 
house, and fight for bitten apples ; that no audience, 
but the Tribulation of Tower-hill,* or the limbs of 



Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. 
I have some of them in Limbo Patrum, and there 
they are like to dance these three days ; besides the 
running banquet of two beadles, that is to come. 

Enter the Lord Chamberlain. 

Cham. Mercy o'me, what a multitude are here ! 
They grow still too, from all parts they are coming, 
As if we kept a fair here ! Where are these porters. 
These lazy knaves? Ye have made a fine hand, fel- 
There's a trim rabble let in : Are all these [lows. 
Your faithful friends o' the suburbs? VVe shall have 
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies. 
When they pass back from the christening. 

Port. An't please your honour 

We are but men ; and what so many may do, 
Not being torn a pieces, we have done : 
An army cannot rule them. 

Cham. As I live. 

If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ye all 
By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads 
Clap round fines, for neglect: You are lazy knaves ^ 
And here ye lie baiting of bumbards, when 
Ye slioujd do service. Hark, the trumpets sound ; 
They are come already from the christening : 
Go, break among the press, and find a way out 
To let the troop pass fairly; or I'll find 
AMarshalsea, shall hold you play these two months. 

Port. j\Iake way there for the princess. 

Man. Vou great fellow, stand close up, or I'll 
make your head ake. 

Port. You i'the camblet, get up o'the rail ; I'll pick 
you o'er the pales else. [Eieunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Palace. 

Enter trumpets, smmditig ; then Two Aldermen, Lord 
Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk, 
toith his marshal's staff', Duke of Suffolk, Two 
Noblemen bearing great staiiding-bowls for the 
christening gifts ; then Four Noblemen bearing a 
canopy, under which the Duchess of Norfolk, god- 
mother, bearing the child richly habited in a mantle, 
^c. Train borne by a l-,z.Ay : then follows the M.\r- 
CHIONESS of Dorset, the other godmother, and La- 
dies. The troop pass once about the stage, and Garter 
speaks. 

Gart. Heaven from thy endless goodness, send 
prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to the high 
and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth ! 

Flourish. Enter King and Train. 

Cran. [Kneeling.] And to your royal grace, and 
the good queen. 
My noble partners, and myself, thus pray; — 
All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady. 
Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy. 
May hourly fall upon ye ! 

A'. Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop, 

What is her name? 

Cran. Elizabeth. 

7v. Hen. Stand up, lord. — 

[The King kisses the child. 
With this kiss take my blessing : God protect thee ' 
Into whose hands 1 give thy life. 

Cran. Amen. 

K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too pro- 
I thank ye heartily ; so shall this lady, [d'gal, 

When she has so much English. 

Cran. Let me speak, sir 

For heaven now bids me ; and the words I utter 
Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth. 



576 



KING HENRY VIII. 



This royal infant, (heaven still move about her !) 

Though in her cradle, yet now promises 

Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, 

Wliich time shall bring to ripeness : She shall be 

(But few now living can behold that goodness,) 

A pattern to all princes living with her, 

And all tl>at shall succeed ; Sheba was never 

More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue. 

Than this pure soul shall be : all princely graces, 

That mould up such a mighty piece as this is. 

With all the virtues that attend the good. 

Shall still be doubled on her : truth shall nurse her, 

Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her : 

She shall be lov'd, and fear'd : Her own shall bless her : 

Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, 

And hang their heads with sorrow : Good grows with 

In her days every man shall eat in safety [her: 

Under his own vine, what he plants ; and sing 

The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours : 

God shall be truly known ; and those about her 

From her shall read the perfect ways of honour. 

And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. 

[Nor shall this peace sleep with her : But as when 

The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, 

Her ashes new create another heir, 

As great in admiration as herself ; 

So shall she leave her blessedness to one, 

(When heaven shall call her from this cloud of dark- 

Who, from the sacred ashes of her nonour, [ness.) 

Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was. 

And so stand fix'd: Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, 

That were the servants to this chosen infant. 

Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him ; 

Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, 

His honour, and the greatness of his name 

Shall be, and make new nations : He shall flourish. 

And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches 

To all the plains about him : Our children's chil- 

Shall see this, and bless heaven. [dren 



K. Hen. Thou speakest wonders. 

Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England, 
An aged princess ; many days shall see her. 
And yet no day without a deed to crown it. 
'Would I had known no more ! but she must die. 
She must, the saints must have her ; yet a virgin, 
A most unspotted lily shall she pass 
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. 

K. Hen. O lord archbishop. 
Thou hast made me now a man ; never, befoie 
This happy child, did I get any thing : 
This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me. 
That, when I am in heaven, I shall desire 
To see what this child does, and praise my Maker. — 
I thank ye all, — To you, my good lord mayor. 
And your good brethren, I am much beholden ; 
I have receiv'd much honour by your presence. 
And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way lords ; 
Ye must all see the queen, and she must tliank ye, 
She will be sick else- This day, no man think 
He has business at his house ; for all shall stay, 
This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt, 



EPILOGUE, 

"I'is ten to one, this play can never please 
All that are here : Some come to take their ease. 
And sleep an act or two ; but those, we fear, 
We have frighted with our trumpets ; so, 'tis clear 
They'll say tis naught : others, to hear the city 
Abus'd extremely, and to cry, — that's icittii! 
Which we have not done neither : that, I fear, 
All the expected good we are like to hear 
For this play at this time, is only in 
The merciful construction of good women ; 
For such a one we shew'd them ; If they smile. 
And say, 'twill do, I know, within a while 
All the best men are ours ; for 'tis ill hap. 
If they hold, when their ladies bid them clap. 



The play of Henry the Eighth is one of those which still keeps 
possession of the stage by the splendour of its pageantry. The 
coronation, about forty years ago, drew the people together m 
multitudes for the great part of the winter. \ et pomp is not 
the only merit of this play. The meek sorrows and virtuous 
distress of Katharine have furnished some scenes, which may 
be justly numbered among the greatest efforts of tragedy. But 
the genius of Shakspeare comes in and goes out with Katharine. 
Every other part may be easily conceived and easily written. 
Johnson. , , . . , •,•. j 

Chetwood says that, during one season, it was exhibited se- 
venty-five times. There are, I believe.very few readers who will 
coincide with Dr. Johnson in their opinion of inis play ; or who 



will not discover the traces of Shakspeare's^enius as powerfully 
marked in the delineation of Wolsey and King Henry, as in the 
exquisite portrait of Queen Katharine herselt. It has been sup- 
posed, that the epilogue and prologue, and a few incidental pas- 
sages, were added by Ben Jonson, on the revival of this play, 
1613. This opinion was entert<-iined by Steevens, Malone, Dr. 
Farmer, and Dr. Johnson, partly on the grounds of Sliaksj)eare'3 
absence from London, and partly on an imaginary detection of 
Jonson 's style and manner. To demonstrate the vanity of all 
such actual speculations, it is now certain, that they were most 
probably from the pen of Shakspeare, who was still in London; 
and that, at all event.*, they coald not have been written by 
Ben Jomtou, for he was not even in England. 



s^i^g&J^SSS^^^ 



a^^K^S^^a^^a^^^Sss^^^^^^ 



v^nq?»i^.nff.yKC«gy,a'^.r».*\-^\ - - . T 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



This play was entered at Stationers' Hall, Feb. 1602-3, under 
the title of ike Bookt of 'i'roilus audCressida; and was there- 
fore probably written in 1602. It wa> not printed till 1009 ; 
■when it was preceded bv an advertisement of the editor, stat- 
ing that "it had never been staled with the siage, never clap- 
per-clawed with the palms of the vulgar." Vet, as the tragedy 
was entered in 1602-.!, as acted by my lord Chamberlain's 
men ; we must suppose that the editor's words do not mean 



that it had never been presented at all, but only at court, and 
not on the public stage. 
There was a play upon this subject written by Decker and Chettle, 
in 1599; the original story of I'roilus and Cressida was the 
work of Lollius, a historiographer of Urbino,in Italy. It was, 
according to Uryden, written in Latin verse, and translatfQ 
by Chaucer. Shakspeare received the greater part of his ma- 
terials from the Troy Booke of Lydgate ; and the romance of 
'ike Three Destructions of Troy. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Priam, King of Troy. 

Hector. Troilus, Paris, Deiphobus, Helenus, 

his sons. 
jI'Ineas and Antenor, Trojan commanders. 
Calchas, a Trojan priest, taking part tvilh the Greeks. 
Pandarvs, tmcle to Cressida. 
Margarelon, a bastard son ofPria.m, 
Agamemnon, the Grecian general, 
Menelaus, his brother. 
AcriiLLES, Ajax, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes, 

Pathoclus, Grecian commanders. 
Thersites, a deformed and scnrrilous Grecian. 
Alexander, servant to Cressida. 
Servant to Troilus. 
Servant to Paris. 
Servant to Diomedes. 

Helen, wife to Menelaus. 
Andromache, ivife to Hector. 
Cassandra, daughter to Priam, a prophetess. 
Cressida, daughter to Calchas. 

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants. 

SCENE, — Troy, and the Grecian Camp before it. 



PROLOGUE. 

In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece 
The princes orgulous, their high blood chafd, 
Have to the port of Athens sent their ships. 
Fraught with the ministers and instruments 
Of cruel war : Sixty and nine, that wore 
Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay 
Put forth toward Phrygia : and their vow is made. 
To ransack Troy ; within whose strong immures 
The ravish'd Helen, Rlenelaus' queen, 
With wanton Paris sleeps ; And that's the quarrel. 
To Tenedos they come ; 

And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge 
Their warlike fraughtage : Now on Dardan plains 
The fresh and yet unbiuised Greeks do pitch 
Their brave pavilions : Priam's six-gated city, 
Dardan, and Tymbria, Hias, Chetas, Trojan, 
And Antenorides, with massy staples, 
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, 
Sperr up the sons of Troy. 
Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, 
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek, 
Sets all on hazard : — And hither am I come 
A prologue arm'd, — but not in confidence 
Of author's pen, or actor's voice ; but suited 
In like conditions as our argument, — 
To tell you, fair beholders, that our ])lay 
, Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils 
'Ginning in the middle ; starting thence away 
To what may be digested in a play. 
Like, or find fault ; do as your pleasures are ; 
Now good, or bad, 'tis but tlic chance of war. 



ACT I. 

SCENE L— Troy. Before Priam's Palace. 
Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarus. 

Tro, Call here my varlet, I'll unarm again : 
Why should I war without the walls of Troy, 
That find such cruel battle here within 1 
Each Trojan, that is master of his heart, 
Let him to field ; Troilus, alas ! hath none. 

Pan. Will this geer ne'er be mended ? [strength, 

Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their 
Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant ; 
But I am weiiker than a woman's tear. 
Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance ; 
Less valiant than the virgin in the night, 
And skill-less as unpractis'd infancy. 

Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this : for 
my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He 
that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the 
grinding. 

Tro. Have I not tarried 1 

Pan. Ay, the grinding ; but you must tarry the 
bolting. 

Tro. Have I not tarried 1 

Pan. Ay, the bolting : but you must tarry the lea- 
vening. 

Tro. Still have I tarried. 

Pan. Ay, to the leavening : but here's yet in the 
word — hereafter, the kneading, the making of the 
cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, 
you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to 
burn your lips. 

Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, 
Doth lesser blench at sufi'erance than I do. 
At Priam's royal table do I sit ; 
And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, — 
So, traitor! when she comes! — When is she thence? 

Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever 
I saw her look, or any woman else. 

Tro. 1 was about to tell thee, — When my heart. 
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain ; 
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, 
I have (as when the sun doth light a storm,) 
Bury'd this sigh in wrinkle of a smile : 
But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness, 
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. 

Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than 
Helen's, (well, go to,) there were no more compari- 
son between the women. — But, for my part, she is 
my kinswoman ; I would not, as they term it, praise 
her, — But I would somebody had heard her talk yes- 
terday, as I did, I will not dispraise your sister Ca.s- 
sandra's wit ; but — 

Tro. O, Pandarus I I tell thee, Pandarus, — 
When I do tell thee. There my hopes lie drown'd. 
Reply not in how many fathoms deep 
They lie indrench'd. 1 tell thee. I am mad 
In Cressid's love : Thou answer'st. She is fair ; 
'2 O 



578 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart 

Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice; 

Handiest in thy discourse, O, that her hand, 

In whose comparison all whites are ink, 

Writing their own reproach ; To whose soft seizure 

The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense 

Hard as the palm of plougliman ! This thou tell'stme,. 

As true thou tell'st me, when I say — I love her ; 

But, saying thus, nistead of oil and balm, 

Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me 

The knife that made it. 

Pan. I speak no more than truth. 

Tro. Thou dost not speak so much. 

Pait. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as 
she is : if she be fair, 'tis the better for her ; an she 
be not, she has the mends in her own hands. 

Tro. Good Pandarus ! How now, Pandarus ? 

P(r«.Ihavehadmy labour for my travel ; ill-thought 
on of her, and ill-thought on of you : gone between 
and between, but small thanks for my labour. 

Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with 
me? 

Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore she's not 
so fair as Helen : an she were not kin to me, she 
would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. 
But, what care I ? I care not, an she were a black- 
a-moor ; tis all one to me. 

Tro. Say I, ^he is not fair 1 

Pan. I do not care whetlier you do or no. She's a 
fool to stay behind her father ; let her to the Greeks ; 
and so I'll tell her the next time I see her : for my 
part, I'll meddle nor make no more in the matter." 

Tro. Pandarus, — 

Pan. Not I. 

Tro. Sweet Pandarus, — 

Pan. Pray you, speak no more tome; 1 will leave 
all as I found it, and there an end. 

[Exit Pandarus. An alarum. 

Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude 
sounds! 
Fools on both sides ! Helen must needs be fair, 
When with your blood you daily paint her thus. 
I cannot fight upon this argument ; 
It is too starv'd a subject for my sword. 
But Pandarus — O gods, how do you plague me ! 
I cannot come to Cressid, but by Pandar ; 
And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo. 
As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit. 
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love. 
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we ' 
Her bed is India ; there she lies, a pearl : 
Between our Ilium, and where she resides. 
Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood ; 
Ourself, the merchant ; and this sailing Pandar, 
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark. 

Alarum. Enter ^neas. 

jEne. How now, prince Troilus ? wherefore not 
afield ? 

Tro. Because not there ; This woman's answer sorts. 
For womanish it is to be from thence. 
What news, /Eneas, from the field to-day? 

^ne. That Paris is return'd hoif; 2, and hurt. 

Tro. By whom, .^neas ? 

ifJne. Troilus, oy IMenelaus. 

Tro. Let Paris bleed : 'tis but a scar to scorn ; 
Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum. 

JEne. Hark ! what good sport is out of town to-day ! 

Tro, Better at home, if would I might, were inay. — 
But, to the sport abroad ; — Are you bound thither ? 

jEne. In all swift haste. 

Tro. Come, go we then together. [^Eserint. 



SCENE II.— The same. A Street. 

En(«"CRESsiDA and Alexander. 

Cres. Who were those went by ^ 
Alex, Queen Hecuba, and Helen. 

Cres. And whither go they ? 

Alex. Up to the eastern tower. 

Whose height commands as subject all the vale. 
To see the battle. Hector, whose patience 
Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was mov'd : 
He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer ; 
And, like as there were husbandry in war. 
Before the sun rose, he was harness'd light. 
And to the field goes he ; where every flower. 
Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw 
In Hector's wrath. 

Cres. What was his cause of anger? 

Alex. The noise goes, this: There is among the 
A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector ; [Greeks 
They call him, Ajax. 

Cres. Good ; and what of him 1 

Alex. They say he is a very man per se, 
And stands alone. 

Cres. So do all men : unless they are drunk, sick, 
or have no legs. 

Alex, This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts of 
their particular additions ; he is as valiant as the lion, 
churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant : a man 
into whom nature hath so crouded humours, that his 
valour is crushed into folly, his folly sauced with 
discretion : there is no man hath a virtue that 
he hath not a glimpse of ; nor any man an attaint, 
but he carries some stain of it : he is melancholy 
without cause, and merry against the hair: He hath 
the joints of every thing ; but every thing so out of 
joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and 
no use ; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight. 

Cres. But how should this man, that makes me 
smile, make Hector angry ? 

Alex. They say, he yesterday coped Hector in the 
battle, and struck him down; the disdain and shame 
whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and 
waking. 

Filler Pandarus. 

Cres. Who comes here ? 

Alex. INIadam, your uncle Pandarus. 

Cres. Hector's a gallant man. 

Alex. As may be in the world, lady. 

Pan. What's that? what's that? 

Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. 

Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid : What do you 
talk of? — Good morrow, Alexander. — How do you, 
cousin ? When were you at Ilium ? 

Cres. This morning uncle. 

Pan. What were you talking of, when I came? 
Was Hector armed and gone, ere ye came to Ilium? 
Helen was not up, was she? 

Cres. Hector was gone ; but Helen was not up. 

Pun. E'en so ; Hector was stirring early. 

Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger. 

Pan. Was he angry ? 

Cres. So he says here. 

Pn)i. True, he was so; I know the cause too ; he'll 
lay about him to-day, I can tell them that : and there 
is Troilus will not come far behind him ; let them 
take heed of I'roilus ; I can tell them that too. 

Cres. What is he angry too? 

Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man ol 
the two. 

Cres. O .Tupiter I there's no comparison. 

Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do 
you know a man, if you see him? 



ACT I. -SCENE II. 



579 



Crts, Ay ; if I ever saw him before, and knew him. 

I'un. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus. 

Cres. Tlien you say as I say ; for, I am sure, he is 
not Hector. 

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some degrees, 

Cres, 'Tis just to each of them ; he is himself. 

Pan, Himself] Alas, poor Troilus! I would, he 
were, 

Cres. So he is. 

Pun, 'Condition, I had gone bare-foot to India. 

Cres. He is not Hector. 

Pau. Himself? no, he's not himself — 'Would 'a 
were himself! Well, the gods are above ; Time must 
friend, or end : Well, Troilus, well, — I would, my 
heart were in her body ! — No, Hector is not a better 
man than Troilus. 

Cres. Excuse me. 

Pan. He is elder. 

Cres. Pardon me, pardon me. 

Pan. The other's not come to 't; you shall tell me 
another tale, when the other's come lo't. Hector 
shall not have his wit this year. 

Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his own. 

Pan, Nor his qualities ; 

Cres. No matter. 

Pan. Nor his beauty. 

Cres. 'Twould not become him, his own's better. 

Pan. You have no judgment, niece : Helen herself 
swore the other day, that Troilus, for a brown favour, 
(for so 'tis, I must confess,) — Not brown neither. 

Cres, No, but brown. 

Pan. Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown. 

Cres. To say the truth, true and not true. 

Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris. 

Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough. 

Pan. So he has. 

Cres. Then, Troilus should have too much : if she 
praised him above, his complexion is higher than his ; 
he having colour enough, and the other higher, is too 
flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as 
iief, Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus 
for a copper nose. 

Pan. 1 swear to you, I think, Helen loves him 
better than Paris. 

Cres. Then she's a merry Greek, indeed. 

Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him 
the other day into the compassed window, — and, you 
know, he has not past three or four hairs on his chin. 

Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon bring 
his particulars therein to a total. 

Pan, Why, he is very young : and yet will he, 
within three pound, lift as much as his brother Hector. 

Cres, Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter! 

Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves him ; 
— she came, and puts me her white hand to his cloven 
chin, 

Cres, Juno have mercy ! — How came it cloven ? 

Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled: I think, his 
smiling becomes him better than any man in all 
Phrygia. 

Cres, 0, he smiles valiantly. 

Pan. Does he not ! 

Cres. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn. 

Pan. Why, go to then ; — But to prove to you that 
Helen loves Troilus, 

Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll prove 
it so. 

Part. Troilus? why, he esteems her no more than 
I esteem an addle egg. 

Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you love 
an idle head, you would eat chickens i' the shell. 

Pan, 1 cannot choose but laugh, to think how she 



tickled his chin ! — Indeed, she has a marvellous white 
hand, I must needs confess. 

Cres, Without the rack. 

Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair 
on his chin. 

Cres. Alas, poor chin ! many a wart is richer. 

Pa7i. But, there was such laughing; — Queen He- 
cuba laughed, that her eyes ran o'er. 

Cres. With mill-stones. 

Pail. And Cassandra laughed. 

Cres. But there was a more temperate fire under 
the pot of her eyes ; — Did her eyes run o'er too ? 

Pan. And Hector laughed. 

C^'-es. At what was all this laughing? 

Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on 
Troilus' chin. 

Cres, An 't had been a green hair, I should have 
laughed too. 

Pan. They laughed not so much at the hair, as at 
his pretty answer. 

Cres. What was his answer 1 

Pan. Quoth she, Here's hut one and fifty hairs on 
your chill, and one of them is white. 

Cres. This is her question. 

Pan. That's true ; make no question of that. One 
and fifty haii'S, quoth he, and one white: That white 
hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons. Jupiter! 
quoth she, which of these hairs is Paris my husband? 
The forked one, quoth he, pluck it out, and give it him. 
But, there was such laughing ! and Helen so blushed 
and Paris so chafed, and all the rest so laughed, that 
it passed. 

Cres, So let it now ; for it has been a great while 
going by. 

Pa7j. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; 
think on 't. 

Cres. So I do. 

Pan. I'll be sworn 'tis true ; he will weep you, an 
'twere a man born in April. 

Cj-es. And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a 
nettle against May, [A retreat sounded. 

Pan. Hark, they are coming from the field : Shall 
we stand up here, and see them, as they pass toward 
Ilium? good niece, do ; sweet niece Cressida. 

Cres. At your pleasure. 

Pan. Here, here, here's an excellent place ; here 
we may see most bravely : I '11 tell you them all by 
their names, as they pass by ; but mark Troilus above 
the resU 

^Eneas passes over the Stage. 

Cres. Speak not so loud. 

Pan. That 's .,Eneas ; is not that a brave man ? 
he's one of the flowers of Troy, I can tell you ; But 
mark Troilus ; you shall see anon, 

Cres. Who's that ? 

Antenor passes over. 

Pan. That's Antenor; he has a shrewd wit, I can 
tell you; and he's a good man enough: he's one 
o'the soundest judgments in Troy, whosoever, and a 
proper man of person : — When comes Troilus ? — I'll 
shew you Troilus anon ; if he see me, you shall see 
him nod at me. 

Cres. Will he give you the nod 1 

Pan. You shall see. 

Cres. If he do, the rich shall have more. 

Hector passes over. 

Pan. That's Hector, that, that, look you, that ; 

There's a fellow !— Go thy way. Hector !— There's 

a brave man, niece. — O brave Hector ! — Look, how 

he looks! there's a countenance: Is't not a brave man? 



5B0 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



Cres. 0, a brave man ! 

Pan. Is 'a not 1 It does a man's heart good — Look 




there be hacks ! 

Cres. Be those with swords 1 

Paris passes over. 

Pan, Swords'? any thing, he cares not: an the 
devil come to him, it's all one : By god's lid, it does 
one's heart good : — ^ Yonder comes Paris, yonder 
comes Paris : look ye yonder, niece ; Is't not a gal- 
lant man too, is't not? — Why, this is brave now. — 
Who said, he came hurt home to-day? he's not hurt: 
why, this will do Helen's heart good now. Ha ! 
'would I could see Troilus now ! — you shall see 
Troilus anon. 

Cres. Who's that? 

Helenus passes over. 

Pan. That's Helenus, — I marvel, where Troilus 
is ; — That's Helenus ; — 1 think he went not forth 
to-day: — That's Helenus. 

Cres. Can Helenus tight, uncle ? 

Pan. Helenus ? no ; — yes, he'll fight indifferent 
well : — I marvel, where Troilus is ! — Hark ; do you 
not hear the people cry , Troilus "? — Helenus is apriest. 

Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder ] 

Troilus passes over. 

Pan. Where ? yonder 1 that's Deiphobus : 'Tis 
Troilus ! there's a man, niece ! — Hem ! — Brave Troi- 
lus ! the prince of chivalry. 

Cres. Peace, for shame, peace ! 

Pan. Mark him; note him ; — O brave Troilus! — 
look well upon him, niece ; look you, how his sword 
is bloodied, and his helm more hacked than Hector's ; 
And how he looks, and how he goes I — O admirable 
youth! he ne'er saw three and twenty. Go thy way, 
Troilus, go thy way ; had I a sister were a grace, or 
a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice. O 
admirable man ! Paris'? — Paris is dirt to him ; and, 
I warrant, Helen, to change, would give an eye to 
boot. 

Forces pass over the stage. 

Cres. Here come more. 

Pan. Asses, fools, dolts I chaff and bran, chaff 
and bran ! porridge after meat ! 1 could live and die 
i'the eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look ; the 
eagles are gone ; crows and daws, crows and daws ! 
I had rather be such a man as Troilus, than Aga- 
memnon and all Greece. 

Ores. There is among the Greeks, Achilles ; a 
better man than Troilus. 

Pan. Achilles? a drayman, a porter, a very camel. 

Cres. Well, well. 

Pan. Well, well? — Why, have you any discretion? 
have you any eyes 1 Do you know what a man is 1 
Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, manhood, 
learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and 
such like, the spice and salt that season a man? 

Ores. Ay, a minced man : and then to be baked with 
no date in tlie pye, — for then the man's date is out. 

Fan. You are such a woman ! one knows not at 
what ward you lie. 

Cres. Upon my back, to defend my belly ; upon 
my wit, to defend my wiles ; upon my secrecy, to de- 
fend mine honesty ; my mask, to defend my beauty ; 
and you, to defend all these : and at all these wards 
1 lie, at a thousand watches. 

Pan Say one of your watches. 

Cres. Nay, I'll watch you for that : and that's one 



of the chiefest of them too ; if I cannot ward what I 
would not have hit, I can watch you for telling how 
I took the blow ; unless it swell past hiding, and 
then it is past watching. 

Pa7i. You are such another ! 

Enter Troilus' Boy. 

Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you. 

Pan. Where? 

Boy. At your own house ; there he unarms him. 

Pan. Good boy, tell him 1 come : [Exit Boy. 

I doubt, he be hurt. — Fare ye well, good niece* 

Cres. Adieu, uncle. 

Pan. I'll be with you, niece, by and by. 

Cres. To bring, uncle, 

Pan. Ay, a token from Troilus. 

Cres. By the same token — you are a bawd. 

[Exit Panharus. 
Words, vows, griefs, tears, and love's full sacrifice. 
He offers in another's enterprize: 
But more in Troilus thousand fold I see 
Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be ; 
Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing : 
Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing: 
That she belo v'd knows nought, that knows not this, — 
Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is : 
That she was never yet, that ever knew 
Love got so sweet, as when desire did sue : 
Therefore this maxim out of love I teach, — 
Achievement is command ; ungain'd, beseech : 
Then though my heart's content firm love doth bear, 
Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. [Exit. 

SCENE III. 

TAe Grecian Camp. — Before Agamemnon's Tent, 

Trumpets. Eiiter Agame.mnon, Nestor, Ulysses, 
Menelaus, and others. 
Agam. Princes, 
What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks? 
The ample proposition, that hope makes 
In all designs begun on earth below. 
Fails in the promis'd largeness : cliecks and disasters 
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd; 
As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap. 
Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain 
Tortive and errant from his course of growth. 
Nor, princes, is it matter new to us. 
That we come short of our suppose so far. 
That, after seven years' siege, yet Tioy walls stand ; 
Sith every action that hath gone before. 
Whereof we have record, trial did draw 
Bias and thwart, not answering the aim. 
And that unbodied figure of the thought 
Thatgav't surmised shape. Why then, you princes, 
Do you with cheeks abasli'd behold our works; 
And think them shames, which are, indeed, nought 
But the protractive trials of great Jove, [else 

To find persistive constancy in men? 
The fineness of which metal is not found 
In fortune's love : for then, the bold and coward. 
The wise and fool, the artist and unread, 
I'he hard and soft, seem all affin'd and kin • 
But, in the wind and tempest of her fiown. 
Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan, 
Puffing at all, winnows the light away ; 
And what hath mass, or matter, by itself 
Lies, rich in virtue, and unroingled. 

Nest. With due observance of thy godlike seat, 
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply 
Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance 
Lies the true proof of men : the sea being smooth. 



ACT I. -SCENE III. 



581 



How many shallow bauble boats dare sail 

Upon her patient breast, making their way 

With those of nobler bulkl 

But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage 

The gentle Thetis, and, anon, behold 

Thestiong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountainscut, 

Boun .ins between the two moist elements. 

Like Perseus' horse : Where's then the saucy boat, 

Whose weak uatimber'd sides but even now 

Co-rival'd greatness ? either to harbour fled. 

Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so 

Doth valour's show, and valour's worth, divide. 

In storms of fortune : For, in her ray and brightness, 

The herd hath more annoyance by the brize. 

Than by the tiger ; but when the splitting wind 

Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks, [rage, 

And flies fled under shade. Why, then, the thing of cou- 

As rous'd with :age, with rage doth sympathize. 

And, with an accent tun'd in self-same key, 

R«turns to chiding fortune. 

Ulyss. Agamemnon, — 

Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece, 
Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit. 
In whom the tempers and the minds of all 
Should be shut up, — hear what Ulysses speaks. 
Besides the applause and approbation 
The which, — most mighty for thy place and sway, — 

[To Agamemnon. 
And thou most reverend for thy stretch'd-out life, — 

[To Nestor. 
I give to both your speeches, — which were such, 
As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece 
Should hold up high in brass ; and such again, 
As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver. 
Should with a bond of air (strong as the axletree 
On which heaven rides,) knit all the Greekish ears 
To his experienc'd tongue, — yet let it please both, — 
Thou great, — and wise, — to hear Ulysses speak. 

Agam, Speak, prince of Ithaca; and be"t of less 
That matter needless, of importless burden, [expect 
Divide thy lips ; than we are confident. 
When rank Thersites opes his mastiff jaws, 
We shall hear music, wit, and oracle. 

Ulyss. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down. 
And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master, 
But for these instances. 
The specialty of rule hath been neglected : 
And, look, how many Grecian tents do stand 
Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions. 
When that the general is not like the hive. 
To whom the foragers shall all repair. 
What honey is expected ? Degree being vizarded. 
The unworthiest shews as fairly in the mask. 
The heavens themselves, the planets and this centre, 
Observe degree, priority, and place, 
Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, 
Office, and custom, in all line of order : 
And therefore is the glorious planet, Sol, 
In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd 
Amidst the other ; whose med'cinable eye 
Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, 
And posts, like the commandment of a king. 
Sans check, to good and bad: But, when the planets, 
In evil mixture, to disorder wander, 
What plagues, and what portents'? what mutiny? 
What raging of the sea? shaking of earth? 
Commotion in the winds? frights, changes, horrors, 
Divert and crack, rend and deracinate 
The unity and married calm of states 
Quite from their fixture? O, when degree is shak'd. 
Which is the ladder of all high designs. 
The enterprise is sick! How could communities, 



Degrees in scliools, and brotherhoods m cities. 

Peaceful commerce from dividable shores, 

The primogenitive and due of birth. 

Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, 

But by degree, stand in authentic place? 

Take but degree away, untune that string. 

And hark, what discord follows ! each thing meets 

In mere oppugnancy : The bounded waters 

Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, 

And make a sop of all this solid globe : 

Strength should be lord of imbecility. 

And the rude son should strike his father dead : 

Force should be right ; or, rather, right and wrong, 

(Between whose endless jar justice resides,) 

Should lose their names, and so should justice too. 

Then every thing includes itself in power, 

Power into will, will into appetite ; 

And appetite, an universal wolf. 

So doubly seconded with will and power. 

Must make perforce an universal prey. 

And, last, eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, 

This chaos, when degree is suflbcate. 

Follows the choking. 

And this neglection of degree it is. 

That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose 

It hath to climb. The general's disdain'd 

By him one step below ; he, by the next ; 

That next, by him beneath : so every step, 

Exampled by the first pace that is sick 

Of his superior, grows to an envious fever 

Of pale and bloodless emulation : 

And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot, 

Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length, 

Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength. 

Nest. Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd 
The fever whereof all our power is sick. 

Agam. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, 
What is the remedy? 

Uluss. The great Achilles, — whom opinion crowns 
The sinew and the forehand of our host, — 
Having his ear full of his airy fame. 
Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent 
Lies mocking our designs : With him, Patroclus, 
Upon a lazy bed, the livelong day 
Breaks scurril jests ; 
And with ridiculous and awkward action 
(Which, slanderer, he imitation calls,) 
He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon, 
Thy topless deputation he puts on ; 
And, like a strutting player, — whose conceit 
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich 
To hear the wooden dialogue and sound 
'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scafFoldage, — 
Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming 
He acts thy greatness in : and when he speaks, 
'Tis like a chime a mending ; with terms unsquar'd. 
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd 
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuflp, 
The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling. 
From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause ; 
Cries — Eicelleiit ! — Tis Agamemnon ;us(. — 
Now play me Nestor ; — hem, and stroke thy beard. 
As he, being ^drest to some oration. 
That's done ; — as near as the extremest ends 
Of parallels : as like as Vulcan and his wife : 
Yet good Achilles still cries. Excellent; 
'Tis Nestor right! Now play him me, Patroclus, 
Arming to ansuer in a night alarm. 
And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age 
Must be the scene of mirth ; to cough, and spit, 
And with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget. 
Shake in and out the rivet ; — And at this sport. 



682 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA 



Sir Valoui dies ; cries, ! — enough, Patroclus ; — 
Or give me ribs of steel ! I shall split alt 
In pleasure of my spleen. And in this fashion, 
All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, 
Soverals and generals of grace exact, 
Achievements, plots, orders, preventions. 
Excitements to the field, or speech for truce, 
Success, or loss, what is, or is not, serves ! 
As stuif for the^e two to make paradoxes. 

Nest. And in the imitation of these twain 
(Whom, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns 
With an imperial voice,) many are infect. 
Ajax is grown self-will'd ; and bears his head 
In such a rein, in full as proud a place 
As broad Achilles ; keeps his tent like him ; 
Makes factious feasts ; rails on our state of war, 
Bold as an oracle ; and sets Thersites 
(A slave, whose gall coins slanders like a mint,) 
To match us in comparisons with dirt ; 
To weaken and discredit our exposure, 
How rank soever rounded in with danger. 

Uliiss. They tax our policy, and call it cowardice ; 
Count wisdom as no member of the war ; 
Forestall prescience, and esteem no act 
But that of hand : the still and mental parts, — 
That do contrive how many hands shall strike, 
When fitness calls them on; and know, by measure 
Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight, — 
Why, this hath not a finger's dignity : 
They call this — bed-work, mappery, closet-war : 
So tliat the ram, that batters down the wall. 
For the great swing and rudeness of his poize. 
They place before his hand that made the engine ; 
Or those, that with the fineness of their souls 
By reason guide his execution. 

Nest. Let this be granted, and Acliilles' horse 
Makes many Thetis' sons. [Trumpet sounds. 

Agatn. What trumpet? look, Menelaus. 

Enter JEn^as. 

Men. From Troy. 

Agam. What would you 'fore our tent ? 

jEne. Is this 

Great Agamemnon's tent, I pray? 

Agam. Even this. 

/fjjie. May one, that is a herald, and a prince. 
Do a fair message to his kingly ears ] 

Agam. With surety stronger than Achilles' arm 
'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice 
Call Agamemnon head and general. 

jEne. Fair leave, and large security. How may 
A stranger to those most im])erial looks 
Know them from the eyes of other mortals 1 

Agam. How 1 

JEne. Ay ; 
I ask, that I might waken reverence, 
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush 
IModest as morning when she coldly eyes 
The youthful Phoebus : 
Which is that god in office, guiding men ? 
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon ? 

Agam This Trojan scorns us ; or the men of Troy 
Are ceremonious courtiers, 

/Ene. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd. 
As bending angels ; that's their fame in peace : 
But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls. 
Good arms, strong joints, true swords ; and Jove's ae- 
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, ^neas, [cord, 
Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips ! 
The worthiness of praise distains his worth. 
If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth : 
But what the repining enemy commends, 



That breath fame blows ; that praise, sole pure, tran- 
scends. 
Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself .iEneas 1 
JEne. Ay, Greek, that is my name. 
Agam, What's your affair, I pray you ] 

Mne, Sir, pardon ; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears. 
Agam. He hears nought privately, that comes frora 

Troy. 
Mne. Nor 1 from Troy come not to whisper him • 
I bring a trumpet to awake his ear ; 
To set his sense on the attentive bent, 
And then to speak. 

Agam. Speak frankly as the wind ; 

It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour : 
That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake. 
He tells thee so himself. 

Mne. Trumpet, blow loud. 

Send thy brass voice througii all these lazy tents ; — 
And every Greek of mettle, let him know, 
What Troy means fairly, shall be spoke aloud. 

[Trumpet soutids. 
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy 
A prince call'd Hector, (Priam is his father,) 
Who in this dull and long-continued truce 
Is rusty grown ; he bade me take a trumpet, 
And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords. 
If there be one, among the fair'st of Greece, 
That holds his honour higher than his ease ; 
That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril : 
That knows his valour, and knows not his fear : 
That loves his mistress more than in confession, 
(With truant vows to her own lips he loves,) 
And dare avow her beauty and her worth. 
In otner arms than hers — to him this challenge. 
Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks, 
Shall make it good, or do his best to do it. 
He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer. 
Than ever Greek did compass in his arms ; 
And will to morrow with his trumpet call, 
Midway between your tents and walls of Troy. 
To rouse a Grecian that is true in love : 
If any come. Hector shall honour him ; 
If none, he'll say in Troy, when he retires, 
The Grecian dames are sun-burn'd, and not worth 
The splinter of a lance. Even so much. 

Agam. This shall be told our lovers, lord i5£neas ; 
If none of them have soul in such a kind, 
We left them all at home : But we are soldiers ; 
And may that soldier a mere recreant prove. 
That means not, hath not, or is not in love ! 
If then one is, or hath, or means to be. 
That one meets Hector ; if none else, I am he. 

Nest. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man 
When Hector's grandsire suck'd : he is old now •, 
But, if there be not in our Grecian host 
One noble man, that hath one spark of fire 
To answer for his love, Tell him from me, — 
I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver, 
And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn ; 
And meeting him, will tell him, that my lady 
Was fairer than his grandame, and as chaste 
As may be in the world ; his youth in flood, 
I'll prove this truth with my three drops of blood. 
Alne. Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth ' 
Uli)ss. Amen. 

Agam. Fair lord iEneas, let me touch your band ; 
To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir. 
Achilles shall have word of this intent ; 
So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent : 
Yourself shall feast with us before you go. 
And find the welcome of a noble foe. 

^Exeunt alt but Ulysses ana NtsxOR. 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



583 



Ulyss. Nestor,- 



Nest. What says Ulysses 1 

Ulyss. I have a young conception in my brain, 
Be you my time to bring it to some shape. 

A'est. What is'tl 

Ulyss. This 'tis : 
Blunt wedges rive hard knots: The seeded pride 
That hath to this maturity blown up 
la rank Achilles, must or now be cropp'd, 
Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil, 
To overbulk us all. 

Nest. Well, and how"! 

Ulyss. This challenge that the gallantllector sends, 
However it is spread in general name. 
Relates in purpose only to Achilles. 

Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance, 
Whose grossness little characters sum up : 
And, in the publication, make no strain, 
But that Achilles, were his brain as barren 
As banks of Libya, — though, Apollo knows, 
'Tis dry enough, — will, with great speed of judgment, 
Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose 
Pointing on bim. 

Ulyss. And wake him to the answer, think you 1 

Nest. Yes, 

It is most meet ; Whom may you else oppose. 
That can from Hector bring those honours oflF, 
If not Achilles'! Though't be a sportful combat. 
Yet in the tiial much opinion dwells ; 
For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute 
With their fin'st palate : And trust to me, Ulysses, 
Our imputation shall be oddly pois'd 
In this wild action : for the success, 
Although particular, shall give a scantling 
Of good or bad unto the general ; 
And in such indexes, although small pricks 
To their subsequent volumes, there is seen 
The baby figure of the giant mass 
Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd, 
He, that meets Hector, issues from our choice : 
And choice, being mutual act of all our souls, 
Makes merit her election ; and doth boil, 
As 'twere from forth us all, a man distill'd 
Out of our virtues ; Who miscarrying. 
What heart receives from hence a conquering part, 
To steel a strong opinion to themselves 1 
Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments, 
In no less working, than are swords and bows 
Directive by the fimbs. 

Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech; — 
Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector. 
Let us, like merchants, shew our foulest wares. 
And think, perchance, they'll sell ; if not, 
The lustre of the better shall exceed. 
By shewing the worse first. Do not consent, 
That ever Hector and Achilles meet ; 
For both our honour and our shame, in this, 
Are dogg'd with two strange followers. 

Nest. I see them not with my old eyes; what are they 1 

Ulifss. What glory our Achilles shares from Hector, 
Were he not proud, we all should share with him : 
But he already is too insolent ; 
And we were better parch in Afric sun. 
Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes, 
Should he 'scape Hector fair: If he were foil'd, 
Why, then we did our main opinion crush 
In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery ; 
And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw 
The sort to fight with Hector : Among ourselves, 
Give him allowance for the better man. 
For that will physic the great Myrmidon, 
Who broils in loud applause ; and make him fall 



His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends. 

If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, 

We'll dress him up in voices : If he fail, 

Yet go we under our opinion still 

That we have better men. But, hit or miss. 

Our project's life this shape of sense assumes, — ■ 

Ajax, employ 'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes. 

Nest. Ulysses, 
Now 1 begin to relish thy advice ; 
And I will give a taste of it forthwith 
To Agamemnon : go we to him straight. 
Two curs shall tame each other ; Pride alone 
Must tarre the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone. [Ex. 



. ACT II. 

SCENE I. — Another part of the Grecian Camp, 
Enter Ajax and Thersites. 

Ajax. Thersites, - 



Ther. Agamemnon — how if he had boils'? full, all 
over, generally? 

Ajai. Thersites, 

Ther. And those boils did run 1 — Say so, — did not 
the general run then? were not that a botchy core? 

Ajax. Dog, 

Ther. Then would come some matter from him ; I 
see none now. 

Ajax. Thou bitch- wolf's son, canst thou not hear? 
Feel then. [Strikes him. 

Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mon- 
grel beef-witted lord ! 

Ajax. Speak then, thou unsalted leaven, speak ; I 
will beat thee into handsomeness. 

Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness : 
but, I think, thy horse will sooner con an oration, 
than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst 
strike, canst thou? a red murrain o' thy jade's tricks! 

Ajax. Toads-stool, learn me the proclamation. 

Ther. Dost thou think, I have no sense, thou 
strikest me thus ? 

Ajax. The proclamation, — 

Ther, Thou art proclaim'd a fool, I think. 

Ajax. Do not, porcupine, do not ; my fingers itch. 

Ther. I would, thou didst itch from head to foot, 
and I had the scratching of thee ; I would make thee 
the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth 
in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another. 

Ajax. I say, the proclamation, 

Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour oa 
Achilles ; and thou art as full of envy at his great- 
ness, as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty, ay, that 
thou barkest at him. 

Ajax. Mistress Thersites ! 

Ther. Thou shouldest strike him. 

Ajax. Cobloaf! 

Ther. He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, 
as a sailor breaks a biscuit. 

Ajai. You whoreson cur ! IBeating him. 

Ther. Do, do. 

Ajax, Thou stool for a witch ! 

Ther. Ay, do, do; thou sodden witted lord ! thou 
hast no more brain than 1 have in mine elbows ; an 
assinego may tutor thee : Tliou scurvy valiant ass ! 
thou art here put to thrash i'rojans ; and thou art 
bought and sold among those of any wit, like a Bar- 
barian slave. If thou use to beat me, 1 will begin 
at thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, thou 
thing of no bowels, thou ! 

Ajax. You dog! 

Ther. You scurvy lord. 



584 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



Ajax, You cur! [Beating him, 

Ther. Mars his idiot ! do, rudeness ; do, camel ; 
do, do. 

Enter Achilles and Patroclus. 

Achil. Why, how now, Ajax ■? wherefore do you thus? 
How now, Thersites'! what's the matter, man? 

Ther. You see him there, do you ? 

Achil. Ay ; what's the matter ? 

Ther. Nay, look upon him. 

Achil. So I do ; What's the matter? 

Ther. Nay, but regard him well. 

Achil. Well, why 1 do so. 

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him : for, 
whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax. 

Achil. I know that, fool. 

Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. 

Ajax. Therefore I beat thee. 

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he ut- 
ters ! his evasions have ears thus long. 1 have bobbed 
his brain, more than he has beat my bones : I will 
buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is 
not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord, 
Achilles, Ajax, — who wears his wit in his belly, and 
his guts in his head, — I'll tell you what I say of him. 

Achil. What? 

Ther. I say, this Ajax 

Achil. Nay, good Ajax. 

[Ajax offers to strike him, Achilles interposes. 

Ther, Has not so much wit 

Achil. Nay, I must hold you. 

Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for 
whom he comes to fight. 

Achil. Peace, fool 1 

Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the 
fool will not : he there ; that he ; look you there. 

Ajax. O thou damned cur ! I shall 

Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's ? 

Ther. No, I warrant you ; for a fool's will shame it. 

Patr. Good words, Thersites. 

Achil. What's the quarrel? 

Ajar, I bade the vile owl, go learn me the tenour 
of the proclamation, and he rails upon me. 

Ther, I serve thee not. 

Ajax, Well, go to, go to. 

Ther, I serve here voluntary. 

Achil, Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not 
voluntary ; no man is beaten voluntary ; Ajax was 
here the voluntary, and you as under an impress. 

Ther. Even so ! — a great deal of your wit too lies 
in your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall 
have a great catch, if he knock out either of your 
brains ; 'a were as good crack a fusty nut with no 
kernel. 

Achil. What, with me too, Thersites ? 

Ther. There 's Ulysses and old Nestor, — whose wit 
was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on their 
toes, — yoke you like draught oxen, and make you 
plough up the wars. 

Achil. What, what? 

Ther. Yes, good sooth ; To, Achilles ! to, Ajax ! to ! 

Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue. 

Ther. 'Tis no matter ; I shall speak as much as 
thou, afterwards. 

Patr. No more words, Thersites ; peace. 

Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach 
bids me, shall I ? 

Achil. There's for you, Patroclus, 

Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere 1 
come any more to your tents ; 1 will keep where there 
is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. [Exit. 

Patr. A good riddance. 



Achil. Marry , this, sir, is proclaimed through all our 
That Hector, by the first hour of the sun, [host: 
Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy, 
To morrow morning call some knight to arms. 
That hath a stomach ; and such a one, that dare 
Maintain — I know not what ; 'tis trash : Farewell. 

Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him ? 

Achil. I know not, it is put to lottery ; otherwise. 
He knew his man. 

Ajax, O, meaning you : — I '11 go learn more of it. 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE n. — Troy. A Room in Priam's Palace. 
Enter Priam , Hector, Thoilus, Paris, and Helenus. 

Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches spent. 
Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks ; 
Deliver Helen, and all damage else — 
As hononr, loss of time, travel, expense, 
Wounds, friends, and ivhat else dear that is consum'd 
In hot digestion nf this cormorant war, — 
Shall be struck off: — Hector, what say you to't? 

Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I, 
As far as toucheth my particular, yet. 
Dread Priam, 

There is no lady of more softer bowels. 
More spungy to suck in the sense of fear. 
More ready to cry out — Who knows what follows? 
Than Hector is : The wound of peace is surety. 
Surety secure ; but modest doubt is call'd 
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches 
To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go : 
Since the first sword was drawn about this question, 
Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes, 
Hath been as dear as Helen ; I mean of ours : 
If we have lost so many tenths of ours . 
To guard a thing not ours ; not worth to us. 
Had it our name, the value of one ten ; 
What merit's in that reason, which denies 
The yielding of her up ? 

Tro. Fye, fye, my brother ! 

Weigh you the worth and honour of a king. 
So great as our dread father, in a scale 
Of common ounces ? will you with counters sum 
The past-proportion of his infinite ? 
And buckle-in a waist most fathomless. 
With spans and inches so diminutive 
As fears and reasons ? fye, for godly shame ! 

//f/. No marvel , though you bite so sharp at reasons. 
You are so empty of them. Should not our father 
Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons, 
Because your speech hath none, that tells him so? 

Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers .brother priest , 
You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your 
You know, an enemy intends you harm ; [reasons: 
You know, a sword employ'd is perilous. 
And reason flies the object of all harm : 
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds 
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set 
The very wings of reason to his heels ; 
And fly like chidden Mercury from .Tove, 
Or like a star disorb'd ?— Nay, if we talk of reason, 
Let's shut our gates, and sleep : Manhood and honour 
Should have hare hearts, would they but fat thei? 

thoughts 
With this cramm'd reason ; reason and respect 
Make livers pale, and lustihood deject. 

Hect. Brother she is not worth what she doth cost 
The holding. 

Tro. What is aught, but as 'tis valued 1 

Hect. But value dwells not in particular will j 
It holds his estimate and dignity 



ACr II.— SCENE II. 



i85 



As well wherein 'tis precious of itself 
As in the |)rizer : 'tis mad idolatry, 
To make the service greater than the god ; 
And the will dotes, that is attributive 
To what infectiously itself affects, 
Without some image of the affected merit. 

Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election 
Is led on in the conduct of my will ; 
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, 
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores 
Of will and judgment : How may I avoid, 
Although my will distaste what is elected, 
The wife 1 chose ? there can be no evasion 
To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour : 
We turn not back the silks upon the merchant, 
When we have soil'd them : nor the remainder viands 
We do not throw in unrespective sieve. 
Because we now are full. It was thought meet, 
Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks : 
Your breath with full consent bellied his sails ; 
The seas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce. 
And did him service ; he touch'd the ports desir'd ; 
And, for an old aunt, whom the Greeks held captive. 
He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and fresh- 
ness 
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes pale the morning. 
Why keep we her 1 the Grecians keep our aunt : 
Is she worth keeping? why, she is a pearl, 
Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships, 
And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants. 
If you '11 avouch, 'twas wisdom Paris went, 
(As you must needs, for you all cry'd — Go, gn,') 
If you '11 confess, he brought home noble prize, 
(As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands. 
And ciy'd — Inestimable !) why do you now 
The issue of your proper wisdoms rate ; 
And do a deed that fortune never did. 
Beggar the estimation which you priz'd 
Richer than sea and land ? O theft most base ; 
That we have stolen what we do fear to keep ! 
But, thieves, unworthy of a thing so stolen, 
That in their country did them that disgrace. 
We fear to warrant in our native place ! 

Cos. [Within.] Cry, Trojans, cry ! 

Pri. What noise"! what shriek is this l 

Tro. 'Tis our mad sister. I do know her voice. 

Cas. [Withi,,.] Cry, Trojans! 

Hect, It is Cassandra. 

Enter Cassandra, raving. 

Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry ! lendme ten thousand eyes. 
And I will fill them with prophetic tears. 

Hect. Peace, sister, peace. 

Cas. Virgins and boys, mid age and wrinkled elders. 
Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry, 
Add to my clamours I let us pay betimes 
A moiety of that mass of moan to come 
Cry, Trojans, cry ! practise your eyes with tears ! 
Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand ; 
Our fire-brand brother, Paris, burns us all. 
Cry, Trojans, cry ! a Helen, and a woe : 
Cry, cry ! Tioy burns, or else let Helen go. [Ej/t. 

Hect. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high 
Of divination in our sistor work [strains 

Some touches of remorse ? or is your blood 
So madly hot, that no discourse of reason, 
Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause. 
Can qualify the same 1 

Tio. ^^ hy. brother Hector, 

We may not think the justness of each act 
Such and no other than event doth form it ; 
Nor once deject the courage of our minds. 



Because Cassandra's mad ; her brain-sick raptures 
Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel, 
Which hath our several honours all engag'd 
To make it gracious. For my private part, 
I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons : 
And Jove forbid, there should be done amongst us 
Such things as might offend the weakest spleen 
To fight for and maintain ! 

Par. Else might the world convince of levity 
As well my undertakings as your counsels . 
But I attest the gods, your full consent 
Gave wings to my propension, and cut off 
All fears attending on so dire a project. 
For what, alas, can these my single arms? 
What propugnation is in one man's valour, 
To stand the push and enmity of those 
This quarrel would excite 1 Yet, I protest, 
Were I alone to pass the difficulties. 
And had as ample power as I have will, 
Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done. 
Nor faint in the pursuit. 

Pri. Paris, you speak 

Like one besotted on your sweet delights : 
You have the honey still, but these the gall ; 
So to be valiant, is no praise at all. 

Pur. Sir, I propose not merely to myself 
The pleasures such a beauty brings with it ; 
But I would have the soil of her fair rape 
Wip'd off, in honourable keeping her. 
What treason were it to the ransack'd queen, 
Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me, 
Now to deliver her possession up. 
On terms of base compulsion ] Can it be. 
That so degenerate a strain as this. 
Should once set footing in your generous bosom<; ' 
There's not the meanest spirit on our party. 
Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw, 
When Helen is defended ; nor none so noble. 
Whose life were ill bestow'd, or death unfam'd, 
Where Helen is the subject: then, I say. 
Well may we fight for her, whom, we know well, 
The world's large spaces cannot parallel. 

Hect. Paris, and Troilus, you have both said well; 
And on the cause and question now in hand 
Have gloz'd, — but superficially ; not much 
Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thouj^ht 
Unfit to hear moral philosophy : 
The reasons you allege, do more conduce 
To the hot passion of distempei'd blood. 
Than to make up a free determination 
'Twixt right and wrong ; for pleasure, and revenge, 
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice 
Of any true deci.;ion. Nature craves. 
All dues be render'd to their owners ; Now 
What nearer debt in all humanity, 
Than wife !■; to the husband ? if this law 
Of nature t)e corrupted through affection ; 
And that great minds, of partial indulgence 
To their benumbed wills, resist the same ; 
There is a law in each well order'd nation, 
To curb those raging appetites that are 
Most disobedient and refractory. 
If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king. — 
As it is know n she is,— these moral laws 
Of nature, and of nations, speak aloud 
To have her back return'd : Thus to persist 
In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong. 
But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion 
Is this, in way of truth : yet, ne'ertheless. 
My spritely brethren, I propend to you 
In resolution to keep Helen still ; 
For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependance 



586 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



Upon our joint and several dignities. 

Tro. Why, there you touch'd the life of our design : 
Were it not glory that we more affected 
Than the performance of our heaving spleens, 
I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood 
Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector, 
She is a theme of honour and renown ; 
A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds ; 
Whose present courage may beat down our foes, 
And fame, in time to come, canonize us : 
For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose 
So rich advantage of a promis'd glory, 
As smiles upon the forehead of this action, 
For the wide world's revenue. 

Hect. I am yours. 

You valiant offspring of great Priamus. — 
I have a roisting challenge sent amongst 
The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks, 
Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits : 
1 was advertis'd, their great general slept. 
Whilst emulation in the army crept ; 
This, 1 presume, will wake him. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE III. 

The Grecian Camp, — Before Achilles' Tent. 

Enter Thersites. 

Ther. How now, Thersites 1 what, lost in the 
labyrinth of thy furyl Shall the elephant Aj ax carry 
it thus? he beats me, and I rail at him: O worthy 
satisfaction ! 'would it were otherwise, that I could 
beat him, whilst he railed at me : 'Sfoot, I'll learn 
to conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some issue of 
my spiteful execrations. Then there's Achilles, — a 
rare engineer. If Troy be not taken till these two 
undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall of 
themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of Olym- 
pus, forget that thou art Jove the king of gods; and. 
Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy Cadn- 
ceus ; if ye take not that little little less-than-little 
wit from them that they have ! which short-armed 
ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce, it will 
not in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider, with- 
out drawing their massy irons, and cutting the web. 
After this, the vengeance on the whole camp ! or, 
rather, the bone-ache ! for that, methinks, is the curse 
dependant on those that war for a placket. I have 
said my prayers ; and devil, envy, say Amen. What, 
ho ! my lord Achilles ! 

Enter Pathoclus. 

Patr. Who's there 1 Thersites ? good Thersites, 
come in and rail. 

Ther. If I could have remembered a gilt counter- 
feit, tiiou wouldest not have slipped out of my con- 
templation: but it is no matter; Thyself upon thyself! 
The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, 
be thine in great revenue ! heaven bless thee from a 
tutor, and discipline come not near thee ! Let thy 
blood be thy direction till death ! then if she, that 
lays thee out, says — thou art a fair corse, I'll be 
sworn and sworn upon't, she never shrouded any but 
lazars. Amen. Where's Achilles'! 

Patr. What, art thou devout 1 wast thou in prayer? 

Titer. Ay ; the heavens hear me ! 

Enter Achilles. 

Achil. Who's there? 
Patr. Thersites, my lord. 

Achil. Where, where? — Art thou come? Why, 
my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not served 



thyself in to my table so many meals ? Come ; what's 
Agamemnon 1 

Ther. Thy commander, Achilles ; — Then tell me, 
Patroclus, what's Achilles? 

Patr. Thy lord, Thersites : Then tell me, I pray 
thee, what's thyself! 

Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus ; Then tell me, Pa- 
troclus, what art thou ? 

Patr. Thou mayest tell, that knowest. 

Achil. O tell, tell. 

Ther, I'll decline the whole question. Agamem- 
non commands Achilles; Achilles is my lord; lam 
Patroclus' knower ; and Patroclus is a fool. 

Patr. You rascal ! 

Ther. Peace, fool ; I have not done. 

Achil. He is a privileged man. — Proceed, Thersites. 

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool ; Achilles is a fool ; 
Thersites is a fool ; and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a 
fool. 

Achil. Derive this ; come. 

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command 
Achilles ; Achilles is a fool to be commanded of 
Agamemnon ; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool : 
and Patroclus is a fool positive. 

Patr. Why am 1 a fool ? 

Ther. Make that demand of the prover. — It suf- 
ficeth me, thou art. Look you, who comes here? 

Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes, 
and AjAX. 

Achil. Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody: — Come 
in with me, Thersites. [Exit. 

Ther. Here is such patchery, such juggling, and 
such knavery ! all the argument is, a cuckold, and a 
whore : A good quarrel to draw emulous factions, 
and bleed to death upon. Now the dry serpigo on the 
subject! and war, and lechery, confound all ! [Exit. 

Again. \Vhere is Achilles ? 

Pair. Within his tent ; but ill-dispos'd, my lord. 

Agam. Let it be known to him, that we are here. 
He shent our messengers, and we lay by 
Our appertainments, visiting of him : 
Let him be told so ; lest, perchance, he think 
We dare not move the question of our place. 
Or know not what we are. 

Patr. I shall say so to him. [Exit. 

Uliiss. We saw him at the opening of his tent; 
He is not sick. 

Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart : you 
may call it melancholy, if you will favour the man ; 
but, by my head, 'tis pride : But why, why? let him 
shew us a cause. — A word, my lord. 

[Tahes Agamemnon aside. 

Nest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him ? 

Ulyss. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him. 

Nest. Who? Thersites? 

Ulijss. He. 

Nest. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost 
his argument. 

Ulijss. No ; you see, he is his argument, that has 
his argument ; Achilles. 

Nest. All the better ; their fraction is more our 
wish, than their faction : But it was a strong com- 
posure, a fool could disunite. 

[7/i/ss. The amity, that wisdom knits not, folly may 
easily untie. Here comes Patroclus,. 

Re-enter Patroclus. 

Nest. No Achilles with him. 
Ulyss. The elephant hath joints, but none for cour- 
tesy :' his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure. 
Patr. Achilles bids me say — he is much sorry. 



ACT II.— SCENE III. 



587 



If any thing more than your sport and pleasure 
Did move your greatness, and this noble state, 
To call upon him ; he hopes, it is no other, 
But, for your health and your digestion sake. 
An after-dinner's breath. 

4gam, Hear vou, Patroclus ; — 

We are too well acquainted with these answers : 
But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn, 
Cannot outfly our apprehensions. 
]Much attribute he hath ; and much the reason 
Why we ascribe it to him : yet all his virtues — 
Not virtuously on his own part beheld, — 
Do, in our eyes, begin to lose their gloss ; 
Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish. 
Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him. 
We come to speak with him : And you shall not sin. 
If you do say — we think him over-proud. 
And under-honest ; in self-assumption greater. 
Than in the note of j udgment ; and worthier than him- 
Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on ; [self 
Disguise the holy strength of their command. 
And underwrite in an observing kind 
His humorous predominance ; yea, watch 
His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if 
The passage and whole carriage of this action 
Rode on his tide. Go, tell him this ; zjid add. 
That, if he overbold his price too much, 
We'll none of him ; but let him, like an engine 
Not portable, lie under this report — 
Bring action hither, this cannot go to war : 
A stirring dwarf we do allowance give 
Before a sleeping giant : — Fell him so. 

Patr. I shall ; and bring his answer presently. 

[ Exit. 
Agam. In second voice we'll not be satisfied. 
We come to speak with him. — Ulysses, enter. 

[Exit Ulysses. 
Ajax. W^hat is he more than another 1 
Agam. No more than what he thinks he is. 
Ajax. Is he so much ] Do you not think, he thinks 
himself a better man than 1 am 1 
Again. No question. 

Ajai. Will you subscribe his thought, and say — 
he is ? 

Agam. No, noble Ajax ; you are as strong, as va- 
liant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle, and 
altogether more tractable. 

Ajax. Why should a man be proud ? How doth 
pride grow ? 1 know not what pride is. 

Agam. Your mind's the clearer, Ajax, and your 
virtues the fairer. He that is proud, eats up him- 
self: pride is his own giass, his own trumpet, his 
own chronicle ; and whatever praises itself but in the 
deed, devours the deed in the praise. 

Ajax. 1 do hate a proud man, as I hate the engen- 
dering of toads. 

Nest. And yet he loves himself: Is it not strange 1 

lAside. 

Re-enter Ulysses. 

Ultiss. Achilles will not to the field tomorrow. 

Agam. What's his excuse 1 

/ '/yss. He doth rely on none ; 

But carries on the stream of his dispose, 
^Vithout observance or respect of any. 
In will peculiar and in self-admission, 

Agam. Why will he not, upon our fair request, 
Untent his person, and share the air with us? [only, 

Uluss. Things small as nothing, for request's sake 
He makes important: Possess'd he is with greatness ; 
And speaks not to himself, but with a pride 
That quarrtJs at self-breath : imagin'd worth 



Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse. 
That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts, 
Kingdom'd Acliilles in commotion rages. 
And batters down himself: What should 1 say? 
He is so plaguy proud, that the death-tokens of it 
Cry — No recovery. 

Agam. Let Ajax go to him. — 

Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent • 
'Tis said, he holds you well ; and will be led, 
At your request, a little from himself. 

Ulyss. O Agamemnon, let it not be so ! 
We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes 
When they go from Achilles : Shall the proud lord. 
That bastes his arrogance with his own seam ; 
And never suffers matter of the world 
Enter his thoughts, — save such as do revolve 
And ruminate himself, — shall he be worshipp'd 
Of that we hold an idol more than he ? 
No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord 
Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd ; 
Nor, by my will, subjugate his merit, 
As amply titled as Achilles is, 
By going to Achilles: 
That were to enlard his fat-already pride ; 
And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns 
With entertaining great Hyperion. 
This lord go to him ! Jupiter forbid ; 
And say in thunder — Achilles go to him. 

Nest. O, this is well ; he rubs the vein of him. 

[Aside. 

Dio. And how his silence drinks up this applause ! 

[Aside, 

Ajax. If I go to him, with my arm'd fist I'll pash him 
Over the face. 



Asar, 



O, no, you shall not go. 



Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheeze his pride • 
Let me go to him. 

Ulyss.N ot for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel 

Ajax. A paltry, insolent fellow, 

Nest. How he describes 

Himself! \_Aside. 

Ajax. Can he not be sociable 1 

Ulyss. The raven 

Chides blackness. [Aside. 

Ajax. I will let his humours blood. 

Agam. He'll be physician, that should be the pa- 
tient. [^Aside. 

Ajax. An all men 
Were o' my mind, 

Ulyss. Wit would be out of fashion. [Aside. 

Ajax. He should not bear it so, 
He should eat swords first : Shall pride carry it? 

Nest. An 'twould, you'd carry half. [Aside. 

Ulyss. He'd have ten shares. [Aside. 

Ajax. I'll knead him, I will make him supple : 

Nest. He 's not yet thorough warm: force him with 
praises : 
Pour in, pour in : his ambition is dry. [Aside. 

Ulyss. My lord, you feed too much on this dislike. 

[To Agamemnon. 

Nest. noble general, do not do so, 

Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. 

Ulyss. Why, 'tis this naming of him does him harm, 
Here is a man — but 'tis before his face ; 
I will be silent. 

Nest. Wherefore should you so ? 

He is not emulous, as Achilles is. 

Ulyss. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. 

Ajax. A whoreson dog, tliat shall palter thus with us 
I would, he were a Trojan ! 

Nest. What a vice 

Were it in Ajax now 



588 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



Ult/ss. If he were proud T 

Dio. Or covetous of praise ? 

Ulyss. Ay, or surly borne 1 

Dio, Or strange, or self-affected ? [composure ; 

Uliiss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet 
Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck : 
Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature 
Thrice fam'd, beyond all erudition : 
But he that disciplin'd thy arms to fight. 
Let Mars divide eternity in twain. 
And give him half : and, for thy vigour. 
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield 
To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom, 
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines 
Thy spacious and dilated parts : Here's Nestor, — 
Instructed by the antiquary times, 
He must, he is, he cannot but be wise ; — 
But pardon, father Nestor, were your days 
As green as Ajax, and your brain so temper'd. 
You should not have the eminence of him, 
But be as Ajax. 

AJai. Shall I call you father 1 

Nest. Ay, my good son. 

Dio. Be rul'd by him, lord Ajax. 

Ulyss There is no tarrying here ; the hart Achilles 
Keeps thicket. Please it our great general 
To call together all his state of war; 
Fresh kings are come to Troy ; Tomorrow, 
We must with all our main of power stand fast ; 
And here's a lord, — come knights from east to west. 
And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best. 

Again. Go we to council. Let Achilles sh-ep : 
Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I.— Troy. A Room in Priam'j Palace. 
Enter Panda nus and a Servant. 

Pan. Friend ! you ! pray you, a word : Do not 
you follow the young lord Paris 1 

Serv, Ay, sir, when he goes before me. 

Fail. You do depend upon him, I mean? 

Serv. Sir, I do depend upon the lord. 

Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman ; 1 
must needs praise him. 

Serv. The lord be praised ! 

Pan. You know me, do you not ? 

Serv. 'Faith, sir, superficially. 

Pan. Friend, know me better ; I am the lord 
Pandarus. 

Serv. I hope, I shall know your honour better. 

Pan. I do desire it. 

Serv. You are in the state of grace. [Music within. 

Pan. Grace! not so, friend ; honour and lordship 
are my titles : — What music is this ? 

Serv. I do but partly know, sir ; it is music in 
parts. 

Pan. Know you the musicians 1 

Serv. Wholly, sir. 

Pan. Who play they to ? 

Serv. To the hearers, sir. 

Pan. At whose pleasure friend ? 

Serv. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music. 

Pan. Command, I mean, friend. 

Serv. Who shall 1 command, sir? 

Pan. Friend, we understand not one another ; I 
am too courtly, and thou art too cunning : At whose 
request do these men play ? 



Serv, That's to't, indeed, sir : Marry, sir, at the 
request of Paris my lord, who is there in person ; 
with him the mortal Venus, the heart blood of beauty, 
love's invisible soul, 

Pan, Who, my cousin Cressida? 

Serv. No, sir, Helen ; Could you not find out that 
by her attributes ? 

Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not 
seen the lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris 
from the prince Troilus : I will make aconiplimenlal 
assault upon him, for my business seeths. 

Serv, Sodden business ! there 's a stewed phrase, 
indeed ! 

Enter Paris and Helen, attended. 

Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair 
company ! fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly guide 
them ! especially to you, fair queen ! fair thoughts 
be your fair pillow ! 

Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words. 

Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen — 
Fair prince, here is good broken music. 

Par, You have broke it, cousin : and, by my life, 
you shall make it whole again ; you shall piece it 
out with a piece of your performance : — Nell, he is 
full of harmony. 

Pan. Truly, lady, no. 

Helen, O, sir, 

Pan. Rude, in sooth ; in good sooth, verj' rude. 

Par. Well said, my lord ! well, you say so in fits. 

Pan. [ have business to my lord, dear queen : — 
My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word ? 

Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out : we'll hear 
you smg, certainly. 

Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with 
me. — But (marry) thus, my lord, — Mydear lord, and 
most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus — 

Helen. My lord Pandarus; honey-sweet lord, — 

Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to: — commends him- 
self most affectionately to you. 

Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody , 
If you do, our melancholy upon your head ! 

Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen ; that's a sweet 
queen, i'faith. 

Helen, And to make a sweet lady sad, is a sour 
offence. 

Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn ; that 
shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such 
words : no, no. — And, my lord, he desires you, that, 
if the king call for him at supper, you will make his 
excuse. 

Helen. ]\Iy lord Pandarus, • 

Pan. What says my sweet queen, — my very very 
sweet queen ? 

Par, What exploit's in hand? where sups he to 
night ? 

Helen. Nay, but my lord, 

Pan. What says my sweet queen ? — My cousin 
will fall out with you. You must not know where 
he sups. 

Par. I '11 lay my life, with my disposer Cressida. 

Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide ; come, 
your disposer is sick. 

Par. Well, I '11 make excuse. 

Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say — 
Cressida? no, your poor disposer's sick. 

Par. I spy. 

Pan. You spy ! what do you spy ? — Come, give 
me an instrument. — Now, sweet queen. 
Helen, Why, this is kindly done. 

Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you 
have, sweet queen. 



ACT III.--SCENE II. 



589 



Helen She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my 
lord Paris. 

Pan. He ! no, she'll none of him ; they two are twain. 
flelen. Falling in, after falling out, may make them 

fan. Come, come, I'll hear no more of this; I'll 
sing you a song now. 

Helen. Ay, ay, pry'thee now. By my troth, sweet 
lord, thou hast a fine forehead. 
I'an. Ay, you may, you may. 
Helen. Let thy song be love : this love will undo 
us all. O, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid ! 
Pan. Love ! ay, that it shall, i'faith. 
P n: Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love. 
Fan. In good troth, it begins so : 

Love, love, nolhing hut love, still more! 
For, oh, love's bow 
Shoots buck and doe: 
The shaft confounds. 
Not that it wounds, 
But tickles still the sore. 
These lovers cry— Oh ! oh! they die! 

Yet that which seems the wound to kill. 
Doth turn oh ! oh I to ha ! ha ! he ! 

So dying love Hues still: 
Oh! oh! a while, but ha! ha! ha! 
Oh! oh! groans out for ha! ha! ha! 

Hey ho ! . r l 

Helen. In love, i'faith, to the very tip of the nose. 

Par. He eats nothing but doves, love ; and that 

breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, 

and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is 

love. 

Pan. Is this the generation of love 1 hot blood, 
hot thoughts, and hot deeds 1— Why. they are vipers: 
Is love a generation of vipers'! Sweet lord, who's 
afield to-day 1 

Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and 
all the gallantry of Troy : I would fain have armed 
to-night, but my Nell would not have it so. How 
chance my brother Troilus went not 1 

Helen. He hangs the lip at something ;— you know 
all, lord Pandarus. 

Pan. Not I, honey-sweet queen.— I long to hear 
how they sped to-day.— You'll remember your bro- 
ther's excuse 1 
Par. To a hair. 
Paw. Farewell, sweet queen. 
Helen. Commend me to your niece. 
Pun. I will, sweet queen. [Ent. 

[A retreat sounded. 
Par. They are come from field: letus to Priam's hall. 
To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you 
To help unarm our Hector : his stubborn buckles. 
With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd, 
Shall more obey, than to the edge of steel, 
Or force of Greekish sinews ; you shall do more 
Than all the island kings, disarm great Hector 

Helen. "Twill make us proud to be his servant, Pans : 
Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty. 
Give us more palm in beauty than we have ; 
Yea, overshines ourself. 

Par. Sweet, above thought I love thee. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The same. Pandarus' Orchard. 
Enter Pandarus and a Servant meeting. 

Pan. Hownowl where's thymasterl at my cousin 
Cressida's 1 i , ■ 

Serv. No, sir ; he stays for you to conduct him 
thither. 



Enter Troilus. 

Pan. O, here he comes. — How now, how now ? 

Tro. Sirrah, walk off. _ [Exit Servant. 

Pan. Have you seen my cousin ? 

Tro. No, Pandarus : 1 stalk about her door, 
Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks 
Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon, 
And give me swift transportance to those fields. 
Where I may wallow in the lily beds 
Propos'd for the deserver ! O gentle Pandarus, 
From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings, 
And fly with me to Cressid ! 

Pan. Walk here i'the orchard, I'll bring her straight. 

[£.T(( Pandarus. 

Tro. I am giddy ; expectation whirls me round. 
The imaginary relish is so sweet 
That it enchants my sense ; Whatvvill it be. 
When that the watry palate tastes indeed 
Love's thrice-reputed nectar ? death, 1 fear me ; 
Swooning destruction ; or some joy too fine, 
Too subtle-potent, tun'd too sharp in sweetness, 
For the capacity of my ruder powers : 
I fear it much ; and 1 do fear besides, 
That I shall lose distinction in my joys ; 
.As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps 
The enemy flying. 

Re-enter Pandarus. 
Pan. She's making her ready, she'll come straight . 
you must be witty now. She does so olush, and 
fetches her wind so short, as if she were frayed with 
a sprite : I'll fetch her. It is the prettiest villain : 
— she fetches her breath aa short as a new-ta'en 



sparrow. 



( Exit Pandakus. 



Tro. Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom ; 
My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse ; 
And all my powers do their bestowing lose. 
Like vassalage at unawares eucount'ring 
The eye of majesty. 

Enter Pandaet's and Cressida. 

Pan. Come, come, what need you blush? shame 's 
a baby. — Here she is now : swear the oaths now to 
her, that you have sworn to me. — What, are you gone 
again? you must be watched ere you be made tame, 
must you ? Come your ways, come your ways ; an 
you draw backward, we'll put you i'the fills. — Why 
do you not speak to her ? — Come, draw this curtain, 
and let's see youi picture. Alas the day, how loath 
you are to offend daylight? an 'twere dark, you'd 
close sooner. So, so; rub on, and kiss the mistress. 
How now, a kiss in fee farm! build there, carpenter; 
the air is sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts 
out, ere I part you. The falcon as the tercel, for all 
the ducks i'the river : go to, go to. 

Tro. You have bereft me of all words, lady. 

Pan. Words pay no debts, give her deeds : but 
she'll bereave you of the deeds too, if she call your 
activity in question. What, billing again ? Here's — 
In witness whereof the parties interchangeahly — Come 
in, come in; I'll go get a fire. [Exit Pandarus. 

Ores. Will you walk in, my lord? 

Tro. O Cressida, how often have 1 wished me thusl 

Ores. \V ished, my lord ? — The gods grant ! — O my 
lord ! 

Tro. What should they grant? what makes this 
pretty abruption ? What too curious dreg espies my 
sweet lady in the fountain of our love? 

Ores. More dregs than water, if my fears have eyes. 

Tro. Fears make devils cherubins ; they never see 
truly. 

Cres. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds 



590 



TllOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



safer footing than blind reason stumbling without 
fear : To fear the worst, oft cures the worst. 

Tro. O, let my lady apprehend no fear : in all 
Cupid's pageant there is presented no monster. 

Cres. Nor nothing monstrous neither i. 

Tro. Nothing, but our undertakings ; %vhen we 
vow to weep seas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame tigers ; 
thinking it harder for our mistress to devise imposition 
enough, than for us to undergo any difficulty imposed. 
This is the monstruosity in love, lady, — that the will 
is infinite, and the execution confined ; that the desire 
is boundless, and the act a slave to limit. 

Ores. They say, all lovers swear more performance 
than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that 
they never perform ; vowing more than the perfection 
of ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one. 
They that have the voice of lions, and the act of 
hares, are they not monsters 1 

Tro, Are there sucht such are not we: Praise us 
as we are tasted, allow us as we prove ; our head shall 
go bare, till merit crown it : no perfection in reversion 
shall have a praise in present : we will not name de- 
sert, before his birth; and, being born, his addition 
shall be humble. Few words to fair faith : Troilus 
shall be such to Cressid, as what envy can say worst, 
shall be a mock for his truth ; and what truth can 
speak truest, not truer than Troilus. 

Cres. Will you walk in, my lord 1 

Re-enter Pandarus. 

Pan. What, blushing still 1 have you not done 
talking yet ? 

Cres. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate 
to you. 

Pan. I thank you for that ; if my lord get a boy 
of you, you'll give him me : Be true to my lord: if 
he flinch, chide me for it. 

Tro. You know now your hostages ; your uncle's 
word, and my firm faith. 

Pan. Nay, I '11 give my word for her too ; our 
kindred, though they be long ere they are wooed, 
they are constant, being won : they are burs, I can 
tell you ; they'll stick where they are thrown. 

Cres. Boldness comes to me now, and brings me 
heart : — 
Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day, 
For many weary months. 

Tro. Why was my Cressid then so hard to win? 

Cres. Hard to seem won ; but I was won, my lord, 
With the first glance that ever — Pardon me ; — 
If I confess much, you will play the tyrant. 
I love you now ; but not, till now, so much 
But I might master it : — in faith, I lie ; 
My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown 
Too headstrong for their mother : See, we fools ! 
Why have I blabb'd "! who shall be true to us. 
When we are so unsecret to ourselves'! 
But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not ; 
And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man ; 
Or that we women had men's privilege 
Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue ; 
For, in this rapture, I shall surely speak 
The thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence, 
Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws 
My very soul of counsel : Stop my mouth. 

Tro. And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence. 

Pan. Pretty, i' faith. 

Cres. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me : 
'Twas not my purpose, thus to beg a kiss : 
I am asham'd ; — O heavens 1 what have I done 1 — 
for this time will I take my leave, my lord. 

Tro. Your leave, sweet Cressid 1 



Pan. Leave ! an you take leave till to-morrow 

morning, 

Cres. Pray you, content you. 
Tro. What offends you, lady ? 

Cres. Sir, mine own company. 
Tro. i'ou cannot shun 

Yourself. 

Cres. Let me go and try : 
I have a kind of self resides with you . 
But an unkind self, that itself will leave, 
To be another's fool. I would be gone : — 
Where is my wit 1 I know not what I speak. 

Tro. Well know they what they speak, that speak 

so wisely. 
Cres. Perchance, my lord, I shew more craft than 
And fell so roundly to a large confession, [love : 
To angle for your thoughts : But you are wise ; 
Or else you love not ; For to be wise, and love. 
Exceeds man's might; that dwells with gods above. 

Tro. O, that I thought it could be in a woman, 
(As, if it can, I will presume in you,) 
To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love ; 
To keep her constancy in plight and youth, 
Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind 
That doth renew swifter than blood decays ' 
Or, that persuasion could but thus convince me, — 
That my integrity and truth to you 
Might be affronted with the match and weight 
Of such a winnow'd purity in love ; 
How were I then uplifted I but, alas, 
I am as true as truth's simplicity, 
And simpler than the infancy of truth. 
Cres. In that I'll war with you. 
Tro. O virtuous fight, 

When right with right wars who shall be most right ! 
True swains in love shall, in the world to come. 
Approve their truths by Troilus : when their rhymes. 
Full of protest, of oath, and big compare, 
Want similies, truth tir'd with iteration, — 
As true as steel, as plantage to the moon. 
As sun to day, as turtle to her mate. 
As iron to adamant, as earth to the center, — 
Yet, after all comparisons of truth. 
As truth's authentic author to be cited. 
As true as Troilus shall crown up the verse, 
And sanctify the numbers. 

Cres. Prophet may you be ! 

If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth. 
When time is old and hath forgot itself, 
When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, 
And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up. 
And mighty states characterless are grated 
To dusty nothing ; yet let memory 
From false to false, among false maids in love. 
Upbraid my falsehood ! when they have said — as false 
As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth. 
As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, 
Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son ; 
Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood. 
As false as Cressid. 

Pan. Go to, a bargain made: seal it, seal it; I'll 
be the witness. — Here I hold your hand : here, my 
cousin's. If ever you prove false one to another, 
since I have taken such pains to bring you together, 
let all pitiful goers-between be called to the world's 
end after my name, call them all — Pandars ; let all 
constant men be Troiluses, all false women Cressids, 
and all brokers-between Pandars ! say, amen. 
Tro. Amen. 
Cres. Amen. 

Pan. Amen. Whereupon I will shew you a cham- 
ber and a bed, which bed, because it shall not speak 



ACT III.— SCENE 111. 



591 



of your pretty encounters, press it to death : away. 
And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here. 
Bed. chamber, Pandar to provide this geer ! 

[^Exeunt, 

SCENE III.— T/.e Grecian Camp. 

Enter Agamemnon, Ui.ysses, Diomedks, Nestor, 
Ajax, Menei.ai's, and Calchas. 

Cal. Now, princes, for the service I have done you. 
The advantage of the time prompts me aloud 
To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind. 
That, through the sight I bear in things, to Jovo 
I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession, 
Incurr'd a traitor's name; expos'd myself, 
From certain and possess'd conveniences. 
To doubtful fortunes ; s^quest'ring from me all 
That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition. 
Made tame and most familiar to my nature ; 
And here, to do you service, am become 
As new into the world, strange, unacquainted : 
1 do beseech you, as in way of taste. 
To give me now a little benefit, 
Out of those many register'd in promise. 
Which, you say, live to come in my behalf, [mand. 

Agiim. What would'st thou of us, Trojan "! make de- 

Cal. You have a Trojan prisoner, call'd Antenor, 
Yesterday took ; Troy holds him very dear. 
Oft have you, (often have you thanks therefore,) 
Desir'd my Cressid in right great exchange, 
Whom Troy hath still denied : But this Antenor, 
[ know, is such a wrest in their affairs. 
That their negotiations all must slack. 
Wanting his manage ; and they will almost 
Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam, 
In change of him: let him be sent, great princes. 
And he shall buy my daughter ; and her presence 
Shall quite strike off all service I have done, 
In most accepted pain. 

Agam. Let Diomedes bear him, 

And bring us Cressid hither ; Calchas shall have 
What he requests of us. — Good Diomed, 
Furnish you fairly for this interchange : 
Withiil, bring word— if Hector will to-morrow 
Be answer'd in his challenge : Ajax is ready. 

Dio. This shall I undertake ; and 'tis a burden 
Which I am proud to bear. 

[^Exeunt Diomedes and Calchas 

Enter Achilles and Patroclus, before their tent. 

Uluss. Achilles stands i' the entrance of his tent : — 
Please it our general to pass strangely by him. 
As if he were forgot ; and, princes all, 
Lay negligent and loose regard upon him : 
I will come last: 'Tis like, he'll question me. 
Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn'don him: 
If so, I have derision med'cinable,- 
To use between your strangeness and his pride, 
Which his own will shall have desire to drink ; 
It may do good : pride hath no other glass 
To shew itself, but pride ; for supple knees 
Feed arrogance, and are the proud man's fees. 

Agam. We'll execute your purpose, and put on 
A form of strangeness as we pass along ; — 
So do each lord ; and either greet him not. 
Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more 
Than if not look'd on. 1 will lead the way. 

Achil. W'hat, comes the general to speak with me? 
You know my mind, I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy. 

Agam. W hat says Achilles ! would he aught with us 1 

Nest. Would you, my lord, aught with the general ? 

AMI. No. 

Nest. Nothing, my lord. 



Agam. The better. 

[Eicinit AcAMiMNON and Nestor. 
Achil. Good day, good day 

Men. How do you "! how do you 1 

[E.ctt Menelaus. 
Achil. What, does the cuckold scorn me? 

Ajax. How now, Patroclus 1 
Achil. Good morrow, Ajax. 

Ajar. Ha? 

Achil. Good morrow. 

Ajar, Ay, and good next day too. [Exit Ajax. 
Achil. What mean these fellows? Know they not 

Achilles I 
P« tr.They pass by strangely : they were us'd to bend. 
To send their smiles before them to Achilles , 
To come as humbly, as they us'd to creep 
To holy altars. 

Achil. What, am I poor of late ? 

'Tis certain, greatness, once fallen out with fortune, 
Must fall out with men too : What the declin'd is. 
He shall as soon read in the eyes of others. 
As feel in his own fall : for men, like butterflies, 
Shew not their mealy wings, but to the summer ; 
And not a man, for being simply man. 
Hath any honour ; but honour for those honours 
That are without him, as place, riches, favour 
Prizes of accident as oft as merit : 
Which when they fall, as being slippery standers, 
The love that lean'd on them as slippery too. 
Do one pluck down another, and together 
Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me : 
Fortune and 1 are friends ; I do enjoy 
At ample point all tiiat I did possess, 
Save these men's looks ; who do, methinks, find out 
Something not worth in me such rich beholding 
As they have often given. Here is Ulysses ; 
I'll interrupt his reading. — 
How now, Ulysses? 

Ulyss. Now, great Thetis' son ? 

Achil. What are you reading ? 
Uttiss. A strange fellow here 

Writes me. That man— how dearly ever parted, 
How much in having, or without, or in, — 
Cannot make boast to have that which he hath. 
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection ; 
As when his virtues shining upon others 
Heat them, and they retort that heat again 
To the first giver. 

Achil. This is not strange, Ulysses. 

The beauty that is borne here in the face 
The bearer knows not, but commends itself 
To others' eyes : nor doth the eye itself 
(That most pure spirit of sense,) behold itself, 
Not going from itself ; but eye to eye oppos'd 
Salutes each other with each other's form. 
For speculation turns not to itself. 
Till it hath travell'd, and is married there 
Where it may see itself: this is not strange at all. 

Ulyss. 1 do not strain at the position, 
It is familiar ; but at the author's drift : 
Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves — 
That no man is the lord of any thing, 
(Though in and of him there be much consisting,) 
Till he communicate his parts to others : 
Nor doth he of himself know them for aught 
Till he behold them form'd in the applause 
Where they are extended ; which, like an arch, revei - 
The voice again ; or like a gate of steel [berates 
Fronting the sun, receives and renders back 
His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this ; 
And apprehended here immediately 
The unknown Ajax. 



592 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



Heavens, what a man is there ! a very horse ; 

Thathas he knows not what. Nature, what things there 

Most abject in regard, and dear in use ! [are, 

Wliat things again most dear in the esteem, 

And poor in worth ! Now shall we see to-morrow, 

An act that very chance doth throw upon him, 

Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do, 

While some men leave to do ! 

How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall. 

While others play the idiots in her eyes ! 

How one man eats into another's pride. 

While pride is fasting in his wantonness ! 

To see these Grecian lords! — why, even already 

They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder ; 

As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast, 

And great Troy shrinking. 

AchiL. I do believe it : for they pass'd by me, 
As misers do by beggars ; neither gave to me 
Good word, nor look : What, are my deeds forgot"! 
Uli^ss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, 
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, 
A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes : 
Those scraps are good deeds past : which are devour'd 
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon 
As done : Perseverance, dear my lord, 
Keeps honour bright: To have done, is to hang 
Quite out of fashion; like a rusty mail 
In monumental mockery. Take the instant way , 
For honour travels in a strait so narrow. 
Where one but goes abreast : keep then the path ; 
For emulation hath a thousand sons. 
That one by one pursue : If you give way, 
Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, 
Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by, 
And leave you hindmost ; — 
Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank. 
Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, [sent, 
O'er- run and trampled on : Then what they do in pre- 
Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours : 
For time is like a fashionable host, 
That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand ; 
And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would i\y, 
Grasps-in the comer : Welcome ever smiles, 
And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek 
Remuneration for the thing it was ; 
For beauty, wit. 

High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service. 
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all 
To envious and calumniating time. 
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin, — 
That all, with one consent, praise new-born gawds, 
Though they are made and moulded of things past ; 
And give to dust, that is a little gilt. 
More laud than gilt o'er dusted. 
The present eye praises the present object : 
Then marvel not, thou great and complete man. 
That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax ; 
Since things in motion sooner catch the eye. 
Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee. 
And still it might ; and yet it may again. 
If thou would'st not entomb thyself alive, 
And case thy reputation in thy tent ; 
Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late, 
Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods themselves. 
And drave great Mars to faction. 

Achil. Of this my privacy 

I have strong reasons. 

Ulyss. But 'gainst your privacy 

The reasons are more potent and heroical : 
'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love 
With one of Priam's daughters. 
Achil. Ha ! known 1 



ULyss. Is that a wonder? 
The Providence that's in a watchful state, 
Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold ; 
Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps ; 
Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods 
Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. 
There is a mystery (^with whom relation 
Durst never meddle) in the soul of state ; 
Which hath an operation more divine. 
Than breath, or pen, can give expressure to: 
All the commerce that you have had with Troy, 
As perfectly is ours, as yours, my lord ; 
And better would it fit Achilles much. 
To throw down Hector, than Polyxena : 
But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home. 
When fame shall in our islands sound her trump ; 
And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing, — 
Great Hector's sister did Achilles luin ; 
But our great Ajai braveltt heat down him. 
Farewell, my lord : I as your lover speak ; 
The fool slideso'erthe ice that you should break. [Ei, 

Patr. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you : 
A woman impudent and mannish grown 
Is not more loath'd than an eflfeminate man 
In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this ; 
They think, my little stomach to the war, 
And your great love to me, restrains you thus : 
Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid 
Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold, 
And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane. 
Be shook to air. 

AchiL Shall Ajax fight with Hector? 

Patr. Ay; and, perhaps, receive much honour by 

AchiL I see, my reputation is at stake ; [him. 
My fame is shrewdly gor'd. 

Patr. O, then beware ; 

Those wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves: 
Omission to do what is necessary 
Seals a commission to a blank of danger ; 
And danger, like an ague, subtly taints 
Even then when we sit idly in the sun. 

AchiL Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus : 
I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him 
To invite the Trojan lords after the combat. 
To see us here unarm 'd : I have a woman's longing, 
An appetite that I am sick withal. 
To see great Hector in his weeds of peace ; 
To talk with him, and to behold his visage. 
Even to my full of view. A labour sav'd ! 

Enter Thersites. 

Tlier. A wonder ! 

AchiL What? 

Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for 
himself. 

AchiL How so ? 

Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector; 
and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgeU 
ling, that i»e raves in saying nothing. 

AchiL How can that be ] 

Ther. Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock, 
a stride, and a stand : ruminates, like an hostess, that 
hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down her 
reckoning: bites his lip with a politic regard, as who 
should say — there were wit in this head, an 'twould 
out ; and so there is ; but it lies as coldly in him as 
fire in a flint, which will not shew without knocking. 
'J"he man's undone for ever; for if Hector break not 
his neck in the combat, he'll break it himself m vain- 
glory. He knows not me : I said, Good-innrrnw, 
Ajax ; and he replies. Thanks, Agamemnon. What 
think you of this man, that takes me for the general! 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



5.93 



He is grown a very land fish, languageless, a mon- 
ster. A plague of opinion ! a man may wear it on 
both sides, like a leather jerkin. 

Achil, Thou must be my embassador to him, Ther- 
sites. 

Titer. Who, II why, he'll answer nobody ; he pro- 
fesses not answering : speaking is for beggars : he 
wears his tongue in his arms. I will put on his pre- 
sence ; let Patroclus make demands to me, you shall 
see the pageant of Ajax. 

Achil. To him, Patroclus: Tell him, — I humbly 
desire the valiant Ajax. to invite the most valorous 
Hector to come unarmed to my tent ; and to procure 
safe conduct for his person, of the magnanimous, and 
most illustrious, six-or-seven-times-honoured cap- 
fain-general of the Grecian army, Agamemnon. Do 
this. 

Patr. Jove bless great Aja.x. 

Ther, Humph ! 

Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles, 

Ther. Ha! 

Putr. Who most humbly desires you, to invite 
Hector to his tent! 

Ther. Humph ! 

Ptitr. And to procure safe conduct from Aga 
memnon. 

Ther. Agamemnon'? 

Putr. Ay, my lord. 

Ther. Ha! 

Patr. What say you to't 1 

Ther. God be wi' you, with all my heart. 

Patr, Your answer, sir. 

Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock 
it will go one way or other ; howsoever, he shall pay 
for me ere he has me. 

Patr. Your answer, sir. 

Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart. 

Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he? 

Ther. No, but he's out o'tune thus. What music 
will be in him when Hector has knocked out his brains, 
I know not : But, I am sure, none ; unless the fid- 
dler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings on. 

Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a letterto him straight. 

Ther. Let me bear another to his horse ; for that's 
the more capable creature. 

Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd; 
And I myself see not the bottom of it. 

[E.ieu«t Achilles and Patroclus. 

Ther. Would the fountain of your mind were clear 
again, that I might water an ass at it ! I had rather 
be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant ignorance. 

[Exit. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I — Troy. A Street. 

Knter, at one side, jEneas, and Servant with a torch ; 
at the other, Paris, Deipiiobus, Antenor, Dio- 
MEDES, and others, with torches. 

Par. See, ho ! who's that there ? 

Dei. 'Tis the lord ^Eneas. 

^ne. Is the prince there in person? — • 
Had I so good occasion to lie long. 
As you, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business 
Siioukl rob my bed-mate of my company. [^-Eneas. 

Dio. That's my mind too. — Good morrow, lord 

Par. A valiant Greek, iEneas ; take his hand : 
Witness the process of your speech, wherein 
You told — how Diomed, a whole week by days, 
Did haunt you in the field. 



JEne. Health to you, valiant sir, 

During all question of the gentle truce : 
But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance. 
As heart can think, or courage execute. 

Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces. 
Our bloods are now in calm ; and, so long, health • 
But when contention and occasion meet. 
By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life, 
With all my force, pursuit, and policy. 

ASne. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly 
With his face backward. — In humane gentleness, 
Welcome to Troy ! now, by Anchises' life. 
Welcome, indeed ! By Venus' hand 1 swear, 
No man alive can love, in such a sort, 
The thing he means to kill, more excellently. 

Dio. \Ve sympathize : — Jove, let .-Eneas live. 
If to my sword his fate be not the glory, 
A thousand c6mplete courses of the sun ! 
But, in mine emulous honour, let him die. 
With every joint a wound ; and that to-morrow ! 

jEne. VVe know each other well. 

Dio. We do ; and long to know each other worse. 

Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greeting. 
The noblest hateful love, that e're I heard of. — • 
What business, lord, so early? 

jEne. I was sent for to the king ; but why, I know 
not. 

Par. His purpose meets you ; 'Twas to bring this 
ToCalchas' house; and there to render him, [Greek 
For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid : 
Let's have your company ; or, if you please. 
Haste there before us : I constantly do think, 
(Or, rather, call my thought a certain knowledge,) 
My brother Troilus lodges there to-night ; 
Rouse him, and give him note of our approach 
With the whole quality wherefore ; I fear, 
We shall be much unwelcome. 

yEiie. That I assure you ; 

Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece, 
Than Cressid borne from Troy. 

Par. There is no help ; 

The bitter disposition of the time 
Will have it so. On, lord ; we'll follow you. 

jEne. Good morrow, all. [Exit. 

Par. And tell me, nobleDiomed : faith, tell me true, 
Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship, — 
Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen best. 
Myself or Menelaus 2 

Dio. Both alike : 

He merits well to have her, that doth seek her 
(Not making any scruple of her soilure,) 
With such a hell of pain, and world of charge; 
And you as well to keep her, that defend her 
(Not palating the taste of her dishonour,) 
With such a costly loss of wealth and friends: 
He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up 
The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece ; 
You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins 
Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors ; 
Both merits pois'd, each weighs nor less nor more ; 
But he as he, the heavier for a whore. 

Par. You are too bitter to your countrywoman. 

Dio. She's bitter to her country : Hear me, Paris.— 
For every false drop in her bawdy veins 
A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple 
Of her contaminated carrion weight, 
A Trojan hath been slain ; since she could speak. 
She halh not given so many good words breath, 
As for her Greeks and Trojans sufl'er'd death. 

Pa7: Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do. 
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy : 
But wc in silence hold this virtue well, — 
2 P 



594 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



We'll not commend what we intend to sell. 

Here lies our way. [Exeunt. 



SCENE II. 

The same. — Court before the House of PANrAHua. 

Enter Troilvs and Cressida. 

Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself ; the morn is cold. 

Cres. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle 
He shall unbolt the gates. [down ; 

Tro. Trouble him not ; 

To bed, to bed : Sleep kill those pretty eyes, 
And give as soft attachment to thy senses, 
As infants' empty of all thought f 

Cres. Good morrow then. 

Tro. 'Pr'ythee now, to bed. 

Cres. Are you aweary of me ? 

Tro. O Cressida! but that the busy day, 
Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows. 
And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, 
I would not from thee. 

Cres. Night hath been too brief 

Tro. Beshrew the witch ! with venomous wights 
she stays. 
As tediously as hell ; but flies the grasps of love, 
With wings more momentary-swift than thought. 
You will catch cold, and curse me. 

Cres. Pr'ythee, tarry j— 

You men will never tarry. — 

foolish Cressid !— I might have still held off, 
And then you would have tarried. Hark ! there's 

one up. 
Pan. [Within.] What are all the doors open here? 
Tro. It is your uncle. 

Enter Pandarus. 

Cres. A pestilence on him I now will lie be mocking : 

1 shall have such a life, — 

fan. How now, how now? how go maidenheads ? 
—Here, you maid! where's my cousin, Cressid? 

Cres. Go hangyourself, you naughty mocking uncle! 
You bring me to do, and then you flout me too. 

Pan. To do what? to do what ?— let her say what : 
what have I brought you to do ? 

Cres.Come, come ; beshrew your heart : you'll ne'er 

Nor suffer others. [be good. 

Pan. Ha, ha ! Alas, poor wretch ! a poor capoc- 

chia ! hast not slept to-night ? would he not, a 

naughty man, let it sleep ? a bugbear take him ! 

[Knocking. 
Cres. Did I not tell you ? — 'would he were knock'd 
o'the head! — 
Who's that at door? good uncle, go and see. — 
My lord, come you again into my chamber : 
You smile, and mock me, as if I meant naughtily. 
Tro. Ha! ha! 

Cres. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no such 
thing. — [Knocking. 

How earnestly they knock ! pray you, come in; 
I would not for half Troy have you seen here. 

[Exeunt Troilus and Cressida. 
Pan. [Going to the door.] Who's there? what's the 
matter ? will you beat down the door ? How now ? 
what's the matter ? 

Enter JEt<T.AS, 

Mne. Good-morrow, lord, good-morrow. 
Pan. Who's there ? my lord yEneas ? By my troth, 
I knew you not : what news with you so early ? 
jEne. Is not prince Troilus here ? 
Pan. Here ! what should he do here ? 
S.ne. Come, he is here, my lord, do not deny him ; 



It doth import him much, to speak with me. 

Pan. Is he here, say you ? 'tis more than I know^ 
I'll be sworn : — For my own part, I came in late 5 
What should he do here ? 

/Ene. Who ! — nay, then : — 
Come, come, you'll do him wrong ere you are 'ware : 
You'll be so true to him, to be false to him ; 
Do not you know of him, yet go fetch him hither ; 
Go. 



As Pandarus is going out, enter Thoilus. 

Tro. How now ? what's the matter ? 
JEne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute yon, 
My matter is so rash : There is at hand 
Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, 
The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor 
Deliver'd to us •, and for him forthwith, 
Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour. 
We must give up to Diomedes' hand 
The lady Cressida. 

Tro. Is it so concluded ? 

Mne. By Priam, and the general state of Troy : 
They are at hand, and ready to effect it. 

Tro. How my achievements mock me I 
I will go meet them : and, my lord j^Lneas, 
We met by chance ; you did not find me here. 

jEne. Good, good, my lord ; the secrets of nature 
Have not more gift in taciturnity. [Ej.Troi.^ jEneas. 
Pan. Is't possible ? no sooner got, but lost ? The 
devil take Antenor ! the young prince will go mad. 
A plague upon Antenor ! I would, they had broke 's 
neck ' 

Enfer Cressida. 
Cres. How now? what is the matter? Who was 
Pun. Ah, ah ! [here? 

Cres. W by sigh you so profoundly ? where's my 
Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter? [lord gone? 
Pan. 'Would 1 wtre as deep under the earth as 
I am above ! 

Cres. O the gods ! — what's the matter ? 
Pan. Pr'ythee, get thee in ; 'Would thon had'st 
ne'er been born I 1 knew, thou would'st be his death: 
— O poor gentleman ! — A plague upon Antenor ! 
Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees, 
I beseech you, what's the matter? 

Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be 
gone ; thou art changed for Antenor: thou must to 
thy father, and be gone from Troilus ; 'twill be his 
death ; 'twill be his bane ; he cannot bear it. 
Cres. O you immortal gods? — I will not go. 
Pan. Thou must. 

Cres. I will not, uncle: I have forgot my father ; 
I know no touch of consanguinity ; 
No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me. 
As the sweet Troilus. — O you gods divine ! 
Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehoofl, 
If ever she leave Troilus ! Time, force, and death. 
Do to this body what extremes you can ; 
But the strong base and building of my love 
Is as the very center of the earth, 
Drawing all things to it. — I'll go in, and weep; — 
Pan. Do, do. [cheeks ; 

Cres. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised 
Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my heart 
With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy. [Ex, 

SCENE III.— TTie same. Before Pandarus' House 

Enter Paris, Troilus, ^neas, Deiphobus, 
Antenor, and Diomedes. 

Par. It is great morning ; and the hour preiix'd 
Of her delivery to this valiant Greek 



ACT IV.— SCENE IV. 



595 



Conves tast upon : — Good my brother Troilus, 
Tell you the lady what she is to do. 
And haste her to the purpose. 

Trv. Walk into her house ; 

I'll bring her to the Grecian presently; 
And to his hand when I deliver her. 
Think it an altar ; and thy brother Troilus 
A priest, there offering to it his own heart. [Eitt. 

Par. I know what 'tis to love ; 
And 'would, as I shall pity, I could help! — 
Please you, walk in, my lords. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — The same. A Room in Pandarus' Hotwe. 
Enfer Pandarus and Cressida. 
Pan. Be moderate, be moderate, 
Cres, Why tell you me of moderation 1 
The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste, 
And violenteth in a sense so strong 
As that which causeth it : How can I moderate it ? 
If I could temporize with my affection, 
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate. 
The like allayment could I give my grief; 
My love admits no qualifying dross : 
No more my grief, in such a precious loss. 

Enter Troilus. 

Pan. Here, here, here becomes. — Ah, sweet ducks! 

Cres. O Troilus ! Troilus ! [Embracing him. 

Pan, What a pair of spectacles is here ! Let me em- 
brace too : heart, — as the goodly saying is, 

o heart, o heavy heart. 

Why sigh'st thou without breaking ? 
where he answers again. 

Because thou canst not ease thy smart, 
Byfriendihip, nor by speaking. 
There never was a truer rhyme. Let us cast away 
nothing, for we may live to have need of such a verse ; 
we see it, we see it. — How now, lambs? 

Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strained a purity. 
That the blest gods — as angry with my fancy, 
More bright in real than the devotion which 
Cold lips blow to their deities, — take thee from me. 

Cres. Have the gods envy ■? 

Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay ; 'tis too plain a case. 

Cres. And is it true, that I must go from Troy 1 

Tro. A hateful truth. 

Cres. What, and from Troilus too 1 

Tro. From Troy, and Troilus. 

Cres. Is it possible 1 

Tro. And suddenly; where injury of chance 
Puts back leave-takmg, justles roughly by 
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips 
Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents 
Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows 
Even in the birth of own labouring breath : 
We two, that with so many thousand sighs 
Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves 
With the rude brevity and discharge of one. 
Injurious time now, with a robber's haste. 
Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how: 
As many farewells as be stars in heaven, 
With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to them, 
He fumbles up into a loose adieu ; 
And scants us with a single famish'd kiss, 
Distasted with the salt of broken tears. 

^«c. [Within.] My lord I is the lady ready? 

Tro. Hark ! you are call'd : Some say , the Genius so 
Cries, Come ! to him that instantly must die. — 
Bid them have patience ; she shall come anon. 

Pan. Where are my tears'! rain, to lay this wind, 
or my heart will be blown up by the root ? 

[Exit Pandarus. 



Cres. I must then to the Greeks ! 

Tro. No remedy. 

Cres. A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks ' 
When shall we see again ? [heart, 

Tro. Hear me, my love : Be thou but true of 

Cres. I true ! how now? what wicked deem is tliis ? 

Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly, 
For it is parting from us : 
I speak not, be thou true, as fearing thee ; 
For I will throw my glove to death himself. 
That there's no maculation in thy heart : 
But, be thou true, say I, to fashion in 
My sequent protestation ; be thou true. 
And I will see thee. 

Cres. O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers 
As infinite as imminent! but, I'll be true. 

Tiv. And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this 
sleeve. 

Cres. And you this glove. When shall I see you ? 

Tro. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels, 
To give thee nightly visitation. 
But yet, be true. 

Cres. O heavens ! — be true, again ? 

Tro. Hear why I speak it, love ; 
The Grecian youths are full of quality; 
They're loving, well compos'd, with gifts of nature 
And swelling o'er with arts and exercise ; [flowing. 
How novelty may move, and parts with person, 
Alas, a kind of godly jealousy 
(Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,) 
Makes me afeard. 

Cres. O heavens ! you love me not. 

Tro. Die I a villain then ! 
In this I do not call your faith in question. 
So mainly as my merit : I cannot sing, 
Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk, 
Nor play at subtle games ; fair virtues all, 
To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant 
But I can tell, that in each grace of these 
There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil, 
That tempts most cunningly : but be not tempted. 

Cres. Do you think, I will 1 

Tro. No. 
But something may be done, that we will not : 
And sometimes we are devils to ourselves, 
When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, 
Presuming on their changeful potency. 

jEne. [Within.] Nay, good my lord, 

Tro. Come, kiss ; and let us part. 

Par. [Within.] Brother Troilus ! 

Tro. Good brother, come you hither ; 

And bring ..Eneas, and the Grecian with you. 

Cres. My lord, will you be true ? 

Tro. Who I ? alas, it is my vice, my fault ; 
While others fish with craft for great opinion, 
I with great truth catch mere simplicity ; 
Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns 
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. 
Fear not my truth ; the moral of my wit 
Is — plain, and true, — there's all the reach of it. 

Enter .(Eneas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus, 

and Diomedes. 

Welcome, sir Diomed ! here is the lady. 
Which for Antenor we deliver you : 
At the port, lord, 1 '11 give her to thy hand ; 
And, by the way, possess thee what she is. 
Entreat her fair ; and, by my soul, fair Greek, 
If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword, 
Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe 
As Priam is in Ilion. 

Dio. Fair lady Cressid, 

2P 2 



596 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



So please you, save the thanks this prince expects : 
The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek, 
Pleads your fair usage ; and to Diomed 
You shall be mistress, and command him wholly. 

Trn. Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously, 
To shame the zeal of my petition to thee. 
In praising her : I tell thee, lord of Greece, 
She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises. 
As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant. 
I charge thee use her well, even for my charge; 
For, by tlie dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not. 
Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard, 
I '11 cut thy throat. 

Jiio. O, be not mov'd, prince Troilus : 

Let me be privileg'd by my place, and message. 
To be a speaker free ; when T am hence, 
I '11 answer to my lust : And know you, lord, 
I'll nothing do on charge : To her own worth 
She shall be priz'd -, but that you say— be't so, 
I'll speak it in my spirit and honour, — no. 

Tro. Come, to the port. — I '11 tell thee, Diomed, 
This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy liead. — 
Lady, give me your hand ; and, as we walk, 
'Vo our own selves bend we our needful talk. 

[_Eieuat Troilus, Ciiessida, and Diomed. 

[TrumTpet heard. 

Par. Hark ! Hector's trumpet. 

JEne. How have we spent this morning ! 

The prince must think me tardy and remiss. 
That swore to ride before him to the field. 

Par. 'Tis Troilus' fault : Come, come, to field with 

Dei. Let us make ready straight. [him. 

JEne. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity, 
Let us address to tend on Hector's heels : 
Tiie glory of our Troy doth this day lie 
On his fair worth, and single chivalry. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — r/ie Grecian Cam/?. Lists set out. 

Enter Ajax, armed ; Agamemnon, Achilles, Pa- 
TnocLus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, and others. 

Agam. Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair, 
Anticipating time with starting courage. 
Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, 
Thou dreadful Ajax ; that the appalled air 
May pierce the head of the great combatant. 
And hale him hither. 

Ajax. Thou, trumpet, there 's my purse. 

Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe: 
Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek 
Out-swell the colic of pufTd Aquilon : 
Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood ; 
Thou blow'st for Hector. [Trumpet sounds. 

Ulyss. No trumpet answers. 

Achil. 'Tis but early days. 

Agam. Is not yon Diomed, with Calchas' daughter? 

Ulyss. 'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait; 
He rises on his toe: that spirit of his 
In aspiration lifts him from the earth. 

Enter Diomed with Ciiessida. 

Agam. Is this the lady Cre-ssid? 

Dio. Even she. [lady. 

Agam. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet 

Nest. Our general doth salute you with a kiss. 

Ulyss. Yet is the kindness but particular ; 
'Twere better, she were kiss'd in general. 

Nest. And very courtly counsel : I'll begin. — 
*«o much for Nestor. 

Achil. I'll take that winter from your lips, fair lady : 
Achilles bids you welcome. 

Men. I had good argument for kissing once. 



Patr. But that's no argument for kissing know. 
For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiment ; 
And parted thus you and your argument. 

Utyss. O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns' 
For which we lose our heads, to gild his horns. 

Patr. The first was Menelaus' kiss ; — this, mine: 
Patroclus kisses you. 

Men. O, this is trim ! 

Patr. Paris, and I, kiss evermore foi him. 

Men. ril have my kiss, sir : — Lady, by your leave 

Cres. In kissing, do you render or receive'? 

Patr. Both take and give. 

Cres, I'll make my match to five, 

The kiss you take is better than you give ; 
Therefore no kiss. 

Men. I'll give you boot, I'll give you three for one. 

Cres. You're an odd man ; give even or give none. 

Men. An odd man, lady ? every man is odd. 

Cres. No, Paris is not ; for, you know, 'tis true. 
That you are odd, and he is even with you. 

Men. You fillip me o" the head. 

Cres. No, I'll be sworn. 

Ulyss. It were no match, your nail against his 
May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you ? [horn. — 

Cres. You may. 

Ulyss. I do desire it. 

Cres. Why, beg then. 

Ulyss. Why then, for Venus' sake, give me a kiss. 
When Helen is a maid again, and his. 

Cres. I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due. 

Ulyss. Never's my day, and then a kiss of you. 

Dio. Lady, a word ; — I'll bring you to your father. 
[Diomed leads out Ciiessida, 

Nest, A woman of quick sense. 

Ulyss. Fye, fye upon her ! 

There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip. 
Nay, her foot speaks ; her wanton spirits look out 
At every joint and motive of her body. 
O, these encounterers, so glib of tongue. 
That give a coasting welcome ere it comes. 
And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts 
To every ticklish reader I set them down 
For sluttish spoils of opportunity. 
And daughters of the game. [Trumpet within. 

All. The Trojans' trumpet. 

Agam. Yonder comes the troop. 

Enter Hector, armed ; .?]neas, Troilus, arid other 
Trojans, with Attendants. 

j-Ene. Hail, all the state of Greece ! what shall be 
done 
To him that victory commands ? or do you purpose 
A victor shall be known ? will you, the knights 
Shall to the edge of all extremity 
Pursue each other ; or shall they be divided 
Ry any voice or order of the field ? 
Hector bade ask. 

Agam. Which way would Hector have it? 

A^7ie. He cares not, he'll obey conditions. 

Achil. 'Tis done like Hector ; but securely done, 
A little proudly, and great deal misprizing 
The knight oppos'd. 

jEne. If not Achilles, sir. 

What is your name ? 

Achil. If not Achilles, nothing. 

jEne. Therefore Achilles : But, whate'er, knov/ 
In the extremity of great and little, [this ; — 

Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector ; 
The one almost as infinite as all. 
The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well. 
And that, which looks like pride, is courtesy. 
This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood : 



ACT IV.—SCENE V. 



597 



In love whereof, half Hector stays at home ; 
Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek 
This blended knight, half Trojan, and half Greek. 
Acini. A maiden battle then! — O, I perceive jou. 

Re-enter Diomed, 

Agam. Here is sir Diomed : — Go, gentle knight, 
Stand by our Ajax : as jou and lord ^Uneas 
Consent upon the order of their fight. 
So be it ; either to the uttermost, 
Or else a breath : the combatants being kin, 
Half stints tlieir strife before their strokes begin. 

[Ajax a)id Hector enter the lists. 

Ulyss. They are oppos'd already. 

Again. What Trojan is that same that looks so heavy? 

Vli/ss. The youngest son of Priam, a true knight ; 
Not yet mature, yet matchless : firm of word ; 
Speaking in deeds, and deedless in his tongue ; 
Not soon provok'd, nor, being provok'd, soon calm'd : 
His heart and hand both open, and both free ; 
For what he has, he gives ; what thinks, he shews ; 
Yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty, 
Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath : 
Manly as Hector, but more dangerous ; 
For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes 
To tender objects ; but he, in heat of action. 
Is more vindicative than jealous love: 
They call him Troilus ; and on him erect 
A second hope, as fairly built as Hector. 
Thus says ^neas ; one that knows the youth 
Even to his inches, and, with private soul, 
Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me. 

[Alarum. Hectok and h.3KX fight. 

Agam. They are in action. 

A'est. Now, Ajax, hold thine own ! 

Tro. Hector, thou sleep'st ; 

Awake thee! 

Agam. His blows are well dispos'd : — there, Ajax ! 

Dio. You must no more. [Trum-pets cease. 

jEne. Princes, enough, so please you. 

Ajax. I am not warm yet, let us fight again. 

Dio. As Hector pleases. 

Heel. Why then, will I no more ; — 

Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son, 
A cousin-german to great Priam's seed ; 
The obligation of our blood forbids 
A gory emulation twixt us twain : 
Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so. 
That thou could'st say — This hand is Grecian ail, 
And this is Trojan ; the sinews of' tliis leg 
All Greek, and this all Troy ; my ninther's blood 
Buns on the dexter cheek, and this sinister 
Bounds-i7i my J'ather's : by Jove multipotent. 
Thou should'st not bear from me a Greekish member 
Wherein my sword had not impressure made 
Of our rank feud : But the just gods gainsay. 
That any drop thou borrow'st from thy mother, 
My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword 
Be drain'd ! Let me embrace thee Ajax : 
By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms; 
Hector would have them fall upon him thus : 
Cousin, all honour to thee! 

Ajax. I thank thee. Hector : 

Thou art too gentle, and too free a man : 
I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence 
A great addition earned in thy death, 

Hect. Not Neoptolemus so mirable 
(On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st O yes 
Cries, This is he,) could promise to himself 
A thought of added honour torn from Hector. 

jEne. There is expectance here from both the sides. 
What further you will do. 



Hect. \Xe'\\ answer it ; 

The issue is embracement: — Ajax, farewell. 

Ajax. If I might in entreaties find success, 
(As seld' 1 have the chance,) I would desire 
My famous cousin to our Grecian tents. 

Dio. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish, and great Achilles 
Doth long to see unarm'd tlie valiant Hector. 

Hect, tineas, call my brother Troilus to me: 
And signify this loving interview 
To the expecters of our Trojan part; 
Desire them home. — Give me thy hand, my consin ; 
I will go eat with thee, and see your knights. 

Ajax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here. 

Hect. The worthiest of them tell me name by name ; 
But for Achilles, my own searching eyes 
Shall find him by his large and portly size. 

Agam. Worthy of arms! as welcome as to one 
That would be rid of such an enemy ; 
But that's no welcorae : understand more clear 
What's past, and what's to come, is strevv'd with husks 
And formless ruin of oblivion ; 
But in this extant moment, faith, and troth, 
Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing. 
Bids thee, with most divine integrity, 
From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. 

Hect. I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon. 

Agam. My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to you. 

[To Tnoii.us. 

Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's greet- 
Youbrace of warlike brothers, welcome hither, [ing ; 

Hect. Whom must we ansv/er 1 

Men. The rmlile Mene.Iau v 

Hect. O you, my loid? by Alars his gauutlet, 
Mock not, that I affect the untraded oath; [thanks. 
Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove: 
She's well, but bade me not commend her to you. 

Me7i. Name her not now, sir ; she's a deadly theme. 

Hect. O, pardon ; I offend. 

A'est. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft. 
Labouring for destiny, make cruel way 
Through ranks of Greekish youth : and I have seen 
As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed, [thee, 
Despising many forfeits and subduements, 
When thou hast hung tliy advanced sword i' the air. 
Not letting it decline on the declin'd ; 
That I have said to some my standers-by, 
Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life! 
And I have seen thee pause, and take thy breath. 
When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in, 
Like an Olympian wrestling : This have I seen ; 
But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel, 
I never saw till now, I knew thy grandsire. 
And once fought with him : he was a soldier good ; 
But, by great Mars, the cajitain of us all. 
Never like thee : Let an old man embrace thee ; 
And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents, 

Mne. 'Tis the old Nestor. 

Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, 
Thou liast so long walk'd hand in hand with time : — 
IMost reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. 

Nest. I would, my arms could match thee in con- 
As they contend with thee in courtesy. [teution, 

Hect. I would they could. 

Nest. Ha ! 
By this white beard, I'd fight with thee to-morrow, 
Well, welcome, welcome! 1 have seen the time — 

Ulyss. I wonder now how yonder city stands. 
When we have here her base and pillar by us. 

Hect. I know your favour, lord Ulysses, well 
Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead. 
Since first I saw yourself and Diomed 
In Ilion, on your Greekish embassy. 



598 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



Ulyss. Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue : 
My prophecy is but half his journey yet ; 
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, 
Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds. 
Must kiss their own feet. 

Hect. I must not believe you : 

There they stand yet ; and modestly 1 think, 
The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost 
A drop of Grecian blood: The end crowns all ; 
And tl»at old common arbitrator, time. 
Will one day end it. 

Ulyss. So to him we leave it. 

Most gentle, and most valiant Hector, welcome ; 
After the general, I beseech you next 
To feast with me, and see me at my tent. 

Achil. I shall forestall thee, lord Ulysses, thou ! — 
Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee : 
1 have with exact view perus'd thee. Hector, 
And quoted joint by joint. 

Hect. Is this Achilles ? 

Achil. 1 am Achilles. 

Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee: let me look on thee. 

Achil. Behold thy hlL 

Hect. Nay, 1 have done already. 

Achil. Tliou art too brief; 1 will the second time. 
As 1 would buy thee, view thee limb by limb. 

Hect. O, like a book of sport thou 'It read me o'er ; 
Eut there's more in me, than thou understand'st. 
Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye? [body 

Achil. Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his 
Shall I destroy him? whether there, there, or there? 
That I may give the local wound a name ; 
And make distinct the very breach whereout 
Hector's great spiiit flew : ."Answer me. heavens! 

Hect. It would discredit thebless'dgods,proudman. 
To answer such a question : Stand again : 
Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly. 
As to prenominate in nice conjecture. 
Where thou wilt hit me dead ? 

Achil, I tell thee, yea. 

Hect. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, 
I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well ; 
For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there ; 
But, by the forge that stitlued Mars his helm, 
I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er. — 
You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag, 
His insolence draws folly from my lips ; 
But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words. 
Or may I never 

Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin ; — 

And you Achilles, let these threats alone, 
Till accident, or purpose, bring you to't : 
You may have every day enough of Hector, 
If you have stomach ; the general state I fear. 
Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. 

Hect. I pray you, let us see you in the field ; 
We have had pelting wars, since you refus'd 
The Grecians' cause. 

Achil. Dost thou entreat me. Hector? 

To-morrow, do I meet thee, fell as death ; 
To-night, all friends. 

Hect. Thy hand upon that match. 

Aga7n. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent ; 
There in the full convive we : afterwaixis, 
As Hector's leisure, and your bounties shall 
Concur together, severally entreat him. — 
Beat loud the tabourines, let the trumpets blow. 
That this great soldier may his welcome know. 

[Eieunt all hut Titoii.us (lud Ulysses 

Tro. My lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you. 
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep? 
Ulyss. At Menelaus' tent, most princely Troilus : 



There Diomed doth feast with him to-night ; 
Who neither looks upon the heaven, nor earth. 
But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view 
On the fair Cressid. 

Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so mucn, 
After we part from Agamemnon's tent. 
To bring me thither? 

Ulyss. You shall command me, sir. 

As gentle tell me, of what honour was 
This Cressida in Troy ? Had she no lover there. 
That wails her absence? 

Tro. O, sir, to such as boasting shew their scars, 
A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord ? 
She was belov'd, she lov'd ; she is, and doth : 
But, still, sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. 

[Exeunt, 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. 

The Grecian Camp. — Before Achilles' Tent. 

Enter Achilles and Patroclus. 
Achil. I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine to- 
night, 
Which witii my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow. — 
Patroclus, let us feast him to the height. 
Pair. Here comes Thersites. 

Enter Theksites. 

Achil. How now, thou core of envy ■• 

Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news? 

Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, 
and idol of idiot worshippers, here's a letter for thee. 

Achil. From whence, fragment? 

Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy. 

Patr. Who keeps the tent now ? 

Ther. The surgeon's box, or the patient's wound. 

Pair. Well said. Adversity ! and what need these 
tricks ? 

Ther. Pr'ythee be silent, boy ; I profit not by thy 
talk : thou art thought to be Achilles' male varlet. 

Patr. Male varlet, you rogue ! what's that? 

Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now the rotten 
diseases of the south, the guts griping, ruptures, 
catarrhs, loads o' gravel i'the back, lethargies, cold 
palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, 
bladd^s full of imposthume, sciaticas, lime-kilns i'the 
palm, incurable bone-ach, and the rivelled fee-simple 
of the tetter, take and take again such preposterous 
discoveries ! 

Patr. Why thou damnable box of envy, thou, what 
meanest thou to curse thus ? 

Ther. Do I curse thee ? 

Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt ; you whoreson 
indistinguishable cur, no. 

Ther. No? why art thou then exasperate, thou idle 
immaterial skein of sleive silk, thou green sarcenet 
flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal's purse, 
thou ? Ah, how the poor world is pestered with such 
water- flies ; diminutives of nature i 

Patr. Out, gall ! 

Ther. Finch egg ! 

Achil. ]My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted qui^e 
From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle. 
Here is a letter from queen Hecuba ; 
A token from her daughter, my fair love ; 
Both taxing me, and gaging me to keep 
An oath that 1 have sworn. I will not break it : 
Fall, Greeks : fail, fame ; honour, or go, or stay ; 
My major vow lies here, this 1 '11 obey.— — 
Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent; 







f^i 



"A'-r-- 



^ ^</)^-?lVM' .<''^- 



xi," 



^-^'^Vii^^^&sjfeW- 



TROILUo AND CRESSJDA. 

Ulysses. Now, good my lord, gc n£F: 
Toa flow to great destvuctior ; conae, my lord 



.^^ I . Sr, ,„ i 



ACT V.--SCENE II. 



599 



This night in banqueting must all be spent. — 
Away, Patroclus. lExemit Achilles and Patroclus. 
Titer. With too much blood, and too little brain, 
these two may run mad ; but if with too much brain, 
and too little blood, they do, 1 '11 be a curer of mad- 
men. Here's Agamemnon, — an honest fellowenough, 
and one that loves quails ; but he has not so much 
brain as ear-wax: And the goodly transformation of 
Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, — the primitive 
statue, and oblique memorial of cuckolds ; a thrifty 
shoeing-horn in a chain, hanging at liis brother's leg, 
— to what form, but that he is, should wit larded with 
malice, and malice forced with wit, turn him to ? To 
an ass, were nothing ; he is both ass and ox : to an 
ox were nothing ; he is both ox and ass. To be a 
dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an owl, 
a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would not 
care : but to be Menelaus, — I would conspire against 
destiny. Ask me not what I would be, if I were not 
Thersites ; for I care not to be the louse of a lazar, 
so I were not Menelaus. — Hey-dey ! spirits and fires I 

EHfer HEcron, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulys- 
ses, Nestoh, Menelaus, and Diomed, with lights 

Agam, We go wrong, we go wrong. 
Ajax. No, yonder 'tis ; 

There, where we see the lights. 

Hect. I trouble you. 

AJai\ No, not a whit. 

Ulyss. Here comes himself to guide you. 

Etiter Achilles. 

Achil. Welcome, brave Hector ; welcome, princes 
all. [night. 

Agam. So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid good 
Ajax commands the guard to tend on you. 

Hect. Thanks, and good night, to the Greeks' general. 

Men. Good night, my lord. 

Heci. Good night, sweet Menelaus. 

Tlier. Sweet draught : Sweet, quoth 'a ! sweet sink, 
sweet sewer. 

Achil. Good night. 
And welcome, botii to those that go, or tarry. 

Agam, Good night. [^Eieunt Agamem. and Mene. 

Achil. Old Nestor tarries ; and you too, Diomed, 
Keep Hector company an hour or two. 

Dio. I cannot, lord ; I have important business. 
The tide whereof is now. — Good night, great Hector. 

Hect. Give me your hand. 

Uluss. Follow his torch, he goes 

To Calchas' tent ; I '11 keep you company. 

[Aside to Tkoilus. 

Tro. Sweet sir, you honour me. 

Hect, And so good night. 

[Eiit Diomed; Ulvss. and Tro. Jollowing. 

Achil. Come, come, enter my tent. 

[Exeunt Achil. Hector, A.iax, and Nest. 

Ther. That same Diomed's a false-hearted rogue, 
a most unjust knave ; I will no more trust him when 
he leers, than I will a serpent when he hisses : he 
will spend his mouth, and promise, like Brabler the 
hound ; but when he performs, astronomers foretell 
it ; it is prodigious, there will come some change ; the 
sun borrows of the moon, when Diomed keeps his 
word. I will rather leave to see Hector, than not to 
dog him : they say, he keeps a Trojan drab, and uses 
the traitor Calchas' tent : I '11 after. — Nothing but 
lechery ! all incontinent varlets ! [Eiit. 

SCENE IL— The same. Before Calchas' Tent. 

Enter Diomedes. 
Dirt. Wha are you up here, ho 1 speak. 



Tro. 
Dio. 

Cres. 

Tro. 



Cres, 
Dio, 

Cres. 



Cat. [Within.^ Who calls'? 

Dio. Diomed. — Calchas, I think. — Wheie's your 

daughter } 

CaL [Within.'] She comes to you. 

Eater Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance ; 
after them Thersites. 

Ulyss. Stand where the torch may not discover us 
Enter Cressida. 

Cressid, come forth to hiin ! 

How now, my charge ■• 
Now my sweet guardian ! — Hark ! a word 
with you. [Whispers. 

Yea, so familiar ! 

Ulyss. She will sing any man at first sight. 

Ther. And any man may sing her, if he can take 
her cliff; she's noted. 

Dio. Will you remember 1 

Cres, Remember'? yes. 

Dio. Nay, but do then , 

And let your mind be coupled with your words. 

Tro. What should she remember? 

Ulyss. List ! 

Cres. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly. 

Ther. Roguery ! 

Dio, Nay, then, — 

I '11 tell you what : 
Pho ! pho ! come, tell a pin : You are for- 
sworn. — [me do ? 
In faith, I cannot: What would you have 

Ther. A juggling trick, to be— secretly open. 

Dio. What did you swear you would bestow on me ? 

Cres. I pr'ythee, do not hold me to mine oath ; 
Bid me do any thing but that, sweet Greek. 

Dio, Good night. 

Tro. Hold, patience ! 

Ulyss, How now, Trojan 1 

Cres, Diomed, 

Dio. No, no, good night: I '11 be your fool no more. 

Tro. Thy better must. 

Cres. Hark ! one word in your ear. 

Ti-o. O plague and madness ! 

Ulyss. You are mov'd, prince ; let us depart, I pi-ay 
Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself [you. 
To wrathful terms ; this place is dangerous ; 
The time right deadly; 1 beseech you, go. 

Tro, Behold, I pray you ! 

Ulyss. Now, good my lord, go off: 

You flow to great destruction ; come, my lord. 

Tro. I pr'ythee, stay. 

Ulyss. You have not patience ; come. 

7'r(). I pray you, stay; by hell, and all hell's torments, 
I will not speak a word. 

Dio, And so good night. 

Cres. Nay, but you part in anger. 

Tro. Doth that grieve thee t 

wither'd truth ! 

Ulysi. VV'hy, how now, lord 1 

Tro. By Jove, 

1 will be patient. 

Cres. Guardian ! — why, Greek ! 

Dio. Pho, pho ' adieu ; you palter. 

Cres. In faith, I do not ; come hither once again. 

Ulyss. You shake, my lord, at something ; will you 
You will break out. [go ? 

Tro, She strokes his cheek ! 

Ulyss. Come, come. 

Tro. Nay, stay ; by ,Tove, I will not speak a word : 
There is between my will and all offences 
A guard of patience : — stay a little while. 

Ther. How the devil luxury, with his fat rump. 



600 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



and potatoe finger, tickles these together ! Fry, 
lecliery, fry ! 

Dio. But will you then ? 

Cres. In faith, I will, la : never trust me else. 

Dio. Give me some token for the surety of it. 

Cres. I'll fetch you one. [Exit. 

Utyss. You have sworn patience. 

Tro. Fear me not, my lord ; 

I will not be myself, nor have cognition 
Of what I feel ; I am all patience. 

Re-e7iter Cuessida. 

Thei: Now the pledge ; now, now, now ! 
Cres. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve. 
Tro. O beauty ! Where's thy faith ? 

Ulyss. My lord, 

Tro. I will be patient ; outwardly I will. 

" You look upon that sleeve: Behold it well. 



Dio. 

Cres. 

Dio. 

Cres. 



^res. 
He lov'd me — O false wench ! — Give 't me agam. 
Dio. Whose was 't ? 

Cres. No matter, now I have't again 

I will not meet with you to-morrow night: 
I pr'ythee, Diomed, visit me no more. 

Ther. Now she sharpens ; — Well said, whetstone. 
I shall have it. 

What, this ? 

Ay, that. 
O, all you gods ! — O pretty pretty pledge ! 
Thy master now lies thinking in his bed 
Of thee, and me ; and sighs, and takes my glove. 
And gives memorial dainty kisses to it. 
As I kiss thee. — Nay, do not snatch it from me ; 
He, that takes that, must take my heart withal. 
Dio. I had your heart before, this follows it. 
Tro. I did swear patience. 

Cres. You shall not have it, Diomed ; 'faith you 
I '11 give you something else. [shall not ; 

Dio. I will have this ; Wliose was it ? 
Cres. 'Tis no matter. 

Dio. Come, tell me whose it was. 
Cres. 'Twas one's that loved me better than you will. 
But, now you have it, take it. 

Dio. Whose was it ? 

Cres. By all Diana's waiting-women, yonder, 
And by herself, I will not tell you whose. 

Dio. Tomorrow will I wear it on my helm ; 
And grieve his spirit, that dares not challenge it. 

Tro. Wert thou the devil, and wor'st it on thy horn, 
It should be challeng'd. 

Cres. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past ; — And yet it 
I will not keep my word. [is not ; 

Uio. Why then, farewell ; 

Thou never shalt mock Diomed again. 

Cres. You shall not go :— One cannot speak a word. 
But it straight starts you. 

Dio. I do not like this fooling. 

Thei: Nor I, by Pluto : but that that likes not you, 
pleases me best. 

Dio. What, shall I come? the hour? 
Cres. Ay, come:— Jove! 

Do come : — I shall be plagu'd. 

i^io. Farewell till then. 

Cres. Good night. I pr'ythee, come. — 

[Elit DlOMEDES. 

Troilus, farewell ! one eye yet looks on tliee ; 
But with my heart the other eye doth see. 
Ah ! poor our sex ! this fault in us 1 find. 
The error of our eye directs our mind : 
What error leads, must err ; O then conclude. 
Minds, sway'd by eyes, are full of turpitude 

[Elit Cressida. 
Ther. A proof of strength she could not publish more. 



Unless she said, My mind is now tum'd whore 
Ulyss. All 's done, my lord. 
Tro. It is. 

Ulyss. Why stay we tnenV 

Tro. To make a recordation to my soul 
Of every syllable that here was spoke. 
But, if I tell how these two did co act, 
Shall I not lie in publishing a truth? 
Sith yet there is a credence in my heart, 
An esperance so obstinately strong. 
That doth invert the attest of eyes and ears ; 
As if those organs had deceptions functions, 
Created only to calumniate. 
Was Cressid here ? 

Ulyss. I cannot conjure, Trojan. 

Tro. She was not, sure. 
Ulyss. Most sure she was. 

Tro. Why, my negation hath no taste of madness;. 
Ulyss. Nor mine, my lord : Cressid was here but 

now. 
Tro. Let it not be believ'd for womanhood! 
Think, we had mothers ; do not give advantage 
To stubborn critics — apt, without a theme. 
For depravation, — to square the general sex 
By Cressid's rule : rather think this not Cressid. 
Ulyss. What hath she done, prince, that can soil ouj 

mothers ? 
Tro. Nothing at all, unless that this were she. 
Ther. Will he swagger himself out on 's own eyes ? 
Tro. This she? no, this is Diomed's Cressida: 
If beauty have a soul, this is not she ; 
If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimony. 
If sanctimony be the gods' delight. 
If there be rule in unity itself. 
This was not she. O madness of discourse, 
That cause sets up with and against itself ! 
Bi-fold authority ! where reason can revolt 
Without perdition, and loss assume all reason 
Without revolt ; this is, and is not, Cressid ! 
Within my soul there doth commence a fight 
Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate 
Divides more wider than the sky and earth ; 
And yet the spacious breadth of this division 
Admits no orifice for a point, as subtle 
As is Arachne's broken woof, to enter. 
Instance, O instance ! strong as Pluto's gates ; 
Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven : 
Instance, O instance! strong as heaven itself; 
The bonds of heaven areslipp'd,dissotv'd, and loos'd, 
And with another knot, five-finger-tied. 
The fractions of her faith, orts of her love, 
The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy reliques 
Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed. 
Ulyss. JMay worthy Troilus be half attach'd 
With that which here his passion doth express ? 

Tro. Ay, Greek; and that shall be divulged well 
In characters as red as Mars his heart 
Inflam'd with Venus : never did young man fancy 
With so eternal and so fix'd a soul. 
Hark, Greek ; As much as I do Cressid love. 
So much by weight hate I her Diomed: 
That sleeve is mine, that he 'II bear on his helm ; 
Were it a casque compos'd by Vulcan's skill, 
My sword should bite it : not the dreadful spout. 
Which shipmen do the hurricano call 
Constring'd in mass by the almighty sun. 
Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear 
In his descent, than shall my prompted swoi'd 
Falling on Diomed. 

Ther. He'll tickle it for his concupy. 
Tro. O Cressid ! O false Cressid ! false, false, false, 
Let all untruths stand by thy stained name. 



ACT v.— SCENE III. 



001 



And thej''!! seem glorious. 

Ulys. O, contain yourself ; 

Your passion draws ears hither. 

Enter ^neas. 

jEne. I have been seeking you this hour, my lord : 
Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy ; 
Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home. 

Tro. Have with you, prince: — My courteous lord, 
adieu : — 
Farewell, revolted fair! — and, Diomed, 
Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head ! 

[//i/ss. I '11 bring you to the gates. 

Tro. Accept distracted thanks. 

[Exeunt TiioiLus, ^'Eneas, and Ulysses. 

Ther. 'Would, I could meet that rogue Diomed! 
I would croak like a raven ; I would bode, I would 
bode. Patroclus will give me any thing for the in- 
telligence of this whore : the parrot will not do more 
for an almond, than he for a commodious drab. 
Lechery, lechery ; still, wars and lechery; nothing 
else holds fashion: A burning devil take them. [Exit. 

SCENE III.— Troy. Before Priam's Palace. 
Enter Hectou and ANDito.MAcnE. 

And. When was my lord so much ungently temper'd, 
To stop his ears against admonishment 1 
Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day. 

Hect. You train me to offend you ; get you in : 
By all the everlasting gods, I '11 go. 

And. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the 

Hect. No more, I say. [day. 

Enter Cassandra. 

Cas. Where is my brother Hector ? 

And. Here, sister ; arm'd, and bloody in intent. 
Consort with me in loud and dear petition, 
Pursue we him on knees ; for I have dream'd 
Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night 
Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter. 

Cast. 0, it is true. 

Hect. Ho ! bid my trumpet sound ! 

Cas. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet bro- 
ther. 

Hect. Begone, I say : the gods have heard me swear. 

Cas. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows ; 
They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd 
Than spotted livers in the sacrifice. 

And. O ! be persuaded : Do not count it holy 
To hurt by being just : it is as lawful. 
For we would give much, to use violent thefts, 
And rob in the behalf of charity. 

Cas. It is the purpose, that makes strong the vow : 
But vows to every purpose must not hold : 
Unarm, sweet Hector, 

Hect. Hold you still, I say; 

Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate : 
Life every man holds dear ; but the dear man 
Holds honour far more precious dear than life. — 

Enter TnoiLus. 

How now, young man? mean'st thoU to fight to-day? 

And. Cassandra, call my father to persuade. 

[Exit Cassandra. 

Hect. No, 'faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, 
I am to-day i' the vein of chivalry : [youth, 

Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong, 
And tempt not yet the brushes of the war. 
Unarm thee, go ; and doubt thou not, brave boy, 
I'll stand to-day, for thee, and me, and Troy. 

Trn. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you, 
Which better fits a lion, than a man. 



Hect. \Vhat vice is that, good Troilus? chide me 
for it. 

Tro. When many times the captive Grecians fall, 
Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword, 
You bid them rise and live. 

Hect. O, 'tis fair play. 

Tro. Fool's play, by heaven, Hector. 

Hect. How now ? how now ? 

Trn. For the love of all the gods, 

Let's leave the hermit pity with our mother ; 
And when we have our annours buckled on, 
The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords ; 
Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth. 

Hect. Fye, savage, fye ! 

Tro. Hector, then 'tis wars. 

Hect. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day 

Tro. Who should withhold me? 
Nor fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars 
Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire ; 
Not Priamus, and Hecuba on knees, 
Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears ; 
Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, 
Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way, 
But by my ruin. 

Re-enter Cassandra, with Priam. 

Cas. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast : 
He is thy crutch ; now if thou lose thy stay, 
Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee. 
Fall all together. 

Pri. Come, Hector, come, go back : 

Thy wife hath dream'd ; thy mother hath had visions ; 
Cassandra doth foresee ; and 1 myself 
Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt. 
To tell thee — that this day is ominous : 
Therefore, come back. 

Hect, ^neas is a-field ; 

And 1 do stand engag'd to many Greeks, 
Even in the faith of valour, to appear 
This morning to them. 

Pri. ]5ut thou slial; not go. 

Hect. I must not break my faith. 
You know me dutiful ; therefore, dear sir. 
Let me not shame respect ; but give me leave 
To take that course by your consent and voice. 
Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam. 

Cas. O Priam, yield not to him. 

And. Do not, dear father. 

Hect. Andromache, I am offended with you : 
Upon the love you bear me, get you in. 

[Exit Andromache. 

Tro. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl 
Makes all these bodements. 

C-'as. O farewell, dear Hector. 

Look, how thou diest! look, how thy eye turns pale! 
Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents ! 
Hark, how Troy roars! how llecuba cries out! 
How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth I 
Behold, destruction, frenzy, and amazement. 
Like witless antics, one another meet. 
And all cry — Hector! Hector's dead! O Hector! 

Tro. Away ! — Away ! 

Cas. Farewell. — Vet, soft. — Hector, I take my 
leave : 
Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive [Exit. 

Hect. You are amaz'd, my liege, at her exclaim : 
Go in, and cheer the town, we'll forth, and figiit ; 
Do deeds worth praise, and tell you them at night. 

Prj. Farewell: the gods with safety stand about thee! 
[Kieunt severally Puiam and Hectou. Alarums, 

Tro. They are at it ; hark ! Proud Diomed, believe, 
I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve. 



602 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA 



As Troilus is going out, enter, from the other side, 
Pandarus. 

Pan. Do you hear, my lord 1 do you hear 1 

Tro. What now 1 

Pan. Here 's a letter from yon' poor girl. 

Tro. Let me read. 

Pan. A whoreson ptisic, a whoreson rascally ptisic 
so troubles me, and the foolish fortune of this girl ; 
and what one thing, what anodier, that 1 shall leave 
you one o' these days : And I have a rheum in mine 
eyes too ; and such an ache in my bones, that, unless 
a man were cursed, I cannot tell what to think on't. 
— What says she there 1 

Tro. Words, words, mere words, no matter from the 
heart ; [Tearing the letter. 

The effect doth operate another way. — 
Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together. — 
My love with words and er'ors still she feeds ; 
But edifies another with her deeds. [Exeunt severally. 

SCENE IV.— Between Troy and the Grecian Camp. 

Alarums: Excursions. E/tier Thersites. 

Ther. Now they are clapper-clawing one another; 
I'll go look on. That dissembling abominable var- 
let, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting foolish 
young knave's sleeve of Troy there in his lielm : I 
would fain see them meet ; that that same young 
Trojan ass, that loves the whore there, might send 
that Greekish whoremasterly villain, with the sleeve, 
back to the dissembling luxurious drab, on a sleeve- 
less errand. O' the other side, The policy of those 
crafty swearing rascals, — that stale old mouse-eaten 
dry cheese, Nestor; and that same dog-fox, Ulysses, 
— is not proved worth a blackberry: — They set me 
up, in policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against that 
dog of as bad a kind, Achilles : and now is the cur 
Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm 
to-day ; whereupon tlie Grecians begin to proclaim 
barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion. 
Soft ! here come sleeve, and t' other. 

Enter Diomedes, Tkoilus /o//ou;ing. 

Tro. Fly not ; for, shouldst thou take the river Styx, 
1 would swim after. 

Dio. Thou dost miscall retire • 

[ do not fly ; but advantageous care 
Withdrew me from the odds of multitude : 
Have at thee ! 

Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian ! — now for thy 
tvhore, Trojan ! — now the sleeve, now the sleeve ! 
[Eieunt Tu.HLUS and Dio»it.t)}LS,Jighting. 

Enter Hector. 

Hect. What art thou, Greek, art thou for Hector's 
Art thou of blood, and honour "! [match ? 

Ther. No, no : — I am a rascal ; a scurvy railing 
knave ; a very filthy rogue. 

Hect. 1 do believe thee ; — live. [Exit. 

Ther. God-amercy, that thou wilt believe me ; 
But a plague break thy neck, for frighting me. 
What's become of the wenching rogues 1 I think, 
they have swallowed one another : 1 would laugh at 
that miracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. I'll 
seek them. \^Exit. 

SCENE v.— The same. 

Enter Diomedes and a Servant. 

Dio. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse ; 
Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid : 
Fellow, commend mv service to her beauty ; 



Tell her, I have chistis'd the amorous Trojan, 
And am her knight by proof. 

Serv. I go, my lord. [Exit Servant 

Enter Agamemnon. 

Agam. Renew, renew ! the fierce Polydamus 
Hath beat down Menon : bastard Margareloa 
Hath Doreus prisoner ; 
And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam. 
Upon the pashed corses of the kings 
Epistrophus and Cedius : Polixenes is slain ; 
Amphimacus, and Thoas, deadly hurt ; 
Patroclus la'en, or slain ; and Palamedes 
Sore hurt and bruis'd : the dreadful Sagittaiy 
Appals our numbers ; haste we, Diomed, 
To reinlorcement, or we perish all. 

Enter Nestoh. 

Nest. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles ; 
And bid the snail-paced Ajax arm for shame.- 
There is a thousand Hectors in the field : 
Now here he fights on Galathe his horse, 
And there lacks work ; anon, he's there afoot. 
And there they fly, or die, like scaled sculls 
Before the belching whale ; then he is yonder. 
And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge. 
Fall down before him, like the mower's swath : 
Here, there, and every where, he leaves, and takes ; 
Dexterity so obeying appetite. 
That what he will, he does ; and does so much. 
That proof is call'd impossibility. 

Enter Ulysses. 

Ulqss. O courage, courage, princes ! great Achilles 
Is aiming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance ; 
Patroclus' wounds have rous'd his drowsy blood. 
Together with his mangled Myrmidons, 
That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, come to 
Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend, [him, 
And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd, and at it, 
Roaring for Troilus ; who hath done to-day 
Mad and fantastic execution ; 
Engaging and redeeming of himself. 
With .^uch a careless force, and forceless care, 
As if that luck, in very spite of cunning, 
Bade him win all. 

Enter Ajax. 

Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus ! [Exit. 

Dio. Ay, there, there. 

Nest. So, so, we draw together. 

Enter Achilles. 
Achil. Where IS this Hector 1 

Come, come, thou boy-queller, shew thy face ; 
Know what it is to meet Achilles angry. 
Hector I where's Hector] I will none but Hector. 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE Yl.— Another Part of the Field. 

Enter Ajax. 
Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, shew th\ head 

Enter Diomedes. 

Dio. Troilus, 1 say ! where's Troilus ? 

Ajax. What would'st thou? 

Dio. I would correct him. [oflice 



Ajax. Were I the general, thou should'st have my 
Ere that correction : — Troilus, I say ! what, Troilus ! 

Enter Troiu's. 
Tro. O traitor Diomed! — turn thy false face, thou 
traitor, 



ACT v.— SCENE XI. 



603 



And pay thy life thou ow'st me for my horse ! 
Difl. Ha ! art thou there ? 

Ajax. I'll fight with him alone: stand, Diomed. 
Dio. He is my prize, I will not look upon. 
'I'ro. Come both, you cogging Greeks ; have at you 
both. [Exeunt Jightiiig. 

Enter Hector. 

Hect. Yea, Troilusl O well fought, my youngest 
brother ! 

Enter Achilles. 

Achil. Now do I see thee : — Ha! — Have at thee, 

Hect. Pause, if thou wilt. [Hector. 

Achil. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan. 
Be happy, that my arms are out of use : 
My rest and negligence befriend thee now, 
But thou anon shall hear of me again ; 
Till when, go seek thy fortune. [Exit. 

Hect. Fare thee well : — 

[ would have been much more a fresher man, 
Had 1 expected thee. — How now, my brother 1 

Re-enter Troilus. 

Tro. Ajax hath ta'en iEneas ; Shall it bel 
No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven, 
He shall not carry him ; I'll be taken too. 
Or bring him oft': — Fate, hear me what I say, 
I reck not though 1 end my life to-day. [Eiit. 

Enter one in siiwptupus armour. 

Hect. Stand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a goodly 
mark : — 
No ? wilt thou not? — I like thy armour well ; 
I'll frush it, and unlock the rivets all. 
But I'll be master of it : — Wilt thou not, beast, abide 1 
Why then, fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy hide. [Exeunt. 

SCENE \11.— The same. 

Enter Achilles, with JMyrmidons. 

Achil. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons; 
Mark what I say. — Attend me where 1 wheel : 
Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath ; 
And when I have the bloody Hector found. 
Empale him with your weapons round about ; 
In fellest manner execute your arms. 
Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye : — 
It is decreed — Hector the great must die. [Exeunt. 

SCENE Yin.— The same. 

Enter Menelaus and 'Paris, Jighting : 
then Theusites. 

Ther. The cuckold, and the cuckold-maker are at 
it : Now, bull ! now, dog ! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo ! now 
my double-henned sparrow ! 'loo, Paiis, 'loo ! The 
bull has the game : — 'ware horns, ho ! 

[Exeunt Paris and Menelaus. 

Enter Margarelon. 

Mar. Turn, slave, and fight. 

Ther. What art thou ? 

Mar. A bastard son of Priam's,- 

Ther. 1 am a bastard too : I love bastards : I am 
a bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, 
bastard in valour, in every thing illegitimate. One 
bear will not bile another, and wherefore should one 
bastard? Take heed, the quarrel's most ominous to 
us : if the son of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts 
judgment: Farewell, bastard. 

'IJar. The devil take thee, coward! [_Eieunt. 



SCENE IX.- Another Part of the Field. 

Enter Hector. 

Hect. Most putrified core, so fair without. 

Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life. 

Now is my day's work done : I'll take good breath : 

Rest, sword : thou hast thy fill of blood and death ! 

[Puts off his helmet, and hangs his shield behind him. 

Enter Achilles and Myrmidons. 

Achil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set; 
How ugly night comes breathing at his heels : 
Even with the vail and dark'ning of the sun, 
To close the day up, Hector's life is done. 

Hect. I am unarm'd ; forego this vantage, Greek. 

Achil. Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek. 

[Hector falls. 
So, Ilion, fall thou next ; now, Troy, sink down; 
Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. — 
On, Myrmidons ; and cry you all amain, 
Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain. 

[A retreat sounded, 
HarK ! a retreat upon our Grecian part. 

Mi/r. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord. 

Achil. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the 
And, stickler-like, the armies separate. [earth, 

My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed, 
Pleas'd with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed. — 

[Sheathes his sword. 
Come, tie his body to my horse's tail : 
Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Eieunt, 

SCENE X.— The same. 

Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor, 
Diomedes, and others, marching. Shouts within. 

Agam, Hark, hark, what shout is that? 

^^est. Peace, drums. 

[ mthin.'\ _ Achilles ! 

Achilles ! Hector's slain ! Achilles ! 

Dio. The bruit is — Hector's slain, and by Achilles. 

Ajax. If it be so, yet bragless let it be ; 
Great Hector was as good a man as he. 

Agam. March patiently along : — Let one be sent 
To pray Achilles see us at our tent. — 
If in his death the gods have us befriended. 
Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended. 

[Exeunt, marching, 

SCENE Xl.--Another Part of the Field. 

Enter ^neas and Trojans, 

.Mne. Stand, ho ! yet are we masters of the field : 
Never go home ; here starve we out the night. 

Enter Troilus. 

Tro. Hector is slain. 

All. Hector? — The gods forbid! 

Tro. He's dead • and at the murderer's horse's tail, 
In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field. — 
Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed! 
Sit gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy ! 
1 say, at once, let your brief plagues be mercy, 
And linger not our sure destructions on ! 

jEne. My lord, you do discomfort all the host. 

Tro. You understand me not, that tell me so : 
I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death ; 
But dare all imminence, that gods and men. 
Address their dangers in. Hector is gone 
Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba? 
Let him, that will a screech-owl aye be call'd. 
Go in to Troy, and say there — Hector's dead : 



t;o4 



^ 



TIMON OF ATHENS, 



There is a word will Priam turn to stone ; 
Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives, 
Cold statues of the youth ; and, in a word, 
Scare Troy out of itself. But, march, away : 
Hector is dead ; there is no more to say. 
Stay yet ; — You vile abominable tents. 
Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains, 
Let Titan rise as early as he dare, [coward ! 

I'll through and through you ! And thou, great-siz'd 
No space of earth shall sunder our two hates ; 
I'll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still. 
That niouldeth goblins swift as fienzy thoughts. — 
Strike a free march to Troy! — with comfort go : 
Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe. 

[Exeunt ^NEAs and Trojans. 

As TnoiLus is going out, enter, from the other side, 
Pandap.hs. 

Pan, But hear you, hear you ! 
Tro. Hence, broker lackey! ignomyand shame 
Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name. 

[Exit TnoiLus. 



Pan. A goodly med'cine for my aching bones ! — 
O world ! world ! world ! thus is the poor agent 
despised I O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are 
you set a'work, and how ill requited! Why should 
our endeavour be so loved, and the performance so 
loathed ? what verse for it ? what instance for it^- 
Let me see : — 

Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing, 
Till he hath lost his honey, and his sting : 
And being once subdued in armed tail. 
Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail. — 
Good traders in the flesh , set this in your painted cloths 

As many as be here of pander's hall. 
Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall : 
Or, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans. 
Though not for me, yet for your aching bones. 
Brethren, and sisters, of the hold-door trade. 
Some two months hence my will shall here be made 
It should be now, but that my fear is this, — 
Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss : 
Till then I'll sweat, and seek about for eases ; 
And, at that time, bequeath you my diseases. [Kxit. 



This play is more correctly written than most of Shak- 
speare's compositions, but it is not one of those in which cither 
the extent of his views or elevation of his fancy is fully dis- 
laved. As the story abounded with materials, he has exerted 
Jttle i-nvention ; but he has diversified his characters \yith great 
variety, and preserved them with great exactness. His vicious 
characters disgust but cannot corrupt, for both Cressida and 
Pandarus are detested and contemned. The comic characters 



fi 



j seem to have been the favourites of the writer : they are of the 
superficial kind, andexhilut more of manners than nature ; but 

! they are copiously filled and powerfully impressed. Shakspeare 
has in his story followed, for the greater part, the old book of 
Caxton, which was then very popular ; but the character of 
Thersites, of which it makes no mention, is a proof that this 
play was written after Chapman iiad published his version ol 
ilomer.— J o H N s o N . 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



There is no edition of this play previous to that of 1623. The 
dale of its production rests on mere conjecture. Malone sup- 
poses it to have been written in 1610, and Mr. Chalmers m 
1601, or 1602. 

The suhjpct is from Plutarch's Lite of Antony, which Shak- 
speare rriiuhl have read in North's translation. Ihe passage 
respecting I iraon is as follows :— " Antonius forsook thecitie 
and companie of his friends, saying, that he would lead I'i- 
mon's life, because he had the like wrong offered him that 
was offered unto Fimon : and/ur i/ie mithankfulness of those 
he had done good unto, and whom he tooke to be his friendes, he 
was angry -jiith all men, and would trust no man." 



There is an old M.S. play on the same subject, which was tor 
merly in the possession of Mr. Strutt the engraver, anl 
which, according to .Steevens, was written or transcribed in 
1600. I'hough evidently the work of a scholar, it is a most 
wretched i)roduction ; but as it contains a faithful steward, 
and a m.ock banqueting scene, the critics have imagined that 
Shakspeare must have seen the MS. before he commenced liij 
own work upon the subject. It is perhaps rather unfair, on 
such uncertain grounds, to accuse Shakspeare as the plagia- 
rist, and acquit the unknown author.— ihe circumstance c( 
Timon's becoming possessed of great sums of gold is takf.a 
from Lucian. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED, 

TiMON, a noble Athenian. 

Lucius, LucuLLus, Shmpronius, Lords, and 

flatterers of Timon. 
Ventidius, one of Timon's false friends, 
Apemantus, a churlish philosopher, 
Alcibiades, an Athenian general. 
Flavius, steicard to Timon. 

Flaminius, Lucilius, Servii-ius, Timon's servants, 
Caphis, Phii-otus, Titus, Lucius, Hoiitensius, 

servants to Timon's creditors. 
Two Servants o/" Varro. 
The Servant of' Isidore. 
Txvo of Timon's Creditors. 
Cupid and Maskers. 
Three Strangers, 

Poet, Painter. Jeweller. Merchant. 
An old Athenian. A Page. A Fool. 

Phrynia, Timandra, mistresses to Alcibiades. 

Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Thieves^ 
and Attendants. 

SCENE, — Athens j and the woods adjoining. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.— Athens. A Hall in Timon's House. 

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others, 
at several doors. 

Poet. Good day, sir. 

Pain. I am glad you are well. 

Poet. I have not seen you long , How goes the 

Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. [world ? 

Poet. Ay, that's well known : 

But what particular rarity? what strange, 
Which manifold record not matchcN I See, 
]\Iagic of bounty ! all these spirits thy power 
Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant. 

Pain. I know them both ; t'other's a jeweller. 

Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord ! 

Jew. Nay, that's most fix'J. 

Mec. Amostincomparableman; breath'd, asitwere, 
To an untirable and continuate goodness : 
He passes. 

Jew. I have a jewel here. 

Mer, O, pray, let's see't : For the lord Timon, sir ? 

Jeit.If he will touch the estimate: But, for that 

Poet. When we for recompense have praud the vile, 



ACT I.— SCENE I. 



605 



't stains the. glory in that happy verse 
Which aptly sings the good. 

Met: Tis a good form. [Looking at the jewel. 

Jew. And ricb here is a water, look you. 

Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedica- 
To the great lord. [tion 

Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me. 

Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes 
From whence 'tis nourished : The fire i'the flint 
Sliews not, till it be struck ; our gentle flame 
Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies 
Each bound it chafes. What have you there? [forth ! 

Pain. A picture, sir. — And when comes your hook 

Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. 
l-«t's see your piece. 

Pain. 'Tis a good piece. 

Poet. So 'tis : tiiis comes off well and excellent. 

Pain. Indifferent. 

Poet. Admirable : How this grace 

Speaks his own standing ! what a mental power 
1 his eye shoots forth ! how big imagination 
Moves in this lip ! to the dumbness of the gesture 
One might interpret. 

Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. 
Here is a touch ; Is't good ? 

Poet. rii say of it, 

It tutors nature : artificial strife 
Lives in these touches, livelier than life. 

Enter certain Senators, and pass over. 

Pain. How this lord's follow'd ! 

Poet. The senators of Athens : — Happy men ! 

Pain. Look, more ! 

Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visi- 
I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man, [tors. 
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug 
With amplest entertainment : My free drift 
Halts not particularly, but moves itself 
In a wide sea of wax : no level) 'd malice 
Infects one comma in the course I liold ; 
But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on. 
Leaving no tract behind. 

Pain. How shall I understand you 1 

Poet. I'll unbolt to you. 

You see how all conditions, how all minds, 
(As well of glib and slippery creatures, as 
Of grave and austere quality,) tender down 
Their services to lord Timon : his large fortune. 
Upon his good and gi'acious nature hanging. 
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance 
All sorts of hearts ; yea, from the glass- fac'd flatterer 
To Apemantus, that few things loves better 
Than to abhor himself: even he drops down 
The knee before him, and returns in peace 
Most rich in Timon's nod. 

Pain. I saw tliem speak together. 

Poet. Sir, I have upon a higli and pleasant hill, 
Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd : Tiie base o' the mount 
Is rank'd witli all deserts, all kinds of natures. 
That labour on the bosom of this spliere 
To propagate their states : amongst them all. 
Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd. 
One do I personate of lord 'i'imon's frame, 
Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her ; 
Whose present grace to present slaves and servants 
Translates his rivals. 

Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope. 

This tiirone, this Fortune, and this inll, methinks. 
With one man beckou'd from the rest below, 
Bowing his head against the stcepy mount 
To climb his happiness, would be well express'd 
lu our coiidition. 



Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on . 

All those which were his fellows but of late, 
(Some better than his value,) on the moment 
Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance 
Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, 
Make sacred even his stirrop, and through him 
Drink the free air. 

Pain. Ay, marry, what of these 1 

Poei. When Foitune, in her shift and change of rnood. 
Spurns down her late belov'd, all his dependants, 
\Vhich labour'd after him to the mountain's top, 
Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down. 
Not one accompanying his declining foot. 

Pain. 'Tis common : 
A thousand moral paintings I can shew, 
That shall demonstrate tliese quick blows of fortune 
INIore pregnantly than words. Yet you do well. 
To shew lord Timon, that mean eyes have seen 
The foot above the head. 

Trnmpeis sound. Enter Tuioy, attended ; l/ie Ser- 
vant of Ventidius talking with him. 

Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you? 

Ven.Serv. Ay.my good lord : five talents is his del)t; 
His means most short, his creditors most strait : 
Your honourable letter he desires 
To those have shut him up ; which failing to him. 
Periods his comfort. 

Tim. Noble Ventidius ' Well; 

I am not of that feather, to shake off 
iMy friend when he must need me. I do know him 
A gentleman, that well deserves a help. 
Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt, and free him. 

Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him. 

Tim. Commend me to him : I will send hisransome; 
And, being enfranchis'd, bid iiim come to me : — 
'i'is not enough to help the feeble up. 
But to support him after. — Fare you well. 

Ven. Serv All happiness to your honour! [Esit. 

Enter an old Athenian. 
Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. 
Tim. Freely, good father. 

Old Ath Thou hast a servant nara'd Lucilius. 
Tim. I have so : Wha*^ {him? 
Old Atli. Most noble Tim> , call the man before thee. 
Tim. Attends he here, oi no? — Lucilius ! 

Enter Lucilius. 

Luc. Here, at your lordship's service. 

Old .ith. This fellow laie, lord Timon, this thy crea- 
By night frecjuents my house. I am a man [ture. 
That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift ; 
And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd. 
Than one which holds a trencher. 

Tim. Wei] ; what further ? 

Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else, 
On wimm I may confer what 1 have got : 
The maid is fair, o'the youngest for a bride. 
And 1 have bred hei at my dearest cost, 
In qualities of the best. Tiiis man of thine 
Attempts her love: 1 pr'ythee, noble lord. 
Join with me to forbid him her resort ; 
Myself have spoke in vain. 

Tim. The man is honest. 

Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon : 
His honesty rewards him in itself. 
It must not bear my daughter. 

Tim. Does she love hiin ! 

Old Ath. She is young, and apt : 
Our own precedent passions do instruct us 
Wiiat levity's in youth. 

Tim. [To Lucilius.] Love you the maidl 



t)()6 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



Luc, Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. 

Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be missing, 
I call the gods to witness, 1 will choose 
Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, 
And dispossess her all. 

Tim. How shall she be endow'd, 

If she be mated with an equal husband"! 

Old Ath. Three talents, on the present ; in future, all. 

Tim. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me long ; 
To build his fortune I will strain a little, 
For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter : 
What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, 
And make him weigh with her. 

Old Ath. Most noble lord. 

Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. 

Tim My hand to thee ; mine honour on my promise. 

Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship : Never may 
That state or fortune fall into my keeping. 
Which is not ow'd to you ! [Ex. Luc. ^ old Ath. 

Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lord- 
ship ! 

Tim. I thank you ; you shall hear from me anon : 
Go not away. — What have you there, my friend? 

Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech 
Your lordship to accept. 

Tim. Painting is welcome. 

The painting is almost the natural man ; 
For since dishonour traffics with man's nature, 
He is but outside : These pencil'd figures are 
Even such as they give out. I like your work ; 
And you shall find, I like it : wait attendance 
Till you hear further from me. 

Pain. The gods preserve you ! 

Tim. Well fare you, gentlemen: Give me your hand: 
We must needs dine together. — Sir, your jewel 
Hath sufFer'd under praise. 

Jew, What, my lord 1 dispraise 1 

Tim. A meer satiety of commendations. 
If I should pay you fnr't as 'tis extoll'd, 
It would unclew me quite 



Jen 



My lord, 'tis rated 



As those, which sell, would give: But you well know. 
Things of like value, differing in the owners, 
Are prized by their masters : believe't, dear lord. 
You mend the jewel by wearing it. 

Tim. Well mock'd. 

Mer. No, my good lord; he speaks the common 
W^hich all men speak with him. [tongue, 

Tim. Look, who comes here. Will you be chid ] 

Enter Apemantus. 

Jew. We will bear with your lordship. 

Mer. He'll spare none. 

Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus ! 

Apem. Till I be gentle, stay for thy good morrow ; 
When thou artTimon's dog, and these knaves honest. 

Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves'! thouknow'st 

Ape7n. Are they not Athenians 1 [them not. 

Tim. Yes. 

Apem. Then I repent not. 

Jew. You know me, Apemantus. 

Apem. Thou knowest, I do ; I call'd thee by thy 
name. 

Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus. 

Apem. Of nothing so much, as that I am not like 
Timon. 

Tim. Whither art going 1 

Apem. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. 

Tim. That's a deed thou'lt die for. 

Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the law. 

Tim. How likest thou this picture, Apemantus 1 

Apem. The best, for the innocence. 



Tim. Wrought he not well, that pamted i( t 

Apem. He wrought better, that made tlie painter ; 
and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. 

Pain. You are a dog. 

Apem. Thy mother s of my generation ; What's 
she, if I be a dog 1 

Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus 1 

Apem. No ; I eat not lords. 

Tim. An thou should'st, thou'dst anger ladies. 

Apem. O they eat lords; so they come by great bellies. 

Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension. 

Apem. So thou apprehend'st it: Take it for thylabour. 

Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apenjantus? 

Apem. Not so well as plain-dealing, which will 
not cost a man a doit. 

Tim. What dost thou think 'tis worth ? 

Apem. Not worth my thinking. — How now, poet? 

Poet. How now, philosopher 1 

Apem. Thou liest. 

Poet. Art not one 1 

Apem Yes. 

Poet. Then I lie not. 

Apem. Art not a poet? 

Poet. Yes. 

Apem. Then thou liest: look in thy last work, 
where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow. 

Poet- That's not feign'd, he is so. 

Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee 
for thy labour : He, that loves to be flattered, is wor- 
thy o' the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord ! 

Tim. What wouldst do then, Apemantus ? 

Apem. Even as Apemantus does now, hate a lord 
with my heart. 

Tim. What, thyself? 

Apem. Ay, 

Tim. Wherefore ? 

Apem. That I had no angry wit to be a lord. — Art 
not thou a merchant 1 

Mer. Ay, Apemantus. 

Apem. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not ! 

Mer. If traffic do it, the gods do it. 

Apem. Traffic's thy god, and thy god confound thee ! 

Trumpets sound. Enter a Servant. 

Tim. What trumpet's that? 

Serv. 'Tis Alcibiades, and 

Some twenty horse, all of companionshij). 

Tim. Pray entertain them ; give them guide to us — 
[Exeunt some Attendants. 
You must needs dine with me : — Go not you hence, 
Till I have thank'd you ; and, when dinner's done, 
Shew me this piece. — I am joyful of your sights. 

Enter Alcibiades, with his company. 

Most welcome, sir. [They salute. 

Apem. So, so ; there ! — 

Aches contract and starve your supple joints ! — 
That there should be small love 'mongst these sweet 

knaves, 
And all this court'sy ! The strain of man's bred out 
Into baboon and monkey. 

Alcib. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and I feed 
Most hungrily on your sight. 

Tim. Right welcome, sir ; 

Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time 
In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. 

[Exeunt all but Apemantus 

Enter Two Lords. 

1 Lord. What time a day is't, Apemantus ? 

Apem. Time to be honest. 

1 Lord, That time serves still. 



ACT I. -SCENE II. 



607 



Apem, The most accursed thou, that still omit'st it. 

2 Lord, Thou art going to lord Timon's feast. 

Apem. Ay ; to see meat fill knaves, and wine heat 

2 Lord. Fare thee well, fare thee well. [fools. 

Apem, Thou art a fool, to bid me farewell twice. 

^ Lord. Why, Apemantus? 

Apem. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean 
lo give thee none. 

1 Lord. Hang thyself. 

Apem. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding ; make 
thy requests to thy friend. 

t Lord. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee 
hence. 

Apem I willfly,likeadog,theheelsof anass. [Exit. 

1 Lord. He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we 
And taste lord Timon's bounty ] he outgoes [in, 
The very heart of kindness. 

Si Lord. He pours it out ; Plutus, the god of gold, 
Is but his steward : no meed, but he repays 
Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him. 
But breeds the giver a return exceeding 
All use of quittance. 

1 Lord. The noblest mind he carries. 
That ever govern'd man. 

2 Lord. Long may he live in fortunes ! Shall we in ] 
1 Lord. I'll keep you company. [£ieu»t. 

SCENE II. 

The same. A Boom oj State in Timon's House. 

Hautboys playing loud inusic A great banquet 
served in; Fl.wius and others attending; then 
enter'Timoy, Alcibudes, Lucius, Lucullus, Sem- 
PRONius, and other Athenian Senators, with Ven- 
TiDius, and Attendants. Then comes, dropping 
after all, Apemantus, discontentedly. 

Ven, Most honour'd Timon, 't hath pleas'd the gods 
remember 
My father's age, and call him to long peace. 
He is gone happy, and has left me rich : 
Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound 
To your free heart, I do return those talents, 
Doubled, with thanks, and service, from whose help 
I deriv'd liberty. 

Tim, O, by no means, 

Honest Ventidius : you mistake my love ; 
I gave it freely ever ; and there's none 
Can truly say, he gives, if he receives : 
If our betters play at that game, we must not dare 
To imitate them ; Faults that are rich, are fair. 

Ven. A noble spirit. 

[They all stand ceremoniously looking on Timon. 

Tim. Nay, my lords, ceremony 

Was but devis'd at first, to set a gloss 
On faint deeds, hollow welcomes. 
Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shewn ; 
But where there is true friendship, there needs none. 
Pray, sit ; more welcome are ye to my fortunes. 
Than my fortunes to me. [They sit. 

1 Lord. My lord, we always have confess'd it. 

Apen. Ho, ho.confess'dif! hang'dit, have you not? 

Tim. O, Apemantus I — you are welcome. 

Apem. No. 

You shall not make me welcome : 
I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. [tliere 

2'im. Fye, thou art a churl ; you have got a humour 
Does not become a man, 'tis much to blame : — 
They say, my lords, that ira furor brevis est. 
But yond' man 's ever angry. 
Go, let him have a table by himself ; 
For he does neither affect company, 
Mor is he fit for it, indeed. 



Apem. Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon ; 
I coiae to observe ; I give thee warning on't. 

Tim. I take no heed of thee ; thou art an Athe- 
nian ; therefore welcome : I myself would have no 
power : pr'ythee, let my meat make thee silent. 

Apem. I scorn thy meat ; 'twould choke me, for I 
should 
Ne'er flatter thee. — O you gods ! what a number 
Of men eat Timon, and he sees them not 1 
It grieves me to see so many dip their meat 
In one man's blood ; and all the madness is, 
He cheers them up too. 

I wonder men daie trust themselves with men : 
Methinks, they should invite them without knives ; 
Good for their meat, and safer for their lives. 
There's much example for't ; the fellow, that 
Sits next him now, parts bread with hiui, and pledges 
The breath of him in a divided draught. 
Is the readiest man to kill him : it has been prov'd. 
If I 

Were a huge man, I should fear to urink at meals ; 
Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes : 
Great men should drink with harness on their throats. 

Tim. My lord, in heart ; and let the health go round. 

2 Lord. Let it flow this way, my good lord. 

Apem. Flow this way! 

A brave fellow ! — he keep uis tides well. Timon, 
Those healths will make thee, and thy state look ill. 
Here's that, which is too weak to be a sinner, 
Honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire : 
This, and my food, are equals ; there's no odds. 
Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. 

Apemantus's Grace. 

Immortal gods, I crave no pelf, 
I pray for no man but myself: 
Grant I maif never prove so fond. 
To trust man on his oath or bond ; 
Or a harlot, for her weeping ; 
Or a dog, thai seems a sleeping ; 
Or a keeper with my freedom ; 
Or my friends, if I should need 'em 
Amen. Sojallto't 
Rich men sin, and I eat roo\. 

[Eats and drinks. 

Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus ! [novv. 

Tim. Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field 

Alcib. My heart is ever at your service, my lord. 

Tim. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies, 

than a dinner of friends. 

Alcib. So they were bleeding-new, my lord, there's 
no meat like them ; I could wish my best friend at 
such a feast. 

Apem. 'Would all those flatterers were thine ene- 
mies then ; that then thou might'st kill 'em, and bid 
me to 'em. 

1 Lord. Might we but have that happiness, my 
lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby 
we might express some part ot our zeals, we should 
think ourselves for ever perfect. 

Tim. O no doubt, my good friends, but the gods 
themselves have provided that I shall have much help 
from you : how had you been my friends else? why 
have you that charitable title from thousands, did you 
not chiefly belong to my heart? I have told more of 
you to myself, than you can with modesty speak in 
your own behalf ; and thus far I confirm you. O, 
you gods, think I, what need we have any friends, if 
we should never have need of them ? they were the 
most needless creatures living, should we ne'er have 
use for them : and would most resemble sweet in- 
struments hung up in cases, that keep their sounds to 



608 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



themselves. Why , I have often wished myself poorer, 
that I might come nearer to you. We are born to do 
benefits : and what better or properer can we call our 
own than the riches of our friends! O, what a pre- 
cious comfort 'tis, to have so many like brotiiers, 
commanding one another's fortunes ! O joy, e'en 
made away ere ii can be born I Aline eyes cannot 
hold out water, methinks ; to forget their faults, I 
drink to you. 

A-pem. Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon. 

2 Lord. Joy had the like conception in our eyes, 
And, at that instant, like a babe sprung up. 

Aipem. Ho, ho ! I laugh to think that babe a bastard. 

3 Lord. I promise you, my lord, you raov'd me much. 
Apem. Much. ^Tucket sounded. 
Tim. What means that trump? — How nowl 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Please you, my lord, tliere are certain ladies 
most desirous of admittance. 

Tim. Ladi ' What are their wills? 

iierv. There V. neswith them a forerunner, my lord, 
which bears that office, to signify their pleasures. 

Tim. I pray, let them be admitted. 

Enter Cupid. 

Cup. Hail to thee, worthy Timon ; — and to all 
That of his bounties taste ! — The five best senses 
Acknowledge thee their patron ; and come freely 
To congratulate thy plenteous bosom : The ear. 
Taste, touch, smell, all pleas'd from thy table rise; 
They only now come but to feast thine eyes. 

Tim. They are welcome all ; let them have kind 
admittance, 
IMusic, make their welcome. [Exit Cupid. 

1 Lord.Y ou see, my lord, how ample you arebelov'd. 

Music. Re-enter Cupid, with a masque of Ladies, 
as Amazons, with lute in their hands, dancing, and 

playing. 

Apem. Hey day, what asweep of vanity comes this 
They dance ! they are mad women. [way ! 

Like madness is the glory of this life. 
As this pomp shews to a little oil, and root. 
We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves ; 
And spend our flatteries, to drink those men, 
Upon whose age we void it up again, 
With poisonous spite, and envy. Who lives, that's not 
Depraved, or depraves 1 who dies, that bears 
Not one spurn to their graves of their friends' gift ? 
I should fear, those, that dance before me now. 
Would one day stamp upon me : It has been done : 
Men shut their doors against a setting sun. 

T/ie Lords rise from table, ivith much adoring of Timon; 
and, to shew their loves, each singles out an Amazon, 
and all dance, men with women, a lofty strain or two 
to the hautboys, and cease, 

Tim. You have done our pleasures much grace, fair 
Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, [ladies, 
Which was not half so beautiful and kind ; 
You have added worth unto't, and lively lustre, 
And entertain'd me with mine own device ; 
I am to thank you for it. 

1 Lady. My lord, you take us even at the best. 

Apem. 'Faith, for the worst is filthy ; and would not 
hold taking, 1 doubt me. 

Tim. Ladies, there is an idle banquet 
Attends you : Please you to dispose yourselves. 

AIL Lad. Most thankfully, my lord. 

[Exeunt Cupid, and Ladies 

Tim. Flavius, 



Flav. My lord. 

Tim. The little casket bring me hither. 

Flav. Yes, my lord. — More jewels yet ! 
There is no crossing him in his humour ; [Aside, 
Else I should tell him, — Well, — i'faith, I should, 
When all's spent, he'd be cross'd then, an he could. 
' Tis pity, bounty had not eyes behind ; 
That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind. 

[Fjxit, and returns with the casket. 

1 Lord. Where be our men 1 

Serv. Here, my lord, in readiness. 

5i Lord. Our horses. 

Tim. O my friends, I have one word 

To say to you ; — Look you, my good lord, I must 
Entreat you, honour me so much, as to 
Advance this jewel ; 
Accept it, and wear it, kind my lord. 

1 Lord, I am so far already in your gifts, — 
All. So are we all. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. My lord, there are certain nobles of the senate 
Newly alighted, and come to visit you. 

Tim. They are fairly welcome. 

Flav. I beseech your honour. 

Vouchsafe me a word ; it does concern you near. 

Tim. Near; why then another lime I'll hear thee: 
I pr'ythee, let us be provided 
To shew them entertainment. 

Flav. 1 scarce know how. [Aside. 

Filter another Servant. 

2 Serv. May it please your honour, the lord Lucius, 
Out of his free love, hath presented to you 

Four milk-while horses, trapp'd in silver. 

Tim, I shall accept them fairly . let the presents 

Enter a third Servant. 

Be worthily entertain'd. — How now, what newsl 

3 Serv. Please you, my lord, that honourable 
gentleman, lord Lucullus, entreats your company to- 
morrow to hunt with him ; and has sent your honour 
two brace of greyhounds. 

Tim. I'll hunt with him ; and let them be receiv'd. 
Not without fair reward. 

Flav. [Aside.^ What will this come to? 

He commands us to provide, and give great gifts. 
And all out of an empty coffer. — 
Nor will he know his purse ; or yield me this, 
To shew him what a beggar his heart is. 
Being of no power to make his wishes good ; 
His promises fly so beyond his state. 
That what he speaks is all in debt, he owes 
For every word ; he is so kind, that he now 
Pays interest for't ; his lands put to their books. 
Well, 'would I were gently put out of office, 
Before I were forc'd out ! 
Happier is he that has no friend to feed. 
Than such as do even enemies exceed. 
I bleed inwardly for my lord. [ Exit. 

Tim, You do yourselves 

Much wrong, you bate too much of your own merits : 
Here, my lord, a trifle of our love. 

2 Lord. With more than common thanks 1 will re- 

3 Lord. O, he is the very soul of bounty ! [ceive it. 
Tim, And now I remember me, my lord, you gave 

Good words the other day of a bay courser 
I rode on : it is yours, because you lik'd it ! 

2 Lord. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in that, 
Tim. You may take my word, my lord ; I know 
no man 
Can justly praise, but what he does affect : 



ACT II.— SCENE II. 



609 



r weigh my friend's affection with mine own ; 
I'll tell you true. I'll call on ycu. 

All Lords. None so welcome. 

Tim. I take all and your several visitations 
So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give ; 
Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends, 
Andne'erbe weary. — Alcibiades, 
Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich. 
It comes in charity to thee : for all thy living 
Is 'mongst the dead ; and all the lands thou hast 
L'e in apitch'd field. 

Alcib. Ay, defiled land, ray lord. 

I Lord. We are so virtuously bound, 

T/ni. And so 

Am I to you. 

SI Lord, So infinitely endear'd 

Tim. All to you. — Lights, more lights, 
1 Lord. The best of happiness. 

Honour, and fortunes, keep with you, lord Timon ! 
Tim. Ready for his friends. 

[^Eieuut Alcibiades, Lords, 5i"c. 
Apem. What a coil's here! 

Serving of becks, and jutting out of bums ! 
I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums 
That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs : 
Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs. 
Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies. 

Tint, Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen 
I'd be good to thee. 

Apem. No, I'll nothing : for 

If I should be brib'd too, there would be none left 
To rail upon thee ; and then thou would'st sin the 
Thou giv'st so long, Timon, I fear me, thou [faster. 
Wilt give away thyself in paper shortly : 
What need these feasts, pomps, and vain glories? 

Tim. Nay, 

An you begin to rail on society once, 
I am sworn, not to give regard to you. 
Farewell; and come with better music. [Exit. 

Apem. So ; — [lock 

Thou'lt not hear me now, — thou shalt not then, I'll 
Thy heaven from thee. O, that men's ears should be 
To counsel deaf, but not to flattery ! lExit. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — The same. A Room in a Senator's House. 

Enter a Senator, with papers in his hand. 

Sen. And late, five thousand to Varro ; and to 
Isidore 
He owes nine thousand ; besides my former sum, 
Which makes it five and twenty. — Still in motion 
Of raging waste 1 It cannot hold ; it will not. 
If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog. 
And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold : 
If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more 
Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon, 
Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me, straight, 
And able horses : No porter at his gate ; 
But rather one that smiles, and still invites 
All that pass by. It cannot hold ; no reason 
Can found his state in safety, Caphis, ho ! 
Caphis, I say ! 

Enter Caphis. 

Capk. Here, sir ; What is your pleasure? 

Sen. Get on your cloadc, and haste you to lordTi- 
Iinportune him for my monies; benotceas'd [mon ; 
With slight denial ; nor then silenc'd, when — 



Commend me to your master — and the cap 

Plays in the right hand thus : — but tell him, sirrah, 

My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn 

Out of mine own ; his days and times are past. 

And my reliances on his fracted dates 

Have smit my credit : I love, and honour him ; 

But must not break my back, to heal his finger: 

Immediate are my needs ; and my relief 

Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words, 

But find supply immediate. Get j'ou gone : 

Put on a most importunate aspect, 

A visage of demand ; for, I do fear. 

When every feather sticks in his own wing, 

Lord Timon will be left a naked gull. 

Which flashes now a phcenix. Get you gone. 

Caph. I go, sir. 

Sen. I go, sir ? — take the bonds along with you. 
And have the dates in conipt. 

Caph, 1 will, sir. 

Sen. Go. [Er. 

SCENE II. — The same, A Hall in Timon's House, 

Enter Flavius, with many bills in his hand, 

Flav. No care, no stop ! so senseless of expense. 
That he will neither know how to maintain it, 
Nor cease his flow of riot : Takes no account 
How things go from him ; nor resumes no care 
Of what is to continue ; Never mind 
Was to be so unwise, to be so kind. 
What shall be done ? He will not hear, till feel : 
I must be round with him, now he comes from hunt- 
Fye, fye, fye, fye ! [ing. 

E^iter Caphis, an(/ t/ie Sei-vants oflsiDORE anrf Varro 

Caph, Good even, Varro : What, 

You come for money ? 

Var. Serv, Is't not your business too ? 

Caph. It is ; — and yours too, Isidore ? 

Isid, Serv. It is so. 

Caph, 'Would we were all discharg'd ! 

Var. Serv. J fear it. 

Caph. Here comes the lord. 

Enter Timon, Alcibiades, and Lords, S;c. 

Tim. So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth again. 
My Alcibiades. — With me ; What's your will ? 

Caph, My lord, here is a note of certain dues. 

Tim. Dues ? whence are you ? 

Caph. Of Athens here, my lord. 

Tim Go to my steward. 

Caph. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off 
To the succession of new days this month : 
My master is awak'd by great occasion. 
To call upon his own : and humbly prays you, 
That with your other noble parts you'll suit. 
In giving him his right. 

Tim, Mine honest friend, 

I pr'ythee, but repair to me next morning. 

Caph. Nay, good my lord, 

Tim. Contain thyself, good friend. 

Var. Serv. One Varro's servant, my good lord, — 

hid. Serv, From Isidore ; 
He humbly prays your speedy payment, 

Caph. If you did know, my lord, my master's 
wants, 

Var, Serv, 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six 
And past, [weeks, 

Isid. Serv. Your steward puts me off, my lord ; 
And I am sent expressly to your lordship. 

Tim. Give me breath : 

I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on ; 

\_Eieunt Alcibiades and Lords 
2 Q 



610 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



I'll wait upon you instantly, — Come hither, pray you, 

[To Flav us. 
How goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd 
With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds, 
And the detention of long-sincedue debts, 
Against my honour? 

Fliiv. Please you, gentlemen, 

The time is unagreeable to this business : 
Your importunacy cease, till after dinner ; 
That I may make his lordship understand 
Wherefore you are not paid. 

Tim. Do so, my friends : 

See them well entertained. [Eiit Timon. 

Flav, I pray, draw near. 

[Exit Flavius. 
Enter Apemantus and a Fool. 

Caph. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Ape- 
mantus ; let's have some sport with 'em. 

Var. Serv. Hang him, he'll abuse us. 

hid. Seru. A plague upon him, dog ! 

Var. Serv. How dost, fool ? 

Apem. Dost dialogue with thy shadow 1 

Var. Serv. 1 speak not to thee. 

Apem. No ; 'tis to thyself. — Come away. 

[Tfl the Fool. 

Jsid. Serv. [To Var. Serv.] There's the fool hangs 
on your back already. 

Apem. No, thou stand'st single, thou art not on 

Caph. Where's the fool now? [him yet. 

Apem. He last asked the question. — Poor rogues 
and usurers' men ! bawds between gold and want ! 

All Serv. What are we, Apemantus ? 

Apem. Asses. 

All Serv. Why? 

Apem. That you ask me what you are, and do not 
know yourselves. — Speak to em, fool. 

Fool. How do you, gentlemen? [mistress? 

All Serv. Gramercies, good fool : How does your 

Fool, She's e'en setting on water to scald such 
chickens as you are. 'Would we could see you at 
Corinth. 

Apem. G ood ! gramercy. 

Enter Page. 

Fool. Look you, here comes my mistress' page. 

Page. [To the Fool.] Why, how now, captain ? 
what do you in this wise company ? How dost thou, 
Apemantus ? 

Apem. 'Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I 
miglit answer thee profitably. 

Fage. Pr'ythee, Apemantus, read me the super- 
scription of these letters ; I know not which is which. 

Apem. Canst not read ? 

Page. No. 

Apem. There will little learning die then, thatday 
thou art hanged. This is to lord Timon ; this to Al- 
cibiades. Go ; thou wast born a bastard, and thou'lt 
die a bawd. 

Page. Thou wast whelped a dog ; and thou shalt 
famish, a dog's death. Answer not, I am gone. 

[Exit Page. 

Apem. Even so thou out-run'st grace. Fool, I 
will go with you to lord Timon's. 

Fool. Will you leave me there? 

Apem. K Timon stay at home. — You three serve 
three usurers? 

All Serv. Ay ; 'would they served us ! 

Apem. So would I,— as good a trick a& ever hang- 
man served thief. 

Fool. Are you three usurers' men ? 

All Serv. Ay, fool. 

Fool. I think, no usurer but has a fool to his ser- 



vant : My mistress is one, and I am her fool. When 
men come to borrow of your masters, they approach 
sadly, and go away merry; but they enter my mis- 
tress' house merrily, and go away sadly : The reason 
of this? 

Var. Serv. I could render one. 

Apem. Do it then, that we may account thee a 
whoremaster, and a knave ; which, notwithstanding, 
thou shalt be no less esteemed. 

Var. Serv. W^hat is a whoremaster, fool ? 

Fool. A fool in good clothes, and something like 
thee. 'Tis a spirit: sometime, it appears like a lord ; 
sometime, like a lawyer ; sometime, like a philoso- 
pher, with two stones more than his artificial one : 
He is very often like a knight; and, generally, in all 
shapes, that man goes up and down in, from four- 
score to thirteen, this spirit walks in. 

Var. Serv. Thou art not altogether a fool. 

Fool. Nor thou altogether a wise man : as much 
foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest 

Apem. That answer might havebecome Apemantus. 

All Serv. Aside, aside ; here comes lord Timon. 

Re-enter Timon and Flavius. 

Apem. Come with me, fool, come. 
Fool. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, 
and woman ; sometime, the philosopher. 

[Ereuitt Apemantus and Fool. 

Flav. 'Pray you, walk near ; I '11 speak with you 

anon. [Exeunt Serv. 

Tim. You make me marvel : Wherefore, ere this 
Had you not fully laid my state before me ; [time, 
That I might so have rated my expense, 
As I had leave of means? 

Ftav. You would not hear me, 

At many leisures I propos'd. 

Tim. Go to : 

Perchance, some single vantages you took, 
When my indisposition put you back ; 
And that unaptness made your minister. 
Thus to excuse yourself. 

Flav. O my good lord ! 

At many times I brought in my accounts, 
Laid them before you ; you would throw them ofT, 
And say, you found them in mine honesty. 
When, for some trifling present, you have bid me 
Return so much, I have shook my head, and wept ; 
Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners pray'd you 
To hold your hand more close : I did endure 
Not seldom, nor no slight checks ; when I have 
Prompted you, in the ebb of your estate. 
And your great flow of debts. My dear-lov'd brd. 
Though you hear now, (too late !) yetnow's a time, 
The greatest of your having lacks a half 
To pay your present debts. 

Tim. Let all my land be sold 

Flat. 'Tis all engag'd, some forfeited and gone; 
And what remains will hardly stop the mouth 
Of present dues: the future comes apace: 
What shall defend the interim ? and at length 
How goes our reckoning? 

Tim. To Lacedsemon did my land extend. 

Flav. O my good lord, the world is but a word. 
Were it all yours, to give it in a breath, 
How quickly were it gone ? 

Tim. You tell me true. 

Flav. If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood 
Call me before the exactest auditors. 
And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me. 
When all our offices have been oppress'd 
With riotous feeders : when our vaults have wept 
With di-unken spilth of wine; when every room 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 



611 



Hath blaz'd with lights, and bray'd with minstrelsy ; 
I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock, 
And set mine eyes at flow. 

Tim. Pr'ythee, no more. 

Flav. Heavens, havel said, the bounty of this lord ! 
How many prodigal bits have slaves, and peasants, 
This night englutted! Who is not Timon's ] 
What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is lord 
Great Timon, noble.worthy, royal Timon 1 [Timon's? 
Ah ! when the means are gone, that buy this praise, 
The breath is gone whereof this praise is made : 
Feast-won, fast-lost ; one cloud of winter showers, 
These files are couch'd. 

Tim. Come, sermon me no further : 

No villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart ; 
Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. 
Why dost thou weepl Canst thou the conscience lack, 
To think I shall lack friends'! Secure thy heart; 
If I would broach the vessels of my love. 
And try the arguments of hearts by borrowing, 
Men, and men's fortunes could I frankly use, 
As I can bid thee speak. 

Flav. Assurance bless your thoughts ! 

Tim. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are 
crown'd. 
That I account them blessings ; for by these 
Shall I try friends : You shall perceive, how you 
Mistake my fortunes ; I am wealthy in my friends. 
Within there, ho! — Flaminius! Servilius ! 

Enter Flaminius, Servilids, and other Servants. 

Serv. My lord, my lord, [Lucius, — 

Tim. I will despatch you severally. — You, to lord 
To lord Lucullus you ; I hunted with his 
Honour to-day; — You, to Sempronius ; 
Commend me to their loves; and, I am proud, say, 
That my occasions have found time to use them 
Toward a supply of money : let the request 
Be fifty talents. 

Flam. As you have said, my lord. 

Flav. Lord Lucius, and lord Lucullus? humph! 

[Aside. 

Tim. Go you, sir, [to nnotficr Serv.] to the senators, 
(Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have 
Deserv'd this hearing,) bid 'em send o' the instant 
A thousand talents to me. 

Flav. I have been bold, 

(For that I knew it the most general way,) 
'To them to use your signet, and your name ; 
But they do shake their heads, and I am here 
No richer in return. 

Tim. Is't true? can it be? 

Flav. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice. 
That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot 
Do what they would ; are sorry — you are honour- 
able, — ■ 
But yet they could havewish'd — they know not — but 
Something hath been amiss — a noble nature 
May catch awrench— would all were well — 'tis pity — 
And so, intending other serious matters 
After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions. 
With certain half-caps, and cold-moving nods, 
They froze me into silence. 

Tim. You gods, reward them! 

I pr'ythee, man, look cheerly ; These old fellows 
Have their ingratitude in them hereditary : 
Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom flows ; 
'Tis lack of kindly warmth, they are not kind ; 
And nature, as it grows again toward earth. 
Is fashion'd for the journey, dull and heavy. — 
Go to A'^entidius, — [in a Serv.] 'Pr'ythee, [to Fla- 
vius.] be not sad, 



Thou art true, and honest ; ingeniously 1 speak. 
No blame belongs to thee: — [to Serv.] Ventidius 

lately 
Buried his father ; by whose death, he's stepp'a 
Into a great estate : when he was poor, 
Iraprison'd, and in scarcity of friends, 
I clear'd him with five talents : Greet him from me , 
Bid him suppose, some good necessity 
Touches his friend, which craves to be rememner'd 
W'ith those five talents: — that had, — [to Flav.] give 

it these fellows 
To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think. 
That Timon's fortune 'mong his friends can sink. 
Flav. I would, I could not think it; That thought 

is bounty's foe ; 
Being free itself, it thinks all others so. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — The same. A Room in LucuUus's Howie. 
Flaminius waiting. Enter a Servant to him. 

Serv. I have told my lord of you, he is coming 
down to you. 

Flam. 1 thank you, sir. 

Enter Lucullus. 

Serv. Here's my lord. 

Lucid. [Aside.] One of lord Timon's men? a gift, 
I warrant. Why, this hits right; I dreamt of a silver 
bason and ewer to-night. Flaminius, honest Flami- 
nius ; you are very respectively welcome, sir. — Fill 
me some wine. — [Exit Servant] And how does that 
honourable, complete, free-hearted gentleman of 
Athens, thy very bountiful good lord and master ? 

Flain. His health is well, sir. 

Lncul. I am right glad that his health is well, sir: 
And what hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty 
Flaminius ? 

Flam. 'Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir; which, 
in my lord's behalf, I come to entreat your honour to 
supply ; who, having great aod instant occasion to 
use fifty talents, hath sent to your lordship to furnish 
him ; nothing doubting your presentassistance therein. 

Lncul. La, la, la, la, — nothing doubting, says he? 
alas, good lord ! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he would 
not keep so good a house. Many a time and often I 
have dined with him, and told him on't ; and come 
again to supper to him, of purpose to have him spend 
less : and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no 
warning by my coming. Every man has his fault, and 
honesty is his ; I have told him on 't, but I could 
never get him from it. 

Re-etiter Servant, with wine. 

Serv. Please your lordship, here's the wine. 

Lucul. Flaminius, 1 have noted thee always wise. 
Here's to thee. 

Flam. Your lordship speaks your pleasure. 

Lncul. I have observed thee always for a towardly 
prompt spirit, — give thee thy due, — and one that 
knows what belongs to reason ; and canst use the time 
well, if the time use thee well : good parts in thee. — 
Get you gone, sirrah. — [To the Servant, who goes 
oi/t.]— Draw nearer, honest Flaminius. 'i"hy lord's 
a bountiful gentleman : but thou art wise ; and thou 
knowest well enough, although thou comest to me, 
that this is no time to lend money ; especially upon 
bare friendship, without security. Here's three soli- 
dares for thee; good boy, wink at me, and say, thou 
saw'st me not. Fare thee well. 



612 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



Flam. Is'tpossible, theworld should so much differ : 
And we alive, that liv'd'! Fly, damned baseness, 
To him that worships thee. 

[Tltrowing the money awaii. 

Luciil. Ila! now I see, thou art a fool, and fit for 
thy master. \^Exit Lucui.lus. 

Flam. May these add to the number that may scald 
Let molten coin be thy damnation, [thee ! 

Thou disease of a friend, and not himself! 
Has friendship such a faint and milky heart. 
It turns in less than two nights? O you gods, 
1 feel my master's passion ! This slave. 
Unto his honour, has my lord's meat in him ; 
Why should it thrive, and turn to nutriment. 
When he is turn'd to poison ? 
O, may diseases only work upon't ! 
And, when he is sick to death, let not that part of 
Which my lord paid for, be of any power [nature 
To expel sickness, but prolong his hour ! [Exit. 

SCENE II. — The same. A public place. 

Enter Lucius, with Three Strangers. 

Luc. Who, the lord Timon 1 he is my very good 
friend, and an honourable gentleman. 

1 Stran. We know him for no less, though we are 
but strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, 
my lord, and which I hear from common rumours ; 
now lord Timon's happy hours are done and past, and 
his estate shrinks from him. 

Lvc. Fye no, do not believe it ; he cannot want 
for money. 

2 Stran. But believe you this, my lord, that, not 
long ago, one of hismen was with the lord LucuUus, 
to borrow so many talents ; nay, urged extremely 
for't, and shewed what necessity belong'd to't, and 
yet was denied. 

Luc. How ? 

2 Stran, 1 tell you, denied, my lord. 

Ltic. What a strange case was that? now, before 
the goos, I am ashamed on 't. Denied that honour- 
able man ? there was very little honour shew'd in't. 
For my own part, I must needs confess, I have re- 
ceived some small kindnesses from him, as money, 
plate, jewels, and such like trifles, nothing comparing 
to his; yet, had he mistook him, and sent to me, I 
should ne'er have denied his occasion so many talents. 

Enter Servilius. 

Ser, See, by good hap, yonder 's my lord ; I have 
sweat to see his honour. — My honoured lord, — 

[Tit Lucius. 

Luc. Servilius! you are kindly met, sir. Fare thee 
well: — Commend me to thy honourable-virtuous 
lord, my very exquisite friend. 

Ser, May it please your honour, my lord hath 
sent 

Lnc, Ha! what has he sent? I am so much en- 
deared to that lord; he's ever sending: How shall I 
thank him , thinkest thou 1 And what has he sent now ? 

Ser. He has only sent his present occasion now, 
my lord ; requesting your lordship to supply his in- 
stant use with so many talents. 

Luc. 1 know, his lordship is but merry with me ; 
He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents. 

Ser. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord. 
If his occasion were not virtuous, 
1 should not urge it Italf so faithfully. 

Luc. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius? 

Ser. Upon my soul, 'tis true, sir. 

Luc. What a wicked beast was I, to disfurnish 
myself against such a good time, when I might have 



shewn myself honourable I how unluckily it happen- 
ed, that I should purchase the day before for a little 
part, and undo a great deal of honour! — Servilius, 
now before the gods, I am not able to do 't ; the more 
beast, I say : — ^I was sending to use lord Timon my- 
self, these gentlemen can witness ; but I would not, 
for the wealth of Athens, I had done it now. Com- 
mend me bountifully to his good lordship ; and I 
hope, his honour will conceive the fairest of me, be- 
cause I have no power to be kind : — And tell him this 
from me, I count it one of my greatest afflictions ; 
say, that I cannot pleasure such an honourable gentle- 
man. Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far, 
as to use mine own words to him ? 

Ser. Yes, sir, I shall. 

Luc. I will look you out a good turn, Servilius. — 

[Exit Servilius. 
True, as you said, Timon is shrunk, indeed; 
And he, that's once denied, will hardly speed. 

[Eiit Lucius 

1 Stran. Do you observe this, Hostilius ? 

2 Stran. Ay, too well. 
1 Stran. Why this 

Is the world's soul ; and just of the same piece 
Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him 
His friend, that dips in the same dish ? for, in 
My knowing, Timon has been this lord's father. 
And kept his credit with his purse ; 
Supported his estate ; nay, Timon's money 
Has paid his men their wages : He ne'er drinks. 
But Timon's silver treads upon his lip ; 
And yet, (O, see the monstrousness of man 
When he looks out in an ungrateful shape !) 
He does deny him, in respect of his. 
What charitable men afford to beggars. 

3 Stran. Religion groans at it. 

1 Stran. For mine own part, 

I never tasted Timon in my life. 
Nor came any of his bounties over me. 
To mark me for his friend ; yet, I protest. 
For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue. 
And honourable carriage, 
Had his necessity made use of me, 
I would have put my wealth into donation. 
And the best half should havb return'd to him. 
So much I love bis heart: But, I perceive. 
Men must learn now with pity to dispense : 
For policy sits above conscience. [Exeunt , 

SCENE III. 

TTie same. A Room in Sempronius's House. 

Enter Semvronius, and a Servant o^" Timon's. 

Sem. Must he needs trouble me in 't ? Humph ! 
'Bove all others ? 
He might have tried lord Lucius, or Lucullus ; 
And now Ventidius is wealthy too, 
Whom he redeem'd from prison ; All these three 
Owe their estates unto him. 

Serv. O my lord. 

They have all been touch'd, and found base metal ; for 
They have all denied him ! 

Sem. How ! have they denied him ! 

Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him ? 
And does he send to me ? Three ! humph ! — 
It shews but little love or judgment in him. 
Must I be his last refuge ? His friends, like physicians. 
Thrive, give him over ; Must 1 take the cure upon me ? 
He has much disgrac'd me in 't ; I am angry at him. 
That might have known my place : I see no sense for't, 
But his occasions might have woo'd me first ; 
For, in my conscience I was the first man 



ACT III. -SCENE IV. 



613 



Tliat e'er received gift from him : 

And does he think so backwardly of me now, 

That I'll requite it lastl No ; So it may prove 

An arguit:«nt of laughter to the rest, 

And I amongst tiie lords be thought a fool. 

I had rather than the worth of thrice the sura, 

He had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake ; 

1 dad such a courage to do him good. But now return, 

And with their faint reply this answer join ; 

Who bates mine honour, shall not know my coin. 

[Elk. 
Serv. Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain. 
The devil knew not what he did, when he mtde man 
politic ; he crossed himself by "t : and I cannot think, 
but, in the end, the villanies of man will set him 
clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul ! 
takes virtuous copies to be wicked ; like those that, 
under hot ardent zeal, would set whole realms on fire. 
Of such a nature is his politic love. 
This was my lord's best hope ; now all are fled, 
Save the gods only : Now his friends are dead. 
Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards 
Many a bounteous year, must be employ'd 
Now to guard sure their master. 
And this is all a liberal course allows ; 
Who cannot keep his wealth, must keep his house. 

[^Exit. 

SCENE IV. — The same. A Hall in Timon's House. 

E7iter Two Servants nf Varro, and the Servant o/' Lu- 
cius, meeting Titus, Hortensius, aud other Ser- 
vants to Timon's creditors, waiting his coming out. 

Var, Serv. Weil met ; good-morrow, Titus and 
Hortensius. 

Tit. The like to you, kind Varro. 

Hor, Lucius ? 

What, do we meet together 1 

hue. Serv. Ay, and, I think, 

One business doth command us all ; for mine 
Is money. 

Tit. So is theirs and ours. 

Enter Philotus. 

Ltte. Serv. And sir 

Philotus too! 

Phi. Good day at once. 

Luc. Serv. Welcome, good brother. 

What do you think the hour 1 

Phi. Labouring for nine. 

Luc. Serv. So much 1 

Phi. Is not my lord seen yet 1 

Luc. Serv, Not yet. 

Phi. I wonder on 't ; he was wont to shine at seven. 

Luc. Serv. Ay, but the days are waxed shorter with 
You must consider, that a prodigal course [him : 
Is like the sun's ; but not, like his, recoverable. 
I fear, 

'Tis deepest winter in lord Timon's purse ; 
That is, one may reach deep enough, and yet 
Find little. 

Phi. I am of your fear for that. 

Tit. I '11 shew you how to observe a strange event. 
Your lord sends now for money. 

Hor. Most true, he does. 

Tit. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, 
For which I wail for money. 

Hor. It is against my Heart. 

Luc. Serv.. INIark, how strange it shews, 

Timon in this should pay more than he owes : 
And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels. 
And send for money for 'em. 



Hor. I am weary of this charge, the gods can wit- 
ness : 
I know, my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth. 
And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. 

1 Var. Serv. Yes, mine's three thousand crowns: 
What's yours"! 

Luc. Serv. Five thousand mine. 

1 Var. Serv. 'Tis much deep : and it should seem by 
Your master's confidence was above mine ; [the sum. 
Else, surely, his had equall'd. 

Enter Flaminius. 

Tit. One of lord Timon's men. 

Luc. Serv. Flaminius! sir, a word: 'Pray, is my lord 
ready to come forth 1 

Flam. No, indeed, he is not. 

Tit. Weattend his lordship; 'pray, signify so much. 

Flam. 1 need not tell him that; he knows, you are 
too diligent. lExit Flaminius 

Enter Flavius, in a cloak, mujjied. 

Lue. Serv Ha! is not that his steward muffled so' 
He goes away in a cloud ; call him, call him. 

Tit. Do you hear, sir 1 

I Var. Serv. By your leave, sir, 

Flav. What do you ask of me, my friend ! 

Tit. We wait for certain money here, sir. 

Flav. Ay, 

If money were as certain as your waiting, 
'Twere sure enough. Why then preferr'd you not 
Your sums and bills, when your false masters eat 
Of my lo'd's meaf? Then they could smile, and fawn 
Upon his debts, and take down th' interest 
Into their gluttonous maws. You do yourselves but 
To stir me up ; let me pass quietly : [wrong, 

Believe 't, my lord and I have made an end ; 
I have no more to reckon, he to spend. 

Luc. Serv. Aj% but this answer will not serve. 

Flav. If 'twill not serve, 

'Tis not so base as you ; for you serve knaves. [Exit. 

1 Var. Serv. How! what does his cashier'd worship 
mutter 1 

2 Var. Serv. No matter what ; he's poor, and that's 
revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he 
that has no house to put his head in 1 such may rail 
against great buildings. 

Enter Servii.ius. 

Tit. O, here's Servilius ; now we shall know 
Some answer. 

Ser. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, 

To repair some other hour, I should much 
Derive from it: for, take it on my soul. 
My lord leans wond'rously to discontent. 
His comfortable temper has forsook him ; 
He is much out of health, and keeps his chamber. 

Luc. Serv. Many do keep their chambers, are not 
And, if it be so far beyond his health, [sick : 

Methinks, he should the sooner pay his debts. 
And make a clear way to the gods. 

Ser, Good gods ! 

Tit. We cannot take this for anansv*er, sir. [lord! 

Flam. IWithin.] Servilius, help! — my lord! my 

Enter Timon, in a rage ; FhAtnisivs following. 

Tim. What, are my doors oppos'd against my pas- 
Have I been ever free, and must my house [sage " 
Be my retentive enemy, my gaol 'i 
The place, which I have feasted, does it now. 
Like all mankind, shew mean iron heart » 

Luc. Serv. Put in now, Titus 

Tit. My lord, here is my bill. 



Gil 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



Luc. Serv. Here 's mine. 

Hor.Serv. And mine, my lord. 

Both Var. Serv. And ours, my lord. 

Phi. All our bills. 

Tim. Knock me down with 'em : cleave me to the 

Luc. Serv. Alas ! my lord, [girdle. 

Tim, Cut my heart in sums. 

Tit. Mine, fifty talents. 

Tim, Tell out my blood. 

Luc. Serv. Five thousand crowns, my lord. 

Tim. Five thousand drops pays that. — 
What yours ? — and yours t 

I Var. Serv. My lord, 

'2 Var. Serv. My lord, 

Tim. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon 
you ! [Exit. 

Hnr. 'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their 
caps at their money ; these debts may well be called 
desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em. [fiaeuret. 

Re-enter Timon and Flavius. 

Tim, They have e'en put my breath from me, the 
Creditors! — devils. [slaves: 

Flav. My dear lord, 

Tim. What if it should be so 1 

Flav. My lord, 

Tim. I '11 have it so : — My steward ! 

Flav, Here, my lord. 

Tim. So fitly ? Go, bid all my friends again, 
Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius ; all : 
I'll once more feast the rascals. 

Flav. O my lord, 

You only speak from your distracted soul ; 
'J'here is not so much left, to furnish out 
A moderate table. 

Tim. Be 't not in thy care ; go, 

J charge thee ; invite them all : let in the tide 
Of knaves once more ; my cook and I 11 provide. 

l^Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— The same. The Senate House. 
The Senate sitting. Enter Alcibiades, attended, 

1 Sen. My lord, you have my voice to it ; the fault 's 
Blood ; 'tis necessary he should die : 
Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. 

'2 Sen. Most true ; the law sliall bruise him. 

Alcih.VionouT, health.and compassion to the senate! 

1 Sen. Now, captain 1 

Alcib I am an humble suitor to your virtues ; 
For pity is the virtue of the law, 
And none but tyrants use it cruelly. 
It pleases time, and fortune, to lie heavy 
Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood, 
Hath stepp'd into the law^which is past depth 
To those that, without heed, do plunge into it. 
He is a man, setting his fate aside, 
Of comely virtues : 

Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice ', 
(An honour tn him, which buys out his fault,) 
But, with a noble fury, and fair spirit, 
Seeing his reputation touch'd to death, 
He did oppose his foe : 
And with such sober and unnoted passion 
He did behave his anger, ere 'twas spent. 
As if he had but prov'd an argument. 

1 Sen. You undergo too strict a paradox, 
Striving to make an ugly deed look fair : 
Your words have took such pains, as if they labour'd 
To bring manslaughter into form, set quarrelling 
Upon the head of valour ; which, indeed. 
Is valour misbegot, and came into the world 



When sects and factions were newly born : 
He's truly valiant, that can wisely suflfer 
The worst that man can breathe ; and make his wrongs 
His outsides ; wear them like his raiment, carelessly ; 
And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, 
To bring it into danger. 
If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill. 
What folly 'tis, to hazard life for ill? 
Alcib. My lord, 

1 Sen, You cannot make gross sins look clear; 
To revenge is no valour, but to bear. 

Alcib. My lords, then, under favour pardon me. 
If I speak like a captain. — 
Why do fond men expose themselves to battle. 
And not endure all threatenings ? sleep upon it, 
And let the foes cjuietly cut their throats, 
Without repugnancy ? but if there be 
Such valour in the bearing, what make we 
Abroad? why then, women are more valiant. 
That stay at home, if bearing carry it ; 
And th' ass, more captain than the lion ; the felon, 
Loaden with irons, wiser than the judge. 
If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords. 
As you are great, be pitifully good : 
Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood 1 
To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gusl ; 
But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just. 
To be in anger, is impiety ; 
But who is man, that is not angry 1 
Weigh but the crime with this. 

2 Sen. You breathe in vain. 

Alcib. In vain? his service done 

At Lacedaemon, and Byzantium, 
^Vere a sufficient briber for his life. 

iSen. What's that? 

Alcib, Why, I say, my lords, h'as done fair service, 
And slain in fight many of your enemies : 
How full of valour did he bear himself 
In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds? 

2 Sen, He has made too much plenty with 'em, he 
Is a sworn rioter : h'as a sin that often 

Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner: 
If there were no foes, that were enough alone 
To overcome him : in tliat beastly fury 
He has been known to commit outrages. 
And cherish factions : 'Tis inferr'd to us. 
His days are foul, and his drink dangerous. 

1 Sen. He dies. 

Alcib. Hard fate ! he might have died in war. 
My lords, if not for any parts in him, 
(Though his right arm might purchase his own time. 
And be in debt to none,) yet, more to move you. 
Take my deserts to his, and join them both : 
And, for I know, your reverend ages love 
Security, 1 '11 pawn my victories, all 
My honour to you, upon his good returns, 
If by this crime he owes the law his life. 
Why, let the war receiv't in valiant gore ; 
For law is strict, and war is nothing more. 

1 Sen. We are for law, he dies ; urge it no more, 
On height of our displeasure : Friend, or brother. 
He forfeits his own blood, that spills another. 

Alcib. Must it be so? it must not be. My lords, 
I do beseech you, know me. 

iiSen. Hov/? 

Alcib. Call me to your remembrances. 

3 Sen. What? 
Alcib. I cannot think, but your age has forgot me 

It could not else be, I should prove so base, 
To sue, and be denied such common grace • 
My wounds ache at you. 

1 Sen. Do you dare our anger 1 



ACT IlI.-SCENE VI. 



615 



Tis in few words, but spacious in effect ; 
We banish tiiee for ever. 

Alcib. Banish me ? 

Banish your dotage ; banish usury, 
That makes the senate ugly. 

1 Sen. If, after two days' shine, Athenscontain thee. 
Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell 

our spirit, 
He shall be executed presently. [Exeunt Senators. 

Alcib. Now the gods keep you old enough ; that 
you may live 
Only in bone, that none may look on you ! 
I am worse than mad : I have kept back their foes, 
While they have told their money, and let out 
Their coin upon large interest ; I myself. 
Rich only in large hurts ; — All those, for this t 
Is this the balsam, that the usuring senate 
Pours into captains' wounds "f ha! banishment? 
It comes not ill ; 1 hate not to be banish'd ; 
It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, 
That I may strike at Athens. I '11 cheer up 
My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. 
'Tis honour, with most lands to be at odds ; 
Soldiers should brook as little wrongs, as gods. [Eiit. 

SCENE VI. — A magnificent Room tn Timon's House. 

Music. Tables set out : Servaints attending. Enter 
divers Lords, at several doors. 

1 Lord. The good time of day to you, sir. 

2 Loid. I also wish it to you. I think, this honour- 
able lord did but try us this other day. 

1 Lord. Upon that were my thoughts tiring, when 
we encountered : 1 hope it is not so low with him, as 
he made it seem in the trial of his several friends. 

3 Lord. It should not be, by the persuasion of his 
new feasting. 

1 Lord. I should think so : He hath sent me an 
earnest inviting, which many my near occasions did 
urge me to put off; but he hath conjured me beyond 
them, and I must needs appear. 

2 Lord. In like manner was I in debt to my impor- 
tunate business, but he would not hear my excuse. 
I am sorry, when he sent to borrow of me, that my 
provision was out. 

1 Lord. I am sick of that grief too, as I understand 
how all things go. 

2 Lord. Every man here 's so. What would he have 
borrowed of you 1 

1 Lord. A thousand pieces. 

2 Lo7-d. A thousand pieces ' 
1 Lord. What of you 1 

3 Lord. He sent to me, sir, —Here he comes. 

Enter Timon, and Attendants. 

Tim. With all my heart, gentlemen both : — And 
how fare you 1 

1 Lord. Ever at the best, hearing well of your lord- 
ship. 

"Z Lord. The swallow follows not summer more 
willing, than we your lordship. 

Tim. [Aside.] Nor more willingly leaves winter ; 
such summer-birds are men. — Gentlemen, our dinner 
will not recompense this long stay : feast your ears 
with the music awhile ; if they will fare so harshly 
on the trumpet's sound : we shall to 't presently. 

1 Lord. I hope it remains not unkindly with your 
lordship, that 1 returned you an empty messenger. 

Tim. O, sir, let it not trouble you. 

2 Lord. My noble lord, 

Tim. Ah, my good friend ! what cheer ? 

[The banquet brought in. 



2 Lord. My most honourable lord, 1 am e'en sick 
of shame, that, when your lordship this other day sent 
to me, I was so unfortunate a beggar 

Tim. Think not on't, sir. 

2 Lord. If you had sent but two hours before, — 

Tim. Let it not cumber your better remembrance. 
— Come, bring in all together. 

2 Lord. All covered dishes ! 

t Lord. Royal cheer, I warrant you. 

3 Lord. Doubt not that, if money, and the season, 
can yield it. 

1 Lord. How do you 1 What's the news 1 

3 Lord. Alcibiades is banished : Hear you of it ? 

1 <Sf 2 Lord. Alcibiades banished ! 

3 Lord. 'Tis so, be sure of it. 

1 Lord. How 1 how 1 

2 Lord. I pray you upon what ? 

Tim. My worthy friends, will you draw near? 

3 Lord. I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble 
feast toward. 

2 Lorcf. This 's the old man still. 
SLord. Will'thold, will 't hold? 

2 Lord. It does : but time will — and so 

3 Lord. I do conceive.. 

Tim. Each man to his stool, with that spur as he 
would to the lip of his mistress : your diet shall be 
in all places alike. Make not a city feast of it, to let 
the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place : 
Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks. 

You great benef actors, sprinkle our societiiivith thank- 
fulness. For your oivn gifts, make yourselves praised: 
but reserve stiil to give, lest your deities be despised. 
Lend to each man enough, that one need not lend to an- 
other : for, were your godheads to borrow of men, men 
would forsake the gods. Make the meat be beloved, more 
than the man that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty 
be without a score of villains : If there sit twelve women 
at the table, let a dozen of them be — as they are. — The 
re.tt of your fees, gods, — the senators of Athens, toge- 
ther with the common lag of people, — what is amiss in 
them, you gods, make suitable for destruction. For these 
my present friends, — as they are to me nothing, so in 
nothing bless them, and to nothing they are welcome. 

Uncover, dogs, and lap. 

[The dishes uncovered, are full of warm water. 

Some speak. What does his lordship mean 1 

Some other. I know not. 

Tim. May you a better feast never behold. 
You knot of mouth-friends ! smoke, and luke-warm 
Is your perfection. This is Timon's last ; [water 
Who stuck and spangled you with flatteries. 
Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces 

[Throwing ivater in their faces. 
Your reeking villany. Live loath'd, and long. 
Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites. 
Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears, 
You fools of fortune, trencher- friends, time's flies, 
Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks I 
Of man, and beast, the infinite malady 
Crust you quite o'er ! — What, dost thou go ? 
Soft, take thy physic first — thou too, — and thou ; — 
[Throws the dishes at them, and drives them out. 
Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. — 
What, all in motion ? Henceforth be no feast. 
Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest. 
Burn, house ; sink, Athens ! henceforth hated be 
Of Timon, man, and all humanity. [Exit. 

Re-enter the Lords, with other Lords and Senators. 

1 Lord. How now, my lords ? 

2 Lord. Knowyou the quality of lord Timon's fury ? 



616 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



3 Lord. Pish . did you see my cap 1 

4 Lord. I have lost my gown. 

3 Lord. He's but a mad lord, and nought but hu- 
mour sways him. He gave me a jewel the other day, 
and now he has beat it out of my hat : — Did you see 
my jewel ? 

4 Lord. Did you see my cap ? 
2 Lord. Here 'tis. 

4 Lord. Hero lies my gown. 
t Lord. Let's make no stay. 

2 Lord. Lord Timon's mad. 

3 Lord. I feel't upon my bones. 

4 Lord. One day he gives us diamonds, next day 

stones. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— Without the Walls o/ Athens. 
Enter Timon. 
Tim. Let me look back upon thee, O thou wall. 
That girdlest in those wolves! Dive in the earth. 
And fence not Athens ! Matrons turn incontinent ; 
Obedience fail in children ! slaves, and fools, 
Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench, 
And minister in their steads ! to general filths 
Convert o' the instant, green virginity ! 
Do't in your parent's eyes ! bankrupts, hold fast ; 
Rather than render back, out with your knives, 
And cut your trusters' throats ! bound servants, steal ! 
Large-handed robbers your grave masters are, 
And pill by law ! maid, to thy master's bed ; 
Thy mistress is o'the brothel ! son of sixteen, 
Pluck the lin'd crutch from the old limping sire. 
With it beat out his brains ! piety and fear, 
Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth. 
Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood. 
Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, 
Degrees, observances, customs, and laws. 
Decline to your confounding contraries. 
And yet confusion live !-— Plagues, incident to men, 
Your potent and infectious fevers heap 
On Athens, ripe for stroke ! thou cold sciatica. 
Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt 
As lamely as their manners ! lust and liberty 
Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth ; 
That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive, 
And drown themselves in riot ! itches, biains. 
Sow all the Athenian bosoms ; and their crop 
Be general leprosy ! breath infect breath ; 
That their society, as their friendship, may 
Be merely poison ! Nothing I'll bear from thee. 
But nakedness, thou detestable town ! 
Take thou that too, with multiplying banns ! 
Timon will to the woods ; where he shall find 
The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. 
The gods confound (hear me, you good gods all,) 
The Athenians both within and out that wall ! 
And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow 
To the whole race of mankind, high and low ! 
Amen. [Exit, 

SCENE II. — Athens. A Room in Timon's House. 
Enter Flavius, with Two or Three Servants. 

1 Serv. Hear you, master steward, where's our 
master? 
Are we undone? cast ofT? nothing remaining? 

Piai;. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you? 
Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, 
I am as poor as you. 

1 Sera;. Such a house broke ! 



So noble a master fallen ! All gone ! and not 
One friend to take his fortune by the arm. 
And go along with him! 

2 Serv. As we do turn our backs 
From our companion, thrown into his grave ; 

So his familiars to his buried fortunes 

Slink all away ; leave their false vows with him, 

Like empty purses pick'd : and his poor self, 

A dedicated beggar to the air. 

With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty. 

Walks, like contempt, alone. — More of our fellows. 

Enter other Ser/ants. 

Flav. All broken implements of a ruin'd house. 

3 Serv. Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery. 
That see I by our faces ; we are fellows still, 
Serving alike in sorrow : Leak''d is our bark ; 
And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck. 
Hearing the surges threat : we must all part 
Into this sea of air. 

Flav. Good fellows all. 

The latest of my wealth I'll share among'st you. 
Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake. 
Let's yet be fellows ; let's shake our heads, and say. 
As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes. 
We have seen better days. Let each take some ; 

[Giving them money. 
Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more : 
Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. 

[Exeuiit Servants.* 
O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us I 
Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt. 
Since riches point to misery and contempt ? 
Who'd be so mock'd with glory ? or to live 
But in a dream of friendship ? 
To have his pomp, and all what state compounds. 
But only painted, like his varnish'd friends? 
Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart ; 
Undone by goodness ! Strange, unusual blood. 
When man's worst sin is, he does too much good! 
Who then dares to be half so kind again ? 
For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. 
My dearest lord, — bless'd, to be most accurs'd. 
Rich, only to be wretched — thy great fortunes 
Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord ! 
He's flung in rage from this ungrateful seat 
Of monstrous friends : nor has he with him to 
Supply his life, or that which can command it. 
I'll follow, and inquire him out : 
I'll ever serve his mind with my best will ; 
Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. [t'.tJt. 

SCENE lU.—The Woods. 

Enter Timon. 

Tim. blessed bleeding sun, draw from the earth 
Rotten humidity ; below thy sister's orb 
Infect the air ! Twinn'd brothers of one womb, — 
Whose procreation, residence, and birth. 
Scarce isdividant, — touch them with several fortunes ; 
The greater scorns the lesser : Not nature. 
To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune. 
But by contempt of nature. 
Raise me this beggar, and denude that lord ; 
The senator shall bear contempt hereditary. 
The beggar native honour. 
It is the pasture lards the browser's sides. 
The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dures, 
In purity of manhood stand upright. 
And say. This man's ajiatterer ? if one be. 
So are they all ; for every grize of fortune 
Is smooth'd by that below ; the learned pate 




• TIMON OF ATHENS. 

TiMow Let me look back upon thee, O tbou wail 
That girdleat in those wolves I 

Jd ly., Sctru ) 



ACT IV.— SCENE III. 



017 



Ducks to the golden fool : All is oblique ; 
There's nothing level in our cursed natures, 
But direct villany. Therefore, be abhorr'd 
All feasts, societies, and throngs of men ! 
His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains : 
Destruction fang mankind! — Earth, yield me roots ! 

[Digging. 
Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate 
With thy most operant poison : What is here? 
Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, 
I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens ! 
Thusmuchof this, will make black, white ; foul, fair ; 
Wrong, right ; base, noble ; old, young ; coward, 

valiant. [this 

Ha, you gods! why this? What this, you gods? Why 
Will lug your priests and servants from your sides ; 
Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads : 
This yellow slave 

Will knit and break religions ; bless the accurs'd ; 
Make the hoar leprosy ador'd ; place thieves, 
And give them title, knee, and approbation, 
With senators on the bench : this is it. 
That makes the wappen'd widow wed again ; 
She, whom the spital-house, and ulcerous sores 
Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices 
To the April day again. Come, damned eartii, 
Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds 
Among the rout of nations, I will make thee 
Do thy right nature. — [March afar off.J — Ha ! a 

drum ? — Thou'rt quick. 
But yet I'll bury thee : Thou'lt go, strong thief, 
When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand : — 
Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold. 

Enter Alciuiades, with drum and fife, in warlike 
manner ; Phrynia and Timandra. 

Alcib. What art thou there ? 

Speak. 

Tim, A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy 
For shewing me again, the eyes of man ! [heart, 

Alcib. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee. 
That art thyself a man ? 

Tim. I am misanthrnpos, and hate mankind. 
For thy part, 1 do wish thou wert a dog. 
Thai 1 might love thee something. 

Alcib. I know thee well ; 

But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. 

Tim. I know thee too ; and more, than that I know 
[ not desire to know. Follow thy drum ; [thee, 
With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules : 
Religious canons, civil laws are cruel ; 
Then what should war be ? This fell whore of thine 
Hath in her more destruction than thy sword. 
For all her cherubin look. 

Phry. Thy lips rot off! 

Tim. I will not kiss thee ; then the rot returns 
To thine own lips again. 

Alcib. How came the noble Timon to this change? 

Tim. As the moon does, by wanting liglit to give: 
But then renew I could not, like the moon ; 
There were no suns to borrow of. 

Alcib. Noble Timon, 

What friendship may I do thee ? 

Tim. None, but to 

Maintain my opinion. 

Alcib. What is it, Timon? 

Tim. Promise me friendship, but perform none: If 
Thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for 
Thou art a man ! if thou dost perform, confound thee, 
For thou'rt a man ! 

Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. 

Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. 



Alcib. I see them now ; then was a blessed time. 

Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. 

Timan. Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world 
Voic'd so regardfully ? 

Tim. Art thou Timandra ? 

Timan. Yes. [thee, 

Tim. Be a whore still! they love thee not, that use 
Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. 
Make use of thy salt hours : season the slaves 
For tubs, and baths ; bringdown rose-cheeked youth 
To the tub-fast, and the diet. 

Timan. Hang thee, monster ! 

Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra ; for his wits 
Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. — 
I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, 
The want whereof doth daily make revolt 
In my penurious band ; I have heard, and griev'd, 
How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, 
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, 
But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them, — 

Tim. I pr'ythee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone. 

Alcib. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. 

Tim. How dost thou pity him, whom thou dost 
I had rather be alone. [trouble? 

Alcib. Why, fare thee well : 

Here's some gold for thee. 

Tim. Keep't, I cannot eat it. 

Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap, — 

Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens ? 

Alcib. Ay, Timon, and have cause. 

Tim. The gods confound them all i'thy conquest; 
Thee after, when thou hast conquer'd ! and 

Alcib. Why me. T'lnou? 

Tim. That, 
By killing villaias, thou wast born to conquer 
My country. 

Put up thy gold ; Go on, — here's gold, — go on ; 
Be as a planetary plague, when Jove 
Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison 
In the sick air : Let not thy sword skip one : 
Pity not honour'd age for his white beard, 
He's an usurer : Strike me the counterfeit matron : 
Tf is her habit only that is honest, 
Herself's a bawd : Let not the virgin's cheek 
Make soft thy trenchant sword, for those milk-paps, 
That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, 
Are not within the leaf of pity writ, 
Set them down horrible traitors: Spare not the babe, 
Whosedimplcd smiles from fools exhaust their mercy ; 
Think it a bastard, whom the oracle 
Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut. 
And mince it sans remorse : Swear against objects ; 
Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes ; 
Whose proof, nor yells ol mothers, maids, nor babes, 
Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding. 
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers; 
Make large confusion ; and, thy fury spent. 
Confounded be thyself ! Speak not, be gone. 

Alcib. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou 
Not all thy counsel. [giv'st me, 

Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse 
upon thee ! 

Fhr. (Sf Timan. Give us some gold, good TimoD : 
Hast thou more ? 

Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade. 
And to make whores a bawd. Hold un, you sluts, 

Your aprons mountant : You are not oathable 

Although, I know, you'll swear, terribly swear, 
Into strong shudders, and to heavenly agues. 
The immortal gods that hear you, — spare your oaths, 
I'll trust to your conditions : Be whores still ; 
And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, 



618 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up ; | 

Let your close fire predominate his smoke, 
And be no turncoats: Yet may your pains, six months, 
Be quite contrary : And thatch your poor thin roofs 
With burdens of the dead;— some that were hang'd. 
No matter: — wear them, betray with them: whore 
Paint till a horse may mire upon your face : [still ; 
A pox of wrinkles ! j 

Fhr. S; Timan. Well, more gold ; — What then ■? — 
Believe 't, that we'll do any thing for gold. 

Tim. Consumptions sow 
In hollow bones of man ; strike their sharp shins, 
And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, 
That he may never more false title plead, 
Nor sound his quillets shrilly : hoar the flamen, 
That scolds against the quality of flesh. 
And not believes himself: down with the nose, 
Down with it flat ; take the bridge quite away 
Of him, that his particular to foresee, [fians balu ; 
Snielis from the general weal : make curl'd- pate ruf- 
And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war 
Derive some pain from you : Plague all ; 
That, your activity may defeat and quell 
'i'he source of all erection. — There's more gold: — 
Do you damn others, and let this damn you, 
And ditciies grave you all ! [bounteous Timon. 

Vhr. <5f Timan. More counsel with more money, 

Tim. Alore whore, more mischief first; I have given 
you earnest. [well, Timon ; 

Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Fare- 
If 1 thrive well, I'll visit thee again. 

Tim. If 1 hope well, I'll never see thee more. 

Alcib. I never did thee harm. 

Tim. Yes, thou spok'si well of me. 

Alcib. Call'st thou that harm 1 

Tim. Men daily find it such. Get thee away, 
And take tliy beagles with thee. 

Alcib. We but oft'end him. — 

Strike. [^Drum bents. Eieunt Ai.cieiades, 

Phryma, ami Timandra. 

Tim. That nature, being sick of man's unkindness, 
Should yet be hungry ! — Common mother, thou, 

[Digging. 
Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast, 
Teems, and feeds all ; whose self-same mettle. 
Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puflf'd, 
Engenders the black toad, and adder blue. 
The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm. 
With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven 
Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire dotli shine; 
Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hale. 
From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root ! 
Ensear thy fertile and conceptions womb. 
Let it no more bring out ungrateful man ! 
Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears ; 
Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face 
Hath to the marbled mansion all above 
Never presented 1 — O, a root, — Dear thanks I 
Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas ; 
Whereof ingrateful man, witli liquorish draughts, 
And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, 
That from it all consideration slips I 

Enter Apemantus. 

More man 1 Plague ! plague ! 

Apem. I was directed hither : Men report. 
Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them. 

Tim. 'Tis then, because thou dost not keep a dog 
Whom I would imitate: Consumption catch thee! 

Apem, This is in thee a nature but affected ; 
A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung 
From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place? 



This slave-like halit? and these looks of care? 
Tiiy flatterers yet wear silk, diink wine, lie soft; 
Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot 
That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods, 
By putting on the cunning of a carper. 
Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive 
By that which lias undone thee : hinge thy knee. 
And let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe. 
Blow ofl'fhy cap ; praise his most vicious strain. 
And call it excellent: Thou wast told thus : 
Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters, that bid welcome. 
To knaves, and all approachers : 'Tis most just. 
That thou turn rascal ; hadst thou wealth again, 
Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness. 

Tim. Were 1 like thee, I'd throw away myself. 

Apem. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thy- 
A madman so long, now a fool : What, tliink'st [self; 
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain. 
Will put thy shirt on warml Will tliese nioss'd trees. 
That have out-liv'd the eagle, page thy heels, 
And skip when tiiou point'sloutl \\ ill tlie cold brook. 
Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste. 
To cure thy o'er-night surfeit? call the creatures, — 
Whose naked natures live in all the spite 
Of wreakful heaven ; whose bare unhoused trunks, 
To the conflicting elements exposed. 
Answer mere nature. — bid them flatter thee ; 
O ! thou shalt find 

Tim. A fool of thee : Depart. 

Apem. I love thee better now than e'er 1 did. 

Tim. I hate tnee worse. 

Apem. Why ? 

Tim, Thou flatter'st misery. 

Apem. I flatter not ; but say, thou art a caitift". 

Tim. Why dost thou seek me out? 

Apem. To vex thee. 

Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's. 
Dost please thyself in 't ? 

Apem. Ay. 

Tim. What ! a knave too ? 

Apem. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on 
To castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou 
Dost it enforcedly ; thou'dst courtier be again, 
Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery 
Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before : 
The one is filling still, never complete ; 
The other, at high wish ; Best state, contentless. 
Hath a distracted and most wretched being. 
Worse than the worst, content. 
Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable. 

Tim. Kot by his breath, that is more miserable. 
Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm 
With favour never clasp'd ; but bred a dog. 
Hadst thou, like us, from our first swath, proceeded 
The sweet degrees that this brief world affords 
To such as may the passive drugs of it 
Freely crmmand, thou would'st have plung'd thyself 
In general riot ; melted down thy youth 
In difl^erent beds of lust ; and never learn'd 
The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd 
The sugar'd game before thee. l>ut myself, 
Who had the world as my confectionary ; 
The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men 
At duty, more than I could frame employment ; 
That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves 
Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush 
Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare 
For every storm that blows ; — I, to bear this. 
That never knew but better, is some burden : 
Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time [men? 
Hath made thee hard in 't. Why should'st thou hate 
Thev never flatter'd thee : What hast thou given ? 



ACT IV.— SCENE III. 



619 



If thou wilt curse, — thy father, that poor rag, 
Must be thy subject ; who, in spite, put stuff 
To some she beggar, aud compounded tliee 
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence ! be gone ! — 
If thou hadst not been born the worst of men. 
Thou hadst been a knave, and flatterer. 

Apem. Art thou proud yet 1 

Tim. Ay, that I am not thee. 

Apem, I, that I was 

No prodigal. 

Tim. I, that I am one now ; 

Were all the wealth 1 have, shut up in thee, 
I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. — 
That the whole lite of Athens were in this ! 
Thus would I eat it. lEatiiig a root. 

Apem. Here ; I will mend thy feast. 

lOjJeritig him something. 

Tim. First mend my company, take away thyself. 

Apem. So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of 
thine. 

Tim, 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd ; 
If not, I would it were. 

Apem. What would'st thou have to Athens'? 

7'iTO. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, 
Tell them there 1 have gold ; look, so 1 have. 

Apem. Here is no use for gold. 

Tim. The best, and truest : 

For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. 

Apem. Where ly'st o' nights, Timon ? 

Tim. Under that's above me. 

Where feed'st thou o' days, Aperoantus'! 

Apem. Whete my stomach finds meat; or, rather, 
where I eat it. 

Tim. 'Would poison were obedient, and knew my 
mind ! 

Apem. Where would'st thou send it ? 

Tim. To sauce thy dishes. 

Aptni. The middle of humanity thou never knew- 
est, but the extremity of both ends : When thou wast 
in thy gilt, and thy perfume, they mocked thee for too 
much curiosity ; in thy rags thou knowest none, but 
art despised for the contrary. There's a medlar for 
thee, eat it. 

Tim. On what I hate, I feed not. 

Apem. Dost hate a medlar ? 

Tim. Ay, though it look like thee. 

Apem. An thou hadst hated medlars sooner, thou 
should'st have loved thyself better now. What man 
didst thou ever know unthrift, that was beloved after 
his means 1 

Tim, Who, without those means thou talkest of, 
didst thou ever know beloved ] 

Apem. Myself. 

Tim. I understand thee ; thou hadst some means 
to keep a dog. 

Apem, What things in the world canst thou near- 
est compare to thy flatterers ? 

Tim, Women nearest ; but men, men are the 
things themselves. What would'st thou do with tlie 
world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power] 

Apem. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. 

Tim Would'st thou have thyself fall in the con- 
fusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts'! 

Apem. Ay, Tiraon. 

Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee 
to attain to! If tliou wert the lion, the fox would 
beguile thee : if thou wert the lamb, the fox would 
eat thee : if thou wert the fox, the lion would sus- 
pect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accused by 
tiie ass : if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would tor- 
ment thee ; and still thou livedst but as a breakfast 
to the w'l'f : if thou wert the wolf, thy greediness 



would afl^ict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard tliy 
life for thy dinner : wert thou the unicorn, pride and 
wrath would confound thee, and make thine own sell 
the conquest of thy fury : wert thou a bear, thou 
would'st be killed by the horse ; wert thou a horse^ 
thou would'st be seized by the leopard ; wert thou a 
leopard, thou wert gennan to the lien, and the spots 
of thy kindred were jurors on thy life : all thy safety 
were remotion ; and thy defence, absence. What 
beast could'st thou be, that were not subject to a 
beast? and what a beast art thou already, that seest 
not thy loss in transformation ! 

Apem. If thou could'st please me with speaking to 
me, thou might'st have hit upon it here : The com- 
monwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts. 

Tim. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art 
out of the city 1 

Apem. Vonder comes a poet, and a painter : The 
plague of company light upon thee I 1 will fear to 
catch it, and give way : When I know not what else 
to do, I'll see thee again. 

Tim. When there is nothing living but thee, thou 
shall be welcome. 1 had rather be a beggar's dog. 
than Apemantus. 

Apem. Thou art the c?.p of all the fools alive. 

Tim. Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon. 

Apem. A plague on thee, thou art too bad to curse. 

Tim. All villains, that do stand by thee, are pure. 

Apem. 'J'here is no leprosy, but what thou speak'st. 

Tijn. If I name thee. — 
I'll beat thee, — but I should infect my hands. 

Apem. 1 would, my tongue could rot them ofl^! 

Tim. Away thou issue of a mangy dog ! 
Choler does kill me, that thou art alive ; 
I swoon to see thee. 

Apem. 'Would thou would'st burst ! 

Tim. Away. 

Thou tedious rogue ! I am sorry, I shall lose 
A stone by thee. [Throws a stone at him. 

Apem. Beast ! 

Tim. Slave ! 

Apem. Toad ! 

Tim. Rogue, rogue, rogue ! 

[ApKMANTUS retreats backward, as going, 
I am sick of this false world ; and will love nought 
But even the mere necessities upon it. 
Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave ; 
Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat 
Thy grave-stone daily : make thine epitaph. 
That death in me at others' lives may laugh. 
O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce 

[Looking on the gold. 
Twixt natural son and sire ! thou bright defiler 
Of Hymen's purest bed 1 thou valiant Mars ! 
Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer. 
Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow 
That lies on Dian's lap ! thou visible god. 
That solder'st close impossibilities. 
And mak'st them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue, 
To every purpose ! O thou touch of hearts [ 
Think, thy slave man rebels ; and by thy virtue 
Set them into confounding odds, that beasts 
May have the world in empire ! 

Apem. 'Would 'twere so ; 

But not till I am dead I — I'll say thou hast gold: 
Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. 

Tim. Throng'd to 1 

Apem. Ay, 

Tim, Thy back, I pr'ythee. 

Apem, Live, and love thy misery ; 

Tim. Long live so, and so die ! — 1 am quit. 

[Exit Ai'tMANTUS. 



620 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



More things like men'! — Eat.Timon, and abhor them. 
Enter Thieves. 

1 Thief. Where should he have this gold 1 It is 
some poor fragment, some slender ort of his remainder : 
The mere want of gold, and the falling -from of his 
friends, drove him into this melancholy. 

2 Thief. It is noised, he hath a mass of treasure. 

3 Thief. Let us make the assay upon him ; if he 
care not for't, he will supply us easily ; If he covet- 
ously reserve it, how shall's get it 1 

2 Thief True; for he bears it not about him, 'tis hid. 

1 Thief. Is not this he 1 
Thieves. Where 1 

2 Thief 'Tis his description 

3 Thief He ; I know him. 
Thieves. Save thee, Timon. 
Tim. Now, thieves ? 
Thieves. Soldiers, not thieves. 

Tim. Both too ; and women's sons. [want. 

Thieves. We are not tiiieves, but men that much do 

Tim. Your greatest want is, you want much of meat. 
Why should you wanf! Behold, the earth hath roots ; 
Within this mile break forth a hundred springs : 
The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips ; 
The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush 
Lays her full mess before you. Wanf! why want? 

1 Thief. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water. 
As beasts, and birds, and fishes. [fishes ; 

Ti7n. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and 
You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con. 
That you are thieves profess'd ; that you work not 
In holier shapes : for there is boundless theft 
In limited professions. Rascal thieves. 
Here's gold : go suck the subtle blood of the grape, 
Till the high fever seeth your blood to froth. 
And so 'scape hanging ; trust not the physician ; 
His antidotes are poison, and he slays 
More than you rob: take wealth and lives together ; 
Do villany, do, since you profess to do't. 
Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery : 
The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction 
Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, 
And her pale fire she snatches from the sua : 
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves 
The moon into salt tears : the earth's a thief. 
That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen 
From general excrement : each thing's a thief : 
The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power 
Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves ; away ; 
Rob one another. There's more gold ; Cut throats ; 
All that you meet are thieves : To Athens, go, 
Break open shops ; nothing can you steal. 
But thieves do lose it : Steal not less, for this 
I give you ; and gold confound you howsoever ! 
Araen. [Timon retires to liis cave. 

3 Thief. He has almost charmed me from my pro- 
fession, by persuading me to it. 

1 Thief. 'Tis in the malice of mankind, that he thus 
advises us ; not to have us thrive in our mystery. 

2 Thief. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over 
my trade. 

1 Thief Let us first see peace in Athens: There 
is no time so miserable, but a man may be true. 

[^Exeunt Thieves. 
Enter Fi.avius. 

Flav, O you gods ! 
Is yon despis'd and ruinous man my lord ? 
Full of decay and failing'! O monument 
And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd! 
"What an alteration of honour has 
Desperate want made ! 



What viler thing upon the earth, than friends. 
Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends ! 
How rarely does it meet with this time's guise. 
When man was wish'd to love his enemies : 
Grant, I may ever love, and rather woo 
Those that would mischief me, than those that do ! 
He has caught me in his eye : I will present 
My honest grief unto him ; and, as my lord. 
Still serve him with my life. — My dearest master ! 

Timon comes farward from his cave. 

Tim. Away ! what art thou ? 

Flav. Have you forgotten me, sir? 

Tim. Why dost ask that 1 1 have forgot all men ; 
Then, if thou grant'st thou art man, 1 have forgot thee. 

Flav. An honest poor servant of yours. 
I Tim. Then 

I know thee not : I ne'er had honest man 
About me, I ; all that I kept were knaves. 
To serve in meat to villains. 

Flav. The gods are witness. 

Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief 
For his undone lord, than mine eyes for you. 

Tim. What, dost thou weep '! — Come nearer : — 
then I love thee. 
Because thou art a woman, and disclaim 'st 
Flinty mankind ; whose eyes do never give, 
But thorough lust, and laughter. Pity's sleeping : 
Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with 
weeping ! 

Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my lord. 
To accept my grief, and, whilst this poor wealth lasts. 
To entertain me as your steward still. 

Tim. Had I a steward so true, so just, and now 
So comfortable ? It almost turns 
My dangerous nature wild. Let me behold 
Thy face. — Surely, this man was born of woman. — 
Forgive my general and exceptless rashness. 
Perpetual-sober gods ! I do proclaim 
One honest man, — mistake me not, — but one ; 
No more, I pray, — and he is a steward. — 
How fain would I have hated all mankind, 
And thou redeem'st thyself : But all, save thee, 
I fell with curses. 

Methinks, thou art more honest now, than wise ; 
For, by oppressing and betraying me, 
Thou might'st have sooner got another service : 
For many so arrive at second masters. 
Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true, 
(For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure,) 
Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous. 
If not a usurlng kindness ; and as rich men deal gifts. 
Expecting in return twenty for one '! 

Flav. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast 
Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac'd too late ; 
You should have fear'd false times, when you did feast- 
Suspect still comes where an estate is least. 
That which I shew, heaven knows, is merely love, 
Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind. 
Care of your food and living : and, believe it. 
My most honour'd lord. 
For any benefit that points to me. 
Either in hope, or present, I'd exchange 
For this one wish. That you had power and wealth 
To requite me, by making rich yourself. 

Tim. Look thee, 'tis so! Thou singly honest man, 
Here, take : — the gods out of my misery 
Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich, and happy : 
But thus condition'd ; Thou shall build from men , 
Hate all, curse all : shew charity to none ; 
But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone, 
Ere thou relieve the beggar : give to dogs 



ACT V.--SCENE I. 



621 



What thou deny'st to men ; let prisons swallow them, 
Debts wither them : Be men like blasted woods, 
And may diseases lick up their false bloods ! 
And so, farewell, and thrive. 

Flav. O, let me stay, 

And comfort you, my master. 

Tim. If thou hat'st 

Curses, stay not ; fly, whilst thou'rt bless'd and free : 
Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. 

[Exeunt severallii. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — The same. Before Timon's Cave. 
Enter Poet and Painter ; Timon behind, umeen. 

Pain. As 1 took note of the place, it cannot be far 
where he abides. 

Poet. What 's to be thought of him ? Does the ru- 
mour hold for true, that he is so full of gold 1 

Pain. Certain ; Alcibiades reports it ; Phrynia and 
Timandra had gold of him : he likewise enriched poor 
straggling soldierswith great quantity : 'Tis said, he 
gave unto his steward a mighty sum. 

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a try 
for his friends. 

Pain. Nothing else : you shall see him a palm in 
Athens again, and flourish with the highest. There- 
fore, 'tis not amiss, we tender our loves to him, in 
this supposed distress of his : it will shew honestly 
in us ; and is very likely to load our purposes with 
what they travel for, if it be a just and true report 
that goes of his having. 

Poet. What have you now to present unto him 1 

Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation : 
only I will promise him an excellent piece. 

Poet. I must serve him so too ; tell him of an in- 
tent that's coming toward him. 

Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the very air 
o'the time ; it opens the eyes of expectation : perfor- 
mance is ever the duller for his act ; and, but in the 
plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying 
is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and 
fashionable : performance is a kind of will, or testa- 
ment, which argues a great sickness in his judgment 
that makes it. 

Tim. Excellent workman ! Thou canst not paint a 
man so bad as is thyself. 

Poet. 1 am thinking, what I shall say I have pro- 
vided for him : It must be a personating of himself: 
a satire against the softness of prosperity ; with a 
discovery of the infinite flatteries, that follow youth 
and opulency. 

Tim. Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine 
own work ? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other 
men 1 Do so, I have gold for tiiee. 

Foet. Nay, let's seek him: 
Then do we sin against our own estate, 
When we may profit meet, and come too late. 

Pain. True ; 
When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, 
Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light 
Come. 

Tim. I '11 meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, 
That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple. 
Than where swine feed ! 

'Tis thou that rigg'stthe bark, and plough'st the foam ; 
Settlest admired reverence in a slave : 
To thee be worship ! and thy saints for aye 
Be crown'd with plagues, and thee alone obey ! 
'Fit I do meet them. [^Advancing. 



Poet. Hail, worthy Timon! 

Pain. Our late noble master, 

Tim. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men 1 

Poet. Sir, 
Having often of your open bounty tasted, 
Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off. 
Whose thankless natures — O abhorred spirits ! 
Not all the whips of heaven are large enough — 
What ! to you ? 

Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence 
To their whole being ! I 'm rapt, and cannot cover 
The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude 
With any size of words. 

Tim. Let it go naked, men may see't the better : 
You, that are honest, by being what you are, 
Make them best seen, and known. 

Pain. He, and myself, 

Have travell'd in the great shower of your gifts. 
And sweetly felt it. 

Tim. Ay, you are honest men. 

Pain. We are hither come to o fife r you our service. 

Tim. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite 
Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. [you? 

Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. 

Tim, You are honest men : You have heard that 1 
have gold ; 
I am sure, you have : sneak truth : you are honest men. 

Pain. So it is said, my noble lord: but therefore 
Came not my friend, nor I. 

Tim. Good honestmen: — Thou draw'st a counterfeit 
Best in all Athens : thou art, indeed, the best ; 
Thou counterfeit'st most lively. 

Pain. So, so, my lord. 

Tim. Even so, sir, as I say: — And, for thy fiction, 

[To (/lePoet. 
Why, thy verse swells with stuflfsofine and smooth, 
That thou art even natural in thine art. — 
But, for all this, my honest-natur'd friends, 
I must needs say, you have a little fault : 
Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you ; neither wish I, 
You take much pains to mend. 

Both. Beseech your honour, 

To make it known to us. 

Tim. You'll take it ill. 

Both. Most thankfully my lord 

Tim. Will you. indeed ] 

Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord. 

Tim. There's ne'er a one of you but trusts a knave, 
That mightily deceives you. 

Both. Do we, my lord 1 

Tim. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble 
Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, 
Keep in your bosom : yet remain assur'd, 
That he 's a made-up villain. 

Pain. I know none such, my lord. 

Poet. Nor I. 

Tim. Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold. 
Rid me these villains from your companies : 
Hang them, or stab them, drown them in a draught 
Confound them by some course, and come to me, 
1 '11 give you gold enough. 

Both. Name them, my lord, let's know them. 

Tim. You that way, and you this, but two in com- 
Each man apart, all single and alone, [pany: — 
Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. 
If where thou ai't, two villains shall not be, 

[To the Painter. 
Come not near him. — If thou would'st not reside 

[To the Poet. 
But where one villain is, then him abandon.— 
Hence! pack! there's gold, ye came for gold, ye slaves: 
You have done work for me, there's payment: Hence' 



(522 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



You are an alchymlst, make gold of that : — 

Out, rascal dogs ! [£r;(, beating and driving them out. 

SCENE 11.— The same. 

Enter Flavius and Two Senators. 

Flav. It is in vain that you would speak with Tinion ; 
Tor he is set so only to himself, 
That nothing but himself, which looks like man, 
Is friendly with him. 

1 Sen. Bring us to his cave : 
It is our part, and promise to the Athenians 
To speak with Timon. 

2 Sen. At all times alike 

Men are not still the same : 'Twas time, and griefs. 
That fram'd him thus : time, with his fairer hand. 
Offering the fortunes of his former days, 
The former man may make him : Bring us to him, 
And chance it as it may. 

Flav. Here is his cave. — 

Peace and content be here ! Lord Timon ! Timon ! 
Look out, and speak to friends : The Athenians, 
By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee: 
Speak to them, noble Timon. 

Ejiter Timon. 
Tim. Thou sun, thatcorafort'st, burn ! — Speak, and 
be hang'd ; 
For each true word, a blister! and each false 
Be as a caut'rizing to the root o' the tongue, 
Consuming it with speaking ! 

' Sen. Worthy Timon, 



Tim. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon. 
2 Sen. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. 
Tim. I thank them ; and would send them back the 
Could I but catch it for them. [plague, 

1 Sen. O, forget 
What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. 
The senators, with one consent of love. 
Entreat thee back to Athens ; who have thought 
On special dignities, which vacant lie 

For thy best use and wearing. 

2 Sen. They confess. 
Toward tliee, forgetfulness too general, gross: 
Which now the public body, — which doth seldom 
Play the recanter, — feeling in itself 

A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal 

Of its own fall, restraining aid to Timon ; 

And send forth us, to make their sorrowed render, 

Togetlier with a recompense more fruitful 

Than their offence can weigh down by the dram ; 

Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth, 

As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs. 

And write in thee the figures of their love. 

Ever to read them thine. 

Tim. You witch me in it ; 

Surprize me to the very brink of tears : 
Lend me a fool's heart, and a woman's eyes, 
And I '11 beweep these comforts, worthy senators. 

1 Sen, Therefore, so please thee to return with us, 
And of our Athens (thine, and ours,) to take 

The captainship, thou slialt be met with thanks, 
Allow'd with absolute power, and thy good name 
Live with authority :— so soon we shall drive back 
Of Alcibiades the approaches wild ; 
Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up 
His country's peace. 

2 Sen. And shakes his threat'ning sword 
Against the walls of Athens. 

• Sen. Therefore, Timon, — 

Tim. Well, sir, I wll ; therefore, I will, sir ; 1 hus, — 

If Alcibiades kill my countrymen. 

Let Alcibiades know this of Timon 



That — Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens, 

And take our goodly aged men by the beards. 

Giving our holy virgins to the stain 

Of contumelious, beastly, madbrain'd war ; 

Then, let him know,— and tell him, Timon speaks it, 

In pity of our aged, and our youth, 

1 cannot choose but tell him, that — I care not. 

And let him tak 't at worst ; for their knives care not. 

While you have throats to answer : for myself, 

There 's not a whittle in the unruly camp. 

But I do prize it at my love, before 

The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you 

To the protection of the prosperous gods. 

As thieves to keepers. 

Flav. Stay not, all 's in vain. 

Tim. Why, I was writing of my epitaph. 
It will be seen to-morrow : My long sickness 
Of health, and living, now begins to mend, 
And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still 
Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, 
And last so long enough ! 

1 Sen. We speak in vain. 

Tim. But yet I love my country, and am not 
One that rejoices in the common wreck, 
As common bruit doth put it. 

1 Sen. That 's well spoke. 

Tim. Commend me to my loving countrymen, — 

1 Sen. These words become your lips as they pass 

through them. 

2 Sen. And enter in our ears, like great triuinphers 
In their applauding gates. 

Tim. Commend me to them ; 

And tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs, 
Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, 
Their pangs of love, with other incident throes 
That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain [them 
In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do 
I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. 

2 Sen. I like this well, he will return again. 

Tim. I have a tree, which grows here in my close. 
That mine own use invites me to cut down. 
And shortly must I fell it ; Tell my friends. 
Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree, 
From high to low throughout, that whoso please 
To stop affliction, let him take his haste, 
Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe. 
And hang himself : — I pray you, do my greeting. 

Flav. Trouble him no further, thus you still shall 
find him. 

Tim. Come not to me again : but say to Athens, 
Timon hath made his everlasting mansion 
Upon the beached verge of the salt flood ; 
Which once a day with his embossed froth 
The turbulent surge shall cover; thither come, 
And let my grave-stone be your oracle. — 
Lips, let sour words go by, and language end : 
What is amiss, plague and infection mend ! 
Graves, only be men's works ; and death, their gain! 
Sun, hide thy beams ! Timon hath done his reign. 

[Exit Timon, 

1 Sen. His discontents are unremoveably 
Coupled to nature. 

2 Sen, Our hope in him is dead : let us return. 
And strain what other means is left unto us 

In our dear peril. 

1 Sen. It requires swift foot. [Exeunt 

SCENE UI.—The Walls o/ Athens. 
Enter Tico Senators, and a Messenger. 

1 Sen. Thou hast painfully discover'd ; are his files 
As full as thy report. 



ACT v.— SCENE V. 



623 



Mess. I have spoke the least : 

Besides, his expedition promises 
Present approach. [Timon: 

2 Sen. We stand much hazard, if they bring not 
Meis. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend ; — 

Whom, though in general part we were oppos'd, 

Yet our old love made a particular force. 

And made us speak like friends ; — this man was riding 

From Alcibiades to Timon's cave, 

With letters of entreaty, which imported 

His fellowship i' the cause against your city, 

In part for his sake mov'd. 

Enter Senators from Timon. 
1 Sen. Here come our brothers. 

3 Sen. No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect. — 
The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring 
Doth choke the air with dust : In, and prepare ; 
Ours is the fall, I fear ; our foes the snare. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Woods. Timon's Cave, and a 
Tombstone seen. 

Enter a Soldier, seeking Timon. 
Sold. By all description this should be the place. 
Who's here? speak, ho! — No answer? — What istliis? 
Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span : 
Some beast rear'd this ; there does not live a man. 
Dead, sure ; and this his grave. — 
What's on this tomb I cannot read; the character 
I'll take with wax : 

Our captain hath in every figure skill ; 
An ag'd interpreter, though young in days : 
Before proud Athens he's set down by this, 
Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. [Eiit. 

SCENE v.— Before the walls o/ Athens. 

Tnivipets soimd. Enter Alcibiades and Forces. 

Alcib. Sound to this coward and lascivious town 
Our terrible approach. [A parley sounded. 

Enter Senators on the walls. 
Till now you have gone on, and fiU'd the time 
With all licentious measure, making your wills 
The scope of justice; till now, myself, and such 
As slept within the shadow of your power, 
Have wander'd with our travers'd arms, and breath 'd 
Our sufferance vainly : Now the time is flush, 
When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong. 
Cries, of itself. No more : now breathless wrong 
Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease ; 
And pursy insolence shall break his wind. 
With fear, and horrid flight. 

1 Sen. Noble and young, 
When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit. 
Ere thou hadst power, or we had cause of fear. 
We sent to thee ; to give thy rages balm, 

To wipe out our ingratitude with loves 
Above their quantity, 

2 Sen. So did we woo 
Transformed Timon to our city's love, 

By humble message, and by promis'd means ; 
We were not all unkind, nor all deserve 
The common stroke of war. 

1 Sen. These walls of ours 
Were not erected by their hands, from whom 
You have receiv'd your griefs : nor are they such 
That these great towers, tropliies, and schools should 
For private faults in them. [fall 

2 Sen. Nor are they living, 



Who were the motives that you first went out ; 

Shame that they wanted cunning, in excess 

Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, 

Into our city with thy banners spread : 

By decimation, and a tithed death, 

(If thv revenges hunger for that food. 

Which nature loaths,) take thou the destin'd tenth ; 

And by the hazard of the spotted die. 

Let die the spotted. 

1 Sen. All have not ofl^ended ; 
For those that were, it is not square, to take, 
On those that are, revenges : crimes, like lands, 
Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman. 
Bring in thv ranks, but leave without thy rage : 
Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin, 
Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall 
With those that have offended : like a shepherd, 
Approach the fold, and cull the infected forth, 
But kill not all together. 

2 Sen. What thou wilt, 
Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile, 
Than hew to't with thy sword. 

1 Sen. Set but thy foot 
Against our rampir'd gates, and they shall ope ; 
So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before, 

To say thou'lt enter friendly. 

2 Sen. Throw thy glove ; 
Or any token of thine honour else, 

That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress. 
And not as our confusion, all thy powers 
Shall make their harbour in our town, till we 
Have seal'd thy full desire. 

Alcib. Then there's my glove ; 

Descend, and open your uncharged ports ; 
Those enemies of Timon's, and mine own, 
Whom you yourselves shall set out for rej)roof, 
Fall, and no more ; and, — to atone your fears 
With my more noble meaning, — not a man 
Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream 
Of regular justice in your city's bounds, 
But shall be remedied, to your public laws, 
At heaviest answer. 

Both. 'Tis most nobly spoken. 

Alcib. Descend, and keep your words. 

The Senators descend, and open the gates. 
Enter a Soldier. 

Sol. My noble general, Timon is dead ; 
Entombed upon the very hem o' the sea : 
And, on his grave-stone, this insculpture ; which 
With wax I brought away, whose soft impression 
Interprets for my poor ignorance. 

Alcib. [Reads.] Here lies a wretched corse, of 

wretched soul bereft: [l-rft ■ 

Seek not my name : A plague consume you wicked caitiffs 
Here lie I Timon; who, alive, all living men did hale: 
Pass /)!/, and curse thy fill ; but pass and stay not here 
These well express in thee thy latter spirits: [thy gait. 
Though thou abliorr'dst in us our human griefs, 
Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets which 
From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit 
Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye 
On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead 
Is noble Timon ; of whose memory 
Hereafter more. — Bring me into your city. 
And I will use the olive with my sword : 
Make war breed peace ; make peace stint war ; make 
Prescribe to other, as each other's leech. [each 

Let our drums strike. [Exeunt. 



THKplayof Tinwn is a dome'tic tragedy, and therefore Jtroiigly fastens on the attention of the reader. In the plan there is 
nut much art, hut the incidents are natural, and the characters various and exact. The catastrophe affords a very powerful 
warninu' a'..-aiust that ositentatious liberality, which (caiten boiuity, but confers no benetits, and buys flattery, but not frieud- 

Ilhip.— JOMNMIN. 



CORIOLANUS 



Tills inimitable play was neither entered at Stationers' Hall, I 
nor printed, till 1623. It was probably written in 1609, or 1 
Hi 10. 

The author derived his materials from Plutarch's Life of Co- 
riolanus, which he evidently read in North's translation ; and, 



from which he has taken many passages with only sncli slight 
alterations .is were necessary to throw them into blank verse. 
The play compi-ehends a perioa of about four years, commencinK 
with the secession to the Mons Sacer in the year of Rome 202, 
and ending with the death of Coriolanus, A. U. C. 2(36. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Caius Marcius ConiOLANus, a noble Roman. 

TlTl'S LaRTIUS, ) , ■ i il ir 1 • 

,, > senerals aeainst the Volscians. 

COMINIUS, J " " 

Menenius Agrippa, friend to Coriolanu.s. 

SiciNius Velutus, ) . ., /•,. , 

T Ti i tribunes of the people, 

J UNius Brutus, S j i r 

Young Marcius, sou to Coriolanus. 

A Roman Herald. 

Tui.Lus AuFiDius, general of the Volscians. 

Lieutenant to Aufidius. 

Conspirators with Aufidius, 

A Citizen o^'Antium. 

Two Volscian Guards. 

Volumnia, mother to Coriolanus. 
ViRGiLiA, wife to Coriolanus. 
Valeria, friend to Virgilia. 
Gentlewoman, attending Virgilia. 

Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, Xdiles, 
Lictors, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Servants to 
Aufidius, and other Attendants. 

SCENE, — partly m Rome ; and partly in the territo- 
ries of the Volscians and Antiates. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.— Rome. A Street. 

Enter a company of mutinouf. Citizens, with staves, 
clubs, and other weapons, 

1 Cit. Before we proceed any further, hear me speak. 

Cit, Speak, speak. \^Several speaking at once. 

1 Cit. You are all resolved rather to die, than to 
famish. 

Cit. Resolved, resolved. 

1 Cit. First you know, Caius Marcius is chief ene- 
my to the people. 

Cit. We know't, we know't. 

1 Cit. Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our 
own price. Is't a verdict ? 

Cit. No more talking on't ; let it be done : away, 
away. 

2 Cit. One word, good citizens. 

1 Cit. We are accounted poor citizens ; the patri- 
cians good: What authority surfeits on, would relieve 
us ; If they would yield us but the superfluity, while 
it were wholesome, we might guess, they relieved us 
humanely ; but they think, we are too dear : the lean- 
ness that afflicts us, the object of our misery, is an 
inventory to particularize their abundance ; our suf- 
ferance is a gain to them. — Let us revenge this with 
our pikes, ere we become rakes : for the gods know, I 
speak this in hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge. 

"2 Cit. Would you proceed especially against Caius 
Marcius ? 

Cit, Against him first; he's a very dog to the com- 
monalty. 



2 Ci(. Consider you what services he has done for 
his country 1 

1 Cit. Very well ; and could be content to give 
him good report for't, but that he pays himself with 
being proud. 

2 Cit. Nay, but speak not maliciously. 

1 Cit. I say unto you, what he hath done famously, 
he did it to that end ; though soft conscienc'd men 
can be content to say, it was for his country, he did 
it to please his mother, and to be partly proud; which 
he is, even to the altitude of his virtue. 

2 Cit. What he cannot help in his nature, you ac- 
count a vice in him : You must in no way say, he is 
covetous. 

1 Cit. If I must not, I need not be barren of accu- 
sations; he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in repe- 
tition. [S/ioutsujif/tm.] What shouts are these? The 
other side o' the city is risen : Why stay we prating 
here 1 to the Capitol. 

Cit. Come, come. 

1 Cit. Soft ; who comes here! 

Enter Menenius Agrippa. 

2 Cit. Worthy Menenius Agrippa ; one that hath 
always loved the people. 

1 Cit. He 's one honest enough ; 'Would, all the 
rest were so ! 

Men. What work 's, my countrymen, in hand 1 
Where go you 
With bats and clubs] The matter? Speak, I pray you. 

1 Cit. Our business is not unknown to the senate ; 
they have had inkling, this fortnight, what we intend 
to do, which now we '11 shew 'em in deeds. They say, 
poor suitors have strong breaths ; they shall know, 
we have strong arms too. 

Men. Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest 
Will you undo yourselves ? [neighbours, 

1 Cit. We cannot, sir, we are undone already. 

Men. I tell you, friends, most charitable care 
Have the patricians of you. For your wants, 
Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well 
Strike at the heaven with your staves, as lift them 
Against the Roman state ; whose course will on 
The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs 
Of more strong link asunder, than can ever 
Appear in your impediment : For the dearth. 
The gods, not the patricians, make "t ; and 
Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack, 
You are transported by calamity 
Thither where more attends you ; and you slander 
The helms o' the state, who care for you like fathers. 
When you curse them as enemies. 

1 Cit. Care for us ! — True, indeed ! — They ne'er 
cared for us yet. Suffer us to famish, and their store- 
houses crammed with grain ; make edicts for usury, 
to support usurers : repeal daily any wholesome act 
established against the rich ; and provide more pierc- 
ing statutes daily, to chain up and restrain the poor. 
If the wars eat us not up, they will ; and there 's all 
the love they bear us. 

Me/t, Either you must 



ACT I.— SCENE I. 



iilh 



Confess yourselves wondrous malicious, 
Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you 
A pretty tale ; it may be, you have heard it ; 
But, since it serves my purpose, 1 will venture 
I'o stale 't a little more. 

1 Cit. Well, I'll hear it, sir: yet you must not 
think to fob off our disgrace with a tale : but, an 't 
please you, deliver. 

Men. There w as a time, when all the body's members 
Rebell'd against the belly ; thus accus'd it : — 
That only like a gulf it did remain 
I" the midst o' the body, idle and inactive. 
Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing 
Like labour with the rest ; where the other instruments 
Did see, and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel. 
And, mutually participate, did minister 
Unto the appetite and affection common 
Of the whole body. The belly answered, — 

1 Cit. Well, sir, what answer made the belly? 

Men. Sir, I shall tell you. — With a kind of smile. 
Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus, 
(For, look you, I may make the belly smile. 
As well as speak,) it tauntingly replied 
To the discontented members, the mutinous parts 
That envied his receipt ; even so most fitly 
As you malign our senators, for that 
'i'hey are not such as you. 

1 Cit. Your belly's answer: What! 
The kingly-crowned head, the vigilant eye. 
The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier. 
Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter, 
With other muniments and petty helps 
In this our fabric, if that they 

Men. What then 1 

'Fore me, this fellow speaks ! — what then ■; what then 1 

1 Cit. Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd, 
Who is the sink o' the body, 

Men. Well, what then? 

1 Cit. The former agents, if they did complain. 
What could the belly answer ? 

Men. I will tell you ; 

If you'll bestow a small (of what you have little,) 
Patience, awhile, you '11 hear the belly's answer. 

1 Cit. You are long about it. 

Men. Note me this, good friend ; 

Your most grave belly was deliberate. 
Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd. 
True is it, mii incorporate J riends, quoth he, 
That I receive the general food at Jirst, 
Which you. do live upon : and Jit it is ; 
Because I am the store-house, ami the shop 
Of the whole body : But if you do remember, 
I send it through the rivers of your blood, 
Even to the court, the heart, — to the seat o' the brain ; 
And, through the cranks and offices of man, 
The strongest nerves, and small inferior veins, 
From me receive that natural competency 
Wherebi^ theii live: And though that all at once, 
You, my good friends, (thissays the belly), mark me, — 

1 Cit. Ay, sir ; well, well. 

Men. TItough all at once cannot 

See what I do deliver otit to each ; 
Yet I can make my audit tip, that all 
From me do hack receive the flower of all. 
And leave me but the bran. What say you to 't ; 

1 Cit. It was an answer : How apply you this ? 

]\len. The senators of Rome are tlds good belly. 
And you the mutinous members : For examine 
Their counsels, and their cares ; digest things rightly, 
Touching the weal o' the common ; you shall find, 
No public benefit, which you receive, 
but it proceeds, or comes, from them to you, 



And no way from yourselves. — What do you think '* 
You, the great toe of this assembly 1 — 

1 Cit. 1 the great toe? Why the great toe? 

Men. For that being one o'the lowest, basest, poorest, 
Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost : 
Thou rascal, that art worst in blood, to run 
Lead'st first, to win some vantage. — 
But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs ; 
Rome and her rats are at the point of battle, 
The one side must have bale. — Hail, noble ]Marcius I 

Enter Caius Marcius. 

Mar. Thanks. — What's the matter, you dissen- 
tious rogues, 
That rubbing the poor itch of your opinion. 
Make yourselves scabs ? 

1 Cit. We have ever your good word. 

Mar. He that will give good words to thee, will 
flatter 
Beneath abhorring. — What would you have, you curs, 
'J'hat like nor peace, nor war ? the one affrights you, 
The other makes you proud. He that trusts you, 
Where he should find you lions, finds you hares ; 
Where foxes, geese : You are no surer, no, 
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice. 
Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is. 
To make him worthy, whose offence subdues him. 
And curse that justice did it. Who deserves great- 
Deserves your hate : and your affections are [ness, 
A sick man's appetite, who desires most that 
Which would increase his evil. He that depends 
Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead. 
And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye ! Trust 
With every minute you do change a mind ; [ye? 
And call him noble, that was now your hate. 
Him vile, that was your garland. What's the matter. 
That in these several places of the city 
You cry against the noble senate, who. 
Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else 
Would feedononeanotiier? — NA'hat's their seeking? 

Men. For corn at their own rates ; whereof, they say. 
The city is well stor'd. 

Mar. Hang 'em ! They say ? 

They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know 
What 's done i' the Capitol : who 's like to rise. 
Who thrives, and who declines : side factions, and 

give out 
Conjectural marriages ; making parties strong, 
And feebling such as stand not in their liking, 
Below theii cobbled shoes. They say, there's grain 
Would the nobility lay aside their ruth, [enough? 
And let me use my sword, I 'd make a quarry 
With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high 
As I could pick my lance. 

Men. Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded ; 
For though abundantly they lack discretion. 
Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you, 
What says the other troop ? 

Mar. They are dissolved : Hang 'em ! 

They said, they were an-hungry ; sigh'd forth pro- 
verbs ; — 
That, hunger broke stone walls ; that, dogs must eat ; 
That, meat was made for mouths : that, the gods 

sent not 
Corn for the rich men only : — With these shreds 
They vented their complainings;whichbeinganswer'd, 
And a petition granted them, a strange one, 
(To break the heart of generosity. 
And make bold powerlook pale, )theythrewtheir caps 
As they would hang them on the horns o' the moon. 
Shouting their emulation. 

Men, What is granted them? 

2 11 



6-26 



CORIOLANUS. 



Mar. Five tribunes to defend their vulgar wisdoms, 
Of their own choice : One's Junius Brutus, 
Sicinius Velutus, and 1 know not — 'Sdeath ! 
The rabble should have first unroofd the city, 
Ere so prevail'd with me ; it will in time 
Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes 
for insurrection's arguing. 

Men. 



Mar. 



Mess. 
Mar. 
Mess. 
Mar. 



This is strange. 
Go, get you home, you fragments 1 

Enter a Messenger. 

Where 's Caius Marcius 1 

Here: What's the matter I 
The news is, sir, the Voices are in arms. 
I am glad on't; then we shall have means to 
Our musty superfluity :— See, our best elders, [vent 

Enter Cominius, Titus Lahtius, and other Senators ; 
Junius Brutus, and Sicinius Velutus. 

1 Sen. IMarcius, 'tis true that you have lately told us ; 
The Voices are in arms. 

Mar. They have a leader, 

Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to 't. 
I sin in envying his nobility : 
And were I any thing but what I am, 
I would wish me only he. 

Com. You have fought together. 

Mar. Were half to half the world by the ears, and 
Upon my party, I 'd revolt, to make [he 

Only my wars with him : he is a lion 
That I am proud to hunt. 

1 Sen. Then worthy Marcius, 

Attend upon Cominius to these wars. 
Com. It is your former promise. 
Mar. Sir, it is ; 

And I am constant. Titus Lartius, thou 
Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face : 
What, art thou stiff! stand'st out"? 

Tit. No, Caius Marcius ; 

I '11 lean upon one crutch, and fight with the other, 
Ere stay behind this business. 

Men. O, true bred! 

iSen. Your company to the Capitol ; where, I know. 
Our greatest friends attend us. 

Tit. Lead you on : 

Follow, Cominius ; we must follow you ; 
Right worthy you priority. 

Com. Noble Lartius ! 

1 Sen. Hence ! To your homes, be gone. 

[To the Citizens. 
Mar. Nay, let them follow : 

The Voices have much corn ; take these rats thither. 
To gnaw their garners :— Worshipful mutineers, 
Your valour puts well forth : pray, follow. 

[Exeunt Senators, Com. Mau. Tit. and 
Menen. Citizens steal away. 
Sic. Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius 1 

Bru He has no equal. [p'e, 

Sic. When we were chosen tribunes for the peo- 
Bru. Mark'd you his lip, and eyes ? 
Sic. Nay, but his taunts. 

Bru. Being mov'd , he will not spare to gird the gods. 
Sic. Be-mock the modest moon. 
Bru. The present wars devour him : he is grown 
Too proud to be so valiant. 

Sic. Such a nature, 

Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow 
Which he treads on at noon : But I do wonder, 
His insolence can brook to be commanded 
Under Cominius. 
J}ru. Fame, at the which he aims, — 



In whom already he is well grac'd, — cannot 
Better be held, nor more attain'd, than by 
A place below the first : for what miscarries 
Shall be the general's fault, though he perform 
To the utmost of a man ; and giddy censure 
Will then cry out of Marcius, O, if he 
Had boi-ne the btisine»s ! 

Sic. Besides, if things go well 

Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall 
Of his demerits rob Cominius. 

Bru. Come: 

Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius, 
Though Marcius earn'd them not; and all his faults 
To Marcius shall be honours, though, indeed, 
In aught he merit not. 

Sic. Let's hence, and hear 

How the despatch is made ; and in what fashion, 
More than in singularity, he goes 
Upon his present action. 

Bru. Let's along. [Ejeitnt. 

SCENE II.— Corioli.— 77ie Senate-House. 
Enter Tullus Aufidius, and certain Senators. 

1 Sen. So, your opinion is, Aufidius, 
That they of Rome are enter'd in our counsels. 
And know how we proceed. 

Aiif. Is it not yours ? 

What ever hath been thought on in this state. 
That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome 
Had circumvention? 'Tis not four days gone, 
Since I heard thence; these are the words: I think, 
I have the letter here ; yes, here it is : [Reads. 

They have press'd a power, but it is not knojjn 
Whether for east, or west: The dearth is great ; 
The people mutinous : and it is rumour'd, 
Cominius, Marcius your old enemy, 
(I-F/io is of Rome worse hated than of you,) 
And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman, 
These three lead on this preparation 
Whither 'tis bent : most likely, 'tis for you: 
Consider of it, 

1 Sen. Our army's in the field : 
We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready 
To answer us. 

Atif. Nor did you think it folly. 

To keep your great pretences veil'd, till when 
They needs must shew themselves ; which in the 

hatching, 
Tt seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery. 
We shall be shorten'd in our aim ; which was. 
To take in many towns, ere, almost, Rome 
Should know we were afoot. 

2 Sen. Noble Aufidius, 
Take your commission ; hie you to your bands : 
Let us alone to guard Corioli : 
If they set down before us, for the remove 
Bring up your army ; but, I think, you'll find 
They have not prepar'd for us. 

Auf. O, doubt not that ; 

I speak from certainties. Nay, more. 
Some parcels of their powers are forth already. 
And only hitherward. I leave your honours. 
If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet, 
'Tis sworn between us, we shall never strike 
Till one can do no more. 

All. The gods assist you ! 

Auf. And keep yoi*- honours safe! 

1 Sen. Farewell. 

2 Sell. Farewell 
All. Farewell. [Exeunt, 



ACT I.— SCENE IV. 



627 



SCENE III. 
Rome. — An Apartment in Marcius' House. 

Enter Volumnia and Viugilia : They sit down 
OH two low stooU, and sew. 

VoL I pray you, daughter, sing; or express your- 
self ia a more comfortable sort: If my son were my 
husband, I should freelier rejoice in that absence 
wherein he won honour, than in the embracements 
of his bed, where he would shew most love. When 
yet he was but tender-bodied, and the only son of my 
womb ; when youth with comeliness plucked all gaze 
his way ; when, for a day of kings' entreaties, a mo- 
ther should not sell him an hour from her beholding; 
I, considering how honour would become such a per- 
son ; that it was no better than picture-like to hang 
by the wall, if renown made it not stir, — was pleased 
to let him seek danger where he was like to find fame. 
To a cruel war I sent him ; from whence he returned, 
his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, — 
I sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a 
man-child, than now in first seeing he had proved 
himself a man. 

Vir. But had he died in the business, madam ? how 
then? 

Fo/. Then his good report should have been my 
son ; I therein would have found issue. Hear me 
profess sincerely : — Had I a dozen sons, — Each in 
my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my 
good Marcius, — I had rather had eleven die nobly for 
their country, than one voluptuously surfeit out of 
action. 

Enter a Gentlewoman. 

Gent. Madam, the lady Valeria is come to visit you. 

Vir. 'Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself. 

VoL Indeed, you shall not. 
Methinks, I hear hither your husband's drum; 
See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair; 
As children from a bear, the Voices shunning him : 
Methinks, I see him stamp thus, and call thus, — 
Come on, you cowards, you were got in fear. 
Though you, were born iti Rome : His bloody brow 
With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes ; 
Like to a harvest-man, that's task'd to mow 
Or all, or lose his hire. 

Vir. His bloody brow ! O, Jupiter, no blood ! 

Vol. Away, you fool ! it more becomes a man, 
Than gilt his trophy : The breasts of Hecuba, 
When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier 
Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood 
At Grecian swords' contending. — Tell Valeria, 
We are fit to bid her welcome. [Exit. Gent. 

Vir. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius ! 

Vol. He'll beat Aufidius head below his knee, 
And tread upon his neck. 

Re-enter Gentlewoman, with Valeiiia and her Usher. 

,Val. My ladies both, good day to you. 

VoL Sweet madam, 

Vir. I am glad to see your ladyship. 

Val. How do you both ? you are manifest house- 
keepers. What, are you sewing here 1 A fine spot in 
good faith. — How does your little son ? 

Vir. I thank your ladyship; well, good madam. 

VoL He had rather see the swords, ami hear a drum, 
than look upon his school- master. 

Val. O' my word, the father's son: I'll swear, 'tis 
a very pretty boy. O'my troth, I looked upon him 
o' \N'ednesday half an hour together : he has such a 
confirmed countenance. I saw him run after a gilded 
butterfly ; and when he caught it, he let it go again ; 



and after it again ; and over and over he comes, and 
up again ; catched it again: or whether his fall en- 
raged him, or how 'twas, he did so set his teeth, and 
tear it ; O, I warrant, how he mammocked it! 

Vol. One of his father's moods. 

Val. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child. 

Vir. A crack, madam. 

VaL Come lay aside your stitchery ; I must have 
you play the idle huswife with me this afternoon. 

Vir. No, good madam ; I will not out of doors. 

VaL Not out of doors I 

Vol. She shall, she shall. 

Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience : I will not over 
the threshold, till my lord returns from the wars. 

VaL Fye, you confine yourself most unreasonably ; 
Come, you must go visit the good lady that lies in. 

Vir. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her 
with my prayers ; but I cannot go thither. 

Vol. Why, I pray you 1 

Vii: 'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love. 

VaL You would be another Penelope: yet, they 
say, all the yarn she spun, in Ulysses' absence, did 
but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come ; I would, your 
cambric were as sensible as your finger, that you might 
leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with us. 

Vir. No, good madam, pardon me ; indeed, I will 
not forth. 

Val. In truth, la, go with me ; and I '11 tell you 
excellent news of your husband. 

Vir. O, good madam, there can be none yet. 

Val. Verily, I do not jest with you ; there came 
news from him last night. 

Vir. Indeed, madam? 

VaL In earnest, it's true ; I heard a senator speak 
it. Thus it is : — The Voices have an army forth ; 
against whom Cominius the general is gone, with one 
part of our Roman power : your lord, and Titus Lar- 
tius, are set down before their city Corioli ; they no- 
thingdoubt prevailing, and to make it brief wars. This 
is true, on mine honour ; and so, I pray, go with us. 

Vir. Give me excuse, good madam ; I will obey 
you in every thing hereafter. 

Vol. Let her alone, lady ; as she is now, she will 
but disease our better mirth. 

VaL In troth, I think, she would : — Fare you well 
then. — Come, good sweet lady. — Pry'thee, Virgilia, 
turn thy solemnness out o'door, and go along with us. 

Vir. No : at a word, madam ; indeed, I must not. 
I wish you much mirth, 

VaL Well, then farewell. [Ereunt. 

SCENE IV.— Before Corioli. 

Enter, with drums and colours, Marcius, Titus Lar- 
Tius, Oflicers, and Soldiers. To them a Messenger. 

Mar, Yonder ^ omes news : — A wager, they have 

Lart. My horse to yours, no. [met. 

Mar. 'Tis done. 

Lart. Agreed. 

Mar. Say, has our general met the enemy ? 

Mess. They lie in view ; but have not spoke as yet. 

Lart. So, the good horse is mine. 

Mar. I'll buy him of you. 

Lart. No, I'll nor sell, nor give him: lend you 
him, I will. 
For half a hundred years. — Summon the town. 

Mar. How far off lie these armies 1 

Mess. Within this mile and a half. 

Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larum and they ours. 
Now, Mars, I pr'ythee, make us quick in work ; 
That we with smoking swords may march from hence, 
To help our fielded friends ! — Come, blow thy blast. 
2 II 2 



G28 



CORIOLANUS 



They sound a parley. Enter, on the walls, some 
Senators, and others. 

Tullus Aufidius, is he within yonr walls? 

1 Seji. No, nor a man that fears you less than he, 
That's lesser than a little. Hark, our drums 

[Alarums afar off'. 
Are bringing forth our youth : We'll break our walls, 
Rather than they shall pound us up : Our gates, 
Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with rushes; 
They'll open of themselves. Hark you, afar off; 

[Other alarums. 
There is Aufidius ; list, what work he makes 
Amongst your cloven army. 

Mar. O, they are at it ! 

Lart. Their noise be our instruction. — Ladders, ho ! 

The Voices enter, and pass over the stage. 

Mar. They fear us not, but issue forth their city. 
Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight 
With hearts more proof than shields. — Advance, 

brave Titus : 
They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts, 
Which makes me sweat with wrath. — Come on, my 
He that retiies, I'll take him for a Voice, [fellows ; 
And he shall feel mine edge. 

Alarums, and exeunt Romans and Voices, fighting. 
The Romans are beaten back to their trenches. He- 
enter Marcius. 

Mar, All the contagion of the south light on you. 
You shames of Rome! — you herd of — Boils and 
Plaster you o'er ; that you may be abhorred [plagues 
Further than seen, and one infect another 
Against the wind a mile ! You souls of geese, 
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run 
From slaves that apes would beat] Pluto and hell ! 
All hurt behind ; backs red, and faces pale 
With flight and agued fear ! Mend, and charge home, 
Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe, 
And make my wars on you : look to't : Come on ; 
If you'll stand fast, we'll beat them to their wives, 
As they us to our trenches followed. 

Another alarum. The Voices and Romans re-enter, 
and the fight is renewed. The Voices retire into 
Corioli, and ^Iarcivs follows them to the gates. 

So, now the gates are ope: — Now prove good seconds: 
'lis for the followers fortune widens tlieni. 
Not for the fliers : mark me, and do the like. 

[He enters the gates, and is shut in. 

1 Sol, Fool-hardiness ; not 1. 

2 Sol, Nor I. 

3 Sol, See, they 
Have shut him in. [Alarum continues. 

All. To the pot, I warrant him. 

Enter Titus Lartius. 

Lart, What is become of Marcius ? 

All. Slain, sir, doubtless. 

1 Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels. 
With them he enters : who, upon the sudden, 
Clapp'd-to their gates ; he is himself alone. 
To answer all the city. 

Lart, O noble fellow ! 

Who, sensible, outdares his senseless sword, 
And, when it bows, stands up ! Thou art left, Mar- 
A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, [cius : 

Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier 
Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible 
Only in strokes ; but, with thy grim looks, and 
The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds. 
Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world 
Were feverous, and did tremble. 



Zle-enfe^ Marcius, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy, 

1 Sol. Look, sir. 

Lart. 'Tis Marcius: 

Let's fetch him ofT, or make remain alike. 

[They fight , and all enter the city. 

SCENE V,— Within the Town, A Street. 

Enter certain Romans with spoils, 

1 Bom. This will I carry to Rome. 

2 Rom. And I this. 

3 Rom. A murrain on't ! I took this for silver. 

[Alarum continues still afar off. 

Enter Marcius and Titus Lartius, with a trumpet. 

Mar. See here these movers, that do prize their hours. 
At a crack'd drachm ! Cushions, leaden spoons, 
Lons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would 
Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves, 
Ere yet the fight be done, pack up: — Down with 

them. — 
And hark, what noise the general makes ! — Tohim ; — 
There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius, 
Piercing our Romans : Then, valiant Titus, take 
Convenient numbers to make good the city ; 
Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste 
To help Cominius. 

Lart. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st ; 

Thy exercise hath been too violent for 
A second course of fight. 

Mar. Sir, praise me not : 

My work hath yet not warm'd me : Fare you welL 
The blood I drop is rather physical 
Than dangerous to me: To Aufidius thus 
I will appear, and fight. 

Lart. Now the fair goddess. Fortune, 

Fall deep in love with thee : and her great charms 
Misguide thy opposers' swords ! Bold gentleman, 
Prosperity be thy page ! 

Mar. Thy friend no less 

Than those she placeth highest ! — So, farewell. 

Lart- Thou worthiest Marcius ! — [Ex. Marcius. 
Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place ; 
Call thither all the oflScers of the town, 
Where they shall know our mind : Away. [Eieunt. 

SCENE \l.—Near the Camp of Cominius. 

Enter Cominius and Forces, retreating. 

Com. Breathe you, my friends ; well fought : we 
are come off 
Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands. 
Nor cowardly in retire : believe me, sirs. 
We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck, 
By interims, and conveying gusts, we have heard 
The charges of our friends : — The Roman gods. 
Lead their successes as we wish our own ; [ing, 
That both our powers, with smiling fronts encounter- 

Enter a Messenger. 

May give you thankful sacrifice ! — Thy news 1 
Mess. The citizens of Corioli have issued, 

And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle : 

I saw our party to their trenches driven. 

And then 1 came away. 

Com. Though thou speak'st truth, 

Methinks, thou speak'st not well. How long i'st 
Mess. Above an hour, my lord. [since ] 

Com. 'Tis not a mile ; briefly we heard their drums : 

How could'st thou in a mile confound an hour. 



ACT I.— SCENE IX. 



6-29 



And bring thy news so late ? 

Muss. Spies of the Voices 

Held me in chase, that I was forc'tl to wheel, 
Three or four miles about ; else had I, sir, 
Half an hour since brought my report. 

Enter Marcius. 

Com, " Who's yonder, 

That does appear as he were flayd T O gods ! 
He has the stamp of IMarcius ; and I have 
Before-time seen him thus. 

Mar, Come I too late 1 

Com. The shepherd knows nottliunder from a tabor. 
More than I know the sound of JMarcius tongue 
From every meaner man's. 

Mar, Come I too late ? 

Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, 
But mantled in your own. 

Mar. , ! let me clip you 

In arms as sound, as when I woo'd ; in heart 
As merry, as when our nuptial day was done, 
And tapers burn'd to bedward. 

Com. Flower of warriors, 

How i'st with Titus Lartius ? 

Mar. As with a man busied about decrees : 
Condemning some to death, and some to exile ; 
Ransoming him; or pitying, threat'ning the other ; 
Holding Corioli in the name of Rome, 
Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash, 
To let him slip at will. 

Com. Where is that slave. 

Which told me they had beat you to your trenches ? 
Where is he] Call him hither. 

Mar. Let him alone. 

He did inform the truth : But for our gentlemen. 
The common file, (A plague ! — Tribunes for them !) 
The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat, as they did budge 
From rascals worse than they. 

Com. But how prevail'd you ^ 

Mar. Will the time serve to tell ? I do not think — 
Wliere is the enemy ">. Are you lords o' the field ? 
If not, why cease you till you are so ? 

Com. Marcius, 

We have at disadvantage fought, and did 
Retire, to win our purpose. 

Mar. How lies their battle? Know you on which 
They have plac'd their men of trust! (side 

Com. As I guess, ]\Iarcius, 

Their hands in the vaward are the Antiates, 
Of their best trust ; o'er them Aufidius, 
Their very heart of hope. 

Mar. I do beseech you. 

By all the battles wherein we have fought. 
By the blood we have shed together, by tlie vows 
We have made to endure friends, tliat you directly 
Set me against Aufidius, and his Antiates : 
And that you not delay the present ; but. 
Filling the air with swords advanc'd, and darts, 
We prove this very hour. 

Com. Though I could wish 

You were conducted to a gentle batb. 
And balms applied to you, yet dare I never 
Deny your asking ; take your choice of those 
That best can aid your action. 

Mar, Those are they 

That most are willing : — If any such be here, 
OVs it were sin to doubt,) that love tliis painting 
Wherein you see me smear'd ; if any fear 
Lesser his person than an ill report ; 
If any think, brave death outweighs bad life. 
And that his country's dearer than himself ; 
Let him. alone, or so many, so minded. 



Wave thus, [waving his hand.'] to express his dispo- 
And follow Marcius. [sition, 

[They all shout, and wave their stvards ; take him 
tip in their arms, and cast up their caps. 
O me, alone ! Make you a sword of me 1 
If these shows be not outward, which of you 
But is four Voices'! None of you, but is 
Able to bear against the great Aufidius 
A shield as hard as his. A certain number. 
Though thanks to all, must I select : the rest 
Shall bear the business in some other fight. 
As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march ; 
And four shall quickly draw out my conmiand, 
Which men are best inclin'd. 

Com. March on, my fellows: 

Make good this ostentation, and you shall 
Divide in all with us. [Eieunt. 

SCENE VII.— Tfte Gates ./Corioli. 

Tims Lartius, having set a guard upon Coriolf, 
going with a drum and a trumpet toward Cominius 
and Caius Marcius, enters with a Lieutenant, a 
party of Soldiers, and a Scout. 

Lart. So, let the ports be guarded ; keep your 
duties. 
As I have set tliem down. If I do send, despatch 
Those centuries to our aid ; the rest will serve 
For a short holding : If we lose the field. 
We cannot keep tlie town. 

Lieu. Fear not our care, sir. 

Lart. Hence, and shut your gates upon us — 
Our guider. come ; to the Roman camp conduct us. 

[Kieunt. 

SCENE VIII.— y4 Field of Battle between the Roman 
and the Volscian Camps. 

Alarum. Enter Marcius and Aufiditts. 

Mar, I'll fight with none but thee ; for 1 do hate 
Worse than a promise-breaker. [thee 

Auf. We hate alike ; 

Not Afrio owns a serpent, 1 abhor 
More than thy fame and envy : Fix thy foot. 

Mar. Let the first budgerdie the other's slave. 
And the gods doom him after! 

Auf. If I fly, Marcius, 

Halloo me like a hare. 

Mar. Within these three hours, TuUus, 

Alone I fought in your Corioli walls. 
And made what work I pleas'd ; "lis not my blood. 
Wherein thou seest me inask'd : for thy revenge. 
Wrench up thy power to the highest. 

Auf. Wert thou the Hector, 

That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, 
Thou should'st not scape me here. — 

[Theyfght, and certain Voices come to the 
aid of AvriDius. 
Oflficious, and not valiant — you have sham'd me 
In your condemned seconds. 

[Eieuut fghting, driven in by Marcius. 

SCENE IX.— The Roman Camp. 

Alarum, A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enteral 
one side, Cominius, and Romans ; at the other side, 
M Kiicivs, with his arm ina scarf , and other Romans. 

Com, If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, 
Thou'lt not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it. 
Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles; 
Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug, 
x' the end, admire ; where ladies shall be frighted. 



630 



CORIOLANUS. 



And, gladly quak'd, hear more ; where the dull Tri- 
bunes, 
That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours, 
Shall say, against their hearts, — We thank the gods. 
Our Rome hath such a soldier! — 
Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast, 
Having fully dined before. 

Enter Titus Lartius, with his pcnoer, from the pursuit. 

Lart. O general, 

Here is the steed, we the caparison : 

Hadst thou beheld 

Mar. Pray now, no more : my mother. 

Who has a charter to extol her blood, 
When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done, 
As you have done : that's what I can ; induc'd 
As you have been ; that's for my country : 
He, that has but effected his good will 
Hath overta'en mine act. 

Com. You shall not be 

The grave of your deserving : Rome must know 
The value of her own : 'twere a concealment 
Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement, 
To hide your doings ; and to silence that. 
Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch 'd. 
Would seem but modest : Therefore, I beseech you, 
(In sign of what you are, not to reward 
What you have done,) before our army hear me. 

Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and they smart 
To hear themselves remember'd. 

Com. Should they not, 

Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude. 
And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses, 
(Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store, )of all 
The treasure, in this field achiev'd, and city. 
We render you the tenth ; to be ta'en forth. 
Before the common distribution, at 
Your only choice. 

Mar. I thank you, general ; 

But cannot make my heart consent to take 
A bribe to pay my sword : I do refuse it ; 
And stand upon my common part with those 
That have beheld the doing. 

[i4 long flourish. They all cry, Marcius ! 
INIarcius ! cast np their caps and lances: 
CoMiNius and Lartius stand hare. 
Mar. May these same instruments, which you pro- 
fane. 
Never sound more ! When drums and trumpets shall 
r the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be 
INIade all of false-fac'd soothing! When steel grows 
Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made 
An overture for the wars I No more, I say ; 
For that 1 have not wash'd my nose that bled. 
Or foil'd some debile wretch, — which without note. 
Here's many else have done, — you shout me forth 
In acclamations hyperbolical ; 
As if I loved my little should be dieted 
In praises sauc'd with lies. 

Com. Too modest are you ; 

More cruel to your good report, than grateful 
To us that give you truly : by your patience, 
If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you 
(Like one that means his proper harm,)in manacles, 
Then reason safely with you. — Therefore, be it known, 
As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius 
Wears this war's garland : in token of the which 
My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, 
With all his trim belonging ; and, from this time. 
For what he did before Corioli, call him. 
With all the applause and clamour of the host, 
Caius Marcius Couiolanus. — 



Bear the addition nobly ever ! 

[Flourish. Trumpets sound, and druma. 

All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus ! 

Cor. I will go wash ; 
And when my face is fair, you shall perceive 
Whether 1 blush, or no : Howbeit, 1 thank you : — 
I mean to stride your steed ; and, at all limes. 
To undercrest your good addition. 
To the fairness of my power. 

Com. So, to our tent : 

Where, ere we do repose us, we will write 
To Rome of our success. — You, Titus Lartius, 
Must to Corioli back : send us to Rome 
The best, with whom we may articulate, 
For their own good, and ours. 

Lart. I shall, my lord. 

Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I that now 
Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg 
Of my lord general. 

Com. Take it : 'tis you'rs.— What is't 1 

Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli, 
At a poor man's house ; he us'd me kindly : 
He cried to me ; I saw him prisoner ; 
But then Aufidius was within my view. 
And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity : I request you 
To give my poor host freedom. 

Com. O, well begg'd! 

Were he the butcher of my son, he should 
Be free, as is the wind. IDeliver him, Titus. 

Lart. Marcius, his name ? 

Cor. By Jupiter, forgot : — 

I am weary ; yea, my memory is tir'd. — 
Have we no wine here? 

Com. Go we to our tent : 

The blood upon your visage dries : 'tis time 
It should be look'd too: come. [Et«i«4. 

SCENE X.—The Camp of the Voices. 

A flourish. Cornets. Enter Tuixiis Aufidius, 6ioivJ^, 
with Two or Three Soldiers. 

Auf. The town is ta'en ! 

1 Sol. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition. 

Anf. Condition'! — 
I would, I were a Roman ; for I cannot. 
Being a Voice, be that I am. — Condition \ 
What good condition can a treaty find 
r the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, 
I have fought with thee ; so often hast thou beat me ; 
And would'st do so, I think, should we encounter 
As often as we eat. — By the elements. 
If e'er again I meet him beard to beard. 
He is mine, or I am his : Mine emulation 
Hath not that honour in't, it had : for where 
I thought to crush him in an equal force, 
(True sword to sword,) I'll potch at him someway; 
Or wrath, or craft, may get him. 

1 Sal. He's the devil. 

Auf. Bolder, though not sosubtle: My valour's poi- 
With only suffering stain by him ; for him [son'd, 
Shall fly out of itself : nor sleep, nor sanctuary, 
Being naked, sick : nor fane, nor Capitol, 
The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice, 
Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up 
Their rotten privilege, and custom 'gainst 
My hate to Marcius : where I find him, were it 
At home, upon my brother's guard, even there 
Against the hospitable canon, would I 
Wash my fierce hand in his heart. Goyou tothe city , 
Learn, how 'tis held ; and what they are, that must 
Be hostages for Rome. 

1 S<iJ. Will not you go I 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



631 



Aiif. 1 am attended at the cypress grove i 
I pray you, 

('Tis south the city mills) bring me word thither 
How the world goes ; that to the pace of it 
I may spur on my journey. 

1 Sol, I shall sir. [^Exeunt, 



ACT II. 

SCENE I.— Rome. A pubUe Place. 
Enter Menenius, Sicinius, and Brutus. 

Men. The augurer tells me, we shall have news 
to-night. 

Bru. Good, or bad ■? 

Men. Not according to the prayer of the people, 
for they love not Marcius. 

Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. 

Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love 1 

Sic. The lamb. 

Men. Ay, to devour him ; as the hungry plebeians 
would the noble Marcius. 

lint. He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear. 

Men. He's a bear, indeed, that lives like a lamb. 
You two are old men ; tell me one thing that I shall 
ask you. 

Both Trib. Well, sir. 

Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor, that you 
two have not in abundance 1 

Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but stored with all. 

Sic. Especially, in pride. 

Bru. And topping all others in boasting. 

Men. This is strange now : Do you two know how 
you are censured here in the city, I mean of us o' the 
right hand file ? Do you ■? 

Both Trib. Why, how are we censured ? 

Men. Because you talk of pride now. — Will you 
not be angry "! 

Both Trib. Well, well, sir, well. 

Men. Why, 'tis no great matter: for a very little 
thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of pa- 
tience : give your disposition the reins, and be angry 
at your pleasures ; at the least, if you take it as a 
pleasure to you, in being so. You blame Marcius 
for being proud 1 

Bru. We do it not alone, sir. 

Men. I know you can do very little alone ; for 
your helps are many ; or else your actions would 
grow wondrous single : your abilities are too infant- 
like, for doing much alone. You talk of pride : O, 
that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of 
your necks, and make but an interior survey of your 
good selves '. O, that you could ! 

Bru. What then, sir 1 

Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of 
unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, (alias, 
fools,) as any in Rome. 

Sic. Menenius, you are known well enough too. 

Men. I am known to be a humorous patrician, and 
one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of 
allaying Tyber in't ; said to be sometliing imperfect, 
in favouring the first complaint: hasty, and tinder- 
like, upon too trivial motion : one that converses more 
with the buttock of the night, than with the forehead 
of the morning. What I think, I utter ; and spend 
my malice in my breath : Meeting two such weals- 
men as you are, (I cannot call you l.ycurguses) if 
the drink you give me, touch my palate adversely, I 
Qiake a crooked face at it. I cannot say, your wor- 
ships have delivered the matter well, when 1 find the 
ass in compound with the major part of your syllables: 



and though I must be content to bear with those thii 
say you are reverend grave men ; yet they lie deadly, 
that tell, you have good faces. If you see this in the 
map of my microcosm, follows it, that I am known 
well enough too 1 What harm can your bisson con- 
spectulties glean out of this character, if I be known 
well enough too 1 

Bru. Come, sir, came, we know you well enough. 

Men. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any 
thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and 
legs ; you wear out a good wholesome forenoon, in 
hearing a cause between an orange-wife and a fosset- 
seller ; and then rejourn the controversy of three- 
pence to a second day of audience. — When you are 
hearing a matter between party and party, if you 
chance to be pinched with thecholic, you make faces 
like mummers ; set up the bloody flag against all 
patience ; and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss 
the controversy bleeding, the more entangled by your 
hearing : all the peace you make in their cause, is, 
calling both the parties, knaves : You are a pair of 
strange ones. 

Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to be 
a perfectergiber for the table, than a necessary bencher 
in the Capitol. 

Men. Our very priests must become mockers, if 
they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you 
are. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is 
not worth the wagging of your beards ; and your 
beards deserve not so honourable a grave, as to stuff 
a botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's 
pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is 
proud ; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all your 
predecessors, since Deucalion ; though, peradventure, 
some of the best of them were hereditary hangmen. 
Good e'en to your worships ; more of your conver- 
sation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of 
the beastly plebeians : I will be bold to take my 
leave of you. 
[Brutus and Sicinius retire to the back of the scene. 

Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Valeria, &;c. 

How now, my as fair as noble ladies, (and the moon, 
were she earthly, no nobler,) whither do you follow 
your eyes so fast ? 

Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius ap- 
proaches ; for the love of Juno, let's go. 

Men. Ha ! Marcius coming home ? 

Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius ; and with most pros- 
perous approbation. 

Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee:— 
Hoo ! Marcius coming home ! 

Two Ladies. Nay, 'tis true. 

Vol. Look, here's a letter from him ; the state hath 
another, his wife another ; and, I think, there's one 
at home for you. 

Men. I will make ray very house reel to-night : — 
A letter for me 1 

Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you ; I saw it. 

Men. A letter for me 1 It gives me an estate of 
seven years' health ; in which time I will make a lip 
at the physician : the most sovereign prescription in 
Galen is but empiricutick, and, to this preservative, 
of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not 
wounded "! he was wont to come home wounded. 

Vir. 0, no, no, no. 

Vol. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for't. 

Meti. So do I too, if it be not too much : — Brings 
'a victory in his pocket? — The wounds become hini. 

Vol. (jn's brows, Menenius : he comes the third 
time home with the oaken garland. 

Men, Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly ? 



632 



CORIOLANUS. 



Vol. Titus Lartiiis writes, — they fought together, 
but Aufidius got off. 

Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him 
that : an he iiad staid by him, I would not have been 
so fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, r».nd the gold 
that's in them. Is the senate possessed of this ? 

Vol. Good ladies, let's go : — Yes, yes, yes : the 
senate has letters from the general, wherein he gives 
my son the whole name of the war : he hath in this 
action outdone his former deeds doubly. 

Val. In troth , there's wondrous things spoken of him. 

Men. Wondrous? ay, I warrant you, and not with- 
out his true purchasing. 

Vir. The gods grant them true ! 

Vol. True ? pow, wow. 

Men. True? I'll be sworn they are true: — Where 
IS he wounded ? — God save your good worships ! [To 
the Tribunes, who comeJonvard.'\ Marcius is coming 
home : he has more cause to be proud. — Where is he 
wounded 7 

Vol. I'the shoulder, and i'the left arm : There will 
be large cicatrices to shew tlie people, when he shall 
stand for his place. He received in the repulse of 
Tarquin, seven hurts i'the body. 

Men. One in the neck, and two in the thigh, — 
there's nine that I know. 

Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twenty- 
five wounds upon him. 

Men. Now it's twenty-seven : every gash was an 
enemy's grave: [a shout and Jiourish.] Hark! the 
trumpets. 

Vol. These are the ushers of IMarcius : before him 
He carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears; 
Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie ; 
Which being advanc'd, declines ; and then men die. 

A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter Cominius and 
TiTi's Lartius ; between them, Cohiolanus, crown- 
ed with (in oaken garland ; wit/i Captains, Soldiers, 
and a Herald. 

Her Know, Home, that all alone Marcius did fight 
Within Corioli' gates : where he hath won. 
With fame, a name to Caius Marcius ; these 
In honour follows, Coriolanus : — 
Welcometo Rome, renowned Coriolanus! [Flourish. 

All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus ! 

Cor. No more of this, it does offend my heart ; 
Pray now, no more. 

Com. Look, sir, your mother, 

Cor. O ! 

You have, I know, petition'd all the gods 
For my prosperity. [Kneels. 

Vol. Nay, my good soldier, up ; 

My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and 
By deed-achieving honour newly nain'd. 
What is it ? Coriolanus, must I call thee ? 
But, O thy wife 

Cor. My gracious silence, hail! 

Would'stthouhavelaugh'd, had 1 comecoffin'd home, 
Thatweep'st to see me triumph? Ah, my dear, 
Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear. 
And mothers that lack sons. 

Men. Now the gods crown thee ! 

Cor, And live you yet? — O my sweet lady, par- 
don. [To Valeria. 

Val. I know not where to turn ; — O welcome home ; 
And welcome, general; — And you are welcome all. 

Men. A hundred thousand welcomes : I could weep, 
And I could laugh ; I am liglit and heavy : Welcome : 
A curse begin at very root of his heart, 
That is not glad to see thee ! — You are three 
That Rome should dote on : yet, bj the faith of men, 



We have some old crab-trees here at home, that will not 
Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors : 
We call a nettle, but a nettle ; and 
The faults of fools, but folly. 

Com. Ever right. 

Cor. IMenenius, ever, ever. 

Her. Give way there, and go on. 

Cor. Yourhand, and yours : [To his wife and mother. 
Ere in our own house I do shade my head, 
The good patricians must be visited ; 
From whom I have receiv'd not only greetings. 
But with them change of honours. 

Vol. I have lived 

To see inherited my very wishes. 
And the buildings of my fancy : only there 
Is one thing wanting, wliich I doubt not, but, 
Our Rome will cast upon thee. 

Cor. Know, good mother, 

I had rather be their servant in my way, 
Than sway with them in theirs. 

Com. On, to the Capitol. 

[Flouribh. Cornets. Eieunt in state, as before. 
The Tribunes remain. 

Bru. All tongues speakof him, and thebleared sights 
Are spectacled to see him ; your prattling nurse 
Into a rapture lets her baby cry, 
While she chats him ; the kitchen malkin pins 
Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck, [dows. 
Clambering the wails to eye him : Stalls, bulks, win- 
Are smother'd up, leads fiU'd, and ridges hors'd 
With variable complexions; all agreeing 
In earnestness to see him : seld- shown Hamens 
Uo press among the popular throngs, and puff 
To win a vulgar station : our veil'd dames 
Commit the war of white and damask, in 
Their niceiy-gauded cheeks, to the wanton spoil 
Of Phoebus' burning kisses : such a pother, 
As if that whatsoever god, who leads him. 
Were slily crept into his human powers, 
And gave him graceful posture. 

Sic. On the sudden, 

I warrant him consul. 

Bru. Then our oflBce may. 

During his power, go sleep. 

Sic. He cannot temperately transport his honours 
From where he should begin, and end ; but will 
Lose those that he hath won. 

Bru. In that there's comfort. 

Sic. Doubt not, the commoners, for whom we stand, 
But they, upon their ancient malice, will 
Forget, with the least cause, these his new honours ; 
Which that he'll give them, make as little question 
As he is proud to do't. 

Bru. I heard him swear. 

Were he to stand for consul, never would he 
Appear i'the market-place, nor on him put 
The napless vesture of humility ; 
Nor, shewing (as the manner is) his wounds 
To the people, beg their stinking breaths. 



Sic 



'Tis right. 



Bru. It was his word : O, he would miss it, rather 
Than carry it, but by the suit o' the gentry to him, 
And the desire of the nobles. 

Sic. I wish no better. 

Than to have him hold that purpose, and to put it 
In execution. 

Bru. 'Tis most like, he will. 

Sic. It shall be to him then, as our good wills ; 
A sure destruction. 

Bi-u. So it must fall out 

To him, or our authorities. For an end. 
We must suggest the people, in what hatred 



ACT II.— SCENE II. 



633 



He still hath held them ; that, to his power, he would 

Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders, and 

Dispropertied their freedoms: holding them. 

In human action and capacity. 

Of no more soul, nor fitness for the world. 

Than camels in their war ; who have their provand 

Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows 

For sinking under them. 

Sic. This as you say, suggested 

At some time when his soaring insolence 
Shall teach the people, (which time shall not want. 
If he be put upon't ; and that's as easy. 
As to set dogs on sheep,) will be his fire 
To kindle their dry stubble ; and tlieir blaze 
Shall darken him for ever. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Bru. What's the matter? 

Mens. You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis thought, 
That ftlarcius shall be consul : 1 have seen 
The dumb men throng to see him, and the blind 
To hear him speak : The matrons flung their gloves. 
Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchiefs, 
Upon him as he pass'd : the nobles bended, 
As to Jove's statue ; and the commons made 
A shower, and thunder, with their caps, and shouts: 
I never saw the like. 

Bru. Let's to the Capitol ; 

And carry with us ears and eyes for the time, 
But hearts for the event. 

Sic. Have with you. [Exetntt. 

SCENE U.—The same. The Capitol. 

Enter Two Officers, to lay cushions. 

1 Off. Come, come, they are almost here : How 
many stand for consulships ? 

•i Off. Three, they say : but 'tis thought of every 
one, Coriolanus will carry it. 

1 Off'. That's a brave fellow ; but he's vengeance 
proud, and loves not the common people. 

2 Off. 'faith, there have been many great men 
that have flattered the people, who ne'er loved them ; 
and there be many that they have loved, they know 
not wherefore : so that, if they love they know not 
why, they hate upon no better a ground : Therefore, 
for Coriolanus neither to care whether they love, or 
hate him, manifests the true knowledge he has in their 
disposition ; and, out of his noble carelessness, let's 
them plainly see't. 

1 Off. If he did not care whether he had their 
love, or no, he waved indifferently 'twixt doing them 
neither good, nor harm ; but he seeks their hate with 
greater devotion than they can render it him ; and 
leaves nothing undone, that may fully discover him 
their opposite. Now, to seem to affect the malice 
and displeasure of the people, is as bad as that which 
he dislikes, to flatter them for their love. 

"2 Of. He hath deserved worthily of his country : 
And his ascent is not by such easy degrees as those, 
who, having been supple and courteous to the people, 
bonnetted, without any furtiier deed to heave them 
at all into their estimation and report: but he hath 
so planted his honours in their eyes, and his actions 
in their hearts, that for their tongues to be silent, 
and not confess so much, were a kind of ingrateful 
injury ; to report otherwise, were a malice, that, giv- 
ing itself the lie, would pluck reproof and rebuke 
from everv ear that heard it. 

1 0//. No more of him : he is a worthy man : Make 
way, ihey are coming. 



A Sennet, Enter, with lictors before them, Cominiits 

the Consul, Menenius, Cohiolanus, many other 

Senators, Sinvnis and Bhutus. The Senators 

take their places ; the Tribunes take theirs also l>y 

themselves. 

Men. Having determin'd of the Voices, and 
To send for Titus Lartius, it remains. 
As the main point of this our after-meeting, 
To gratify his noble service, that 
Hath thus stood for his country : Therefore, please jou. 
Most reverend and grave elders, to desire 
The present consul, and last general 
In our well-found successes, to report 
A little of that worthy work perform'd 
I5y (Jaius Marcius Coriolanus ; whom 
We meet here, both to thank, and to remembei 
With honours like himself. 

1 Sen. Speak, good Cominius • 

Leave nothing out for length, and make us think. 
Rather our state's defective for requital. 
Than we to stretch it out. Masters o' the people, 
We do request your kindest ears ; and, after. 
Your loving motion toward the common body. 
To yield v hat passes here. 

Sic. We are convented 

Upon a pleasing treaty ; and have hearts 
Inclinable to honour and advance 
The theme of our assembly, 

Bru. Which the rather 

We shall be bless'd to do, if he remember 
A kinder value of the people, than 
He hath hereto priz'd them at. 

Men. That's off; that's off, 

T would you rather had been silent : Please you 
To hear Cominius speak 1 

Bru. Most willingly : 

But yet my caution was more pertinent. 
Than the rebuke you give it. 

Men. He loves your people ; 

But tie him not to be their bedfellow. — 
Worthy Cominius, speak. — Nay, keep your place. 
[CoRiOLA.vus rises, and offers to go away, 

1 Sen. Sit, Coriolanus ; never shame to hear 
What you have nobly done. 

Cor. Your honours' pardon ; 

I had rather have my wounds to heal again. 
Than hear say how I got them. 

Bru. Sir, I hope, 

My words dis-bench'd you not. 

Cor. No, sir : yet oft, 

When blows have made me stay, I fled from words. 
You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not: But, your people, 
I love them as they weigh. 

Men. Pray now, sit down. 

Cor. I had rather have one scratch my head i' the 
When the alarum were struck, than idly sit [sun 
To hear my nothings monster'd. [Exit Cohiolanus. 

Men. Masters o' the people, 

Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter, 
(That's thousand to one good one,) when you now see, 
He had ratlier venture all his limbs for honour. 
Than one of his ears to hear it? — Proceed. Cominius. 

Com. I shall lack voice : the deeds of Coriolanus 
Should not be utter'd feebly. — It is held. 
That valour is the chiefest virtue, and 
Most dignifies the haver : if it be. 
The man I speak of cannot in the world 
Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years. 
When Tarquin made a head for Rorr3, he fought 
Beyond the mark of others : our then dictator, 
Who)n with all praise I point at, saw him fight, 
When with his Amazonian chin he drove 



0.34 



CORIOLANUS. 



The bristled lips before him : he bestrid 

An o'er press'd Roman, and i'tlie consul's view 

Slew three opposers : Tarquin's self he met, 

And struck him on his knee : in that day's feats, 

When he might act the woman in the scene, 

He prov'd best man i' the field, and for his meed 

AVas brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age 

Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea ; 

And, in tlie brunt of seventeen battles since, 

He lurch'd all swords o' the garland. For this last, 

Before and in Corioli, let me say, 

I cannot speak him home : He stopp'd the fliers ; 

And, by his rare example, made tlie coward 

Turn terror into sport : as waves before 

A vessel under sail, so men obey'd. 

And fell below his stem : his sword (death's stamp) 

Where it did mark, it took ; from face to foot 

He was a thing of bloo J, whose every motion 

AVas timed with dying cries : alone he enter'd 

Tlie mortal gate o' the city, which he painted 

AVith shunless destiny, aidless came off, 

And with a sudden re-enforcement struck 

Corioli, like a planet: Now all's his: 

When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce 

His ready sense : then straight his doubled spirit 

Re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate. 

And to the battle came he ; where he did 

Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if 

'Twere a perpetual spoil : and, till we call'd 

Both field and city ours, he never stood 

'J'o ease his breast with panting. 

Men, Worthy man ! 

1 Sen. He cannot but with measure fit the honours 
AVhich we devise him. 

Com. Our spoils he kick'd at ; 

And look'd upon things precious, as they were 
The common muck o' the world ; he covets less 
Than misery itself would give ; rewards 
His deeds with doing them ; and is content 
To spend the time, to end it. 

Men. He 's right noble ; 

Let him be call'd for. 

1 Sen. Call for Coriolanus. 

Off. He doth appear. 

Re-enter Coriolanus. 

Men. The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd 
To make thee consul. 

Cor. I do owe them still 

My life, and services. 

Men. It then remains, 

Tliat you do speak to the peojile. 

Cor. I do beseech you. 

Let me o'erleap that custom ; for I cannot 
Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them, 
Formy wounds' sake, to give their suffrage: please you, 
That I may pass this doing. 

Sic. Sir, tlie people 

Must have their voices ; neither will they bate 
One jot of ceremony. 

Men. Put them not to 't : — 

Pray you, go fit you to the custom ; and 
Take to you, as your predecessors have, 
Your honour with your form. 

Coi: It is a part 

That I shall blush in acting, and might well 
Be taken from the people. 

Bru. Mark you that 1 

Cor. To brag unto them, — Thus I did, and thus ; — 
Shew them the unaking scars which I should hide. 
As if 1 had receiv'd them for the hire 
Of their breath only : 



Men. Do not stand upon 't. — 

AVe recommend to you, tribunes of the people. 
Our purpose to them ; — and to our noble consul 
AA'ish we all joy and honour. 

Sen. To Coriolanus come all joy and honour! 

[Flourish. Then eieuiit Senators. 

Bru. You see how he intends to use the people. 

Sic. May they perceive his intent! He will require 
As if he did contemn what he requested [them. 

Should be in them to give. 

Bru. Come, we'll inform them 

Of our proceedings here ; on the market-place, 
I know they do attend us. lEieunt, 

SCENE III.— The same. The Forum. 
Enter several Citizens. 

1 Cit. Once, if he do require our voices, we ought 
not to deny him. 

a Cit. AVe may, sir, if we will. 

3 Cit. AVe have power in ourselves to do it, but 
it is a power that we have no power to do : for if he 
shew us his wounds, and tell us his deeds, we are to 
put our tongues into those wounds, and speak for 
them ; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we must also 
tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude 
is monstrous: and for the multitude to be ingrateful, 
were to make a monster of the multitude ; of the 
which, we being members, should bring ourselves to 
be monstrous members. 

1 Cit. And to make us no better thought of, a little 
help will serve: for once, when we stood up about 
the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the many- 
headed multitude. 

S Cit. AVe have been called so of many ; not that 
our heads are some brown, some black, some auburn, 
some bald, but that our wits are so diversely coloured 
and truly I think, if all our wits were to issue out o( 
one skull, they would fly east, west, north, south ; 
and their consent of one direct way should be at once 
to all points o' the compass. 

2 C((. Think you so? Which way, doyou judge, my 
wit would fly 1 

S Ci*. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as an- 
other man's will, 'tis strongly wedged up in a block- 
head ; but if it were at liberty, 'twould, sure, south- 
ward. 

2 Cit. AVhy that way ? 

3 Cit. To lose itself in a fog ; where being three 
parts melted away with rotten dews, the fourth would 
return for conscience' sake, to help to get thee a wife. 

2 Cit. You are never without your tricks : — You 
may, you may. 

3 Cit. Are you all resolved to give your voices? 
But that 's no matter, the greater part carries it. I 
say, if he would incline to tlie people, there was never 
a worthier man. 

EntiT" CoRioLANi's and Menenius. 

Here he comes, and in the gown of humility ; mark 
his behaviour. We are not to stay altogether, but 
to come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos, 
and by threes. He's to make his requests by parti- 
culars : wherein every one of us has a single honour, 
in giving him our own voices with our own tongues • 
therefore follow me, and 1 '11 direct you how you shall 
go by him. 

All. Content, content. [Eieunt. 

Men. O sir, you are not right : have you not known 
The worthiest men have done 't ? 

Cor. AVhat must 1 sayl — 

I pray sir,— Plague upon't! I cannot bring 



ACT II.— SCENE III. 



635 



My tongue to such a pace : — Look, sir ; — my wounds ; 
1 got them in my country's service, when 
Some certain of your brethren roar'd, and ran 
From the noise of our own drums. 

Men. O me, the gods ! 

1 ou must not speak of that: you must desire them 
To think upon you. 

Coi-. Thmk upon me 1 Hang 'em ' 

I would they would forget me, like the virtues 
Which our divines lose by them. 

Men. You'll mar all ; 

I '11 leave you : Pray you, speak to them, I pray you, 
In wholesome manner. [ExiJ. 

Enter two Citizens. 

Cor. Bid them wash their faces, 

And keep their teeth clean. — So, here comes a brace. 
You know the cause, sir, of my standing here. 

1 Cit. We do, sir ; tell us what hath brought you 
Coi-. Mine own desert. [to 't. 

2 Cit. Your own desert 1 

Cor. Ay, not 

Mine own desire. 

1 Cit. How ! not your own desire 1 

Cor. No, sir : 
'Twas never my desire yet. 
To trouble the poor with begging. 

1 Cit. You must think, if we give you any thing, 
We hope to gain by you. 

Coi\ Well then,l pray, your price o'tlie consulship? 

1 Cit. The price is, sir, to ask it kindly. 

Cor. Kindly ! 

Sir, I pray, let me ha't: I have wounds to shew you. 
Which shall be yours in private. — Your good voice. 
What say you 1 [sir ; 

2 Cit. You shall have it, worthy sir. 
Cor. A match, sir : — 

There is in all two worthy voices begg'd : — 
I have your alms ; adieu. 

1 Cit. But this is something odd. 

2 Cit. An 'twere to give again, — But 'tis no matter. 

[^Exeunt two Citizens. 

Enter two other Citizens. 

Cor. Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune 
of your voices, that I may be consul, I have here the 
customary gown. 

3 Cit. You have deserved nobly of your country, 
and you have not deserved nobly. 

Cor. Your enigma? 

3 Cit. You have been a scourge to her enemies, 
you have been a rod to her friends; you have not, 
indeed, loved the common people. 

Cor. You should account me the more virtuous, 
that I have not been common in my love. 1 will, 
sir, flatter my sworn brother the people, to earn a 
dearer estimation of them ; 'tis a condition they ac- 
count gentle: and since the wisdom of their choice is 
rather to have my hat than my heart, I will practise 
the insinuating nod, and be off to them most counter- 
feitly : that is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment 
of some popular man, and give it bountifully to the 
desirers. 'J'herefore, beseech you, I may be consul. 

4 Cit. We hope to find you our friend ; and there- 
fore give you our voices heartily. 

3 Cit. You have received many wounds for your 
country. 

Cor. I will not seal your knowledge with shewing 
them. I will make much of your voices, and so 
trouble you no further. 

Both Cit. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily ! 

[^Exeunt, 



Cor. ]Most sweet voices ! — 
Better it is to die, better to starve, 
Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. 
Why in this wolfish gown should I stand here. 
To beg of Hob and Dick, that do appear. 
Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to't :— ■ 
What custom wills, in all things shou.'d we do't. 
The dust on antique time would lie unswept. 
And mountainous error be too highly heap'd 
For truth to over-peer, — Rather than fool it so, 
Let the high office and the honour go 
To one that would do thus. — I am half through ; 
The one part suifer'd, the other will I do. 

Enter three other Citizens. 

Here come more voices, — • 

Your voices : for your voices I have fought ; 

Watch'd for your voices; for your voices, bear 

Of wounds two dozen odd , battles thrice si.x 

1 have seen and heard of ; for your voices, have 

Done many things, some less, some more your voices 

Indeed, I would be consul. 

5 Cit. He has done nobly, and cannot go without 
any honest man's voice. 

6 Cit. Therefore let him be consul : The gods give 
him joy, and make him good friend to the people 1 

All. Amen, amen. 

God save thee, noble consul ! [Exeunt Citizens. 

Cor. Worthy voices ! 

Re-enter Menenius, with Bnuxus and Sicinius. 

Men. You have stood your limitation ; and the 
tribunes 
Endue you with the people's voice : Remains, 
That, in the official marks invested, you 
Anon do meet the senate. 

Cor, Is this done ? 

Hie. The custom of request you have discharg'd : 
The people do admit you ; and are summon'd 
To meet anon, upon your approbation. 

Cor. Where? at the senate house? 

Sic. There, Coriolanus 

Cor. May I then change these garments ? 

"Sic. You may, sir. 

Cor. That I '11 straight do ; and, knowing myself 
Repair to the senate-house. [again. 

Men. I'll keep you company. — Will you along ? 

Brit. We stay here for the people. 

Sic. Fare you well. [Exeunt Coriol. and Menen. 
He has it now ; and by his looks, methinKS, 
'Tis warm at his heart. 

Bru. With a proud heart he wore 

His humble weeds : Will you dismiss the people ? 

Reenter Citizens. 
Sic. How now, my masters ? have you chose this 

1 Cif. He has our voices, sir. [man? 
Bru. We pray the gods, he may deserve your loves. 

2 Cit. Amen, sir : To my poor unworthy notice, 
He mock'd us, when he begg'd our voices. 

3 Cit. Certainly, 
He flouted us down-right. [us. 

1 Cit. No, 'tis his kind of speech, he did not mock 

2 Cif. Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says, 
He us'd us scornfully : he should have shew'd us 
His marks of merit, wounds receiv'd for his countiy. 

Sic. Why, so he did, I am sure. 

Cit. No ; no man saw 'em. [Several sjienk. 

3 Cit. He said, he had wounds, which he could 

shew in private ; 
And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn 
i uoiild be consul, says he : aged custom. 
But btj your voices, will not so permit me. 



6:)6 



CORIOLANUS. 



Ynur voices therefore : When we granted that, 
Here was, — / Oiank youjor yourvoices, — thank \)ou, — 
Four most sweet voices : — now you have left your voices, 
1 have no further ivith you: — Was not tiiis mockery ! 

Sic. Why, either, were you ignorant to sect? 
Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness 
To yield your voices 1 

Bru. Could you not have told him, 

As you were lesson'd, — When he had no power, 
But was a petty servant to the state. 
He was your enemy ; ever spake against 
Your liberties, and the cliarters tliat you bear 
I' the body of the weal : and now, arriving 
A place of potency, and sway o' the state, 
If he should still malignantly remain 
Fast foe to the plebeii, your voices might 
Be curses to yourselves 1 You should have said, 
That, as his worthy deeds did claim no less 
Than what he stood for ; so his gracious nature 
Would think upon you for your voices, and 
Translate his malice towards you into love. 
Standing your friendly lord. 

Sic. Thus to have said, 

As you were fore-advis'd, had touch'd his spirit, 
And try'd his inclination ; from him pluck'd 
Either his gracious promise, which you might, 
As cause had call'd you up, have held him to ; 
Or else it would have gal I'd his surly nature, 
Which easily endures not article 
Tying him to aught ; so, putting him to rage. 
You sliould have ta'en the advantage of his choler, 
And pass'd him unelected. 

Bru. Did you perceive, 

He did solicit you in free contempt. 
When he did need your loves ; and do you think. 
That his contempt shall not be bruising to you. 
When he hath power to crush"! Why, had your bodies 
No heart among you ? Or had you tongues, to cry 
Against the rectorship of judgment ] 

■Sic. Have you, 

Ere now, deny'd the asker? and, now again. 
On him, that did not ask, but mock, bestow 
Your su'd-for tongues ? 

3 Cit. He's not confirm'd, we may deny him yet. 

2 Cit. And will deny him : 
I'll have five hundred voices of that sound. 

1 Cit. I twice five hundred, and tiieir friends to 
piece 'em. [friends, — 

Bru. Get you hence instantly ; and tell those 
They have chose a consul, tiiat will from them take 
Their liberties ; make them of no more voice 
Than dogs, that are as often beat for barking. 
As therefore kept to do so. 

67c. Let them assemble ; 

And, on a safer judgment, all revoke 
Your ignorant election : Enforce his pride, 
And his old hate unto you : besides, forget not 
With what contempt he wore the humble weed : 
How in his suit he scorn'd you : but your loves, 
Thinking upon his services, took from you 
The apprehension of his present portance. 
Which gibingly ungravely, he did fashion 
After the inveterate hate he bears you. 

Bru. Laj 

A fault on us, your tribunes ; that we labour'd 
(No impediment between) but that you must 
Cast your election on him. 

Sic. Say, you chose him 

More after our commandment, than as guided 
By your own true affections ; and that, your minds 
Pre-occupied with what you rather must do 
Than what you should, made you against the grain 



To voice him consul : Lay the fault on ns. 

Bru. Ay, spare us not. Say, we read lectures to 
How youngly he began to serve his country, [you, 
How long continued : and what stock he springs of. 
The noble house o'the Marcians ; from whence came 
That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, 
Who, after great Hostilius, here was king: 
Of the same house Publius and Quintus were. 
That our best water brought by conduits hither ; 
And Censorinus, darling of the people, 
And nobly nam'd so, being censor twice, 
Was his great ancestor. 

Sic. One thus descended, 

That hath beside well in his person wrought 
To be set high in place, we did commend 
To your remembrances : but you have found, 
Scaling his present bearing with his past. 
That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke 
Your sudden approbation. 

Bru. Say, you ne'er had done 't, 

(Harp on that still,) but by our putting on : 
And presently, wiien you liave drawn your number, 
Repair to the Capitol. 

Cit. We will so : almost all [^Several speak. 

Repent in their election. ^Exeunt Citizens. 

Bru. Let them go on ; 

This mutiny were better put in hazard, 
Than stay, past doubt, for greater : 
If, as his nature is, he fall in rage 
With their refusal, both observe and answer 
The vantage of his anger. 

Sic. To the Capitol : 

Come ; we'll be there before the stream o'the people ; 
And this shall seem, as partly 'tis their own. 
Which we have goaded onward. \_Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I.— The same. A Street. 

Cornets. Enter Coriolanus, Menenius, Cominius, 
Titus Lartius, Senators, and Patricians. 

Cor. Tullus Aufidius then had made new head? 

Lart. He had, my lord ; and that it was, which 
Our swifter composition. [caus'd 

Cor. So then the Voices stand but as at first ; 
Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road 
Upon us again. 

Com. They are worn, lord consul, so. 

That we shall hardly in our ages see 
Their banners wave again. 

Cor. Saw you Aufidius 1 

Lart. On safe-guard he came to me ; and did curse 
Against the Voices, for they had so vilely 
Yielded the town : he is retir'd to Antium. 

Cor. .Spoke he of me ? 

Lart. He did, my lord. 

Cor. How? what? 

Lart. How often he had met you, sword to sword : 
That, of all things upon the earth, he hated 
Your person most: that he would pawn his fortunes 
To hopeless restitution, so he might 
Be call'd your vanquisher. 

Cor. At Antium lives he ? 

Lart. At Antium. 

Cor. I wish 1 had a cause to seek him there, 
To oppose his hatred fully. — Welcome home 

[To Lartius 

Enter Sicinius and Brutus. 

Behold ! these are the tribunes of the people. 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 



637 



The tongues o' the common mouth. I do despise them; 
For they do prank them in authority, 
Against all noble suHerance. 

^ic. Pass no further. 

Cor, Ha ! what is that 1 

Bru. It will be dangerous to 

Go on : no further. 

Car. What makes this change? 

Men. The matter? 

Com. Hath he not pass'd the nobles, and the com- 

Bru. Cominius, no. [inons "! 

Cor. Have I had children's voices ? [place. 

1 Sen. Tribunes, give way ; he shall to the market- 
Bra. The people are incens'd against him. 

Sic. Stop. 

Or all will fall in broil. 

Cor. Are these your herd ? — 

Must these have voices, that can yield them now, 
And straight disclaim their tongues 1 — What are your 

offices 1 
You being their mouths, why rule you not their teeth ? 
Have you not set them on ] 

Men. Be calm, be calm. 

Cor. It is a purpos'd thing, and grows by plot, 
To curb the will of the nobility : 
Suffer it, and live with such as cannot rule, 
Nor ever will be rul'd. 

Bru. Call 't not a plot : 

The people cry, you mock'd them ; and, of late, 
When corn was given them gratis, you repin'd ; 
Scandal'd the suppliants for the people ; call'd them 
Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. 

Cor. Why, this was known before. 

Bru. Not to them all. 

Cor, Have you inform'd them since ? 

Bi-u. How ! I inform them ! 

Cor. You are like to do such business. 

Bru. Not unlike. 

Each way, to better yours. 

Cor. AVhy then should 1 be consul"! By yon clouds. 
Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me 
Your fellow tribune. 

Sic. You shew too much of that. 

For which the people stir. If you will pass 
To where you are bound, you must intjuire your way. 
Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit ; 
Or never be so noble as a consul. 
Nor yoke with him for tribune. 

Men. Let's be calm. 

Com. The people are abus'd: — Set on. — Thispalt'r- 
Becomes not Rome ; nor has Coriolanus [ing 

Deserv'd this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely 
r the plain way of his merit. 

Cor. Tell me of corn ! 

This was mv speech, and I will speak't again ; — 

Men. Not now, not now. 

1 Sen. Not in this heat, sir, now. 

Cor. Now, as I live, I will. — My nobler friends, 
I crave their pardons : — 

For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them 
Regard me as 1 do not flatter, and 
Therein behold themselves : 1 say again. 
In soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our senate 
The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition. 
Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd and 

scatter'd, 
By mingling them with us, the honour'd number ; 
Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that 
Which they have given to beggars. 

Men. Well, no more. 

1 Sen. No more words, we beseech you. 

Cor How I no more ? 



As for my country T have shed my blood, 
Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs 
Coin words till their decay, against those meazels, 
Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought 
The very way to catch them. 

Bru. You speak o' the people 

As if you were a god to punish, not 
A man of their inhrmity. 

Sic. 'Twere well, 

We let the people know't. 

Men. What, what 1 his choler? 

Cor. Choler ! 
Were 1 as patient as the midnight sleep, 
By Jove, 'twould be my mind. 

Sic. It is a mind, 

That shall remain a poison where it is, 
Not poison any further. 

Cor. Shall remain ! — 

Hear you this Triton of the minnows 1 mark you 
His absolute shall ? 

Com. ' 'Twas from the canon. 

Cor. Shall! 

good, but most unwise patricians, why. 

You grave, but reckless senators, have you thus 

Given Hvdra here to choose an ofiicer. 

That with his peremptory shiill, being but 

The horn and noise o' the monsters, wants not spirit 

To say, he'll turn your current in a ditch, 

And make your channel his 1 If he have power, 

Then vail your ignorance : if none, awake 

Your dangerous lenity. If you are learned, 

Be not as common fools ; if you are not. 

Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians, 

If they be senators : and they are no less. 

When both your voices blended, the greatest taste 

IMost palates theirs. They choose their magistiate ; 

And such a one as he, who puts his shall, 

His popular sliall, against a graver bench 

J ban ever frown'd in Greece ! By Jove himself. 

It makes the consuls base : and my soul akes. 

To know, when two autliorities are up. 

Neither supreme, how soon confusion 

May enter 'tvvixt the gap of both, and take 

The one by the other. 

Com. Well — on to the market-place. 

Cor. AVhoever gave that counsel to give forth 
The corn o' the store- liouse gratis, as 'twas us'd 
Sometime in Greece, 

ilJe;i. Well, well, no more of that. 

Cor. (Though there the people had more absolute 

1 say, they nourish'd disobedience, fed [power,) 
1 he ruin of the state. 

Bru. Why, shall the people give 

One, that speaks thus, their voice? 

Cor. I'll give my reasons, 

]\Iore worthier than their voices. They know, the corn 
Was not our recompense; resting well assur'd 
They ne'er did service for't : Being press'd to tlie war, 
Even when the navel of the state was touch'd 
They would not thread the gates: this kind of service 
Did not deserve corn gratis : being i'the war. 
Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they shew'd 
Most valour, spoke not for them : The accusation 
Which they have often made against the senate. 
All cause unborn, could never be the native 
Of our so frank donation. Well, what then"! 
How shall this bosom multiplied digest 
The senate's courtesy? Let deeds e.xpress 
What's like to be their words: — ]Vedid request it; 
We are the greater poll, and in true fear 
Theii gave us our demands: — Thus we debase 
The nature of our seats, and make the rabble 



638 



CORIOLANUS. 



Call our cares, fears : which will in time break ope 
The locks o' the senate, and bring in the crows 
To peck the eagles — 

Men. Come, enough. 

Bru. Enough, with over-measure. 

Cor. No, take more : 

What may be sworn by, both divine and human. 
Seal what I end withal ! — 'i'his double worship, — 
Where one part does disdain with cause, the other 
Insult without all reason ; where gentry, title,wisdom 
Cannot conclude, but by the yea and no 
Of general ignorance, — it must omit 
Ileal necessities, and give way the while 
To unstable slightness : purpose so barr'd, it follows, 
Nothingisdone to purpose: 'J'herefore.beseechyou, — 
You that will be less fearful than discreet •, 
That love the fundamental part of state. 
More than you doubt the change oft ; that prefer 
A noble life before a long, and wish 
To jump a body with a dangerous physic 
That's sure of death without it, — at once pluck out 
The multitudinous tongue, let tliem not lick 
The sweet which is their poison : your dishonour 
Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state 
Of that integrity which should become it ; 
Not having the power to do the good it would, 
For the ill which doth control it. 

Bru. He has said enough. 

iS(>. He has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer 
As traitors do. 

Cor. Thou wretch ! despite o'erwhelm thee ! — 
What should the people do with these bald tribunes'! 
On whom depending, their obedience fails 
To the greater bench: In a rebellion, 
When what's not meet, but what must be, was law, 
Then were they chosen ; in a better hour. 
Let what is meet, be said, it must be meet, 
And tlirow their power i' the dust. 

Bru. Manifest treason. 

Sic. This a consul 1 no. 

Bru. The i^Jdiles, ho ! — Let iiim be apprehended. 

Sic. Go, call the people ; [EittBRUTUs.J in whose 
name, myself 
Attach thee, as a traitorous innovator, 
A foe to the public weal : Obey, I charge thee. 
And follow to thine answer. 

Cor. Hence, old goat ! 

Sen. Sj Pat. We'll surety him. 

Com. Aged sir, hands off. 

Cor. Hence rotten thing, or I shall shake thy bones 
Out of thy garments. 

Sic. Help, ye citizens. 

Re-enter Brutus, with the ^Ediles, and a rabble 
0/ Citizens. 

Men, One both sides more respect. 

Sic. Here's he, that would 

Take from you all your power. 

Bru. Seize him, ^diles. 

Cit. Down with him, down with him ! 

[Several speak, 

2 Sen. Weapons, weapons, weapons ! 

[T/iev all bxistle about Coriolanus. 
Tribunes, patricians, citizens ! — what ho ! — 
Sicinius, Brutus, Coriolanus, citizens ! 

Cit, Peace, peace, peace ; stay, hold, peace ! 

Men. What is about to be 1 — I am out of breath ; 
Confusion's near : I cannot speak : — You, tribunes 
To the people, — Coriolanus, patience ; — 
Speak, good Sicinius. 

Sic. Hear me, people; — Peace. [speak. 

Cit, Let's hear our tribune : — Peace. Speak, speak, 



Sic. You are at point to lose your liberties: 
Marcius would have all from you ; ftlarcius, 
Whom late you have nam'd for consul. 

Men. Fye, fye, fye ! 

This is the way to kindle, not to quench. 

1 Sen, To unbuild the city, and to lay all flat. 
Sic. What is the city, but the people? 

Cit. True, 

The people are the city. 

Bru. 15y the consent of all, we were establish'd 
The people's magistrates. 

Cit. You so remain. 

Men. And so are like to do. 

Cor. This is tlie way to lay the city flat ; 
To bring the roof to the foundation ; 
And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges, 
In heaps and piles of ruin. 

Sic. This deserves death. 

Bru. Or let us stand to our authority, 
Or let us lose it : — We do here pronounce. 
Upon the part o'the people, in whose power 
We were elected their's, Marcius is worthy 
Of present death. 

Sic. Therefore, lay hold of him ; 

Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence 
Into destruction cast him. 

Bru. jEdiles, seize him. 

Cit. Yield, Marcius, yield. 

Men. Hear me one word. 

Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. 

jEdi. Peace, peace. 

Men. Be that you seem, truly, your country's friend. 
And temperately proceed to what you would 
Thus violently redress. 

Bru. Sir, those cold ways, 

That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous 
Where the disease is violent : — Lay hands upon him. 
And bear him to the rock. 

Cor, No ; I'll die here. [Drawing his sword. 

There's some among you have beheld me fighting ; 
Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me. 

Men. Down with that sword ; — Tribunes, withdraw 

Bru. Lay hands upon him. [a vviiiie. 

Men. Help, help Marcius! help. 

You that be noble : help him, young and old ! 

Cit. Down v,ith him, down with him! 

[In this mutiny, the Tribunes, the .lEdiles, 
and the people, are all beat in. 

Men. Go, get you to your house ; be gone, away, 
All will be naught else. 

2 Sen. Get you gone. 

Cor. Stand fast ; 

We have as many friends as enemies. 

Men, Shall it be put to that 1 

1 Sen. The gods forbid ! 

I pr'ythee, noble friend, home to thy house j 
Leave us to cure this cause. 

Men, For 'tis a sore upon us. 

You cannot tent yourself: Begone, 'beseech you. 

Com. Come, sir, along with us. 

Cor. 1 would they were barbarians, (as they are. 
Though in Rome litter'd,)not Romans, (as they are 
Though calv'd i' the porch o'the Capitol,) — [not. 

Men. Be gone ; 

Put not your worthy rage into your tongue ; 
One time will owe another. 

Cor. On fair ground, 

I could beat forty of them. 

Men. I could myself [bunes. 

Take up a brace of the best of them ; yea, the two tri- 

Com. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic ; 
And manhood is called foolery, when it stands 



ACT III— SCENE II. 



639 



Against a falling fabric. — Will you hence, 
Before the tag return? whose rage doth rend 
Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear 
What they are used to bear. 

Men. Pray you, be gone : 

rii try whether my old wit be in request 
With those that have but little ; this must be patch'd 
With cloth of any colour. 

Cum. Nay, come away. 

[Exeunt Coriot.anus, (,'ominius, and others. 

1 Pat. Tills man has marr'd his fortune. 

Men. His nature is too noble for the world : 
He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, [mouth: 
Or Jove for his power to thunder. His heart's his 
What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent ; 
And, being angry, does forget that ever 
He heard the name of death. [/I noise within. 

Here's goodly work ! 

Si Pat. I would they were a-bed ! 

Men. I would they were in Tyber ! — What, the 
Could he not speak them fair 1 [vengeance, 

Re-enter Brutus anrf Sicinius, with the rabble. 

Sic. Where is this viper, 

That would depopulate the city, and 
Be every man himself? 

Men. You worthy tribunes, 

Sic. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock 
With rigorous hands ; he hath resisted law, 
And therefore law shall scorn him further trial 
Than the severity of the public power, 
Which he so sets at nought. 

1 Cit. He shall well know, 

The noble tribunes are the people's mouths. 
And we their hands. 

Cit. He shall, sure on 't. [Several speak together. 

Men. Sir, — 

Sic. Peace. 

Men. Do not cry, havoc, where you should but hunt 
With modest warrant. 

Sic. Sir, how comes it, that you 

Have holp to make this rescue ? 

Mi^n. Hear me speak : — 

As I do know the consul's worthiness. 
So can I name his faults : 

Sic. Consul ! — what consul ? 

Men. The consul Coriolanus. 

Bru. He a consul ! 

Cit. No, no, no. no, no. 

Men. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good 
I may be heard, I 'd crave a word or two ; [people. 
The which shall turn you to no further harm. 
Than so much loss of time. 

Sic. Speak briefly then j 

For we are peremptory, to despatch 
This viperous traitor : to eject him hence. 
Were but one danger ; and, to keep him here. 
Our certain death ; therefore it is decreed, 
He dies to- night. 

Men. Now the good gods forbid. 

That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude 
Towards her deserved children is enroll'd 
In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam 
Should now eat up her own ! 

Sic. He 's a disease, that must be cut away. 

Men. O, he 's a limb, that has but a disease ; 
TSFortal, to cut it off"; to cure it. easy. 
What has he done to Rome, that 's worthy death ? 
Killing our enemies? The blood he hath lost, 
(Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath, 
By many an ounce,) he dropp'd it for his country: 
And, what is left, to lose it by his country, 



Were to us all, that do 't, and suffer it, 
A brand to the end o' the world. 

Sic. This is clean kam. 

Dru. Merely awry : When he did love his country. 
It honour'd him. 

Men. The service of the foot 

Being once gangren'd, is not then respected 
For what before it was? 

Bru. We '11 hear no more : — 

Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence ; 
Lest his infection, being of catching nature, 
Spread further. 

Men. One word more, one word. 

This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find 
The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will, too late, 
Tie leaden pounds to his heels. Proceed by process ; 
Lest parties (as he is belov'd) break out, 
And sack great Rome with Romans. 

Brti. If it were so, — 

Sic. Wh.1t do ye talk? 
Have we not had a taste of his obedience ? 
Our .I-Miles smote? ourselves resisted? — ('ome: — 

Men. Consider this ; — He has been bred i' the wars 
Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd 
In boulted language ; meal and bran together 
He throws without distinction. Give me leave, 
I '11 go to him, and undertake to bring him 
^^'here he shall answer, by a lawful form, 
(In peace) to his utmost peril. 

1 Sen. Noble tribunes, 

It is the humane way : the other course 
Will prove too bloody ; and the end of it 
Unknown to the beginning. 

Sic. Noble Menenius, 

Be you then as the people's officer : — 
Masters, lay down your weapons. 

Bru, Go not home. 

Sic. Meet on the market-place: — We'll attend 
you there : 
Where, if you bring not Marcius, we 'II proceed 
In our first way. 

Men. 1 '11 bring him to you : — 

Let me desire your company. [To the Senators.] He 

must come. 
Or what is worst will follow. 

1 Sen. Pray you, let 's to him. [Exeunt, 

SCENE II. — A Room in Coriolanus's House. 

Enter Cohiolanus and Patricians. 
Cor. Let them pull all about mine ears ; present me 
Death on the wheel, or at wild horses' heels ; 
Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock. 
That the precipitation might down stretch 
Below the beam of sight, yet will I still 
Be thus to them. 

Enter Volumnia. 

1 Pat. You do the nobler. 

Cor, I muse, my mother 
Does not approve me further, who was wont 
To call them woollen vassals, things created 
To buy and sell with groats , to shew bare heads 
In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder. 
When one but of my ordinance stood up 
To speak of peace, or war. I talk of you; [To Voi.um. 
Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me 
False to my nature ? Rather say, I play 
The man 1 am. 

Vol. O, sir, sir, sir, 

I would have had you put your power well on. 
Before you had worn it out. 

Cor, Let go. 



640 



CORIOLANUS. 



Vol. You might have been enough the man you are, 
Vi'ith stiiving less to be so : Lesser had been 
The thwartings of your dispositions, if 
You had not shew'd them how you were dispos'd 
Ere they lack'd power to cross you. 

Cor. . Let them hang. 

Vol. Ay, and burn too. 



Enter Menenius arid Senators. 



Men. 



Come, come, you have been too rough, some- 
thing too rough ; 
You must return and mend it. 

lie". There's no remedy ; 

Unless, by not so doing, our good city 
Cleave in the midst, and perish. 

Vol. Pray be counsel'd: 

I have a heart as little apt as yours, 
But yet d brain, that leads my use of anger, 
To better vantage. 

Men. Well said, noble woman : 

Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that 
1 he violent fool o'the time craves it as physic 
For the whole state, I would put mine armour on, 
Which I can scarcely bear. 

Cor. \\ hat must 1 do 1 

Men. Return to the tribunes. 

Cor. Well, 

What then 1 what then 1 

Men. Repent what you have spoke. 

Cor. For them 1 — 1 cannot do it to the gods ; 
IMui-t I then do 't to them ! 

Vol. You are too absolute ; 

Though therein you can never be too noble, 
But when extremities speak. I have heard you say, 
Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends, 
r the war do grow together: Grant that, and tell me, 
Li peace, what each of them by th' other lose. 
That they combine not there. 

Car. Tush, tush ! 

Men. A good demand. 

Vol, If it be honour, in your wars, to seem 
The same you are not, (which, for your best ends. 
You adopt your policy,) how is it less, or worse, 
1 iiat it shall hold companionship in peace 
With honour, as in war ; since that to both 
It stands in like request? 

Cor. WHiy force you this 1 

Vol.. Because that now it lies you on to speak 
To the people ; not by your own instruction, 
]\'or by the matter which your heart prompts you to. 
But with such words that are but roted in 
Your tongue, though but bastards, and syllables 
Of no allowance, to your bosom's truth. 
Now, this no more dishonours you at all, 
1'han to take in a town with gentle words. 
Which else would put you to your fortune, and 
The hazard of much blood. — 
I would dissemble with my nature, where 
My fortunes, and my friends, at stake, requir'd, 
I should do so in honour : I am in this. 
Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; 
And you will rather shew our general lowts 
How you can frown, than spend a fawn upon them. 
For the inheritance of their loves, and safeguard 
Of what that want might ruin. 

Men. Noble lady ! — 

Come, go with us ; speak fair : you may salve so. 
Not what is dangerous present, but the loss 
Of what is past. 

Vol. I pr'ythee now, my son. 

Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand ; 
And thus far having stretch'd it, (here be with them,) 



Thy knee bufsing the stones, (for in such busmess 
Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant 
More learned than the ears,) waving thy head, 
Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart, 
Now humble, as the ripest mulberry, 
That will not hold the liandiing : Or, say to them. 
Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils. 
Hast not the soft way, which, thou dost confess. 
Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim. 
In asking their good loves ; but thou wilt frame 
Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far 
As thou hast power, and person. 

Men. This but done. 

Even as she speaks, why, all their hearts were yours : 
For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free 
As words to little purpose. 

Vol. Pr'ythee now 

Go, andberul'd: although,! know, thou had'st rather 
Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf. 
Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominius. 

Enter Cominius. 

Com. I have been i'the market-place: and, sir, 'tis fit 
You make strong party, or defend yourself 
By calmness, or by absence ; all's in anger. 

Men. Only fair speech. 

Com. I think, 'twill serve, if he 

Can thereto frarae his spirit. 

Vol. He must, and will : — 

Pr'ythee, now, say, you will, and go about it. 

Cur. Must 1 go shew them my unbarb'd sconce? 
Must I 
With my base tongue, give to my noble heart 
A lie, that it must bear ! Well, I will do't : 
Yet were there but this single plot to lose. 
This mould of Marcius, they lodust should grind it 
And throw it against the wind. — To the market-place: 
You have put me now to such a part, which never 
I shall discharge to the life. 

Com. Come, come, we'll prompt you 

Vol. I pr'ythee now, sweet son; as thou hast said. 
My praises made thee first a soldier, so. 
To have my praise for this, perform a part 
Thou hast not done before. 

Cor. Well, I must do't: 

Away, my disposition, and possess me 
Some harlot's spirit ! My throat of war be turn'd. 
Which quired with my drum, into a pipe 
Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice 
That babies lulls asleep ! The smiles of knaves 
Tent in my cheeks ; and schoolboys' tears take up 
The glasses of my sight ! A beggar's tongue 
IMake motion through my lips ; and my arm'd knees, 
Who bow'd but in my stirrop, bend like his 
That hath receiv'd an alms! — I will not do't 
Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth. 
And, by my body's action, teach my mind 
A most inherent baseness. 

Vol. At thy choice then : 

To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour. 
Than thou of them. Come all to ruin • let 
Thy mother rather feel thy pride, than fear 
Thy dangerous stoutness ; for I mock at death 
With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list. 
Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me ; 
But owe thy pride thyself. 

Cor. Pray, be content ; 

Mother, I am going to the market-place ; 
Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves, 
Cog their hearts from them, and come home beiov'd 
Of all the trades in Rome. Look, 1 am going: 
Commend me to my wife. I'll return consul ; 



ACT HI.— SCENE IIL 



641 



Or never trust to what my tongue caa do 
I' the way of flattery, further. 

VoL Do your will. [Eti{. 

Com. Away, the tribunes do attend you : arm your- 
To answer mildly ; for they are prepar'd [self 

Willi accusations, as I hear, more strong- 
Titan are upon you yet. 

Car. The word is, mildly : — Pray you, let us go : 
Let them accuse me by invention, I 
Will answer in mine honour. 

Mew. Ay, but mildly. 

Cor. Well, mildly be it then ; mildly. lExeunt. 

SCENE III.— The same. The Forum. 

Enter Sicinius and Brutus, 

Bru. In this point charge him home, that he affects 
Tyrannical power : If he evade us there. 
Enforce him with his envy to the people 1 
And that the spoil, got on the Antiales, 
Was ne'er distributed. — 

Enter an ^Edile. 
What, will he come 1 

JEd. He's coming. 

Brti, How accompanied ? 

2Ed. With old Menenius, and those senators 
That always favour'd him. 

Sic. Have you a catalogue 

Of all the voices that we have procur'd, 
Set down by the poll \ 

JEd, I have ; 'tis ready, here. 

&'f. Have you collected them by tribes \ 

JEd. I have. 

Sic. Assemble presently the people hither ; 
And when they hear me say. It shall be so 
r the right and strength o' the ciimmons, be it either 
For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them. 
If I say, fine, cry Jine ; if death, cry death ; 
Insisting on the old prerogative 
And power i'the truth o'the cause. 

^d. I shall inform them. 

Bru. And when such time they have begun to cry. 
Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd 
Enforce the present execution 
Of what we chance to sentence. 

^d. Very well. 

Sic. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint, 
When we shall hap to give't them. 

Bru. Go about it. — [Erie ^dile. 

Put him to choler straight : He hath been us'd 
Ever to conquer, and to have his worth 
Of contradiction : Being once chaf'd, he cannot 
Be rein'd again to temperance : then he speaks 
What's in his heart: and that is there, which looks 
With us to break his neck. 

Enter ContoLANUs, Menenius, Cominius, Senators, 
and Patricians. 

Sic, Well, here he comes. 

Men. Calmly, I do beseech you. 

Cor. Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece 
Will bear the knave by the volume. — The honour'd 
Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice [gods 
Supplied with worthy men ! plant love amongst us ! 
Throng our large temples with the shows of peace, 
And not our streets with wir ! 

I Sen. Amen, amen! 

Men. A noble wish. 

Re-enter JEdWe, with Citizens. 

Sic. Draw near, ye people. 

£d. List to your tribunes ; audience: Peace, I say. 



Cur. First, hear me speak. 

Both Tri. Well, say. — Peace, ho. 

Cor. Shall I becharged no further than this present 1 
Must all determine here 1 

Sic. I do demand. 

If you submit you to the people's voices, 
Allow their officers, and are content 
To sufter lawful censure for such faults 
As shall be prov'd upon you 1 

Cor. I am content. 

Men. Lo, citizens, he says, he is content : 
The warlike service he has done, consider ; 
Think on the wounds his body bears, which shewr 
Like graves i' the holy churchyard. 

Cor. Scratches with briars, 

Scars to move laughter only. 

Men. Consider further. 

That when he speaks not like a citizen. 
You find him like a soldier: Do not take 
His rougher accents for malicious sounds, 
But, as I say, such as become a soldier. 
Rather than envy you. 

Com. Well, well, no more. 

Cor. What is the matter, 
That being pass'd for consul with full voice, 
I am so dishonour'd, that the very hour 
You take it off again 1 

Sic. Answer to us. 

Cor. Say then ; 'tis true, I ought so. 

Sic. We charge you, that you have contriv'd to take 
From Rome all season'd office, and to wind 
Yourself into a power tyrannical ; 
For which you are a traitor to the people. 

Cor. How ! traitor 1 

Men. Nay ; temperately : your promise. 

Cor. The fires i' the lowest hell fold in the people I 
Call me their traitor! — Thou injurious tribune ! 
Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, 
In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in 
Thy lying tongue botli numbers, I would say, 
Thou liest, unto thee with a voice as free 
As I do pray the gods. 

Sic. Mark you this, people ? 

Cit. To the rock with him ; to the rock with him! 

Sic. Peace. 
We need not put new matter to his charge : 
What you have seen him do, and heard him speak, 
Beating your officers, cursing yourselves, 
Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying 
Those whose great power must try him ; even this. 
So criminal, and in such capital kind, 
Deserves the extremest death. 

Bru. But since he hath 

Serv'd well for Rome, 

Cor. What, do you prate of service 1 

Bru. I talk of that, that know it. 

Cor. You l 

Men. Is this 

The promise that you made your mother 1 

Com. Know, 

I pray you, 

Cor. I'll know no further : 

Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, 
Vagabond exile, flaying ; Pent to linger 
But with a grain a day, I would not buy 
Their mercy at the price of one fair word ; 
Nor check my courage for what they can give. 
To have 't with saying. Good morrow. 

Sic. For that he hae 

(As much as in him lies) from time to time 
Envied against the people, seeking means 
To pluck away their power ; as now at last 
2S 



642 



CORIOLANUS. 



Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence 

Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers 

That do distribute it : In the name o' the people, 

And in the power of us the tribunes, we. 

Even from this instant, banish him our city ; 

In peril of precipitation 

From off the rock Tarpeian, never more 

To enter our Home gates : 1' the people's name, 

I say, it shall be so. 

Cit. It shall be so, 

It shall be so ; let him away : he's banish'd. 
And so it shall be. 

Com. Hear me, my masters, and my common 
friends ; 

Sic. He's sentenc'd ; no more hearing. 

Com. Let me speak : 

I have been consul, and can shew from Rome, 
Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love 
My country's good with a respect more tender, 
More holy and profound, thar mine own life, 
My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase, 
And treasure of my loins, then if I would 
Speak that 

Sic. We know your drift: Speak what? 

Bru. There's no more to be said, but he is banish'd. 
As enemy to the people, and his country: 
It shall be so. 

Cit. It shall be so, it shall be so. 

Cor. You common cry of curs ! whose breath I hate 
As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize 
As the dead carcases of unburied mfln 
That do corrupt my air, I banish you ; 
And here remain with your uncertainty! 
Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts ! 
Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes, 
Fan you into despair! Have the power still 
To banish your defenders ; till, at length, 
Your ignorance, (which finds not, till it feels,) 
Making not reservation of yourselves, 
(Still your own foes,) deliver you as most 
Abated captives, to some nation 
That won you without blows ! Despising, 
For you, the city, thus I turn my back : 
There is a world elsewhere. 

[Exeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, Menenius, 
Senators, and Patricians. 

JEd. The people's enemy is gone, is gone ! 

Cit. Our enemy's banish'd! he is gone I Hoo! hoo! 
[The people shout, and throw up their caps. 

Sic. Go, see him out at gates, and follow him. 
As he hath follow'd you, with all despite ; 
Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard 
Attend us through the city. 

Cit. Come, come, let us see him out at gates; come: — 
The gods preserve our noble tribunes ! — Come. 

[Eieunt. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I The same. Before a Gate of the City. 

Enter Coriolanus, Volumnia, Virgilia, Mene- 
nius, Cominius, and several young Patricians. 

Cor. Come, leave your tears ; a brief farewell : — 
the beast 
With many heads butts me away. — Nay, mother. 
Where is your ancient courage 1 you were us'd 
To say, extremity was the trier of spirits ; 
That common chances common men could bear ; 
That, when the sea was calm, all boats alike 
Shevv'd mastership in floating: fortune's blows. 



When most struck home, being gentle wounded, crave 
A noble cunning : you were us'd to load me 
With precepts, that would make invincible 
The heart that conn'd them. 

Vir. O heavens ! O heavens ! 

Cor. Nay, I pr'ythee, woman, — 

Vol. 'Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome, 
And occupations perish ! 

Cor. What, what, what! 

I shall be lov'd, when I am lack'd. Nay, mother, 
Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say. 
If you had been the wife of Hercules, 
Six of his labours you'd have done, and sav'd 
Your husband so much sweat. — Cominius, 
Droop not ; adieu : — Farewell, my wife ! my mother ! 
I'll do well yet. — Thou old and true Menenius, 
Thy tears are Salter than a younger man's. 
And venomous to thine eyes. — My sometime general 
I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld 
Heart-hard'ning spectacles ; tell these sad women, 
'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes, 
As 'tis to laugh at them. — My mother, you wot well 
My hazards still have been your solace : and 
Believe't not lightly, (though I go alone. 
Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen 
Makes fear'd, and talk'd of more than seen,) your son 
Will, or exceed the common, or be caught 
With cautelous baits and practice. 

Vol. My first son, 

Whither wilt tliou go? Take good Cominius 
With thee a while : Determine on some course. 
More than a wild exposture to each chance 
That starts i' the way before thee. 

Cor. O the gods ! 

Com. I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee 
Where thou shalt rest, that thou may'st hear of us, 
And we of thee : so if the time thrust forth 
A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send 
O'er the vast world, to seek a single man ; 
And lose advantage, which doth ever cool 
I' the absence of the needer. 

Cor. Fare ye well : — 

Thou hast years upon thee ; and thou art too full 
Of the wars' surfeits, to go rove with one 
That's yet unbruis'd : bring me but out at gate.— ' 
Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and 
My friends of noble touch, when I am forth. 
Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come. 
While I remain above the ground, you shall 
Hear from me still ; and never of me aught 
But what is like me fonnerly. 

Men. That's worthily 

As any ear can hear. — Come, let's not weep. — 
If I could shake off but one seven years 
From these old arms and legs, by the good gods, 
I'd with thee every foot. 

Cor. Give me thy hand : 

Come. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 11.— The same. A Street near the Gate. 

Enter Sicinius, Brutus, and an ^dile. 
Sic. Bid them all home ; he's gone, and we'll no 
further. — 
The nobility are vex'd, who, we see, have sided 
In his behalf. 

Bru. Now we have shewn our power, 

Let us seem humbler after it is done. 
Than when it was a doing. 

Sic. Bid them home : 

Say, their great enemy is gone, and they 
Stand in their ancient strength. 

Bru. Dismiss theii^home. [Erit JEdWe. 



ACT IV.— SCENE IV. 



643 



Enter Volumnia, Viroilia, and Menenius. 

Here comes his mother. 

Sic. Let's not meet her. 

Bru. Why ■? 

Sic. They say, she's mad. 

Bru. They have ta'en note of us : 

Keep on your way. 

Vol. O, you're well met: The hoarded plague o'tlie 
Requite your love ! [gods 

Men. Peace, peace ; be not so loud. 

Vol. If that I could for weeping, you should hear, — 
Nay, and you shall hear some. — Will you be gone ? 

[Tn Brutus. 

Vir. You shall stay too : [To Sicin.] I would, I 
had the power 
To say so to my husband. 

Sic. Are you mankind 1 [fool. — 

Vol. Ay, fool ; Is that a shame ? — Note but this 
Was not a man my father. Hadst thou foxship 
To banish him that struck more blows for Rome, 
Than thou hast spoken words T 

Sic. O blessed heavens ! 

Vol. More noble blows, than ever thou wise words ; 
And for Rome's good. — I'll tell thee what ; — Yet go! 
Nay, but thou shalt stay too : — I would my son 
Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him. 
His good sword in his hand. 

Sic. What then? 

Vir. What then ! 

He'd make an end of thy posterity. 

Vol. Bastards, and all. — 
Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome! 

Men. Come, come, peace. 

Sic. I would he had continu'd to his country, 
As he began ; and not unknit himself 
The noble knot he made. 

Bru. I would he had. 

Vol. I would he had ! 'Twas you incens'd the 
Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth, [rabble : 
As I can of those mysteries which heaven 
Will not have earth to know. 

Bru. Pray, let us go. 

Vol. Now, pray, sir, get you gone : 
You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this ; 
As far as doth the Capitol exceed 
The meanest house in Rome : so far, my son, 
(This lady's husband here, this, do you see,) 
Whom you have banish'd, does exceed you all. 

Bru. Well, well, we'll leave you. 
Sic. Why stay we to be baited 

With one that wants her wits 7 

Vol. Take my prayers with you. — 

I would the gods had nothing else to do, 

[Ex. Tribunes. 
But to confirm my curses ! Could I meet them 
But once a day, it would unclog my heart 
Of what lies heavy to't. 

Men, You have told them home. 

And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup with 

Vol. Anger's my meat ; I sup upon myself, [me? 
And so shall starve with feeding. — Come, let's go : 
Leave this faint puling, and lament as I do, 
In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come. 

Men. Fye, fye, fye ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. 

A Highway between Rome and Antiura. 

Enter a Roman and a Voice, meeting. 

Ram. I know you well, sir, and you know me ; 
your name, 1 think, is Adrian. 



Vol. It is so, sir : truly, I have forgot you. 

Rom. I am a Roman ; and my services are, as you 
are, against them i Know you me yet X 

Vol. Nicanor? No. 

Rom. Tiie same, sir. 

Vol. You had more beard, when I last saw you ; 
but your favour is well appeared by your tongue. 
What's the news in Rome] I have a note from the 
Volscian state, to find you out there : You have well 
saved me a day's journey. 

Rom. There hath been in Rome strange insurrec- 
tion : the people against the senators, patricians, and 
nobles. 

Vol. Hath been ! Is it ended then? Our state thinks 
not so ; they are in a most warlike preparation, and hope 
to come upon them in the heat of their division. 

Rom. The main blaze of it is past, but a small 
thing would make it flame again. For the nobles re- 
ceive so to heart the banishment of that worthy Co- 
riolanus, that they are in a ripe aptness, to take all 
power from the people, and to pluck from them their 
tribunes for ever. This lies glowing, I can tell you, 
and is almost mature for the violent breaking out. 

Vol. Coriolanus banished 1 

Rom. Banished, sir. [Nicanor. 

Vol. You will be welcome with this intelligence, 

Rom. The day serves well for them now. I have 
heard it said. The fittest time to corrupt a man's wife, 
is when she's fallen out with her husband. Your 
noble TuUus Aufidius will appear well in these wars, 
his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in no re- 
quest of his country. 

Vol. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate, 
thus accidentally to encounter you : You have ended 
my business, and I will merrily accompany you home. 

Rom. I shall, between this and supper, tell you 
most strange things from Rome ; all tending to the 
good of their adversaries. Have you an army ready, 
say you ? 

Vol. A most royal one : the centurions, and their 
charges, distinctly billeted, already in the entertain- 
ment, and to be on foot at an hour's warning. 

Rom. I am joyful to hear of their readiness, and 
am the man, I think, that shall set them in present 
action. So, sir, heartily well met, and most glad of 
your company. 

Vol. You take my part from me, sir ; I have the 
most cause to be glad of yours. 

Rom. Well, let us go together. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Antium. Before Aufidius's House. 

Enter Coriolanus, in mean apparel, disguised 
and muffied. 

Cor. A goodly city is this Antium : City, 
'Tis I that made thy widows : many an heir 
Of these fair edifices 'fore my wars 
Have I heard groan, and drop : then know me not, 
Lest that thy wives with spits, and boys with stones. 

Enter a Citizen. 

In puny battle slay me. — Save you, sir. 

Cit. And you. 

Cor. Direct me, if it be your will. 

Where great Aufidius lies : Is he in Antium ? 

Cit. He is, and feasts the nobles of the state, 
At his house this night. 

Cor. Which is his house, Ibeseech you ? 

Cit. This, here, before you. 

Cor. Tliank you, sir ; farewell [Exit Citizen. 
O, world, thy slippery turns ! Friends now fast sworn, 
Wliose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, 
2 S 2 



644 



CORIOLANUS. 



Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise, 

Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love 

Unseparable, shall within this hour. 

On a dissention of a doit, break out 

To bitterest ennjity : So, fellest foes. 

Whose passions and whose plots have broke theii sleep 

To take the one the other, by some chance. 

Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends. 

And interjoin their issues. So with me : — 

My birth-place hate 1, and my love's upon 

This enemy town. — I'll enter ; if he slay me. 

He does fair justice ; if he give me way, 

I'll do his country service. [Eiit, 

SCENE Y.—The iame. A Hall in Aufidius's Houk. 
Music within. En fer a Servant. 

1 Sere. Wine, wine, wine ! What service is here .' 

1 think our fellows are asleep. [Eiit. 

Enter miother Servant, 

2 Serv. Where's Cotus ! my master calls for him. 
Cotus ! lEiit. 

Enter Coriolanws. 

Cor. A goodly house : The feast smells well : but I 
Appear not like a guest. 

Reenter tJie first Servant. 

1 Serv. W'hat would you have, friend ? Whence are 
you 1 Here's no place for you : Pray, go to the door. 

Cor, I have deserv'd no better entertainment. 
In being Coriolanus. 

Re-enter second Servant 

? Serv, Yf'hence are you, sir? Has the porter his 
eyes in his head, that he gives entrance to such com- 
panions ? Pray, get you out. 

Cor, Away! 

2 Se^v. Away? Get you away. 

Cor. Now thou art troublesome. [with anon. 

2 Serv, Are you so brave? I'll have you talked 

'Enter a third Servant. The first meets him, 

3 Serv, What fellow's this ? 

1 Serv, A strange one as ever I looked on : I can- 
not get him out o'the house : Pr'ythee, call my mas- 
ter to him. 

3 Serv, What have you to do here, fellow ? Pray 
you, avoid the house. 

Cor. Let me but stand ; I will not hurt your hearth. 

3 Serv. What are you 1 

Cor. A gentleman. 

3 Serv. A marvellous poor one. 

Cor. True, so I am. 

3 Serv. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some 
other station; here's no place for you ; pray you, 

Cor. Follow your function, go ! [avoid: come. 
And batten on cold bits. [Pushes him away. 

3 Serv. What, will you not? Pr'ythee, tell my 
master what a strange guest he has here. 

2 Serv. And I shall. [Eiit. 

3 Serv. Where dwellest thou? 
Cor, Under the canopy. 

3 Serv. Under the canopy ? 
Cor. Ay. 

3 Serv. Where's that ? 
Cvr. 1' the city of kites and crows. 
3 Serv. I' the city of kites and crows ? — What an 
ass it is ' —Then thou dwellest with daws too ? 
Cor, No, I serve not thy master. 
3 Serv. How, sir ! Do you meddle with my master? 



Cor. Ay ; 'tis an honester service than to nie<Wle 
With thy mistrfss : 

Thou prat'st, and part'at ; serve with thy trcBcher, 
hence ! l_Beats him aiaay. 

Enter Avtidivs and the second Servant. 

Auf, Where is this fellow ? 

2 Serv. Here, sir ; I'd have beaten him like a dog, 
but for disturbing the lords v.ithin. 

Auf. Whence comest thoa ? what wouldest thou ? 
Thy name ? 
Why speak'st not? Speak, man: 'What's thy name? 

Cor. If, Tullus, [Unmujfiini;, 

Not yet thou know'st me, and seeing me, dost not 
Think me for the man I am, necessity 
Commands me name myself. 

Auf. What is thy name? [Servants Tfjjr^. 

Cor. A name unmusical to the Volscian's ears. 
And harsh in sound to thine. 

Auf, Say, what's thj name ? 

Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face 
Bears a command in't •, though thy tackle's torn, 
Thoa shew'st a noble vessel : What's thy name ? 

Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown : Know't thou ms 

Auf. I know thee not: — Thy name? [y^^- 

Cor. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done 
To thee particularly, and to all the Voices, 
Great hurt and mischief-, thereto witness may 
My surname, Coriolanus : The painful service. 
The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood 
Shed for my thankless country, are requited 
But with that surname ; a good memory. 
And witness of the malice and displeasure 
Which thou should'st bear me only that name re- 
The cruelty and envy of the peop'e, [mains, 

Permitted by our dastard nobles, who 
Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest ; 
And suffered me by the voice of slaves to be 
Whoop'd out of Rome. Now, this extremity 
Hath brought me to thy hearth ; Not out of hope. 
Mistake me not, to save my life ; for if 
I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world 
I would have 'voided thee : but in mere spite. 
To be full quit of those my banishers. 
Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast 
A heart of wreak in thee, that will revenge 
Thine own particular wrongs, and stop those maims 
Ofshame seen throughthycountry,speed thee straight. 
And make my misery serve thy turn ; so use it. 
That my revengeful services may prove 
As benefits to thee ; for I will fight 
Against my canker'd country with the spleen 
Of all the under fiends. But if so be 
Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more fortunes 
Thou art tir'd, then, in a word, I also am 
Longer to live most weary, and present 
My throat to thee, and to thy ancient malice : 
Which not to cut, would shew thee but a fool ; 
Since I have ever foliow'd thee with hate. 
Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast. 
And cannot live but to thy shame, unless 
It be to do thee service. 

Juf. O Marcius, Marcius, 

Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart 
A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter 
Should from yon cloud speak divine things, and say, 
'Tis true ; I'd not believe them more than thee, 
All noble Marcius.— O, let me twine 
Mine arms about that body, where against 
My grained ash an hundred times hath broke. 
And scar'd the moon with splinters! Here I clip 
The anvil of my sword ; and do contest 




CORIOLANUS. 



CoRiOLANUs My name is CaiuB Marcius, -who hath doni* 
To thee particularly, and to all the Voices, 
Great hurt and mischief 



ACT IV.— SCENE VI. 



645 



As hotly aa<S as nobly with thy love, 
As ever in ambitious strength I did 
Contend against thy valour. Kaow thou first, 
I lov'd the maid 1 married ; rsever man 
Sighed truer breath ; but that I see thee here. 
Thou aoble thing! more dances my rapt heart. 
Than when I first my wedded mistress saw 
Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars ! I tell thee, 
We have a power on foot ; and I had purpose 
Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn. 
Or lose mine arm for't : Thou hast beat me out 
Twelve several times, and 1 have nightly since 
Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me : 
We have been down together in my sleep. 
Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat. 
And wak'd half dead wiilj nothing. Worthy Marcius, 
Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that 
Thou art thence baaish'd, we would muster all 
From twelve to seventy ; and, pouring war 
Into the bowels of ungiateful Rome, 
Like a bold flood o'er beat. O, come, go in. 
And take our friendly senators by the hands ; 
Who now aie here, taking tlieir leaves of me. 
Who am piepar'd against your territories. 
Though aot for Rome itself. 

Cor. You bless me, gods. 

Auf. Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt have 
The leading of thine own revenges, take 
I'he one half of my commission ; and set down, — 
As best thou art exf)erienc'd, since thou know'st 
Thy eouatry's strength and weakness, — thine own 
Whether to knock against the gates of Rome, [ways : 
Or rudely visit them in parts remote, 
To fright them, ere destroy- But come in : 
Let me commend thee first to those, that shall 
Say, yea, to thy desires. A thousand welcomes '. 
And more a friend than e'er an enemy ; 
Yet, Marcius that was much. Your hand! Most wel- 
come ! ££xeunt ContOLANOs and Aupidius. 

1 Serv. j^Advanciitg.] Here's a strange alteration! 

2 Serv. By my hand, 1 had thought to have strucken 
felm with a cudgel ; and yet my mind gave me, his 
clothes made a false report of him. 

1 Serv. What an arm he has ! He turned me about 
with his finger and his thumb, as one would set up 
a top. 

2 Serv. Nay, I knew by his face that there was 
something in him : he had, sir, a kind of face, me- 
thought, — I cannot tell how to term it. 

1 Serv. He had so ; looking as it were 'Would 

I were hanged, but I thought there was more in him 
than I could think. 

2 Serv. So did I, I'll be sworn : he is simply the 
rarest man i'the world. 

1 Serv. I think, he is : but a greater soldier than 
he, you wot one. • 

2 Serv. Who, my master t 

1 Serv. Nay, it's no matter for that, 

2 Sera. Worth six of him. 

1 Serv. Nay, not so iieither; but I take him to be 
tiie greater soldier. 

2 Serv. 'Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to 
say that : for tlie defence of a town, our general is 
excellent. 

1 Serv, Ay, and for an assault too. 

Re-enter third Servant. 

3 Serv. O, slaves, I can tell you news ; news, you 
rascals. 

1. '2. Serv. Wha.t, what, what? let's partake. 
3 Serv. I would not be a Roman, of all nations ; 
I had as ijeve be a condemned man. 



1. 2. Serv. Wlierefore'? wherefore 1 
3 Serv, Why, here's he that was wontto thwack our 
general — Caius Marcius. 

1 Serv. Why do you say, thwack our general ? 

3 Serv. I do not say thwack our general : but he 
was always good enough for him. 

2 Sew. Come, we are fellows, and friends : he 
was ever too hard for him ; I have heard him say so 
himself. 

1 Sere. He was too hard for him directly, to say 
the truth on't : before Corioli he scotched him and 
notched him like a carbonado. 

t Serv. An he had been canuibally given, he might 
have broiled and eaten him too. 

1 Serv. But, more of thy news ! 

3 Serv. Why, he is so made on here within, as if 
he were son and heir to Mars : set at upper end o'the 
table : no question asked him by any of the senators, 
but they stand bald before him : Our general liimself 
makes a mistress of him; sanctifies himself with's 
hand, and turns up the white o' the eye to his dis- 
course. But the bottom of the new^s is, our general 
is cut i' the middle, and but one half of what lie was 
3'esterday ; for the other has half, by the entreaty 
and grant of the whole table. He'll go, he says, and 
sowle the porter of Rome gate by the ears: He will 
mow down all before him, and leave his passage polled. 

2 Serv. And he's as like to do't, as any man I can 
imagine. 

3 Serv. Do't ? he will do't : For, look you, sir, he 
has as many friends as enemies : which friends, sir, 
(as it were,) durst not (look you, sir,) shew them- 
selves (as we term it,) his friends, whilst he 's in 
directitude. 

I Serv. Directitude! what's thatt 

3 Sero. But when they shall see, sir, liis crest up 
again, and the man in blood, they will out of their 
burrows, like conies after rain, and revel all with him. 

1 Serv. But when goes this forward ! 

a Serv. To-morrow; to-day; presently. You shall 
have the drum struck up this afternoon : 'tis, as it 
were, a parcel of their feast, and to be executed ere 
they wipe their lips. 

•2 Seru. Why, then we shall have a stirring world 
again. This peace is nothing, but to rust iron, in- 
crease tailors, and breed ballad-makers. 

1 Serv. Let me have war, say I ; it exceeds peace, 
as far as day does night ; it's spritely, waking, audible, 
and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy ; 
mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible ; a getter of more 
bastard children, than wars a destroyer of men. 

2 Serv. 'Tis so : and as wars, in some sort, may 
be said to be a ravisher ; so it cannot be denied, but 
peace is a great maker of cuckolds. 

1 Serv. Ay, and it makes men hate one another, 

3 Serv. Reason ; because they then less need one 
another. The wars, for my money. I hope to see 
Romans as cheap as VoLscians. They are rising, 
they are rising. 

All. In, in, in, in. [Eieunt. 

SCENE VI.— Rome. A public Place. 

winter Sicivius and Brutus. 
Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him 
His remedies are tame i' the present peace 
And quietness o' the people, which before 
Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his friends 
Blush, that the world goes well ; who rather had, 
Though they themselves did suffer by't, behold 
Dissentious numbers pestering the streets, than see 
Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going 
1 About their functions friendly. 



646 



CORIOLANUS. 



Enter Menenius. 

Bru, We stood to't in good time. Is this Menenius ? 

Hie. 'Tis he, 'tis he : O he is grown most kind 
Of late.— Hail, sir ! 

Men, Hail to you both I 

Sic. Your Coriolanus, sir, is not much miss'd, 
But with his friends ; the common-wealth doth stand ; 
And so would do, were he more angry at it. 

Men. All's well ; and might have been much better, if 
He could have temporiz'd. 

Sic. Where is he, hear you ? 

Men. Nay, I hear nothing ; his mother and his wife 
Hear nothing from him. 

Enter Three or Four Citizens. 

Cit. The gods preserve you both ! 

Sic. Good-e'en, our neighbours. 

Bru. Good e'en to you all, good e'en to you all. 

1 Cit. Ourselves, our wives, and children, on our 
Are bound to pray for you both. [knees. 

Sic. Live and thrive ! 

Bru. Farewell, kind neighbours: Wewish'd Co- 
Had lov'd you as we did. [riolanus 

Cit. Now the gods keep you ! 

Both Tri. Farewell, farewell. [Exeunt Citizens. 

Sic. This is a happier and more comely time. 
Than when these fellows ran about the streets. 
Crying, Confusion. 

Bru. Caius Marcius was 

A worthy officer i' the war ; but insolent, 
O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking, 
Self-loving, 

Sic. And affecting one sole throne, 

Without assistance. 

Men. I think not so. 

Sic. We should by this, to all our lamentation, 
If he had gone forth consul, found it so. 

Bru. The gods have well prevented it, and Rome 
Sits safe and still without him. 

Enter .^dile. 

jEd. Worthy tribunes, 

There is a slave, whom we have put in prison. 
Reports, — the Voices with two several powers 
Are enter'd in the Roman territories ; 
And with the deepest malice of the war 
Destroy what lies before them. 

Men. 'Tis Aufidius, 

Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, 
Thrusts forth his horns again into the world ; 
Which were inshell'd, when Marcius stood for Rome, 
And durst not once peep out. 

Sic. Come, what talk you 

Of Marcius ? 

Brit. Go see this rumourer whipp'd. — It cannot be. 
The Voices dare break with us. 

Men. Cannot be ' 

We have record, that very well it can ; 
And three examples of the like have been 
Within my age. But reason with the fellow. 
Before you punish him, where he heard this : 
Lest you shall chance to whip your information, 
And beat the messenger who bids beware 
Of what is to be dreaded. 

Sic. Tell not me . 

I know, this cannot be. 

Bru. Not possible. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mens. The nobles, in great earnestness, are going 
All to the senate-house : some news is come. 
That turns their countenances. 



Sic. Tis this slave ;— 

Go whip him 'fore the people's eyes : — his raising 
Nothing but his report ! 

Mess. Yes, worthy sir. 

The slave's report is seconded ; and more. 
More fearful, is deliver'd. 

Sic. What more fearful 1 

Mess, It is spoke freely out of many mouths, 
(How probable, I do not know,) that Marcius, 
Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome ; 
And vows revenge as spacious, as between 
The young'st and oldest thing. 

Sic. This is most likely ! 

Bru. Rais'd only, that the weaker sort may wish 
Good Marcius home again. 

Sic. The very trick on't. 

Men. This is unlikely : 
He and Aufidius can no more atone, 
Than violentest contrariety. 

Enter another Messenger. 

Mess. You are sent for to the senate ; 
A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius, 
Associated with Aufidius, rages 
Upon our territories ; and have already, 
O'erborne their way, consum'd with fire, and took 
What lay before them. 

Enter Cominius. 

Com. O, you have made good work ! 

Men. What news? what news ? 

Com. You have holp to ravish your own daughters. 
To melt the city leads upon your pates ; [and 
To see your wives dishonour'd to your noses ; 

Men. What's the news? what's the news ? 

Com. Your temples burned in their cement ; and 
Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd 
Into an augre's bore. 

Men. Pray now, your news ? — 
You have made fair work, I fear not: — Pray , your news? 
If Marcius should be join'd with Volscians, 

Com. If ! 

He is their god ; be leads them like a thing 
Made by some other deity than nature. 
That shapes man better : and they follow him. 
Against us brats, with no less confidence. 
Than boys pursuing summer butterflies. 
Or butchers killing flies. 

Men. You have made good work. 

You, and your apron men ; you that stood so much 
Upon the voice of occupation, and 
The breath of garlic-eaters! 

Com. He will shake 

Your Rome about your ears. 

Men. As Hercules 

Did shake down mellow fruit : You have made fair 

Bru. But is this true, sir ? [work ! 

Com, Ay ; and you '11 look pale 

Before you find it other. All the regions 
Do smilingly revolt ; and, who resist. 
Are only mock'd for valiant ignorance. 
And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him' 
Your enemies, and his, find something In him. 

Men. We are all undone, unless 
The noble man have mercy. 

Com. Who shall ask it ? 

The tribunes cannot do't for shame ; the people 
Deserve such pity of him, as the wolf 
Does of the shepherds : for his best friends, if they 
Should say, Be good to Rome, they charg'd him even 
As those should do that had deserv'd his hate. 
And therein show'd like enemies. 



ACT v.— SCENE I, 



647 



Men. 'Tis true : 

If he were putting to my house the brand 
I'hat should consume it, I have not the face 
To say, 'Beseech you, cease. — You have made fair 
You, and your crafts ! you have crafted fair! [hands. 

Com. You have brought 

A trembling upon Rome, such as was never 
So incapable of help. 

Tri. Say not, we brought it. [beasts. 

Men. Howl Was it we? Welov'dhim; but, like 
And cowardly nobles, gave way to your clusters, 
Who did hoot him out o' the city. 

Com. But, I fear. 

They '11 roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius, 
The second name of men, obeys his points 
As if he were his officer : — Desperation 
Is ail the policy, strength, and defence, 
That Rome can make against them. 

Enter a Troop of Citizens. 

Men. Here comes the clusters. — 

And is Aufidius with him ? — You are they 
That made the air unwholesome, when you cast 
Your stinking, greasy caps, in hooting at 
Coriolanus' exile. Now, he's coming; 
And not a hair upon a soldier's head. 
Which will not prove a whip ; as many coxcombs. 
As you threw caps up, will he tumble down, 
And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter; 
If he could burn us all into one coal. 
We have deserv'd it. 

Cit. 'Faith, we hear fearful news. 

1 Cit: For mine own part, 
When I said, banish him, I said, 'twas pity. 

2 Cit. And so did I. 

3 Cit. And so did I ; and, to say the truth, so did 
very many of us : That we did, we did for the best ; 
and though we willingly consented to his banish- 
ment, yet it was against our will. 

Com. You are goodly things, you voices ! 

Men. You have made 

Good svork.you and your cry ! — Shall us to theCapitol ? 

Com. 0, aye ; what else ? [Eieunt Com. and Men. 

Sic. Go, masters, get you home, be not dismay'd ; 
These are a side, that would be glad to have 
This true, which they so seem to fear. Go home. 
And shew no sign of fear. 

1 Cit. The gods be good to us ! Come, masters, 
let 's home. I ever said, we were i' the wrong, when 
we banished him. 

S! Cit. So did we all. But come, let's home. 

lEieunt Citizens. 

Bru. I do not like this news. 

Sic. Nor I. 

Bru. Let's to theCapitol : — 'Would, half my wealth 
Would buy this for a lie ! 

Sic. Pray, let us go. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE VII. 

A Camp; at a small distance from Rome. 

Enter Aufidius, and his Lieutenant. 

Anf. Do they still fly to the Roman 1 
Lieu. I do not know what witchcraft's in him ; but 
Your soldiers use him as the grace 'fore meat, 
Their talk at table, and their thanks at end ; 
And you are darken'd in this action, sir, 
Even by your own. 

Atf. I cannot help it now ; 

Unless, by using means, I lame the foot 
Of our design. He bears hunself more proudlier 
Even to my person, than I thought he would, 



When first I did embrace him : Yet his nature 
In that's no changeling ; and I must excuse 
What cannot be amended. 

Lieu. Yet I wish, sir, 

(I mean, for your particular,) you had not 
Join'd in commission with him : but eithet 
Hail borne the action of yourself, or else 
To him had left it solely- 

Auf. I understand thee well ; and be thou sure, 
When he shall come to his account, he knows not 
What I can urge against him. Although it seems. 
And so he thinks, and is no less apparent 
To the vulgar eye, that he bears all thmgs fairly. 
And shews good husbandry for the Volscian state ; 
Fights dragon like, and does achieve as soon 
As draw his sword : yet he hath left undone 
That, which shall break his neck, or hazard mine, 
Whene'er we come to our account. 

Lieu. Sir, I beseech you, think you he '11 carry Rome ■* 

Aif. All places yield to him ere he sits down : 
And the nobility of Rome are his : 
The senators, and patricians, love him too : 
The tribunes are no soldiers ; and their people 
Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty 
To expel him thence. I think, he'll be to Rome, 
As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it 
By sovereignty of nature. First he was 
A noble servant to them ; but he could not 
Carry his honours even: whether 'twas pride. 
Which out of daily fortune ever taints 
The happy man ; whether defect of judgment. 
To fail in the disposing of those chances 
Which he was lord of; or whether nature. 
Not to be other than one thing, not moving 
From the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace 
Even with the same austerity and garb 
As he controll'd the war ; but, one of these, 
(As he hath spices of them all, not all. 
For I dare so far free him,) made him fear'd, 
So hated, and so banish'd : But he has a merit. 
To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues 
Lie in the interpretation of the time : 
And power, unto itself most commendable. 
Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair 
To extol what it hath done. 
One fire drives out one fire ; one nail, one nail ; 
Rights by rights founder, strengths by strengths do fail. 
Come, let's away. When, Caius, Rome is thine. 
Thou art poor'st of all ; then shortly art thou mine. 

[Eieu/it. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I.— Rome. A public Place. 

Enter Menenius, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus, 
and others. 

Men. No, I '11 not go : you hear, what he hath said, 
Which was sometime his general ; who lov'd him 
In a most dear particular. He call'd me, father: 
But what o' that "! Go, you that banish'd him, 
A mile before his tent fall down, and kneel 
The way into his mercy : Nay, if he coy'd 
To hear Cominius speak, I '11 keep at home. 

Com. He would not seem to know me. 

Men. Do you hear I 

Com. Yet one time he did call me by my name : 
I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops 
That we have bled together. Coriolanus 
He would not answer to : forbade all names j 
He was a kind of nothing, titleless. 



G48 



CORIOLANUS. 



Till he had forg'd himself a name i' the fire 
Of burning Rome. 

Men. Why so ; you have made good work : 
A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for Rome, 
To make coals cheap : A noble memory! 

Com. I minded him, how royal 'twas to pardon 
When it was less expected : He replied, 
It was a bare petition of a state 
To one whom they had punish'd. 

Men Very well ; 

Could he say less ? 

Com. I offer'd to awaken his regard 
For his private friends : His answer to me was, 
He could not stay to pick them in a pile 
Of noisome musty chaff: He said, 'twas folly, 
For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt. 
And still to nose the offence. 

Men. For one poor gram 

Or two ? I am one of those ; his mother, wife, 
His child, and this brave fellow too, we are the grains : 
You are the musty chaff; and you are smelt 
Above the moon : We must be burnt for you. 

Sic. Nay, pray be patient : If you refuse your aid 
In this so never-heeded help, yet do not 
Upbraid us with our distress. But, sure, if you 
Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue 
More than the instant army we can make. 
Might stop our countryman. 

Men. No ; I'll not meddle. 

Sic. I pray you, go to him. 

Men. What should I do ? 

Brn. Only make trial what your love can do 
For Rome, towards Marcius. 

Men. Well, and say that Marcius 

Return me, as Cominius is relurn'd 
Unheard ; what then ? — 
But as a discontented friend, grief-shot 
With his unkindness ? Say't be so 1 

Sic. Yet your good will 

IMust have that thanks from Rome, after the measure 
As you intended well. 

Men. I'll undertake it : 

I think, he'll hear me. Yet to bite his lip. 
And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me. 
He was not taken well : he had not din'd : 
The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then 
W^e pout upon the morning, are unapt 
To give or to forgive ; but when we have stuff'd 
These pipes, and these conveyances of our blood 
With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls 
Than in our priest-like fasts : therefore I'll watch him 
Till he be dieted to my request. 
And then I'll set upon him. 

Bru. You know the very road into his kindness. 
And cannot lose your way. 

Men. Good faith, I'll prove him, 

Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge 
Of my success. [Esit. 

Com. He'll never hear him. 

Sic. Not? 

Com. I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye 
Red as 'twould burn Rome ; and his injury 
The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him ; 
'Twas very faintly he said, Bise ; dismiss'd me 
Thus with his speechless hand : What he would do. 
He sent in writing after me ; what he would not, 
Bound with an oath, to yield to his conditions j 
So, that all hope is vain. 
Unless his noble mother, and his wife ; 
Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him 
For mercy to his country. Therefore, let's hence. 
And vath our fair entreaties haste them on. [£ieu»if. 



SCENE II. — An advanced Post of theXohcmn Camp 
before Rome. The Guard at their stations. 

Enter to them Menenius. 

1 G. Stay : Whence are you ? 

2 G. Stand, and go back. 
Men. You guard like men; 'tis well: But, by your 

I am an officer of state, and come [leave. 

To speak with Coriolanus. 

1 G. From whence ? 

Men. From Rome. 

1 G. You may not pass, you must return : our gene- 
Will no more hear from thence. [ral 

2 G. You'll see your Rome embrac'd with fire, before 
You'll speak with Coriolanus. 

Men. Good my friends. 

If you have heard your general talk of Rome, 
And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks. 
My name hath toucli'd your ears : it is Menenius. 

1 G. Be it so ; go back : the virtue of your name 
Is not here passable. 

Men. I tell thee, fellow. 

Thy general is my lover : I have been 
The book of his good acts, whence men have read 
His fame unparallel'd, haply, amplified ; 
For 1 have ever verified my friends, 
(Of whom he's chief,) with all the size that verity 
Would without lapsing suffer : nay, sometimes. 
Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground, 
I have tumbled past the throw ; and in his praise 
Have, almost, stamp'd the leasing : therefore, fellow, 
I must have leave to pass. 

1 G. 'Faith, sir, if you have told as many lies in 
his behalf as you have uttered words in your own, 
you should not pass here : no, though it were as vir- 
tuous to lie, as to live chastely. Therefore, go back. 

Men. Pr'ythee, fellow, remember my name is Me- 
nenius, always factionaryon the party of your general. 

2 G. Howsoever you have been his liar, (as you 
say, you have,) I am one that, telling true under him, 
must say, you cannot pass. Therefore, go back. 

Men. Has he dined, canst thou telll for I would 
not speak with him till after dinner. 
1 G. You are a Roman, are you? 
Men. I am as thy general is. 

1 G. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can 
you, when you have push'd out your gates the very 
defender of them, and in a violent popular ignorance, 
given your enemy your shield, think to front his re- 
venges with the easy groans of old women, the vir- 
ginal palms of your daughters, or with the palsied 
intercession of such a decayed dotant as you seem to 
be ? Can you think to blow out the intended fire your 
city is ready to flame in, with such weak breath as 
this ? No, you are deceived : therefore, back to Rome, 
and prepare for your execution : you are condemned, 
our general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon. 

Men, Sirrah, If thy captain knew I were here, he 
would use me with estimation. 

2 G. Come, my captain knows you not. 
Men. I mean, thy general. 

1 G. My general cares not for you. Back, I say; 
go, lest I let forth your half pint of blood ; — back,— 
that's the utmost of your having ;^^back. 

Men. Nay, but fellow, fellow, — 

Enter Coriolanus and Aufidius. 

Cor. What 's the matter ? 

Men. Now, you companion, I '11 say an errand for 
you ; you shall know now, that I am in estimation ; 
you shall perceive that a jack guardant cannot office 
me from my son Coriolanus : guess, but by my en- 
tertainment with him, if thou stand'st not i' the state 



ACT v.— SCENE III. 



649 



of hanging, or of some death more long in spec- 
tatorship, and crueller in suffering; behold now pre- 
sently, and swoon for what's to come upon thee. — 
The glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy par- 
ticular prosperity, and love thee no worse than thy 
old father Menenius does! O, my son ! my son ! thou 
art preparing fire for us ; look thee, here's water to 
quench it. I was hardly moved to come to thee : but 
being assured, none but myself could move thee, I 
have been blown out of your gates with sighs : and 
conjure thee to pardon Rome, and thy petitionary 
CO jntrymen. The good gods assuage thy wrath, and 
turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here ; this, who, 
like a block, hath denied my access to theCi 

Qn: Away ! 

Men. How! away? 

Cor. Wife, mother, child, I know not. Myaffaiiii 
Are servanted to others : Though I owe 
]\Iy revenge properly, my remission lies 
In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar, 
Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather 
Than pity note how much. — -Therefore, be gone. 
Mine ears against your suits are stronger, than 
Your gates against my force. Yet, for I lov'd thee, 
Take this along; I writ it for thy sake, [Gives a letter. 
And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius, 
I will not hear thee speak. — This man, Aufidius, 
Was my beloved in Rome : yet thou behold'st 

Aiif. You keep a constant temper. 

[Eieitnt ConioLANUS and Aufid. 

1 G. Now, sir, is your name Menenius. 

2 G. 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power : You 
know the way home again. 

1 G. Do you hear how we are shent for keeping 
your greatness back ? 

2 O. What cause, do you think, I have to swoon ? 
Men. I neither care for the world, nor your general : 

for such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, 
you are so slight He that hath a will to die by him- 
self, fears it not from another. Let your general do 
his worst. For you, be tiiatyou are. long ; and your 
misery increase with your age! I say to you, as I 
was said to, Away! [Exit. 

1 G. A noble fellow, I warrant him. 

2 G. The worthy fellow is our general : He is the 
rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 111.— The Tent o/ Coriolanus. 
Enter Coriolanus, Acfidius, and others. 

Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow 
Set down our host. — My partner in this action, 
You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly 
I have borne this business, 

Auf. Only their ends 

You have respected ; stopp'd your ears against 
The general suit of Rome ; never admitted 
A private whisper, no, not with such friends 
That thought them sure of you. 

Cor. This last old man, 

Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome, 
Lov'd me above the measure of a father; 
Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge 
Was to send him ;^for whose old love, I have 
(Though I shew'd sourly to him,) once more offer'd 
The first conditions, which they did refuse. 
And cannot now accept, to grace him only. 
That thought he could do more ; a very little 
I have yielded too : Fresh embassies, and suits. 
Nor from the state, nor private friends, hereafter 
Will I lend ear to. — Ha ! what shout is this ? 

[6V)ou( within. 
Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow 
In the same time 'tis made ? I will not. — 



Enter, in mourning habits,YiiiGii.iA, Volumnia, lead- 
ing young Maucius, Valeria, and Attendants. 
My wife comes foremost ; then the honour'd mould 
Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand 
The grand-child to her blood. But, out, affection ! 
All bond and privilege of nature break ! 
Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate. — 
What is that curt'sy worth? or those doves' eyes. 
Which can make gods forsworn? — I melt, and am not 
Of stronger earth than others. — My mother bows ; 
: As if Olympus to a molehill should 
In supplication nod ; and my young boy 
Hath an aspect of intercession, which 
Great nature cries, Deni/ not. — Let the Voices 
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy : I'll never 
Be such a gosling to obey instinct ; but stand. 
As if a man were author of himself. 
And knew no other kin. 

Vir. My lord and husband ! 

Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome. 

Vir. The sorrow, that delivers us thus chang'd, 
INIakes you think so. 

Cor, Like a dull actor now, 

I have forgot my part, and I am out. 
Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, 
Forgive my tyranny ; but do not say. 
For that. Forgive our Romans. — O, a kiss 
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge ; 
Now by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss 
I carried from thee, dear ; and my true lip 
Hath virgin'd it e'er since. — You gods ! I prate. 
And the most noble mother of the world 
Leave unsaluted: Sink, my knee, i'tlie earth; [Kneels. 
Of thy deep duty more impression shew 
Than that of common sons. 

Vol. O, stand up bless'd I 

W^hilst, with no softer cushion than the flint, 
I kneel before thee ; and unproperly 
Shew duty, as mistaken all the while 
Between the child and parent. [Kiieels. 

Cor. What is this? 

Your knees to me ? to your corrected son ? 
The let the pebbles on the hungry beach 
Fillip the stars ; then let the mutinous winds 
Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun ; 
Murd'ring impossibility to make 
What cannot b^ slight work. 

Vol. Thou art my warrior; 

I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady? 

Cor. The noble sister of Publicola, 
The moon of Rome ; chaste as the icicle. 
That's curded by the frost from purest snow, 
And hangs on Dian's temple: Dear Valeria! 

Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours, 
Which by the interpretation of full time 
IMay shew like all yourself. 

Cor. The god of soldiers. 

With the consent of supreme Jove, inform 
Thy thoughts with nobleness ; that thou may'st prove 
To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' the wars 
Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, 
And saving those that eye thee ! 

Vol. Your knee, sirrah. 

Cor. That's my brave boy. 

Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself. 
Are suitors to you. 

Cor. I beseech you, peace j 

Or, if you'd ask, remember this before ; 
The things, I have forsworn to grant, may never 
Be held by your denials. Do not bid me 
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitu'ate 
Again with Rome's mechanics : — Tell me not 
Wherein I seem unnatural : Desire not 



650 



CORIOLANUS. 



To allay my rages and revenges, with 
Your colder reasons. 

Vol. O, no more, no more ! 

You have said, you will not grant us any thing ; 
For we have nothing else to ask, but that 
Wiiich you deny already : Yet we will ask ; 
That, if you fail in our request, the blame 
May hang upon your hardness; therefore hear us. 

Cov. Aufidius, and you Voices, mark ; for we'll 
Hear nought from Rome in private. — Your recjuest? 

Fo/. Shouldwebe silent and not speak, our raiment. 
And state of bodies would bewray what life 
We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself, 
How more unfortunate than all living women 
Are we come hither : since that thy sight, which should 
Make our eyes flow with joy , hearts dance with comfort. 
Constrains them weep, and shaKe with fear and sorrow; 
Making the mother, wife, and child, to see 
The son, the husband, and the father, tearing 
His country's bowels out. And to poor we. 
Thine enmity's most capital : thou barr'st us 
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort 
That all but we enjoy: For how can we, 
Alas ! how can we for our country pray. 
Whereto we are bound ; together with thy victory, 
Whereto we are bound? Alack! or we must lose 
The country, our dear nurse ; or else thy person, 
Our comfort in the country. We must find 
An evident calamity, though we had 
Our wish, which side should win : for either thou 
Must, as a foreign recreant, be led 
With manacles through our streets, or else 
Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin; 
And bear the palm, for having bravely shed 
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, 
I purpose not to wait on fortune, till 
These wars determine : if I cannot persuade thee 
Rather to shew a noble grace to both parts, 
Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner 
March to assault thy country, than to tread 
(Trust to't, thou shalt not,) on thy mother's womb, 
That brought thee to this world. 

Vir, Ay, and on mine, 

That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name 
Living to time. 

Boy. He shall not tread on me ; 

I'll run away till I am bigger, but then I'll fight. 

Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be. 
Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. 
I have sat too long. ^Rising. 

Vol. Nay, go not from us thus. 

If it were so, that our request did tend 
To save the Romans, thereby to destroy 
The Voices whom you serve, you might condemn us. 
As poisonous of your honour : No ; our suit 
Is, that you reconcile them : while the Voices 
May say. This mercu we have shew'd ; the Romans, 
This we receiv'd ; and each in either side 
Give the all-hail to thee, and cry Be bless'd 
For making up this peace! Thou know'st great son. 
The end of war's uncertain ; but this certain. 
That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit 
Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name, 
Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses ; 
Whose chronicle thus writ, — The man was noble, 
But with his last attempt he wip'd it out ; 
Destroyed his country ; and his name remaiits 
To the ensuing age, abhorr'd. Speak to me, son : 
Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour. 
To imitate the graces of the gods ; 
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o'lhe air, 
And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt 
That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak 1 



Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man 
Still to remember wrongs 1 — Daughter, speak you . 
He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy: 
Perhaps, thy childishness will move him more 
Than can our reasons. — There is no man in the world 
More bound to his mother ; yet here he lets me prate, 
Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life 
Shew'd thy dear mother any courtesy ; 
When she, (poor hen !) fond of no second brood, 
Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home, 
Loaden with honour. Say, my request's unjust, 
And spurn me back : But, if it be not so. 
Thou art not honest ; and the gods will plague thee 
That thou restrain'st from me the duty, which 
To a mother's part belongs. — He turns away : 
Down, ladies ; let us shame him with our knees. 
To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride. 
Than pity to our prayers. Down; An end: 
This is the last ; So we will home to Rome, 
And die among our neighbours. — Nay, behold us; 
This boy, that cannot tell what he would have. 
But kneels, and holds up hands, for fellowship, 
Does reason our petition with more strength 
Than thou hast to deny't. — Come, let us go : 
This fellow had a Volscian to his mother ; 
His wife is in Corioli, and his child 
Like him by chance : — Yet give us our despatch: 
I am hush'd until our city be afire, 
And then I'll speak a little. 

Cor. O mother, mother ! 

[^Holding VoLUMNiA by the hands, silent. 
What have you done ? Behold, the heavens do ope, 
The gods look down, and this unnatural scene 
They laugh at. O my mother, mother 1 O 1 
You have won a happy victory to Rome : 
But, for your son, — believe it, O, believe it, 
Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, 
If not most mortal to him. But, let it conje ; — • 
Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, 
I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, 
Were you in my stead, say, would you have heard 
A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius ! 

All/. I was mov'd withal. 

Cor. 1 dare be sworn, you were 

And, sir, it is no little thing, to make 
Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir. 
What peace you'll make, advise me : for my part, 
I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you ; and pray you, 
Stand to me in this cause. — O mother! wife ! 

Auf. I am glad, thou hast set thy mercy and thy ho- 

At difference in thee : out of that I'll work [nour 

Myself a former fortune. l_Aside. 

[The Ladies make signs to ConioLANus. 

Cor. Ay, by and by ; [To Volumnia, Vikgii.ia, <5fc. 
But we will drink together ; and you shall bear 
A better witness back than words, which we. 
On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. 
Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve 
To have a temple built you : all the swords 
In Italy, and her confederate arms, 
Could not have made this peace. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Rome. A public Place. 
Enter Menenius and Sicinius. 

Meii. See you yond' coign o' the Capitol ; yond' 
corner-stone t 

Sic. Why, what of that"? 

Men. If it be possible for you to displace it with 
your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of 
Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. 
But I say, there is no hope in't; our throats are sen- 
tenced, and stay upon execution. 



ACT v.— SCENE V 

Sic. Is't possible, that so short a time can alter the 
condition of a man ? 

Men. There is differency between a grub, and a 
butterfly ; yet your butterfly was a grub. This IVIar- 
cius is grown from man to dragon: he has wings ; 
he's more than a creeping thing. 

67c. He loved his mother dearly. 

Men. So did he me : and he no more remembers 
his mother now, tlian an eight-year old horse. The 
tartness of his face sours ripe grapes. When he walks, 
he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks be- 
fore his treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with 
his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. 
He sits in his state, as a thing made for Alexander. 
What he bids be done, is finished with his bidding. 
He wants nothing of a god, but eternity, and a hea- 
ven to throne in. 

Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. 

Men. I paint him in the character. Mark what 
mercy iiis mother shall bring from him : There is no 
more mercy in him, than ihere is milk in a male tiger ; 
that shall ourpoorcity find: andall this is 'long of you. 

Sic. The gods be good untd us I 

Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be good 
unto us. When -we banished him, we respected not 
them: and, he returning to break our necks, they re- 
spect not us. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house ; 
The plebeians have got your fellow-tribunp, 
And hale him up and down ; all swearing, if 
The Roman ladies bring not comfort home. 
They'll give him death by inches. 

Enter another Messenger. 

Sic. What's the news'! [prevail'd, 

Mess. Good news, good news ; — The ladies have 
The Voices are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone : 
A merrier ^ay did never yet greet Rome, 
No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. 

Sic. Friend, 

Art thou certain this is true 1 Is it most certain 1 

Mess. As certain, as I know the sun is fire ; 
Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of if! 
Ne'er tlirough an arch so hurried the blown tide, 
As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you; 
[Trumpels and hautboys sounded, and drums 
beaten, all tosether. Shouting also within. 
The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes. 
Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, 
Make the sun dance. Hark you ! [Shouting again. 

Men. This is good news : 

T will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia 
[s wortii of consuls, senators, patricians, 
A city full ; of tribunes, such as you, 
A sea and land full : You have pray'd well to-day; 
This morning, for ten thousand of your throats 
I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy I 

[Shouting and music. 

Sic. First, the gods blessyou for their tidings: next. 
Accept my thankfulness. 

Mess. Sir, we have all 

Great cause to give great thanks. 

Sic. I'hey are near the city ? 

Mess. Almost at point to enter. 

Sic. We will meet them. 

And help the joy. [Going. 

Enter the Ladies, accom^panied by Senators, Patri- 
cians, and People. They pass over the Stage. 

1 Sen. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome : 



651 



Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, 
A nd make triumphant fires; strew flowers before them: 
Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius, 
Repeal him with the welcome of his mother ; 
Cry, — Welcome, ladies, welcome ! — 

>!//. Welcome, ladies.' 

Welcome ! [AJlourish with drums and trumpets. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— Antium. A public Place. 
Enter Tullus Aufidius, with Attendants. 
Auf. Go tell the lords of the city, I am here : 
Deliver them this paper: having read it, 
Bid them repair to the market-place ; where I, 
Even in theirs and in the commons' ears. 
Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse. 
The city ports by this hath enter'd, and 
Intends to appear before the people, hoping 
To purge himself with words : Despatch. 

[Eaeu/Jt Attendants. 

Enter Three or Four Conspirators o/'Aufidius'/ac(ion. 
Most welcome I 

1 Con. How is it with our general ? 
Auf. Even so. 

As with a man by his own alms empoison'd. 
And with his charity slain. 

2 Con. Most noble sir. 
If you do hold the same intent wherein 
You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you 
Of your great danger. 

Auf. Sir, I cannot tell ; 

We must proceed, as we do find the people. 

.'J Con. The people will remain uncertain, whilst 
'Twixt you there's difference ; but the fall of eitlier 
Makes the survivor heir of all. 

Auf. I know it; 

And my pretext to strike at him admits 
A good construction. I rais'd him, and I paw,n'd 
Mine honour for his truth : Who being so heighten'd. 
He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery. 
Seducing so my friends : and, to this end. 
He bow'd his nature, never known before 
But to be rough, unswayable, and free. 

3 Con. Sir, his stoutness, 
When he did stand for consul, which he lost 
By lack of stooping, 

•^"/- That I would have spoke of: 

Being banish'd for 't, he came unto my hearth ; 
Presented to my knife his throat : I took hun ; 
Made him joint servant with me ; gave hiin way 
In all his own desires ; nay, let him choose 
Out of my files, his projects to accomplish. 
My best and freshest men ; serv'd his designments 
In mine own person ; holp to reap the fame, 
Which he did end all his ; and took some pride 
To do myself this wrong : till, at the last, 
I seem'd his follower, not partner ; and 
He wag'd me witii his countenance, as if 
I had been mercenary. 

1 Con. So he did, my lord : 
The army marvcll'd at it.' And, in the last, 
When he had carried Rome ; and that we look'd 
For no less spoil, than glory, 

^if- There was it; — 

For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. 
At a few drops of women's rheum, which are 
As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour 
Of our great action ; Therefore shall he die, 
And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark ! 

[Drums and trumpets sound, with great 
shouts of the people. 



652 



CORIOLANUS. 



1 Con. Your native town you enter'd like a post. 
And had no welcomes home ; but he returns, 
Splitting the air with noise. 

2 Con. And patient fools, 
Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear. 
With giving him glory. 

5 Con. Therefore, at your vantage, 

Ere he express himself, or move the people 
With what he would say, let him feel your sword. 
Which we will second. When he lies along, 
After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury 
His reasons with his body. 

Anf. Say no more ; 

Here come the lords. 

E7iter the Lords of the city. 

Lords. You are most welcome home. 

Auf. I have not deserv'd it ; 

But, worthy lords, have you with heed perus'd 
What I have written to you ? 

Lords. We have. 

1 Lord. And grieve to hear it. 

What faults he made before the last, I think. 
Might have found easy fines : but there to end, 
Where he was to begin, and give away 
The benefit of our levies, answering us 
With our own charge ; making a treaty, where 
There was a yielding ; This admits no excuse. 

Auf. He approaches, you shall hear him. 

Enter Coriolanus, with drums and colours ; a 
crowd of Citizens with him. 

Cor. Hail, lords ! I am return'4 your soldier ; 
No more infected with my country's love. 
Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting 
Under your great command. You are to know. 
That prosperously I have attempted, and 
With bloody passage, led your wars, even to 
The gates of Rome. Our spoils we iiave brought home. 
Do more than counterpoise, a full third part, 
The charges of the action. We have made peace. 
With no less honour to the Antiates, 
Than shame to the Romans : and we here deliver. 
Subscribed by the consuls and patricians, 
Together with the seal o' the senate, what 
We have compounded on. 

Auf. Read it not, noble lords ; 

But tell the traitor, in the highest degree 
He hath abus'd your powers. 

Cor. Traitor ! — How now 1 — 

Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius. 

Cor. Marcius ! 

Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius ; Dost thou think 
I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name 
Coriolanus in Corioli ? 

You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously 
He has betray'd your business, and given up, 
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome 
(I say, your city,) to his wife and mother: 
Breaking his oath and resolution, like 
A twist of rotten silk ; never admitting 
Counsel o' the war ; but at his nurse's tears 
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory ; 
That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart 
Look'd wondering each at other. 

Cor. Hear'st thou, Mars'! 

Auf. Name not tlie god, thou boy of tears, — 

Cor. Ha ! 



Auf. No more. 

Cor. Measureless-liar, thou hast made my heart 
Too great for wiiat contains it. Boy ! O slave ! — 
Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever 
I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords. 
Must give this cur the lie ; and his own notion 
(Who wears my stripes impress'd on him ; that must 
My beating to his grave ;) shall join to thrust [bear 
The lie unto him. 

1 Loi-d. Peace, both, and hear me speak. 
Cor. Cut me to pieces, Voices ; men and lads, 

Stain all your edges on me. — Boy ! False hound ! 
If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, 
That like an eagle in a dove- cote, I 
Flutter'd your voices in Corioli : 
Alone I did it. — Boy ! 

Auf. Why, noble lords, 

Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, 
Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, 
'Fore your own eyes and ears 1 

Con. Let him die for 't. [Several speak at once. 

Cit. [Speaking firomiscuouslii-] Tear him to pieces, 
do it presently. He killed my sou ; — my daugliter ; 
— He killed my cousin Marcus ; — He killed my 
father. — 

2 Lord. Peace, ho ; — no outrage ; — peace. 
The man is noble, and his fame folds in 
This orb o' the earth. His last offence to us 
Shall have judicious hearing. — Stand, Aufidius, 
And trouble not the peace. 

Cor. O, that I had him, 

With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, 
To use my lawful sword ! 

Auf. Insolent villain ! 

Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him. 
[Aufidius arid the Conspirators draw, 3f kill Corio- 
lanus, who falls, and Aufidius stands on him. 
Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold, 

Auf. My noble masters, let me speak. 

1 Lord. O Tullus, — _ [weep. 

2 Lord. Thou hast done adeed whereat valour will 

3 Lord. Tread not upon him. — Masters all, be quiet ; 
Put up your swords. 

Auf. My lords, wlienyou shall know (as in this rage, 
Provok'd by him, you cannot,) the great danger 
Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice 
That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours. 
To call me to your senate, I'll deliver 
Myself your loyal servant, or endure 
Your heaviest censure. 

1 Lord. Bear from hence his body, 
And mourn you for him : let him be regarded 

As the most noble corse, that ever herald 
Did follow to his urn. 

2 Lord. His own impatience 
Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. 
Let's make the best of it. 

Auf. My rage is gone. 

And I am struck with sorrow. — Take him up : — • 
Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers ; I'll be one. — 
Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully : 
Trail your steel pikes. — Though in this city he 
Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one, 
Which to this hour bewail the injury. 
Yet he shall have a noble memory. — 
Assist. [Exeun*., hearing the hodu ii/' Coriolanus, 
A dead march sounded. 



The trageay of Corio/ani/j is one of the most amusing of our author's performances. The old man's merriment mMenenms ; 
ihe lofty lady's dignity in Volumnia ; the bridal modesty in Virgilia ; the patiician and military haughtiness in Coriolanus ; 
the plebeian malignity and tribunitian insolence in Urutus and Sicinius, make a very pleasing and interesting variety : and i he 
various revolutions of the hero's fortune fill the mind with anxious curiosity. I'here is, perhaps, too much bustle in the nrst 
set. and too little in the last.— Johnson. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



This trascdy was neithet printed nor entered at Stationera' 
Hall, till 1623. It was probably composed about ihe year 
IO07. From the words of Poloiiius in Hamlet, who says that, 
when in the university, " he did enact Julius Caesar," it seems 
probable that an English play on this subject had appeared 
before Shakspeare commenced a writer tor the stage. 

A Latin play on the death ol Ca;sar was acted at L'hrist Church, 
Oxford, so early as 1582, as appears from Peck's Collection 
oj divers curiuia hislorical Pieces, &cc. (appended to his AJe- 
moirs, dc. of Utiver Cromwell) p. 14, and William Alexander, 
afterwards earl of .Sterline, wrote a tragedy on the story, and 
with the title of Julius Caesar. " It may be presumed," says 
Jlalone. " that Shakspeare's play was posterior to his ; for 
Lord Sterline, when he composed his Julius Caesar, was a very 
young author, and would hardly have ventured into that circle, 



within which the most eminent dramatic writer of England 
had already walked. The death of Caesar, which is not ex- 
hibitedbut related to the audience, forms the catastrophe o{ 
his piece. In the two plays many parallel passages are found, 
which might, perhaps, have proceeded only from the two au- 
thors drawing from the same source." 
'['he real lengih of time in Julius Caesar is as follows: About 
the middle of I'ebruary, A. U. C.709, a frantic festival, sacred 
to Pan, and called Lupercalia, was held in honour of Caesar, 
when the regal crown was oflTered to him by Antony. On the 
15th of March in the same yar, he was slain. >;ovember27, 
A. U.C. 710, the triumvirs met at a small island, formed by 
the river Khenus, near Bononia, and there adjusted their 
cruel proscription.— A. U.C. 711, Brutus and Cassius were 
defeated near Philippi. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Julius C«sar. 

OcTAvius Casar, ■) . . . j-,_„ ,1,„^^„,h r.f 

T,r » f triumvirs after the death ot 

Marcus Antonius, / j ,• /-.^^o- 

1 r TT- T I Julius LiEsar. 

-«. Amil. Lepidus, 1 

Cicero, Publius, Popilius Lena ; senators. 

Marcus Brutus, Casca, 

conspirators against 

ilius Ceesar. 



Marcus Brutus, Casca, a 

Cassius, Trebonius, I conspi 

Decius Brutus, Ligarius, f Jul 

Metellus Cimber, Cinna, ' 

Flavius and Marullus, tribunes, 

Artemidorus, a sophist o/'Cnidos. 

A Soothsayer. Cinna, a poet. Another Poet. 

LuciLius, TiTiNius, RIessala, young Cato, and Vo- 

LUMNius ; friends to Brutus a7td Cassius. 
Varro, Clitus, Claudius, Strato, Lucius, Dar- 

DANius ; servatits to Brutus. 
PiNDARUS, servant to Cassius. 

Calphurnia, wife to Cassar. 
Portia, wife to Brutus. 

Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, S^c. 

SCENE, — during a great part of the Play, at Rome ; 
qfterwards at Sardis ; and near Philippi, 



ACT I. 

SCENE I — Rome. A Street. 
Enter Flavius, Marullus, and a rabble of Citizens. 
Flav. Hence ; home, you idle creatures, get you 
Is this a holiday ■? What! know you not, [home; 
Being mechanical, you ought not walk. 
Upon a labouring day, without the sign 
Of your profession ? — Speak, what trade art thou ? 

1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter. 

Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule ? 
What dost thou with thy best apparel on 1 — 
You, sir ; what trade are you 1 

2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I 
am but, as you would say, a cobler. 

Mar. Butwhat trade art thou"! Answer me directly. 

2 Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a 
safe conscience ; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of 
bad soals. 

Mar. What trade, thou knave, thou naughty knave, 
what trade 1 

2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with 
me : yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. 

Mar. What meanest thou by that 7 Mend me, 
thou saucy fellow 1 

"i Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. 

Fiav. Thou art a cobler, art thou \ 



2 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the awl : 
I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's 
matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon 
to old shoes ; when they are in great danger, 1 reco- 
ver them. As proper men as ever trod upor» neats- 
leather, have gone upon my handy-work. 

Flav, But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day"! 
Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? 

2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get 
myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make 
holiday, to see Cffisar, and to rejoice in his triumph. 

Mar. Wherefore rejoice'! What conquest brings he 
What tributaries follow him to Rome, [home? 

To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels? 
Vou blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless 
O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, [things ! 
Knevi' you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft 
Have you climb'd up to walls and battleme"»'«. 
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, 
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
The live-long day, with patient expectation. 
To see great Pompey pass tlie streets of Rome : 
And when you saw his chariot but appear. 
Have you not made an universal shout. 
That Tyber trembled underneath her banks. 
To hear the replication of your sounds. 
Made in her concave shores ? 
And do you now put on your best attire ? 
And do you now cull out a holiday ? 
And do you now strew flowers in his way. 
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood ? 
Be gone ; 

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees. 
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 
That needs must light on this ingratitude. 

Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault. 
Assemble all the poor men of your sort ; 
Draw them to Tyber banks, and weep your tears 
Into the channel, till the lowest stream 
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. [Ex. Citizens. 
Sec, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd ; 
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. 
Go you down that way towards the Capitol ; 
This way will I ; Disrobe the images, 
If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. 

Mar. IMay we do so? 
You know, it is the feast of Lupercal. 

Fiav. It is no matter ; let no images 
Be hung with Ciesar's trophies. I'll about. 
And drive away the vulgar from the streets : 
So do you too, where yoii perce'.ve them tliick. 
These growing feathers pluck'd from Ceesar'.s wing, 
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch ; 
Who else would soar above the view of men. 
And keep us all in servile fearfulness. \LxeuHt. 



654 



JULIUS CESAR. 



SCENE II.— T^e same. A public Place. 

Enter, in procession, with music, Caisar ; Antony, 
J'or the coui-se; Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Ci- 
cero, Brutvs, Cassius, and Casca, a great crowd 
following ; among them a Soothsayer. 

C(es. Calphurnia, — 

Casca. Peace, ho ! Csesar speaks. [Mmic ceases. 

C<cs. Calphurnia,- - 

Cal. Here, my lord. 

Cas. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, 
When he doth run his course. — Antonius. 

Ant. Caesar, my lord. 

C(fs. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, 
To touch Calphurnia : for our elders say, 
The barren, touched in this holy chase, 
Shake off their steril curse. 

Ant. I shall remember: 

When Cajsar says. Do this, it is perform'd. 

Cas. Set on, and leave no ceremony out. [Musii-. 

Sooth. Cffisar. 

C<es. Ila! Who calls? 

Casca. Bid every noise be still: — Peace yet again. 

[Music ceases. 

Ct£s. Who is it in the press, that calls on me 1 
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music. 
Cry, Caisar : Speak ; Caesar is turn'd to hear. 

Sooth. Beware the ides of ]March. 

Cies. What man is that 1 

Bru.A soothsayer.bidsyou beware the ides of March. 

Cas. Set him before me, let me see his face. 

Cas. Fellow, come from the throng: LookuponC-esar. 

Cces. What say'st thou to me now ! Speak once again. 

Sooth. Beware the ides of March. • 

C(fs. He is a dreamer ; let us leave him ; — pass. 
[^Sennet. Exeimt all but Bru. and Cas. 

Cas. Will you go see the order of the course ? 

Brit. Not I. 

Cas. I pray you, do. 

Bru. I am not gamesome : I do lack some part 
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. 
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires ; 
I'll leave you. 

Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late : 
I have not from your eyes that gentleness. 
And show of love, as 1 was wont to have : 
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
Over your friend that loves you. 

Brxu Cassius, 

Be not deceiv'd : If I have veil'd my look, 
I turn the trouble of my countenance 
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am, 
Of late, with passions of some difference, 
Conceptions only proper to myself, 
Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours : 
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd ; 
(Among which number, Cassius, be you one j) 
Nor construe any further my neglect. 
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war. 
Forgets the shows of love to other men. [sion ; 

Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your pas- 
By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried 
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. 
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face 1 

Bru. No, Cassius : for the eye sees not itself. 
But by reflection, by some other things. 

Cas. 'Tis just : 
And it is very much lamented, Brutus, 
That you have no such mirrors, as will turn 
Your hidden worthiness into your eye. 
That you might see your shadow. 1 have heard. 
Where many of the best respect in Rome, 



(Except immortal Csesar,) speaking of Brutus, 
And groaning underneath this age's yoke. 
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. 

Urn. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, 
That you would have me seek into myself 
For that which is not in me 1 

Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear : 
And, since you know you cannot sse yourself 
So well as by reflection, I, your glass, 
Will modestly discover to yourself 
That of yourself which you yet know not of. 
And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus • 
Were I a common laugher, or did use 
To stale with ordinary oaths my love 
To every new protester ; if you know 
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard, 
And after scandal them ; or if you know 
That I profess myself in banqueting 
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. 

[Flourish, and shont. 

T.ru. What means this shouting? 1 do fear, the 
Choose Caesar for their king. [people 

Cas. Ay, do you fear it 1 

Then must I think you would not have it so. 

Brti. 1 would not, Cassius ; yet Hove him well • — 
But wherefore do you hold me here so long? 
What is it that you would impart to me ] 
If it be aught toward the general good. 
Set honour in one eye, and death i'the other. 
And I will look on both indifferently : 
For, let the gods so speed me, as I love 
The name of honour more than I fear death. 

Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 
As well as I do know your outwaid favour. 
Well, honour is the subject of my story. — 
I cannot tell, what you and other men 
Think of this life ; but, for my single self. 
I haS as lief not be, as live to be 
In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
I was born free as Cassar ; so were you : 
We both have fed as well ; and we can both 
Endure the winter's cold, as well as he. 
For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 
The troubled Tyber chafing with her shores, 
Caesar said to me, Dar'st thou, Cassius, now 
Leap in with me into this angry Jiood, 
And swim to yonder pointl — Upon the word, 
Accouter'd as I was, I plunged in. 
And bade him follow : so, indeed, he did. 
The torrent roar'd ; and we did buffet it 
With lusty sinews ; throwing it aside 
And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd, 
Caesar cry'd, Help me, Cassius, or 1 sink. 
I, as iEneas, our great ancestor, 
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 
The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tyber 
Did I the tir'd Csesar : And this man 
Is now become a god ; and Cassius is 
A wretched creature, and must bend his body, 
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 
He had a fever when he was in Spain, 
And, when the fit was on him, I did mark 
How he did shake : 'tis true, this god did shake . 
His coward lips did from their colour fly 
And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world. 
Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan : 
Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 
Alas ! it cried. Give me some drink, Titinius, 
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 
A man of such a feeble temper should 



ACT I.— SCENE II. 



G55 



So get the start of the majestic world, 

And bear the palm alone. [67ioh( Flourish. 

liru. Another general shout ! 
I do believe, that these applauses are 
For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar. 

Cos.. Why, man, he doth bestrrdethe narrow world. 
Like a Colossus ; and we petty men 
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about 
To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 
Men at some time are masters of their fates : 
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
Brutus, and Ca;sar : What should be in that Caesar? 
Why should that name be sounded more than yours 1 
Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; 
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; 
Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with them, 
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. [67touf. 
Now in the names of all the gods at once, 
/fXi^on what meat doth this our Caesar feed, 
{/^That he is grown so greatj^ Age, thou art sham'd • 
Rome, thou iiast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 
When went there by an age, since the great flood. 
But it was fam'd with more than with one man 1 
When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome, 
That her wide walks encompass'd but one man 1 
Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, 
When there is in it but one only man. 

! you and I have heard our fathers say, 

Theie was a Brutus once, that would have brook'd 
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome, 
As easily as a king. 

Brit. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous ; 
What you would work me to, 1 have some aim ; 
How 1 have thought of this, and of these times, 

1 shall recount hereafter ; for this present, 

I would not, so with love I might entreat you, 
Be any further mov'd. What you have said, 
I will consider ; what you have to say, 
I will with patience hear : and find a time 
Both meet to hear, and answer, such high things. 
Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this ; 
Brutus had rather be a villager. 
Than to repute himself a son of Rome 
Under these hard conditions as this time 
Is like to lay upon us. 

Cas. I am glad, that my weak words 
Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus. 

Re-enter C-esar, and his Train. 

Bru. The games are done, and Caesar is returning. 

Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve ; 
And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you 
What hath proceeded, worthy note, to-day. 

Bru. I will do so : — But, look you, Cassius, 
The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow. 
And all the rest look like a chidden train : 
Calphurnia's cheek is pale ; and Cicero 
Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes. 
As we have seen him in the Capitol, 
Being cross'd in t!onference by some senators. 

Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is. 

CcES. Antonius. 

Ant. Caesar. 

Ces. Let me have men about me that are fat ; 
Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights : 
Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look ; 
He thinks too much : such men are dangerous. 

Ant. Fear him not, Cffisar, he's not dangerous; 
He is a noble Roman, and well given. 

CiTs. 'Would he were fatter : — But I fear him not : 
Yet if my name were liable to fear. 



I do not know the man I should avoid 
So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much j 
He is a great observer, and he looks 
Quite through the deeds of men : he loves no plays, 
As thou dost, Antony ; he hears no music : 
Seldom he smiles ; and smiles in such a sort. 
As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit 
That could be mov'd to smile at any thing. 
Such men as he be never at heart's ease. 
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves; 
And therefore are they very dangerous. 
1 rather tell thee what is to be fear'd, 
Than what I fear, for always I am Caesar. 
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf. 
And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. 
[£,iei(/i( CssAR and his Train. Casca stays behind. 

Casca. You puU'd me by the cloak ; Would you 
speak with me "! 

Tiru. Ay, Casca ; tell us what hath chanc'd to-day, 
That Caesar looks so sad ? 

Casca. Why you were with him, were you not? 

Bru. I should not then ask Casca what hath chanc'd. 

Casca. Why, there was a crown offered him : and 
being offered him, he put it by with the back of his 
hand, thus; and then the people fell a' shouting. 

Bru. What was the second noise for? 

Casca. Why, for that too. 

Cas, They shouted thrice; What was the last cry for? 

Casca. Why, for that too. 

Bru. Was the crown ofTer'd him thrice 1 

Casca. Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, 
every time gentler than other ; and at every putting 
by, mine honest neighbours shouted. 

Cas, Who offer'd him the crown l 

Casca. Why, Antony. 

Bj'ii. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. 

Casca, I can as well be hanged, as tell the mannei 
of it : it was mere foolery. 1 did not mark it. I saw 
Mark Antony offer him a crown ; — yet 'twas not a 
crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets ; — and, as 
I told you, he put it by once ; but, for all that, to my 
thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered 
it to him again ; then he put it by again : but, to 
my thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers 
off it. And then he offered it the third time ; he put 
it the third time by : and still as he refused it, the 
rabblement hooted, and clapped their chopped hands, 
and threw up their sweaty night-caps, and uttered 
such a deal of stinking breath because Caesar refused 
the crown, that it had almost choaked Caesar ; for he 
swooned, and fell down at it : And for mine own part, 
I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips, and 
receiving the bad air. [swoon ? 

Cas. But, soft, I pray you: W^hat? Did Caesar 

Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and 
foamed at mouth, and was speechless. 

Bru, 'Tis very like : he hath the falling sickness. 

Cas. No, Caesar hath it not ; but you, and I, 
And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness. 

Casca, I know not what you mean by that ; but, I 
am sure, Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people did 
not clap him, and hiss him, according as he pleased 
and displeased them, as they use to do the players 
in the theatre, I am no true man. 

Bru. What said he, when he came unto himself? 

Casca. Marry, before he fell down, when he per- 
ceived the common herd was glad he refused the 
crown, he plucked me ope his doublet, and offered 
them his throat to cut. — An I had been a man of any 
occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, 
I would I might go to hell among the rogues: — and 
so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said, 



656 



JULIUS CiESAR. 



If he had done, or said, any thing amiss, he desired 
their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three 
or four wenches, where I stood, cried, Alas, good 
soul! — and forgave him with all their hearts: But 
there's no heed to be taken of them ; if Caesar had 
stabbed their mothers, they would have done no less. 

Bru. And after that, he came, thus sad, away? 

Casca. Ay, 

Cas. Did Cicero say any thing? 

Casca Ay, he spoke Greek. 

Cas. To what effect ? 

Casca. Nay, an 1 tell you that, I'll ne'er look you 
i' the face again : But those, that understood him, 
smiled at one another, and shook their heads: but, 
for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell 
you more news too : Marullusand Flavius,for pull- 
ing scarfs off Ctesar's images, are put to silence. 
Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if 1 
could remember it. 

Cas. Will you sup with me to-night, Casca 1 

Casca. No, I am promised forth. 

Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow ? 

Casca. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and 
your dinner worth the eating. 

Cas. Good ; I will expect you. 

Casca. Do so: Farewell, both. [Exit Casca. 

Bru. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be? 
He was quick mettle, when he went to school. 

Cas. So is he now, in execution 
Of any bold or noble enlerpnze. 
However he puts on this tardy form. 
This rudeness is a sauce to his good witj 
Which gives men stomach to digest his words 
With better appetite. 

Bru. And so it is. For this time I wiJl leave you : 
To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, 
1 will come home to you ; or, if you will. 
Come r.ome to me, and I will wait for you. 

Cas. I will do so : — till then, think of the world. 

[ExitBiiVTVS. 
^Vell Brutus, thou art noble ; yet, I see, 
Thy hoiiourable metal may be wrought 
From that it is dispos'd : Therefore, 'tis meet 
That noble minds keep ever with their likes; 
For who so firm, that cannot be seduc'd ? 
Caesar doth bear me hard : But he loves Brutus : 
If I weie Brutus now, and he were Cassius, 
He should not humour me. I will this night, 
In several hands, in at his windows throw, 
As if they came from several citizens. 
Writings, all tending to the great opinion 
That Rome holds of his name ; wherein obscurely 
Cffisar's ambition shall be glanc'd at : 
And, after this, let Cassar seat him sure ; 
For we will shake him, or worse days endure. [Eiit. 

SCENE III.— The same. A Street. 

Thunder and lightning. Enter, from opposite sides, 

Casca, with his sword drawn, and Cicero. 

Cic. Good even, Casca: Brought you Csesarhome? 
Why are you breathless? and why stare you so ? 

Casca. Are not you mov'd, when all the sway of 
Shakes, like a thing unfirm? O Cicero, [earth 

I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds 
Have riv'd the knotty oaks ; and I have seen 
The ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam, 
To be exalted with the threat'ning clouds : 
But never till to-night, never till now. 
Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. 
Either there is a civil strife in heaven ; 
Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, 
Inceuies them to send destruction. 



Cic. Why, savr you any thing more wonderful 1 

Casca. Acommon slave(you knowhim well by sight,) 
Held up his left hand, which did flame, and burn 
Like twenty torches join'd ; and yet his hand. 
Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd. 
Besides, (1 have not since put up my sword,) 
Against the Capitol I met a lion. 
Who glar'd upon me, and went surly by. 
Without annoying nie : and there were drawn 
Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women, 
Transform'd with their fear ; who swore, they sav» 
Men, all in fire, walk up and down the streets. 
And, yesterday, the bird of night did sit. 
Even at noon-day, upon the market-place. 
Hooting, and shrieking. When these prodigies 
Do so conjointly meet, let not men say, 
Ihese are their reasons, — Thei/ are natural ; 
For, I believe, they are portentous things 
Unto the climate that they point upon. 

Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time : 
But men may construe things after their fashion, 
Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. 
Comes Caisar to the Capitol to-morrow ? 

Casca. He doth ; for he did bid Antonius 
Send word to you, he would be there to-morrow. 

Cic. Good night then, Casca: this disturbed sky 
Is not to walk in. 

Casca. Farewell, Cicero. [Exit Ciceko. 

Enter Cassius. 

Cas. Who's there 1 

Casca. A Roman. 

Cas. Casca, by your voice. 

Cnsca. Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this ? 

Cas. A very pleasing night to honest men. 

Casca. Who ever knew the heavens menace so? 

Cus.Those that have known the earth so full of faults. 
For my part, I have walk'd about the streets. 
Submitting me unto the perilous night ; 
And, thus unbrac'd, Casca, as you see. 
Have bar'd my bosom to the thunder-stone : 
And, when the cross-blue lightning seem'd to open 
The breast of heaven, I did present myself 
Even in the aim and very flash of it. 

Casca. But wherefore did you so much tempt the 
It is the part of men to fear and tremble, [heavens? 
When the most mighty gods, by tokens, send 
Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. 

Cas. You are dull, Casca ; and those sparks of life 
That should be in a Roman, you do want, 
Or else you use not : You look pale, and gaze, 
And put on fear, and cast yourself in wonder. 
To see the strange impatience of the heavens : 
But if you would consider the true cause. 
Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, 
Why birds and beasts, from quality and kind ; 
Why old men, fools, and children calculate : 
Why all these things change, from their ordinance, 
Their natures, and pre-formed faculties. 
To monstrous quality ; why, you shall find, 
That heaven hath infus'd them wiih these spirits. 
To make them instruments of fear, and warning. 
Unto some monstrous state. Now could I, Casca, 
Name to thee a man most like this dreadful night ; 
That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars 
As doth the lion in the Capitol : 
A man no mightier than thyself, or me. 
In personal action ; yet prodigious grown. 
And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. 

Casca. 'Tis Caesar that you mean: Isitnot, Cassias? 

Cas. Let it be who it is : for Romans now 
Have thewes and limbs like to their ancestors ; 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



657 



But. woe the while! our fathers' minds are dead, 
And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits ; 
Our yoke and sufferance shew us womanish. 

Casca. Indeed, they say, the senators to-morrow 
Mean to establish Caesar as a king- : 
And he shall wear his crown by sea and land, 
In every place, save herein Italy. 

Cas. I know where I will wear this dagger then ; 
Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius : 
Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong ; 
Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat : 
Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass. 
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, 
Can be retentive to the strength of spirit : 
But life, being weary of these worldly bars, 
Never lacks power to dismiss itself. 
If I know this, know all the world besides, 
That part of tyranny, that I do bear, 
I can shake off at pleasure. 

Casca. So can I : 

So every bondman in his own hand bears 
The power to cancel his captivity. 

Cas, And why should Cffisar be a tyrant then 1 
Poor man ! I know, he would not be a wolf. 
But that he sees, the Romans are but sheep : 
He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. 
Those that with haste will make a mighty fiT«, 
Begin it with weak straws : What trash is Rome, 
What rubbish, and what offal, when it serves 
For the base matter to illuminate 
So vile a thing as Caesar? But, O grief! 
Where hast thou led me 1 I, perhaps, speak this 
Before a willing bondman : then I know 
My answer must be made : But I am arm'd, 
And dangers are to me indifferent. 

Casca. You speak to Casca ; and to such a man, 
That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold my hand : 
Be factious for redress of all these griefs ; 
And I will set this foot of mine as far, 
As who goes farthest. 

Cas. There's a bargain made. 

Now know you, Casca, I have mov'd already 
Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans, 
To undergo with me an enterprize 
Of honourable-dangerous consequence ; 
And I do know by this, they stay for me 
In Pompey's porch : For now, this fearful night. 
There is no stir, or walking in the streets ; 
And the complexion of the element 
Is favour'd, like the work we have in hand. 
Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. 

Enter CiNNA. 

Casco. Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste. 

Cas. 'Tis Cinna, I do know him by his gait ; 
He is a friend. — Cinna, where haste you so 1 

Cin. To find out you: Who's that ? Metellus Cimber 1 

Cas. No, it is Casca ; one incorporate 
To our attempts. Am I not staid for, Citma'? 

Cin. I am glad on't. What a fearful night is this 1 
There's two or three of us have seen strange sights. 

Cas. Am I not staid for, Cinna ? Tell me. 

Cin. Yes, 

You are. O, Cassius, if you could but win 
The noble Brutus to our party 

Cas. Be you content : Good Cinna, take this paper, 
Arid look you, lay it in the praetor's chair. 
Where Brutus may but find it ; and throw this 
In at his window : set this up with wax 
Upon old Brutus' statue : all this done, 
Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us. 
Is Decius Brutus, and Trebonius, there ! 



Cin. All but Metellus Cimber ; and he's gone 
To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie. 
And so bestow these papers as you bade me. 

Cas. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. 

[Eiit Cinna. 
Come, Casca, you and I will, yet, ere day, 
See Brutus at his house : three parts of him 
Is ours already ; and the man entire, 
Upon the next encounter, yields him ours. 

Casca. 0, he sits high, in all the people's hearts : 
And that which would appear offence in us. 
His countenance, like richest alchymy. 
Will change to virtue, and to worthiness. 

Cas. Him, and his worth, and our great need of him. 
You have right well conceited. Let us go. 
For it is after midnight ; and, ere day. 
We will awake him, and be sure of him. [Eietmf. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — The same. Brutus's Orchard. 

Enter BntJTUs. 

Bru. What, Lucius ! ho !— 
I cannot, by the progress of the stars. 
Give guess how near to day. — Lucius, I say ! — 
I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. — 
When, Lucius, when! Awake, I say: What,Lucius' 

Enter Lucius. 

Luc. Call'd you, my lord ! 

Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius : 
Wlien it is lighted, come and call me here. 

Luc. I will, my lord. [Exit. 

Bru. It must be by his death : and, for my part, 
I know no personal cause to spurn at him. 
But for the general. He would be crown'd : — 
How that might change his nature, there's the question. 
It is the bright day, that brings forth the adder ; 
And that craves wary walking. Crown him ! — Tiiat ;— 
And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, 
That at his will he may do danger with. 
The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins 
Remorse from power: And to speak truth of Ca;sar, 
I have not known when his affections sway'd 
More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof. 
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder. 
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face : 
But %vhen he once attains the utmost round. 
He then unto the ladder turns his back. 
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
By which he did ascend : So Cmsar may ; 
Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel 
Will bear no colour for the thing he is. 
Fashion it thus ; that what he is, augmented. 
Would run to these, and these extremities : 
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg, 
Which, hatch'd, would, ashiskind, grow mischievous 
And kill him in the shell. 

Re-enter Lucius. 

Luc. The taper burneth in your closet, sir. 
Searching the window for a flint, I found 
This paper, thus seal'd up ; and, I am sure. 
It did not lie there, when I went to bed. 

Brti. Get you to bed again, it is not day. 
Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March 1 

Luc. I know not, sir. 

Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me word. 

Luc. I will, sir. [Ktit. 

2T 



658 



JULIUS CiESAR. 



Bru. The exhalations, whizzing in the air, 
Give so much light, that I may read by them. 

[Opens the letter, unci reads. 
Bnitris, thou sleep ft ; awake, and see thijself. 
Shall Home, &:c. Speak, strike, redress ! 

Brutus, thou sleep' St ; awake, 

Such instigations have been often dropp'd 

Where I have took them up. 

Shall Rome, &c. Thus must I piece it out; 

Shall Romestandunderoneman'savve'*What! Rome? 

My ancestors did from the streets of Rome 

The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 

Speak, strike, redress ! — Am I entreated then 

To speak, and strike"! O Rome ! I make thee promise. 

If the redress will follow, thou recelvost 

Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus ! 

Re-enter Lucius. 

Luc, Sir, March is wasted fourteen days. 

[Knock within. 

Bru. 'Tis good. Go to the gate: somebody knocks. 

[Exit Lucius. 
Since Cassius first did whet me against Ceesar, 
I have not slept. 

Between the acting of a dreadful thing 
And the first motion, all the interim is 
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream : 
The genius, and the mortal instruments 
Are then in council ; and the state of man, 
] .ike to a little kingdom, suffers then 
The nature of an insurrection. 

Re-enter Lucius. 

Luc. Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door. 
Who doth desire to see you. 

Bi-u. Is he alone ? 

Luc. No, sir, there are more with him. 

Bru. Do you know them 1 

Luc. No, sir; their hats are phick'd about their ears. 
And half their faces buried in their cloaks. 
That by no means I may discover them 
By any mark of favour. 

Bru. Let them enter. [Exit Lucius. 

They are the faction. O conspiracy ! 
Sham'st thou to shew thy dangerous brow by night. 
When evils are most free 1 O, then, by day, 
W^here wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 
To mask thy monstrous visage 1 Seek none, conspi- 
Hide it in smiles, and affability : [racy ; 

For if thou put thy native semblance on. 
Not Erebus itself were dim enough 
To hide thee from prevention. 

Enter Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna, Metellus 
CiMBER, a7id Trebonius. 

Cas. I think we are too bold upon your rest : 
Good morrow, Brutus ; Do we trouble you ] 

Bru. I have been up this hour; awake, all night. 
Know I these men, that come along with you 1 

Cos. Yes, every man of them ; and no man here. 
But honours you : and every one doth wish. 
You had but that opinion of yourself. 
Which every noble Roman bears of you. 
This is Trebonius. 

Bru. He is welcome hither. 

Cas. This, Decius Brutus. 

Bru. He is welcome too. 

Cas. This, Casca ; this, Cinna ; 
And this, Metellus Cimber. 

Bru. They are all welcome. 

What watchful cares do interpose themselves 
Betwixt your eyes and night 1 

Cas. Shall I entreat a word? [They whisper. 



Dec. Here lies the east : Doth not the day break 
Casca. No. [here 1 

Cin. O, pardon, sir, it doth ; and yon grey lines. 
That fret the clouds, are messengers of day. 

Casca. You shall confess, that you are both deceiv'd. 
Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises ; 
Which is a great way growing on the south. 
Weighing the youthful season of the year. 
Some two months hence, up higher toward the north 
He first presents his fire ; and the high east 
Stands, as the Capitol, directly here. 

Bru. Give me your hands all over, one by one. 
Cas. And let us swear our resolution. 
Bru. No, not an oath : If not tiie face of men. 
The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse, — 
If these be motives weak, break off betimes, 
And every man hence to his idle bed ; 
So let high-sighted tyranny range on, 
Till each man drop by lottery. But if these, 
As I am sure they do, bear fire enough 
To kindle cowards, and to steel with valour 
The melting spirits of women ; then, countrymen, 
What need we any spur, but our own cause. 
To prick us to redress? what other bond, 
Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word, 
And will not palter? and what other oath. 
Than honesty to honesty engag'd, 
That this shall be, or we will fall for it? 
Swear priests, and cowards, and men cautelous. 
Old feeble carrions, and such suffering souls 
That welcome wrongs ; unto bad causes swear 
Such creatures as men doubt : but do not stain 
The even virtue of our enterprize. 
Nor the insuppressive metal of our spirits. 
To think, that, or our cause, or our performance, 
Did need an oath ; when every drop of blood. 
That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, 
Is guilty of a several bastardy. 
If he do break the smallest particle 
Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. 

Cas. But what of Cicero 1 Shall we sound him ? 
I think, he will stand very strong with us. 
Casca. Let us not leave him out. 
Cin. No, by no means. 

Met. O let us have him ; for his silver hairs 
Will purchase us a good opinion, 
And buy men's voices to commend our deeds : 
It shall be said, his judgment rul'd our hands ; 
Our youths, and wildness, shall no whit appear, 
But all be buried in his gravity. 

Bru. O, name him not ; let us not break with him ; 
For he will never follow any thing 
That other men begin. 

Cas. Then leave him out. 

Casca. Indeed, he is not fit. 

Dec. Shall no man. else be touch'd but only Cffisar? 
Cas. Decius, well urg'd : — I think it is not meet, 
Mark Antony, so well belov'd of Cifisar, 
Should outlive Csesar : We shall find of him 
A shrewd contriver ; and, you know his means. 
If he improve them, may well stretch so far. 
As to annoy us all : which to prevent. 
Let Antony, and Caesar, fall together. _ [sius, 

Bru. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cas- 
To cut the head off, and then hack the limbs ; 
Like wrath in death, and envy afterwards : 
For Antony is but a limb of Csesar. 
Let us be sacrincers, but no butchers, Caius. 
We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar ; 
And in the spirit of men there is no blood :_ 
O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit. 
And not dismember Caesar 1 But, alas. 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



659 



Cffisar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends. 
Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfnlly ; 
Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, 
Not hew him as a carcase fit for hounds : 
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, 
Stir up their servants to an act of rage, 
And after seem to chide them. This shall make 
Our purpose necessary, and not envious : 
Which so appearing to the common eyes. 
We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. 
And for Mark Antony, think not of him ; 
For he can do no more than Caasar's arm, 
When Ccesar's head is off. 

Cas. Yet I do fear him ; 
For in the ingrafted love he bears to Cwsar, 

-Brii. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him : 
If he love Cfesar, all that he can do 
Is to himself ; take thought, and die for Caesar : 
And that were much he should ; for he is given 
To sports, to wildness, and much company. 

Treb. There is no fear in him ; let him not die ; 
For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. 

[Clock strikes 

Bru. Peace, count the clock. 

Cas, The clock hath stricken three 

Treb. 'Tis time to part. 

Cas. But it is doubtful yet, 

Whe'r CjEsar will come forth to-day, or no : 
For he is superstitious grown of late ; 
Quite from the main opinion he held once 
Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies : 
It may be, these apparent prodigies. 
The unaccustom'd terror of this night, 
And the persuasion of his augurers, 
Blay hold him from the Capitol to-day. 

Dec. Never fear that : If he be so resolv'd, 
I can o'ersway him ; for he loves to hear, 
That unicorns may be betray 'd with trees. 
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, 
Lions with toils, and men with flatterers : 
But, when I tell him, he hates flatterers. 
He says, he does ; being then most flattered. 
Let me work : 

For I can give his humour the true bent ; 
And I will bring him to the Capitol. 

Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. 

Bru. By the eighth hour: Is that the uttermost? 

Cin. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. 

Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Ciesar hard. 
Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey ; 
I wonder, none of you have thought of him. 

Bru, Now, good Metellus, go along by him ; 
He loves me well, and I have given him reasons ; 
Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. 

Cas. The morning comes upon us : We'll leave 
you, Brutus : — 
And, friends, disperse yourselves : but all remember 
Whatyou have said, and shew yourselves trueRomans. 

Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily ; 
Let not our looks put on our purposes : 
But bear it as our Roman actors do, 
With untir'd spirits, and formal constancy : 
And so, good-morrow to you every one. 

[Kieunt all but Brutus. 
Boy ! Lucius ! — Fast asleep 1 It is no matter j 
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber : 
Thou hast no figures, nor no fantasies. 
Which busy care draws in the brains of men : 
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. 



Enter Portia. 



Por. 



Brutus, my lord 



Bru. Portia, what mean you ? Wherefore rise you 
It is not for your health, thus to commit [now 1 

Your weak condition to the raw-cold morning. 

I'm-. Nor for yours neither. You have ungently, 
Brutus, 
Stole from my bed : And yesternight, at supper. 
You suddenly arose, and walked about, 
Musing, and sighing, with your arms across ; 
And when I ask'd you what the matter was, 
You sfar'd upon me with ungentle looks : 
I urg'd you further ; then you scratch'd your head. 
And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot : 
Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not ; 
But, with an angry wafture of your hand. 
Gave sign for me to leave you : So I did ; 
Fearing to strengthen that impatience. 
Which seem'd too much enkindled ; and, withal, 
Hoping it was but an effect of humour, 
AVhich sometime hath his hour with every man. 
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep ; 
And, could it work so much upon your shape. 
As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, 
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear, my lord, 
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. 

Brit. I am not well in health, and that is all. 

Por, Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health, 
He would embrace the'means to come by it. 

Bru. Why, so I do : — Good Portia, go to bed. 

Por, Is Brutus sick 1 and is it physical 
To walk unbraced, and suck up the humours 
Of the dank morning 1 What, is Brutus sick ; 
And will he steal out of his wholesome bed. 
To dare the vile contagion of the night 1 
And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air 
To add unto his sickness 1 No, my Brutus ; 
You have some sick offence within your mind. 
Which, by the right and virtue of my place, 
I ouglit to know of : And, upon my knees, 
I charm you, by my once commended beauty. 
By all your vows of love, and that great vow 
Which did incorporate and make us one. 
That you unfold to me, yourself, your half. 
Why you are heavy ; and what men to-night 
Have had resort to you : for here have been 
Some six or seven, who did hide their faces 
Even from darkness. 

Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. 

Por. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. 
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, 
Is it excepted, I should know no secrets 
That appertain to you ? Am I yourself. 
But, as it were, in sort, or limitation ; 
To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, 
And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the sub- 
Of your good pleasure ? If it be no more, [urbs> 

Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. 

Bi-u. You are my true and honourable wife ; 
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 
That visit my sad heart. 

Pur, If this were true, then should I know this se- 
I grant, I am a woman ; but, withal, [cret. 

A woman that lord Brutus took to wife : 
I grant, I am a woman ; but, withal, 
A woman well reputed ; Cato's daughter. 
Think you, I am no stronger than my sex. 
Being so father'd, and so husbanded ! 
Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them : 
I have made strong proof of my constancy. 
Giving myself a voluntary wound 
Here, in the thigh : Can I bear that with patience. 
And not my husband's secrets ? 

Bru, ye gods, 

2 T 2 



660 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



Render me worthy of this noble wife ! 

[Ktwcking tvithm. 
Hark ! hark ! one knocks : Portia, go in a while ; 
And by and by thy bosom shall partake 
The secrets of my heart. 
All my engagements I will construe to thee. 
All the charactery of my sad brows : — 
Leave me with haste. [Exit Portia. 

Enter Lucius and LicAnius. 

Lucius, who's that, knocks? 

Xjic. Here is a sick man, that would speak with you. 

Bra. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. — 
Boy, stand aside.— Caius Ligarius ! how? 

Lig. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. 

Bru. O, what a time liave you chose out, brave Caius, 
To wear a kerchief ? 'Would you were not sick ! 

Lig. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand 
Any exploit worthy the name of honour. 

Bru. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, 
Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. 

Lig. By all the gods that Romans bow before, 
I here discard my sickness. Soul of Rome ! 
Brave son, deriv'd from honourable loins ! 
Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjur'd up 
My mortified spirit. Now bid me run. 
And I will strive with things impossible; 
Yea, get the better of them. What's to do ? 

Bru. A piece of work, that will makesick men whole. 

Lig. But are not some whole, that we must make 
sick 1 

Bru. That must we also. What it is, my Caius, 
I shall unfold to thee, as we are going 
To whom it must be done. 

Lig. Set on your foot ; 

And, with a heart new fir'd, I follow you, 
To do I know not what : but it sufficeth, 
That Brutus leads me on. 

Bru. Follow me then. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The same, A Room in Caesar's Palace. 

Thunder and lightning. Enter C«sab, in his 
night-gown. 

Cms. Nor heaven, nor earth, have been at peace to- 
night : 
Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out, 
Help, ho! They murder Cttsar ! Who's within? 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. My lord? 

Cces. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice. 
And bring me their opinions of success. 

Serv. 1 will, my lord. [Exit. 

Enter Calphurnia. 

Cal. What mean you, Cassar? Think you to walk 
You shall not stir out of your house to-day. [forth ? 

Cas. CiEsar shall forth : The things that threaten'd 
me, 
Ne'er look'd but on my back ; when they shall see 
The face of Caesar, they are vanished. 

Cal. Cffisar, I never stood on ceremonies. 
Yet now they fright me. There is one within, 
Besides the things that we have heard and seen. 
Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. 
A lioness hath whelped in the streets ^ 
And craves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead: 
Fierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds. 
In ranks, and squadrons, and right form of war. 
Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol : 
The noise of battle hurtled in the air, 



Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan ; 
And ghosts did shriek, and squeal about the streets. 
O Cresar ! these things are beyond all use. 
And I do fear them. 

Ctcs. What can be avoided. 

Whose end is purpos'd by the mighty gods? 
Yet Cffisar shall go forth : for these predictions 
Are to the world in general, as to Caesar. 

Cal. When beggars die, there are no comets seen , 
The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of 
princes. 

C<rs. Cowards die many times before their deaths ; 
The valiant never taste of death but once. 
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard. 
It seems to mc most strange that men should fear ; 
Seeing that death, a necessary end, 
Will come, when it will come. 

Re-enter a Servant. 

What say the augurers? 

Serv. They would not have you to stir forth to-day ? 
Plucking the entrails of an offering forth. 
They could not find a heart within the beast. 

Cces. The gods do this in shame of cowardice • 
Csesar should be a beast without a heart. 
If he should stay at home to-day for fear. 
No, Caesar shall not: Danger knows full well. 
That Cajsar is more dangerous than he. 
We were two lions litter'd in one day. 
And I the elder and more terrible ; 
And Caesar shall go forth. 

Cal. Alas, my lord. 

Your wisdom is consum'd in confidence. 
Do not go forth to-day : Call it my fear. 
That keeps you in the house, and not your own. 
We '11 send Mark Antony to the senate-house ; 
And he shall say, you are not well to-day : 
Let me, upon my knees, prevail in this. 

C<es. Mark Antony shall say, I am not well ; 
And, for thy humour, I will stay at home. 

Enter Decius. 

Here 's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. 

Dec. Caesar, all hail ! Good morrow, worthy Caesar . 
I come to fetch you to the senate-house. 

Cas. And you are come in very happy time, 
To bear my greeting to the senators. 
And tell them, that I will not come to-day : 
Caunot, is false ; and that I dare not, falser ; 
I vt'iU not come to-day : Tell them so, Decius. 

Cal. Say, he is sick. 

Cces. Shall Ceesar send a lie? 

Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far. 
To be afeard to tell grey-beards the truth ? 
Decius, go tell them, Caesar will not come. 

Dec. Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause, 
Lest I be laugh'd at, when I tell them so. 

Cccs. The cause is in my will, I will not come; 
That is enough to satisfy the senate. 
But, for your private satisfaction. 
Because I love you, I will let you know ; 
Calphurnia here, my wife, stays me at home : 
She dreamt to-night she saw my statua. 
Which like a fountain, with a hundred spouts. 
Did run pure blood ; and many lusty Romans 
Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it. 
And these does she apply for warnings, portents 
And evils imminent; and on her knee 
Hath begg'd, that I will stay at home to-day. 

Dec. This dream is all amiss interpreted ; 
It was a vision, fair and fortunate* 
Your statue spouting blood in many pipes. 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 



661 



In which so many smiling Romans bath'd, 
Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck 
Reviving blood ; and that great men shall press 
For tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance. 
This by Calphurnia's dream is signified. 

Cies. And this way have you well expounded it. 

Dec. I have, when you have heard what I can say : 
And know it now ; the senate have concluded 
To give, this day, a crown to mighty Caesar. 
If you shall send them word, you will not come, 
Tiieir minds may change. Besides, it were a mock 
Apt to be render'd, for some one to say. 
Break np the senate till another time. 
When Ctesar's uife ihnlt meet with better dreams. 
If Cffisar hide himself, shall they not whisper, 
Lo, Casar is afraid ? 

Pardon me, Csesar: for my dear, dear love 
To your proceeding bids me tell you this ; 
And reason to my love is liable. 

C(es. How foolish do your fears seem now, Calphur- 
[ am ashamed I did yield to them. — [nia ? 

Give me my robe, for I will go : — 

Enter Publius, Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, 
Casca, Trebonius, and Cinna. 

And look where Publius is come to fetch me. 

Pub. Good morrow, Caesar. 

Ca:s. ' Welcome, Publius. — 

What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too ] — 
Good morrow, Casca. — (Jaius Ligarius, 
Cassar was ne'er so much your enemy, 
As that same ague which hath made you lean. — 
What is 't o'clock! 

Bru. Cssar, 'tis strucken eight. 

Ca:s. I thank you for your pains and courtesy. 

Enter Antony. 

See 1 Antony, that revels long o' nights. 

Is notwithstanding up : 

Good morrow, Antony. 

Ant. So to most noble Cjesar. 

Cies. Bid them prepare within : — 
I am to blame to be tlius waited for. — • 
Now, Cinna : — Now, Metellus: — What, Trebonius! 
I have an hour's talk in store for you ; 
Remember that you call on me to-day : 
Be near me, that I may remember you. 

Treb. Cffisar, I will : — and so near will I be, [Aside. 
That your best friends shall wish I had been further. 

Cees. Good friends, go in, and taste some wine with 
me; 
And we, like friends, will straightway go together. 

Bru. That every like is not the same, Caesar, 
The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon ! [Eieunt. 

SCENE III. — The same. A Street near the Capitol. 
Enter Artemidorus, reading a paper. 

Art. Caesar, foeit^arco/' Brutus ; take heed o/'Cassius ; 
Come not near Casca ; have an eye to Cinna; trust not 
Trebonius ; mark well INIetellus Cimber ; Decius 
Brutus loves thee not ; thou hast wrons^ed Caius Ligarius. 
There is but one mind in all these men, and it is bent 
against Caesar. If tliou be'st not immortal, look about 
yon : Security gives way to conspiracy. The mighty 
gods defend thee ! Thy lover, Artemidorus. 

Here will I stand, till Cajsar pass along, 
And as a suitor will I give him this. 
My heart laments, that virtue cannot live 
Out of tlie teeth of emulation. 
If thou read this, O Cajsar, thou may'st live ; 
K not, the fates with traitors do contrive. [_Exit. 



SCENE IV. — The sam£. Another part of the 
sa/ne Street, before the House of Brutus. 

Enter Portia and Lucius. 

Por. I pr'ythee, boy, run to the senate-house ; 
Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone : 
Why dost thou stay 1 

Luc. To know my errand, madam. 

Por. I would have had thee there, and here again, 
Ere I can tell thee what thou should'st do there. — 

constancy, be strong upon my side ! 

Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue ! 

1 have a man's mind, but a woman's might. 
How hard it is for women to keep counsel ! — 
Art thou here yet 1 

Luc. Madam, what should I del 

Run to the Capitol, and nothing elsel 
And so return to you, and nothing else-l 

Por. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well, 
For he went sickly forth : And take good note. 
What Csssar doth, what suitors press to him. 
Hark, boy ! what noise is that^ 

Luc. I heai none, madam. 

Por. Pr'ytliee, listea well : 

I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray. 
And the wind brings it from the Capitol. 

Luc Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. 

Enter Soothsayer. 

Por. Come hither, fellow : 

Which way hast thou been ? 

Sooth, At mine own house, good lady. 

Por. What is 't o'clock? 

Sooth. About the ninth hour, lady. 

Por. Is Csesar yet gone to the Capitol 1 

Sooth, Madam, not yet; I go to take my stand, 
To see him pass on to the Capitol. 

Por. Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou notl 

Sooth. That I have, lady : if it will please Ca;sar 
To be so good to Caesar, as to hear me, 
I shall beseech him to befriend himself. 

Por. Why, know'st thou any harm 's intended to- 
wards him ] [wiay chance. 

Sooth, None that I know will be, much that I fear 
Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow : 
The throng that follows Caesar at the heels. 
Of senators, of praetors, common suitors. 
Will croud a feeble man almost to death : 
I'll get me to a place more void, and there 
Speak to great CiEsar as he comes along. [Exit. 

Por. I must go in. — Ah me ! how weak a thing 
The heart of woman is ! O J5rutus ! 
I'he heavens speed thee in thine enterprize ! 
Sure, the boy heard me: — Brutus hath a suit, 
That Caesar will not grant. — O, I grow faint: — 
Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord ; 
Say, I am merry : come to me again. 
And bring me word what he doth say to thee. [Eieunt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. 

The same. — The Capitol ; the Senate sitting. 

A croud of people in the street leading to the Capitol ; 
among them, Artemidorus, and the Soothsayer. 
Flourish. EnferC.tsAR, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, 
Decius, Metellus, Trebonius, Cinna, Antony, 
Lepidus, Popilius, Publius, and others. 

C<es, The ides of March are come. 
Sooth. Ay, Caesar ; but not gone. 



602 



JULIUS CiESAR. 



Art. Hail, Caesar ! Read this schedule. 

Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-read. 
At, your best leisure this his humble suit. 

Art. O, CaBsar, read mine first ; for mine's a suit 
That touches CiBsar nearer : Head it, great Caesar. 

Cies. What touches us ourself, shall be last serv'd. 

Art. Delay not, Ctesar ; read it instantly. 

Cas. What, is the fellow mad? 

Pub. Sirrah, give place. 

Cas. What, urge you your petitions in the street 1 
Come to the Capitol. 

C«SAR enters the Capitol, the rest following. 
All the Senators rise. 

Pop, I wish, your enterprize to-day may thrive. 

Cas, What enterprize, Popilius? 

Pop. Fare you well. {^Advances to C*sar. 

Bru. What said Fopilius Lena? 

Cas. He wish'd, to day our enterprize might thrive. 
I fear, our purpose is discovered. 

Bru. Look, how he makes to Caesar : Mark him. 

Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. — 
Brutus, what shall be done ? If this be known, 
Cassius or Cajsar never shall turn back, 
For 1 will slay myself. 

Rru. Cassius be constant : 

Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes ; 
For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. 

Cas, Trebonius knows his time ; for, look you. 
He draws Mark Antony out of the way. [Brutus, 
[Eaeiuit Antony and Tkedonii's. C«sae and 
the Senators take tlieir seats. 

Dec, Where is Metellus Cimber ? Let him go, 
And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. 

Bru. He is address'd : press near, and second him. 

Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. 

Cdts. Are we all ready ? what is now amiss. 
That Caesar, and his senate, must redress 1 

Met. Most high, most mighty, and most puissant 
Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat [Cajsar, 
An humble heart : — [Kneeling. 

Cits, I must prevent thee, Cimber. 

These couchings, and these lowly courtesies. 
Might fire the blood of ordinary men ; 
And turn pre-ordinance, and first decree. 
Into the law of children. Be not fond, 
To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood, 
That will be thaw'd from the true quality 
With that which melteth fools; I mean sweet words, 
Low crooked curt'sies, and base spaniel fawning. 
Thy brother by decree is banished ; 
If thou dost bend, and pray, and fawn, for him, 
I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. 
Know, Caesar doth not wrong : nor without cause 
Will he be satisfied. 

Met, Is there no voice more worthy than my own, 
To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear, 
For the repealing of my banish'd brother? 

Bru. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar; 
Desiring thee, that Publius Cimber may 
Have an immediate freedom of repeal. 

Cas, What, Brutus ! 

Cas, Pardon, Caesar : Caesar, pardon ; 

As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall, , 

To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. 

Ctes. I could be well mov'd, if I were as you ; 
If I could pray to move, prayers would move me : 
But I am constant as the northern star. 
Of whose true-fix'd, and resting quality. 
There is no fellow in the firmament. 
The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks. 
They are all fire, and every one doth shine ; 



But there's but one in all doth hold his place : 
So, in the world ; 'Tis furnish'd well with men. 
And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive ; 
Yet, in the number, I do know but one 
That unassailable holds on his rank, 
Unshak'd of motion : and, that I am he. 
Let me a little shew it, even in this ; 
That I was constant, Cimber should be banish'd. 
And constant do remain to keep him so. 

Cin. O Caesar, 

C<rs. Hence I Wilt thou lift up Olympus 1 

Dec. Great Caesar, 

C<£s. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel 1 

Casca. Speak, hands, for me. 

[Casca stabs C«SAn in the neck, C-ssar catches 
hold oj' his arm. He is then stabbed by several 
other Conspirators, and at last by Marcus 
Brutus. 

Ctfs. Et tu, Brute? — Then fall, Caesar. 

[Dies. The senators and people retire 
in confusion, 

Cin. Liberty ! Freedom ! Tyranny is dead I — 
Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. 

Cas. Some to the common pulpits, and cry out. 
Liberty , freedom, and enfranchisement l 

Bru. People, and senators ! be not affrighted ; 
Fly not ; stand still : — ambition's debt is paid. 

Casca. Go to the pulpit, Brutus. 

Dec. And Cassius too. 

Bru. Where's Publius? 

Cin. Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. 

Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar's 
Should chance 

JB)-u. Talk not of standing ; — Publius, good cheer ; 
There is no harm intended to your person. 
Nor to no Roman else : so tell them, Publius. 

Cas. And leave us, Publius ; lest that the people. 
Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief. 

Bru. Do so ; — and let no man abide this deed. 
But we the doers. 

He-enter Trebonius. 

Cas. Where's Antony ? 

Tre. Fled to his house amaz'd: 

Men, wives, and children, stare, cry out, and run. 
As it were dobmsday. 

Bru, Fates! we will know your pleasures :^ 
That we shall die, we know ; 'tis but the time, 
And drawing days out, that men stand upon. 

Cas, Why, he that cuts ofiF twenty years of life. 
Cuts off so many years of fearing death. 

Bru. Grant that, and then is death a benefit : 
So are we Caesar's friends, that have abridg'd 
His time of fearing death. — Stoop, Romans, stoop. 
And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood 
Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords : 
Then walk we forth, even to the market-place ; 
And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads. 
Let's all cry. Peace! Freedom ! and Liberty ! 

Cas. Stoop then, and wash.— How many ages hence. 
Shall this our lofty scene be acted over. 
In states unborn, and accents yet unknown ? 

Bvu. How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport, 
That now on Pompey's basis lies along. 
No worthier than the dust ? 

Cas. So oft as that shall be. 

So often shall the knot of us be call'd 
The men that gave our country liberty. 

Dec, What, shall we forth ? 

Cas. Ay, every man away : 

Brutus shall lead ; and we will grace his heels 
With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 



GG3 



Enter a Servant. 

Bru, Soft, who comes h'ere 1 A friend of Antony's. 
Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel ; 
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down : 
And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say. 
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest: 
Cajsar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving : 
Say, I loved Brutus, and I honour him ; 
Say, I feEir'd Cffisar, honour'd him, and lov'd him. 
If Brutus will vouchsafe, that Antony 
May safely come to him, and be resolv'd 
How Caesar hath deserv'd to lie in death, 
Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead 
So well as Brutus living ; but will follow 
The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus, 
Tliorough the hazards of this untred state, 
With all true faith. So says my master Antony. 

Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman ; 
I never thought him worse. 
Tell him, so please him come unto this place, 
He shall be satisfied j and, by my honour. 
Depart untouch'd. 

Herv. I'll fetch him presently. [^Exit Servant. 

Bru. I know that we shall have him well to friend. 

Cas. I wish, we may : but yet have I a mind, 
That fears him much ; and my misgiving still 
Falls shrewdly to the purpose. 

Re-enter Antony. 

Bru. But here conies Antony. — Welcome, Mark 
Antony. 

Aiit. O mighty Csesar ! dost thou lie so low 1 
Are alHthy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils. 
Shrunk to this little measure 1 — Fare thee well. — 
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, 
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank: 
If I myself, there is no hour so fit 
As Csssar's death's hour ; nor no instrument 
Of half that worth, as those your swords, made rich 
Witli the most noble blood of all this world. 
I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard. 
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke. 
Fulfill your pleasure. Live a thousand years, 
I shall not find myself so apt to die : 
No place will please me so, no mean of death. 
As here by Cassar, and by you cut off, 
The choice and master spirits of this age. 

Bru. O Antony ! beg not your death of us. 
Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, 
As, by our hands, and this our present act. 
You see we do ; yet see you but our hands. 
And this the bleeding business they have done : 
Our hearts you see not, they are pitiful ; 
And pity to the general wrong of Rome 
(As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity,) 
Hath done this deed on Caasar. For your part. 
To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony : 
Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts, 
Of brothers' temper, do receive you in 
With'all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. 

Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's, 
In the disposing of new dignities. 

Bru. Only be patient, till we have appeas'd 
The multitude, beside themselves with fear. 
And then we will deliver you the cause, 
Why 1, that did love Caisar when 1 struck him. 
Have thus proceeded. 

Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom* 

Let each man render me his bloody hand : 
First, Marcus Brutus, will 1 shake with you : 
Next, Caius Cassius, do 1 take your hand ; 
Now, Deciua Brutus, yours; — now yours Mctellus ; 



Yours, Cinna ; — and, my valiant Casca, yours ; — 

Though last, not least in love, yours, good Trebonius. 

Gentlemen all, — alas ! what shall I say I 

My credit now stands on such slippery ground. 

That one of two bad ways you must conceit me. 

Either a coward or a flatterer. — 

That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true : 

If then thy spirit look upon us now. 

Shall it not grieve thee, dearer than thy death, 

To see thy Antony making his peace, 

Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, 

Most noble ! in the presence of thy corse 1 

Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds. 

Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, 

It would become me better, than to close 

la terms of friendship with thine enemies. 

Pardon me, Julius! — Here wast thou bay 'd, brave hart; 

Here didst thou fall ; and here thy hunters stand, 

Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe. 

world ! thou wast the forest to tiiis hart ; 
And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. — 
How like a deer, stricken by many princes. 
Dost thou here lie ! 

Cas. Mark Antony, 

Ant. Pardon me, Caius Cassius : 

The enemies of Csesar shall say this ; 
Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. 

Cas. I blame you not for praising Caesar so ; 
But what compact mean you to have with us 1 
Will you be prick'd in number of our friends ; 
Or shall we on, and not depend on you 1 

Ant. Therefore I took your hands ; but was, indeed, 
Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Caesar. 
Friends am I with you all, and love you all ; 
Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons. 
Why, and wherein Caesar was dangerous. 

Bru. Or else were this a savage spectacle : 
Our reasons are so full of good regard. 
That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, 
You should be satisfied. 

Ant. That 's all I seek • 

And am moreover suitor, that I may 
Produce his body to the market-place ; 
And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend. 
Speak in the order of his funeral. 

Bru. You shall, Mark Antony. 

Cas. Brutus, a word with you, — 

You know not what you do ; Do not consent, \^Aside. 
That Antony speak in his funeral : 
Know you how much the people may be mov'd 
By that which he will utter ? 

Bru. By your pardon ; — 

1 will myself into the pulpit first, 

And shew the reason of our Caesar's death : 
What Antony shall speak, I will protest 
He speaks by leave and by permission ; 
And that we are contented, Cajsar shall 
Have all true rites, and lawful ceremonies. 
It shall advantage more, than do us wrong. 

Cas. I know not what may fall ; I like it not. 

Bru. Rlark Antony, here, take your Caesar's body. 
You shall not in your funeral speech blame ns. 
But speak all good you can devise of Ca;sar ; 
And say, you do 't by our permission ; 
Else shall you not have any hand at all 
About his funeral : And you shall speak 
In the same pulpit whereto I am going. 
After my speech is ended. 

Ant. Be it so; 

I do desire no more- 

Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us. 

[£ie.int aU but Antony. 



GQi 



JULIUS CiESAR. 



Ant. O, pardon me, thou piece of bleeding earth, 
Th'dt I am meek, and gentle with tliese butchers ! 
Thou art tiie ruins of ihe noblest man, 
That ever lived in the tide of times. 
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood ! 
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy, — 
Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips. 
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue ; — 
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men ; 
Domestic fury, and herce civil strife. 
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy : 
Blood and destruction shall be so in use, 
And dreadful objects so familiar, 
That mothers shall but smile, when they behold 
Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war ; 
All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds : 
And Ciesar's spirit, ranging for revenge. 
With Ai(: by his side, co, e hot from hell. 
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice. 
Cry Ildvoc, and let slip the dogs of war ; 
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth 
With carrion men groaning for burial. 

Enter a Servant. 
You serve Octavius Csesar, do you not? 

Serv. I do, Mark Antony. 

Aiit. Caesar did write for him, to come to Rome. 

Serv. He did receive his letters, and is coming : 
And bid me say to you by word of mouth, — 
O Caisar ! [Seeing ihe body. 

Ant. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. 
Passion, I see is catching ; for mine eyes. 
Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, 
Began to water. Is thy master coming? 

Serv. He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome. 

Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him what hath 
chanc'd : 
Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, 
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet ; 
Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay a while ; 
Thou shalt not back, till I have borne this corse 
Into the market-place : there shall I try, 
In my oration, how the people take 
The cruel issue of these bloody men ; 
According to the which, thou shalt discourse 
To young Octavius of the state of things. 
Lend me your hand. [Exeunt, with C«sah's body. 

SCENE \l.—The same. The Forum. 
Enter Bnuxus and Cassius, and a throng of Citizens. 

Cit. We will be satisfied ; let us be satisfied. 

Bru. Then follow me, and give me audience, 
Cassius, go you into the other street, [friends. — 
And part the numbers. — 

Those that will hear me speak, let them stay here ; 
Those that will follow Cassius, go with him ; 
And public reasons shall be rendered 
Of Cajsar's death. 

1 Cit, I will hear Brutus speak. 

2 Cit. I will hear Cassius; and compare their reasons, 
When severally we hear them rendered. 

[Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizens. 
Brutus goes into the Rostrum. 

3 Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended : Silence ! 
Bru. Be patient till the last. 

Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my 
cause ; and be silent, that you may hear: believe me 
for mine honour ; and have respect to mine honour, 
that you may believe : censure me in your wisdom ; 
and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. 
If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of 
Caesar's, to him 1 say, that Brutus' love to Cfflsar was 



no less than his. If then that friend demand, why 
Brutus rose against Caisar, {his is my answer, — Not 
that 1 loved Caisar less, but that I loved Rome more. 
Had you rather Caisar were living, and die all slaves ; 
than that Csesar were dead, to live all free men ! As 
Caisar loved me, 1 weep for him ; as he was fortunate, 
I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honour him: but, 
as he was ambitious, I slew him : There is tears, for 
his love ; joy, for his fortune ; honour, for his valour, 
and death, for his ambition. Who is here so base, 
that would be a bondman ? If any, speak; for him 
have I otl'ended. Who is here so rude, that would not 
be a Roman ! If any, speak; for him have I offended. 
Who is here so vile, that will not love his country ! 
If any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for 
a reply. 

Cit. None, Brutus, none. [Several speaking at once. 

Bru. Then none have I offended. I have done no 
more to Caesar, than you should do to Brutus. The 
question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol ; his 
glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor his 
offences enforced, for which he suflfered death. 

Enter Antony and others, with C«8ae's body. 

Here comes his body, mourn'd by Mark Antony; who, 
though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the 
benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth ; 
As which of you shall not"! With this I depart ; That, 
as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have 
the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my 
country to need my death. 

Cit. Live, Brutus, live ! live ! 

1 Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto his house. 

'2 Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 

3 Cit. Let him be Ciesar. 

4 Cit, Cffisar s better parts 
Shall now be crown'd in Brutus. 

1 Cit. We '11 bring him to his house with shouts and 
Bru. My countrymen, [clamours. 

2 Cit. Peace ; silence ! Brutus speaks. 
1 Cit. Peace, ho ! 

Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone. 
And, for my sake, stay here with Antony : 
Do grace to Cajsar's corpse, and grace his speech 
Tending to Cajsar's glories ; which Mark Antony, 
By our permission, is allow'd to make. 
I do entreat you, not a man depart, 
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [Exit. 

1 Cit. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony. 

3 Cit. Let him go up into the public chair ■ 
We'll hear him: Noble Antony, go up. 

Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beiiolden to you. 

4 Cit. What does he say of Brutus ? 

3 Cit. He says, for Brutus' sake. 
He finds himself beholden to us all. 

4 Cit. 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 

1 Cit. This Caesar was a tyrant. 

3 Cit. Nay, that 's certain : 

We are bless'd, that Rome is rid of him. 

2 Cit. Peace ; let us hear what Antony can say. 
Ant. You gentle Romans, 

Cit. Peace, ho ! let us hear him. 

Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your 
I come to bury Csesar, not to praise him. [ears, 

The evil that men do, lives after them ; 
The good is oft interred with their bones ; 
So let it be with Caisar. The noble Brutus 
Kath told you, Cffisar was ambitious : 
If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
And grievously hath Cassar answer'd it. 
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the resl, 
(For Brutus is an honourable man ; 



ACT III.-SCENE II. 



ms 



So are they all, all honourable men ;) 

Come 1 to speak in Caesar's funeral. 

He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 

But Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And Brutus is an honourable man. 

He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 

Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 

Did this in Cfesar seem ambitious"! 

When that the poor have cried, Cajsar hath wept : 

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: 

Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And Brutus is an honourable man. 

You all did see, that on the Lupercal, 

I thrice presented him a kingly crown. 

Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition t 

Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And, sure, he is an honourable man. 

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 

But here I am to speak what I do know. 

You all did love him once, not without cause ; 

What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ; 

judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts. 

And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me ; 
My heart is in the coffin there with Cajsar, 
And I must pause till it come back to me. 

1 Cit. Methinks, there is much reason in his sayings. 

2 Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter, 
CaBsar has had great wrong. 

3 Cit. Has he, masters? 

1 fear, there will a worse come in his place. 

4 Cit. Mark'd ye his words ? He would not take 

the crown ; 
Therefore, 'tis certain, he was not ambitious. 

1 Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 

2 Cit. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with weep- 

ing. [Antony. 

5 Cit. There 's not a nobler man in Rome, than 
4 Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. 
Ant. But yesterday, the word of Caesar might 

Have stood against the world : now lies he there, 
And none so poor to do him reverence. 

masters ! if I were dispos'd to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong. 
Who, you all know, are honourable men : 

1 will not do them wrong ; I rather choose 

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, 

Than I will wrong such honourable men. 

But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar, 

I found it in his closet, 'tis his will : 

Let but the commons hear this testament, 

nVhich pardon me, 1 do not mean to read,) 

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, 

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; 

Yea, beg a hair of him for memory. 

And, dying, mention it within their wills, 

Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, 

Unto their issue. 

4 Cit. We'll hear the will: Read it, Mark Antony. 

Cit. The will, the will ; we will hear Caesar's will. 

/inf. Have patience, gentle friends, 1 must not read 
It is not meet you know how Caasar lov'd you. [itj 
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ; 
And, being men, hearing the will of Caasar, 
It will inflame you, it will make you mad : 
'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ; 
For if you should, O, what would come of it! 

4 Cit. Read the will ; we will hear it, Antony; 
You shall read us the will ; Caesar's will. , 

Ant. Will you be patieot ] Will you stay a while 1 
I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it. 
I fear I wrong tiie honourable men. 



Whose daggers have stabb'd Csesar : I do fear it. 

4 Cit. They were traitors : Honourable men ! 

Cit. The will ! the testament! 

2 Cit. 'i'hey were villains, murderers : The will . 
read the will ! 

Ant. You will compel me then to read the will 1 
Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, 
And let me shew you him that made the will. 
Shall I descend; And will you give me leave? 

Cit. Come down. 

2 Cit. Descend. [He cnmes down f rum the pulpit. 

3 Cit. You shall have leave. 

4 Cit. A ring ; stand round. 

1 Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body. 

2 Cit. Room for Antony ; — most noble Antony. 
Ant. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far off. 
Cit. Stand back ! room ! bear back ! 

Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
You all do know this mantle : I remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent ; 
That day he overcame the Nervii : — 
Look! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through: 
See, what a rent the envious Casca made : 
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd ; 
And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, 
Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it ; 
As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd 
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no ; 
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov'd him ! 
This was the moit unkindest cut of all : 
For when tiie noble Caesar saw him stab, 
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 
Quite vanijuish'd him: then burst his mighty heart; 
And, in his mantle muffling up his face. 
Even at the base of Pompey's statue. 
Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 
O, what a fall was there my countrymen ! 
Then I, and you, and all of us (fAl down, 
Whilst bloody treason flourish'fi over us. 
O, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel 
The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. 
Kind souls, what weep you, when you but behold 
Our Cassar,'s vesture wounded ? Look you here. 
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 

1 Cit. O piteous spectacle ! 

2 Cit. O noble Caesar ! 

5 Cit. woful day ! 

4 Cit, O traitors, villains ! 

1 Cit. O most bloody sight ! 

2 Cit. We will be revenged : revenge ; about, — 
seek, — burn, — fire, — kill, — slay ! — let not a traitor 
live. 

Ant. Stay, countrymen. 

1 Cit. Peace there : — Hear the noble Antony. 

2 Cit. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die 
with him. 

Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, letme not stiryou 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny. [up 

They, that have done this deed, are honourable ; 
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not. 
That made them do't ; they are wise and honourable. 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; 
I am no orator, as Brutus is : 
But as you know me all, a plain blunt man. 
That love my friend ; and that they know full well 
That gave me public leave to speak of him. 
For 1 have neither wit, nor words, nor worth. 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
To stir men's blood : 1 only speak riijht oa ; 



()(iO 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



I tell you that, which you yourselves do know ; 
Shew you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb 

mouths. 
And bid them speak for me : But were I Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
In every wound of Csesar, that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 
Cit. We'll mutiny. 

1 Cit, We'll burn the house of Brutus. 

3 Cit. Away then, come, seek the conspirators. 

A7it. Yet hear me, countrymen ; yet hear me speak. 

Cit. Peace, ho! Hear Antony, most noble Antony. 

A7it, Why, friends, you go to do you know not what: 
Wherein hath Cssar thus deserv'd your loves ! 
Alas, you know not — I must tell you then : — 
You have forgot the will I told you of. [will. 

Cit. Most true ; the will : — let's stay, and hear the 

Ant. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. 
To every Roman citizen he gives. 
To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. 

2 Cit. Most noble Caesar ! — we'll revenge his death. 

3 Cit. O royal Cfesar ! 
Ajtt, Hear me with patience. 
Cit. Peace, ho ! 

Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, 
His private arbours, and new-planted orchards, 
On this side Tyber ; he hath left them you. 
And to your heirs for ever ; common pleasures, 
To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. 
Here was a Caesar : When comes such another? 

1 Cit. Never, never : Come, away, away ; 
We'll burn his body in the holy place, 
And with the brands fire the traitors houses. 
Take up the body. 

2 Cit. Go, fetch fire. 

3 Cit. Pluck down benches. 

4 Cit. Pluck down forms, windows, any thing. 

[Eieuwf Citizens, unth the bodi/. 

Ant. Now let it work ; Mischief ; thou art afoot. 

Take thou what course thou wilt ! — How now, fellow? 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome. 

Ant. Where is he 1 

Serv. He and f^epidus are at Caesar's house. 

Ant. And thither will 1 straight to visit him: 
He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry. 
And in this mood will give us any thing. 

Serv. I heard him say, Brutus and Cassius 
Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome. 

Ant. Belike, they had some notice of the people. 
How I had moved them. Bring me to Octavius. 

[^Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— ne same. A Street. 

Enter Cinna, the Poet. 

Cin. I dreamt to-night, that I did feast with Caesar, 
And things unluckily charge my fantasy : 
I have no will to wander forth of doors, 
Yet something leads me forth. 

Enter Citizens. 

1 Cit. What is your name 7 

2 Cit. Wliither are you going? 

3 Cit. Where do you dwell ? 

4 Cit. Are you a married man, or a bachelor? 

2 Cit. Answer every man directly. 
1 Cit. Ay, and briefly. 

4 Cit. Ay, and wisely. 

3 Cit. Ay, and truly, you were best. 

Cin. What is my name ? Whither am I going ? 



Where do I dwell? Am I a married man, or aba* 
chelor ? Then to answer every man directly, and 
briefly, wisely, and truly. VVisely I say, I am a ba- 
chelor. 

'2 Cit. That's as much as to say, they are fools that 
marry : You'll bear me a bang for that, I fear. Pro- 
ceed ; directly. 

Cin. Directly, I am going to Caesar's funeral. 

1 Cit. As a friend, or an enemy? 
Cin. As a friend. 

2 Cit. That matter is answered directly. 
4 Cit. For your dwelling, — briefly. 
Cin. Briefly, 1 dwell by the Capitol. 

3 Cit. Your name, sir, truly. 
Ci'i. Truly, my name is Cinna. 

1 Cit. Tear him to pieces, he's a conspirator. 
Cirt. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet. 

4 Cit. Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for 
his bad verses. 

2 Cit. It is no matter, his name's Cinna ; pluck but 
his name out of his heart, and turn him going. 

3 Cif. Tear him, tear him. Come, brands, ho ' 
fire-brands. To Brutus', to Cassius'; burn all. Some 
to Decius' house, and some to Casca's ; some to Li- 
garius'; away; go. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — The same. A Room in Antony's House. 

Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus, seated at a table. 

Ant. These many then shall die ; their names are 
prick'd. 

Oct. Your brother too must die ; Consent you, Le- 

Lep. I do consent. [pidus ? 

Oct. Prick him down, Antony. 

Lep, Upon condition Publius shall not live, 
Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony. 

Ant. He shall not live ; look, with a spot I damn 
But, Lepidus, go you to Caesar's house ; [him. 

Fetch the will hither, and we will determine 
How to cut oflfsome charge in legacies. 

Lep. What, shall I find you here ? 

Oct. Or here, or at 

The Capitol. [Exit Lepidus. 

Ant. This is a slight unmeritable man. 
Meet to be sent on errands : Is it fit, 
The three-fold world divided, he should stand 
One of the three to share it? 

Oct. So you thought him ; 

And took his voice who should be prick'd to die. 
In our black sentence and proscription. 

Ant. Octavius, I have seen more days than you : 
And though we lay these honours on this man, 
Tc ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads. 
He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold, 
To groan and sweat under the business. 
Either led or driven, as we point the way ; 
And having brought our treasure where we will, 
Then take we down his load, and turn him off", 
Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears, 
And graze in commons. 

Oct. You may do your will ; 

But he's a tried and valiant soldier. 

Ant. So is my horse, Octavius ; and, for that, 
I do appoint him store of provender. 
It is a creature that I teach to fight. 
To wind, to stop, to run directly on ; 
His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit. 
And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so ; 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



667 



He must be taught, and tiain'd, and bid go forth : 

A barren-spirited fellow ; one that feeds 

On objects, arts, and imitations ; 

Which, out of use, and stal'd by other men. 

Begin his fashion : Do not talk of him, 

But as a property. And now, Octavius, 

Listen great things. — Brutus and Cassias 

Are levying powers : we must straight make head: 

Therefore, let our alliance be combin'd. 

Our best friends made, and our best means stretch'd 

And let us presently go sit in council, [out; 

How covert matters may be best disclos'd. 

And open perils surest answered. 

Oct. Let us do so : for we are at the stake, 
And bay'd about with many enemies ; 
And some, that smile, have in their hearts, I fear. 
Millions of mischief. [_Eieurt. 

SCENE II. 

Before Brutus' Tent, in the Camp near Sardis. 

Drum. Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and Sol- 
diers : TiTiNius and Pindarus meeting them. 

Bru. Stand here. 

Luc. Give the word, ho ! and stand. 

Bru. What now, Lucilius 1 is Cassius near? 

Luc, He is at hand ; and Pindarus is come 
To do you salutation from his master. 

[Pindarus gives a letter to Brutus. 

Bru. He greets me well. — Your master, Pindarus, 
In his own change, or by ill officers, 
Hath given me some worthy cause to wish 
Things done, undone : but, if he be at hand, 
I shall be satisfied. 

Pin. I do not doubt. 

But that my noble master will appear 
Such as he is, fall of regard, and honour. 

Bru, He is not doubted. — A word, Lucilius ; 
How he receiv'd you, let me be resolv'd. 

Luc. With courtesy, and with respect enough ; 
But not with such familiar instances. 
Nor with such free and friendly conference. 
As he hath used of old. 

Bru. Thou hast describ'd 

A hot friend cooling : Ever note, Lucilius, 
When love begins to sicken and decay. 
It useth an enforced ceremony. 
There are no tricks in plain and simple faith : 
But hollow men, like horses hot at hand. 
Make gallant show and promise of their mettle : 
But when they should endure the bloody spar. 
They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades. 
Sink in the trial. Comes his army on? 

Luc. They mean this night in Sardis to be quarter'd ; 
The greater part, the horse in general. 
Are come with Cassius. [March within. 

Bru. Hark, he is arriv'd : — 

Alarch gently on to meet him. 

Enter Cassius and Soldiers. 

Cas, Stand, ho ! 

Bru. Stand, ho ! Speak the word along. 

]Vithin. Stand. 

Within. Stand. 

Within. Stand. 

Cas. Most noble brother, you have done me wrong. 

Bru. Judge me, you gods? Wrong I mine enemies? 
And, if not so, how should 1 wrong a brother ? 

Cas. Brutus, lliis sober form of yours hides wrongs ; 
And when you do them 

Bru. Cassius be content, 



Speak your griefs softly, — I do know you well : — 
Before the eyes of both our armies here. 
Which should perceive nothing but love from us. 
Let us not wrangle : Bid them move away ; 
Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs. 
And I will give you audience. 

Cas. Pindarus, 

Bid our commanders lead their charges off 
A little from this ground. 

-B»'«. Lucilius, do you the like ; and let no man 
Come to our tent, till we have done our conference. 
Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 111.— Within the Tent o/ Brutus. 

Lucius and Titinius at some distance from it. 

Enter Brutus and Cassius. 

Cas, That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this : 
You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella, 
For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
Wherein, my letters, praying on his side, 
Because I knew the man, were slighted off. 

Bru, You wrong'd yourself, to write in such a case. 

Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet 
That every nice offence should bear his comment. 

Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm ; 
To sell and mart your offices for gold, 
I'o undeservers. 

Cas, I an itching palm ? 

You know, that you are Brutus that speak this, 
Or, by the gods,' this speech were else your last. 

Bru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption, 
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. 

Cas. Chastisement ! 

Bru. Remember March, the ides of March remem- 
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake? [ber! 
What villain touch'd his body, that did stab. 
And not for justice ? What, shall one of us. 
That struck the foremost man of all this world. 
But for supporting robbers ; shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes ? 
And sell the mighty space of our large honours. 
For so much trash, as may be grasped thus ? — 
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
Than such a Roman. 

Cas, Brutus, bay not me, 

I'll not endure it : you forget yourself, 
To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I, 
Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 

Bru, Go to ; you 're not, Cassius. 

Cas, I am. 

Bru. I say, you are not. 

Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; 
Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. 

Bru, Away, slight man ! 

Cas. Is 't possible ? 

Bru Hear me, for I will speak. 

Must I give way and room to your rash choler ? 
Shall I be frighted, when a madman stares >. 

Cas. O gods ! ye gods! Must I endure all this? 

Bru, All this? ay, and more: Fret till your proud 
heart break ; 
Go, shew your slaves how choleric you are, 
And make your bondmen tremble. JNIust I budge 1 
Must 1 observe you ? Must I stand and crouch 
Under your testy humour? By the gods. 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen, 
Though it do split you • for, from this day forth, 
I '11 use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter. 
When you are waspish. 



668 



JULIUS CiESAR. 



Cas. Is it come to this 1 

Bru. You say, you are a better soldier : 
Lei it appear so ; make your vaunting true, 
And it shall please me well : For mine own part, 
1 shall be glad to learn of noble men. 

Cas. You wrong me every way ; you wrong me, 
I said, an elder soldier, not a better : [Brutus ; 

Did I say, better 1 

Bru. If you did, I care not. [me. 

Cas. When Caesar liv'd, he durst not thus have mov'd 

Brii. Peace, peace ; you durst not so have tempted 

Ccis. I durst not"! [him. 

Bru. No. 

Cas. What? durst not tempt him ? 

Bm. For your life, you durst not. 

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love, 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. 
There is no terror, Cassius, m your threats ; 
For I am arm'd so strong in honesty, 
That they pass by me as the idle wind, 
Which 1 respect not. I did send to you 
For certain sums of gold, which you deny'd me ; — 
For I can raise no money by vile means : 
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart. 
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash, 
By any indirection. I did send 
'I'o you for gold to pay my legions. 
Which you denied me : Was that done like Cassius? 
Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so 1 
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous. 
To lock such rascal counters from his friends. 
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 
Dash him to pieces ! 

Cas. 1 denied you not. 

Bru. You did. 

Cas. I did not : — he was but a fool, 

That brought my answer back. — Brutus hath riv'd my 
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities ; [heart ; 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 

Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. 

Cas. You love me not. 

Bru. I do not like your faults. 

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 

Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear 
As huge as high Olympus. 

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come. 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius is aweary of the world : 
Hated by one he loves ; brav'd by his brother ; 
Check'd like a bondman ; all his faults observ'd. 
Set in a note-book, learn'd and conn'd by rote. 
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger. 
And here my naked breast ; within, a heart 
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold : 
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
Strike, as thou didst at Caesar ; for, I know. 
When thou didst hatehim worst, thou lov'dst him better 
Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius. 

Bru. Sheath your dagger : 

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; 
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. 
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb 
That carries anger, as the flint bears fire ; 
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark. 
And straight is cold again. 

Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd 

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
'When grief, and blood ill-temper'd vexeth him? 



Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too, 

Cas. Do you confess so much 1 Give me your hand. 

Bru. And my heart too. 

Cas. Brutus !— 

Bru. What's the matter ? 

Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, 
When that rash humour, which my mother gave me. 
Makes me forgetful ? 

Bru. Yes, Cassius ; and, henceforth, 

When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
He '11 thiuk your mother chides, and leave you so. 

[iVoisf within. 

Poet. [^Within. Let me go in to see the generals; 
There is some grudge between them, 'tis not meet 
They be alone. 

Luc. [Within. You shall not come to them. 

Poet. [Within.] Nothing but death shall stay me. 

Enter Poet. 

Cas. How now ? What's the matter ? 

Poet. For shame, you generals ; What do you mean? 
Love, and be friends, as two such men should be ; 
For I have seen more years, I am sure, than ye. 

Cas. Ha, ha; how vilely doth this cynic rhyme! 

Bru. Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence. 

Cas. Bear with him, Brutus; 'tis his fashion. 

Bru. I'll know his humour, when he knows his time : 
What should the wars do with these jigging fools ? 
Companion, hence. 

Cas. Away, away, be gone. [Exit Poet. 

Enter Lucii.ius and Titinius. 

Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders 
Prepare to lodge their companies to-night. [you 

Cus. And come yourselves, and bring Messala with 
Immediately to us. [Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius. 

Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine. 

Cas. I did not think, you could have been so angry, 

Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. 

Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use. 
If you give place to accidental evils. 

Bru. No man bears sorrow better: — Portia is dead. 

Cas. Ha ! Portia ? 

Bru. She is dead. 

Cas. How scap'd I killing, when I cross'd you sol- - 

insupportable and touching loss ! — 
Upon what sickness? 

Bru. Impatient of my absence ; 

And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony 
Have made themselves so strong ; — for with her death 
That tidings came ; — With this she fell distract. 
And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire. 

Cas. And died so ? 

Bru. Even so. 

Cas. O ye immortal gods ! 

Enter Lucius, with wine and tapers. 

Brn. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine : 
In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. [Drinks, 

Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge : — 
Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup ; 

1 cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. [Drinks, 

lie-enter Titinius with Messala. 

Bru. Comein, Titinius : — Welcome, good Messala 
Now sit we close about this taper here. 
And call in question our necessities. 

Cas. Portia, art thou gone ? 

Bru. No more, I pray you.— 

Messala, I have here received letters, 
That young Octavius, and Mark Antony, 
Come down upon us with a mighty power. 
Bending their expedition toward Philippi. 




JULIUS CJESAU. 



Oho97. To tell thee, thou shalt eee me at Philippi. 

Act ly., ilotnt 3. 



ACT IV.- SCENE III. 



669 



Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same tenour. 
Bru. With what addition ' 

Mes. That by proscription, and bills of outlawry, 
Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, 
Have put to death an hundied senators. 

Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree ; 
Mine speak of seventy senators that died, 
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. 
Cos. Cicero one ? 

Mes. Ay, Cicero is dead, 

And by that order of proscription. — 
Had you your letters from your wife, my lora ? 
Bru. No, Messala. 

Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her 1 
Bru. Nothing, Messala. 

Mes, That, methinks, is strange- 

Bru. Why ask you 1 Hear you aught of her in you^s ? 
Mes. No, my lord. 

Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. 
Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell : 
For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. 

Br«.Why,farewell,Portia. — Wemustdie, Messala : 
With meditating that she must die once, 
I have the patience to endure it now. 

Mes. Even so great men great losses should endure. 
Cas. I have as much of this in art as you, 
But yet my nature could not bear it so. 

Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do you think 
Of marching to Philippi presently ] 
Cas. I do not think it good. 
J37-M. Your reason 1 

Cas. This it is : 

'Tis better, that the enemy seek us : 
So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers. 
Doing himself offence ; whilst we, lying still. 
Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. 

Bru. Good reasons must, offeree, give place tobet- 
The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground, [ter, 
Do stand but in a forc'd affection ; 
For they have grudg'd us contribution : 
The enemy, marching along by them. 
By them shall make a fuller number up. 
Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encourag'd ; 
From which advantage shall we cut him off. 
If at Philippi we do face him there, 
These people at our back. 

Cas. Hear me, good brother. 

Bru. Under your pardon. — You must note beside. 
That we have try'd the utmost of our friends. 
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe : 
The enemy increaseth every day. 
We, at the height, are ready to decline. 
There is a tide in the affairs of men. 
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ; 
Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
Is bound in shallows, and in miseries 
On such a full sea are we now afloat , 
And we must take the current when it serves. 
Or lose our ventures. 

Cas. Then, with your will, go on; 

We'll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi. 

Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our talk, 
And nature must obey necessity ; 
Which we will niggard with a little rest. 
There is no more to say 1 

Cas, No more. Goodnight; 

Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. 

BiM. Lucius, my gown. [Exit Lucius.] Farewell; 
good Messala ; — 
Good night, Titinius .—Noble, noble Cassius, 
Good niglit, and good repose. 

Cos niy dear brother ! 



This was an ill beginning of the night : 
Never come such division 'tween our souls ! 
Let it not, Brutus. 

Bru. Every thing is weih'' 

Cas. Good night, my lord. 

Bru. Good night, good brother. 

Tit. Mes. Good night, lord Brutus. 

Bru. ^y Farewell, every one. 

,^ \Exeunt Cas. Tit. and. Mus 

'SA-enter Lucius, with the gown. 

Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument"! 

Iaic. Here in the tent. 

Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily? 

Poor knave, I blame thee not ; thou art o'er-watch'd. 
Call Claudius, and some other of my men ; 
I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent. 

Luc. Varro, and Claudius ! 

Enter Varro and Claudius. 

Var. Calls my lord ? 

Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent, and sleep ; 
It may be, 1 shall raise you by and by 
On business to my brother Cassius. [pleasure. 

Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch yo'.r 

Bru. I will not have it so: lie down, good sirs ; 
It may be, I shall otherwise bethink me. 
Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so : 
I put it in the pocket of my gown. [Servants lie ilown. 

Luc. I was sure, your lordship did not give it me. 

Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. 
Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile. 
And touch thy instrument a strain or two 1 

Luc, Ay, my lord, an it please you. 

Bru. It does, my boy : 

I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. 

Luc. It is my duty, sir. 

Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy might ; 
I know, young bloods look for a time of rest. 

Luc. I have slept, my lord, already. 

Bru. It is well done ; and thou shalt sleep again : 
I will not hold thee long : if I do live, 
I will be good to thee. [Music, and a song. 

This is a sleepy tune: — O murd'rous slumber ! 
Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy. 
That plays thee music 1 — Gentle knave, good night; 
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. 
If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument; 
I'll take it from thee: and, good boy, good night. 
Let me see, let me see: — Is not the leaf turn'd down, 
Where I left reading? Here it is, I think. 

\_He siti down. 

Enter the Ghost of C.v.sar. 

How ill this taper burns ! — Ha ! who comes here? 
I think, it is the weakness of mine eyes, 
That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
It comes upon me : — Art thou any thing 1 
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 
That mak'stmy blood cold, and my hair to stare ' 
Speak to me, what thou art. 
Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 
Bru, Why com'st thou ^ 

Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi. 
Bru. Well; 
Then I shall see thee again 1 

Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. [Ghost vanishes 

Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi then. — 
Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest : 
111 spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. — 
Boy! Lucius! — Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake !- 
Claudius ! 



670 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



Ltic, The strings, my lord, are false. 

Bru. He thinks, he still is at his instrument. — 
Lucius, awake. 

Luc. My lord ! [out ? 

Bri/. Didstthou dream, Lucius, that thou so cry'dst 

Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry. 

Bru. Yes, that thou didst : Didst thou see any thing ? 

Luc. Nothing, my lord. 

Bin. Sleep again, Lucius.— Sirrah, Claudius ! 
Fellow thou ! awake- 
Far. My lord. 

Clan. Mv lord. 

Bru. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep? 

Var. Clau. Did we, my lord 1 

Bru. Ay ; Saw you any thing ? 

Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing. 

Ctau. Nor I, my lord. 

Bru. Go, and commend me to my brother Cassius ; 
Bid him set on his powers betimes before. 
And we will follow. 

Var. Clau. It shall be done, my lord. [Exeunf. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I.— The Plains of Philippi. 
Enter Octavius, Antony, and their Army. 

Oct, Now. Antony, our hopes are answered : 
You said, the enemy would not come down, 
But keep the hills and upper regions ; 
It proves not so : their battles are at hand ; 
They mean to warn us at Philippi here. 
Answering before we do demand of them. 

Ant. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know 
Wherefore they do it; they could be content 
To visit other places ; and come down 
With fearful bravery, thinking, by tliis face. 
To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage ; 
But 'tis not so. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Prepare you, generals : 

The enemy comes on in gallant show ; 
Their bloody sign of battle is hung out, 
And something to be done immediately. 

Ant. Octavius, lead your battle softly on, 
Upon the left hand of the even field. 

Oct. Upon the right hand I, keep thou the left. 

Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent? 

Oct. I do not cross you ; but I will do so. [March. 

Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius, and their Army ; 
LuciLius, TiTiNius, Messala, and others. 

Bru. They stand, and would have parley. 

Cas. Stand fast, Titinius : We must out and talk. 

Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle ? 

Ant. No, Cffisar, we will answer on their charge. 
Make forth, the generals would have some words. 

Oct. Stir not until the signal. 

Bru. Words before blows : Is it so, countrymen? 

Oct. Not that we love words better, as you do. 

Bru. Good words are better than bad strokes, Octa- 
vius. [words : 

Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good 
Witness the hole you made in Cajsar's heart. 
Crying, Long live! hail, Ccesar ! 

Cas. Antony, 

The posture of your blows are yet unknown ; 
But for your words, they rob the Uybla bees, 
And leave them honeyless. 



Ant. Not stingless too. 

Bru. O, yes, and soundless too ; 
I'or you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony, 
And, very wisely, threat before you sting. 

Ant. ^'iilains, you did not so, when your vile daggers 
Hack'd one another in the sides of Cffisar ; [hounds. 
You shew'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like 
And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Cffisar's feet ; 
^\'hilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind. 
Struck CjEsar on the neck. O flatterers I 

Cas. Flatterers !— Now, Brutus, thank yourself : 
This tongue had not offended so to-day. 
If Cassius might have rul'd. 

Oct. Come, come, the cause : If arguing make us 
The proof of it will turn to redder drops. [sweat. 
Look ; 

I draw a sword against conspirators , 
When think you that the sword goes up again? — 
Never, till Ca;sar's three and twenty wounds 
Be well aveng'd ; or till another Ceesar 
Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors. 

Bru. Cffisar, thou can'st not die by traitors, 
Unless thou bring'st them with thee. 

Oct. So I hope ; 

I was not born to die on Brutus' sword. 

Bru. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain. 
Young man, thou could'st not die more honourable. 

Cas. A peevish schoolboy, worthless of such honour, 
Join'd with a masker and a reveller. 

Ant. Old Cassius still ! 

Oct. Come, Antony ; away. — 

Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth : 
If you dare fight to-day, come to the field ; 
If not, when you have stomachs. 

[Exeunt Octavius, Antony, and their Army. 

Cns. Why now, blow,wind^ swell,billow ; and swim, 
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. [bark ' 

Bru. Ho ! 
Lucilius ; hark, a word with you. 

Luc. My lord. 

[Brutus and Lucilius converse apart, 

Cas. IMessala, — 

Mes. What says my general ? 

Cas. fllessala, 

This is my birth-day ; as this very day 
Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala • 
Be thou my witness, that, against my will. 
As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set 
Upon one battle all our liberties. 
You know, that I held Epicurus strong. 
And his opinion : now I change my mind, 
And partly credit things that do presage. 
Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign 
Two mighty eagles fell ; and there they perch'd. 
Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands ; 
Who to Philippi here consorted us ; 
This morning are they fled away, and gone ; 
And in their steads, do ravens, crows, and kites, 
Fly o'er our heads, and downward look on us. 
As we were sickly prey ; their shadows seem 
A canopy most fatal, under which 
Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost. 

Mes. Believe not so. 

Cas. I but believe it partly ; 

For I am fresh of spirit, and resolv'd 
To meet all perils very constantly. 

J3rM. Even so, Lucilius. 

Cas. Now, most noble Brutus, 

The gods to-day stand friendly ; that we may. 
Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age ! 
But, since the affairs of men rest still uncertain, 
Let's reason with the worst that may befall. 



ACT v.— SCENE III. 



671 



If we do lose this battle, then is this 

The very last time we shall speak together: 

What are you then delermined to do i 

Bru. Even by the rule of that philosophy, 
By which I did blame Cato for the death 
Which he did give himself: — 1 know not how, 
But 1 do find it cowardly and vile, 
For fear of what might fall, so to prevent 
The time of life : — arming myself with patience. 
To stay the providence of some high powers, 
That govern us below. 

Cas. Then, if we lose this battle, 

You are contented to be led in triumph 
I'horoiigli the streets of Rome ! 

Bru. i\'o,Cassius, no: think not, thou noble Roman, 
That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome ; 
He bears too great a mind. But this same day 
Must end that work, the ides of .March begun ; 
And whether we shall meet again I know not. 
Therefore our everlasting farewell take : — 
For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius ! 
If we do meet again, why we shall smile ; 
If not, why then this parting was well made. 

Cas. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus ! 
If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed ; 
If not, 'tis true, this parting was well made. 

Bnt. Why then, lead on. — O.thatamanmightknow 
The end of this day's business, ere it come 1 
But it sufficeth, that the day will end. 
And then the end is known, — Come, ho ! away ! 

\^E.ieii>it. 

SCENE II The same. Tlie Field of Battle. 

Alarum. Enter Brutus and jMessala. 

Bru. Ride, ride, jVIessala, ride, and give these bills 
Unto the legions on the other side : [Loud alarum. 
Let them set on at once ; for I perceive 
But cold demeanour in Octavius' wing. 
And sudden push gives them the overtlirow. 
Ride, ride, Messala: let them all come down. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The same. Another Part of the Field. 
Alarum. Enter Cassius and Titinius. 

Cas. O, looK, Titinius, look, the villains fly! 
Myself have to mine own turn'd enemy: 
This ensign here of mine was turning back ; 
I slew the coward, and did take it from him. 

Tit. O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early : 
Who having some advantage on Octavius, 
Took it too eagerly ; his soldiers fell to spoil, 
Whilst we by Antony are all enclos'd. 

Enter PiNDARUs. 

Pin. Fly further off, my lord, fly further off; 
Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord ! 
Fly therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off. 

Cus. This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius; 
Are those my tents, where I perceive the fire ? 

Tit. They are, my lord. 

Cas. Titinius, if thou lov'st me, 

Mount thou my horse, and hide thv spurs in him, 
Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops, 
And here again ; that I may rest assur'd, 
Whether yond' troops are friend or enemy. 

Tit. 1 will be here again, even vvith a thought. [Eri£. 

Cas. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill; 
My siglit was ever thick ; regard Titinius, 
And tell me what thou not'st about the field. — 

[Exit Pindarus. 
This day I breathed first : time is come round, 



And where I did begin, there shall I end ; 

My life is run his compass. — Sirrah, what news'! 

Pin. [Above.] my lord! 

Cas. What newsl 

Pin. Titinius is 
Enclosed round about with horsemen, that 
Make to him on the spur ; — yet he spurs on. — 
Now they are almost on him ; now, Titinius ! — 
Now some 'light : — O, he 'lights too: — he's ta'en ; 
— and hark ! [Shout. 

They shout for joy. 

Cas. Come down, behold no more. — 

O, coward that I am, to live so long, 
To see my best friend ta'en before my face ! 

Enter Pindarus. 
Come hither, sirrah : 
In Parthia did I take thee prisoner; 
And then 1 swore thee, saving of thy life, 
That whatsoever I did bid thee do, 
Thou should'stattemptit. Come now, keep thine oath! 
Now be a freeman ;' and, with this good sword. 
That ran through Cffisar's bowels, search this bosom. 
Stand not to answer : Here, take thou the hilts ; 
And, when my face is cover'd, as 'tis nov/. 
Guide thou the sword. — Caesar, thou art reveng'd. 
Even with the sword that kill'd thee. [Dies. 

Pin. So, I am free ; yet would not so have been, 
Durst I have done my will. Cassius ! 
Far from this country Pindarus shall run, 
Where never Roman shall take note of him. [Eiif. 

Pe-enter Titinius, with Messala. 

Mes. It is but change, Titinius ; for Octaviu.s 
Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power. 
As Cassius' legions are by Antony. 

Tit. These tidings will well comfort Cassius. 

Mes. Where did you leave him ? 

Tit. All disconsolate. 

With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill. 

Mes. Is not that he that lies upon the ground! 

Tit. He lies not like the living. O my heart ! 

Mes. Is not that he 1 

Tit. No, this was he, Messala, 

But Cassius is no more. — O setting sun 1 
As in thy red rays thou dost sink to-night. 
So in his red blood Cassius' day is set ; 
The sun of Rome is set! Our day is gone ; 
Clouds, dews, and dangers come ; our deeds are done! 
Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. 

Mes. Mistrust of good success hath done this deed. 
O hateful error, melancholy's child ! 
Why dost thou shew to the apt thoughts of men 
The things that are notl O error, soon conceiv'd, 
Thou ijever com'st unto a happy birth. 
But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee. 

Tit. What, Pindarus! Where arimou, Pindarus? 

Mes. Seek him, Titinius : whilst I go to meet 
The noble Brutus, thrusting this report 
Into his ears : I may say, thrusting it ; 
For piercing steel, and darts envenomed. 
Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus, 
As tidings of this sight. 

Tit. Hie you, Messala, 

And I will seek for Pindarus the while. [Exit Mes. 
Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius? 
Did I not meet thy friends? and did not they 
Put on my brows this wreath of victory. 
And bid me giv't thee 1 Didst thou not hear their 
Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing, [shouts? 
But hold thee, take this garland on thy brow; 
Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I 
Will do his bidding. — Brutus, come apace, 



672 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



And see how I regarded Caius Casslus. — 

By your leave, gods : — This is a Roman's part: 

Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart. [/)jes. 

Alarum. Re-enter Messala, with Brutus, young 
Cato, Strato, Volumnius, and Lucilius. 

Bru. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie? 

Mes. Lo, yonder ; and Titinius mourning it. 

Bru, Titinius' face is upward. 

Cato. He is slain. 

Bru. O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet ! 
Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords 
In our own proper entrails. [Low alarums. 

Cato. Brave Titinius ! 

Look whe'r he have not crown'd dead Cassius ! 

Bru. Are yet two Romans living such as these ? — 
The last of all the Romans, fare thee well ! 
It is impossible, that ever Rome 
Should breed thy fellow. — Friends, I owe more tears 
To this dead man, than you shall see me pay. — 
I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. — 
Come, therefore, and to Thassos send his body; 
His funeral shall not be in our camp. 
Lest it discomfort us. — Lucilius, come ; — 
And come, young Cato ; let us to the field. — 
Labeo, and Flavins, set our battles on : — 
'Tis three o'clock ; and, Romans, yet ere night 
We shall try fortune in a second fight. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Another Part of the Field. 

Alai-um. Enter fighting. Soldiers of both Armies; 
then Brutus, Cato, Lucilius, and others. 

Bru. Yet, countrymen, 0, yet hold up your heads ! 

Cttfo. What bastard doth not? Whowill gowithmel 
I will proclaim my name about the field : — • 
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! 
A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend ; 
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! [Charges the enemy. 

Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I ; 
Brutus, my country's friend ; know me for Brutus. 
[Exit, charging the enemy. Cato is over- 
powered, and falls. 

Luc. O young and noble Cato, art thou down ] 
Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius ; 
And may'st be honour'd being Cato's son. 

1 Sold. Yield, or thou diest. 

Luc. Only I yield to die* 

There is so much, that thou wilt kill me straight ; 

[Offering money. 
Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death. 

1 Sold. We must not. — A noble prisoner. 

2 Sold. Room, ho I Tell Antony ; Brutus is ta'en. 
iSold, I'll tell the news. — Here comes the general: — 

Enter Antony. 

Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord. 

Ant. Where is he? 

Luc. Safe, Antony ; Brutus is safe enough ; 
I dare assure thee, that no enemy 
Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus : 
The gods defend him from so great a shame ! 
When you do find him, or alive, or dead. 
He will be found like Brutus, like himself. 

Ant. This is not Brutus, friend ; but, I assure you, 
A prize no less in worth : keep this man safe. 
Give him all kindness: I had rather have 
Such men my friends, than enemies. Go on, 
And see whe'r Brutus be alive, or dead : 
And bring us word, unto Octavius' tent, 
How every thing is chanc'd. [Exeunt. 



SCENE v.— Another Part of the Field. 

Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and 
Volumnius. 

Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock. 

Cli. Statilius shew'd the torch-light ; but, my lord, 
He came not back ; he is or ta'en, or slain. 

Bru. Sit thee down, Clitus : Slaying is the word ; 
It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. — 

[Whispering. 

Cli. What, I, my lord ! No, not for all the world. 

Bru. Peace then, no words. 

Cli. I'll rather kill myself. 

Brii. Hark thee, Dardanius ! [Whispers him. 

Dar. I do such a deed ? 

Cli. O, Dardanius ! 

Dar. O Clitus ! 

Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to thee ? 

Dar. To kill him, Clitus ; Look, he meditates. 

Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief. 
That it runs over even at his eyes. 

Bru. Gome hither, good Volumnius : list a word. 

Vol. What says my lord? 

Bru. Why, this, Volumnius : 

The ghost of Cassar hath appeared to me 
Two several limes by night : at Sardis, once ; 
And, this last night, here in Philippi' fields. 
I know, my hour is come. 

Vol. Not so, my lord. 

Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. 
Thou see'st the world, Volumnius, how it goes , 
Our enemies have beat us to the pit : 
It is more worthy, to leap in ourselves, 
Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, 
Thou know'st that we two went to school together ; 
Even for that our love of old, I pray thee. 
Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it. 

Vol. That's not an office for a friend, my lord. 

[Alarum still. 

Cli. Fly, fly, my lord ; there is no tarrying here. 

-Bru, Farewell to you — and you ; — and you, Volum- 
Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep ; [nius. — 
Farewell to thee too, Strato. — Countrymen, 
My heart doth joy, that yet, in all my life, 
I found no man, but he was true to me. 
I shall have glory by this losing day. 
More than Octavius, and Mark Antony, 
By this vile conquest shall attain unto. 
So, fare you well at once ; for Brutus' tongue 
Hath almost ended his life's history : 
Night hangs upon mine eyes ; my bones would rest. 
That have but labour'd to attain this hour. 

[Alarum, Cry within ; Fly, fly, fly, 

Cli. Fly, my lord, fly. 

Bru. Hence ; I will follow thee. 

[Exeunt Cutus, Dardanius, and Voluknius. 
I pr'ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord : 
Thou art a fellow of a good respect ; 
Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it : 
Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face, 
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato 7 

Stra. Give me your hand first: Fare you well, my lord. 

Bru. Farewell, good Strato. — Caesar, now be still : 
I kill'd not thee with half so good a will. 

[He runs on his sword, and dies. 

Alarum. Retreat. Enter Octavius, Antony 
Messala, Lucilius, and their army. 

Oct. What man is that ? 

Mes. My master's man. — Strato,where is thy master? 
Stra. Free from the bondage you are in, Messala ; 
The conquerors can but make a fire of him ; 



ACT v.— SCENE V. 



For Brutus only overcame himself, 

And no man else hath honour by his death. 

Luc. So Brutus should be found. — I thank thee, 
That thou hast piov'd Lucilius' saying true. [Brutus, 

Oct. All that serv'd Brutus, I will entertain them. 
Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me ? 

Stra. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you. 

Oct. Do so, good Messala. 

Mes. How died my master, Strato ? 

Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on it. 

Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow thee. 
That did the latest service to my master. 

Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all : 



673 



All the conspirators, save only he, 

Did that they did in envy of great Cssar ; 

He, only, in a general honest thought. 

And common good to all, made one of them. 

His life was gentle ; and the elements 

So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up. 

And say to all the world. This was a man ! 

Oct. According to his virtue let us use him. 
With all respect, and rites of burial. 
Within my tent his bones tonight shall lie. 
Most like a soldier, order'd honourably. — ' 
So, call the field to rest : and let's away, 
To part the glories of this happy day. [Exeunt. 






ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 

This pJay was entered in the Stationers' books. May 2, 1608; and was, accord-Ing to the conjecture of Malone, comnosed in 
the same year. It was not, however, printed till the folio of 162;t. a«""<:i tomposeu in 

The subject is taken from Plutarch's Life of Antony, which has been closely followed. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



? 



M. Antony, 

Octavius C«sar, ' triumvirs 
M. ^MiL. Lepidus, ) 
Sextus Po.mpeius. 

DoMiTius Enobarbus, Ventidius, Eros, Scarus, 

Dercetas, Demetrius, Philo, /rie?irfio/' Antony. 

MeCvEnas, Agrippa, Dolabella, Proculeius, Thy- 

REus, Gallus, friends to Csesar. 
Men AS, Menecrates, Varrius, /riends o/'Pompey. 
Taurus, lieutenant-general to Csesar. 
Canidius, lieutenant-general to Antony. 
SiLius, an officer in Ventidius's army. 
EuPHRONius, an ambassador from Antony to Caesar. 
Alexas, Mardian, Seleucus, and Diomedes ; 

attendants on Cleopatra. 
A Soothsayer. A Clown. 

Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt. 
Octavia, sister to Csesar, and wife to Antony. 
Charmian and Iras, attendants on Cleopatra. 
Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants. 

SCENE, — dispersed ; in several parts of the 
Roman Empire. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. 
Alexandria. — A Room in Cleopatra's Palace. 
Enter Demetrius and PniLO. 
Phi. Nay, but this dotage of our general's 
O'erflows the measure : those his goodly eyes, 
That o'er the files and musters of the war 
Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn, 
The office and devotion of their view 
Upon a tawny front : his captain's heart. 
Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst 
The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper ; 
And is become the bellows and the fan, 
To cool a gipsy's lust. Look, where 'hey come ! 



Flourish. Enter Antony and Cleopatra, with their 

Trains ; Eunuchs fanning her. 
Take but good note, and you shall see in him 
The triple pillar of the world transform'd 
Into a strumpet's fool : behold and see. 

Cleo. If it be love indeed, tell me how much. 

Ant. There's beggary in the lo ve that can be reckon'd. 

Cleo. I'll set a bourn how far to be belov'd. 

Ant. Then must thou needs find out new heaven, 
new earth. 



Enter an Attendant. 
News, my good lord, from Rome. 



Att. 

■^"f- Grates me : — The sum. 

Cleo. Nay, hear them, Antony : 
Fulvia, perchance, is angry ; Or, who knows 
If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent 
His powerful mandate to you. Do this, or this; 
Take in that kingdom, and enfranchise that; 
Perform't, or else we damn thee. 

^"'* How, my love! 

^ Cleo. Perchance,— nay, and most like. 
You must not stay here longer, your dismission 
Is come from Cssar; therefore hear it, Antony.— 
Where's Fulvia's process? Casar's, I would say'— 

Both?— ^' 

Call in the messengers.— As I am Egypt's queen, 
Thou blushest, Antony ; and that blood of thine 
Is Caesar's homager : else so thy cheek pays shame 
When shrill-tongu'd Fulvia scolds.— The mes.sengers. 
Ant. Let Rome in Tyber melt ! and the wide arch 
Of the rang'd empire fall! Here is my space ; 
Kingdoms are clay : our dungy earth alike 
Feeds beasts as man : the nobleness of life 
Is, to do thus ; when such a mutual pair, [Emhracing 
And such a twain can do't, in which, I bind 
On pain of punishment, the world to weet, 
We stand up peerless. 

P^"- Excellent falsehood ! 

why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her ?— 
I'll seem the fool I am not : Antony 
Will be himself. 

■^"'' But stirr'd by Cleopatra. — 

Now, for the love of Love, and her soft hours, 
2 U 



674 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



Let's not confound the time with conference harsh : 
There's not a minute of our lives should stretch 
Without some pleasure now : What sport to-night? 

Cleo. Hear the ambassadors. 

Ant. I'ye, wrangling queen ! 

Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh. 
To weep ; whose every passion fully strives 
I'o make itself, in thee, fair and admir'd ! 
No messenger ; but tliine and all alone, 
To-night, we'll wander through the streets, and note 
The qualities of ])eople. Come, my queen ; 
Last night you did desire it : — Speak not to us. 

IKieujit Ant. and Ci.i.or. xvith their Train. 

Dem. Is C-csar with Antonius priz'd so slight? 

Phi. Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony, 
He comes too short of that great property 
Which still should go with Antony. 

Dem. I'm full sorry, 

That he approves the common liar, who 
Thus speaks of him at Rome : liul I will hope 
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy ! [E.r. 

SCENE II. — The same. Annther Room, 
Enter Ciiahmian, Iras, Ai.exas, and a Soothsayer. 

Char. Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing 
Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where's the 
soothsayer that you praised so to the queen ? O, that 
I knew this husband, which, you say, must change 
his horns with garlands 1 

Alei. Soothsayer. 

Sooth. Your will ? 

Char. Is this the man? — Is'tyon, sir, that know 

South. In nature's infinite book of secrecy, [things ? 
A little I can read. 

Alex, Shew him your hand. 

Enter Enoearbus. 

Eno. Bring in the banquet quickly ; wine enough, 
Cleopatra's health to drink. 

Char. Good sir, give me good fortune. 

Sooth. I make not, but foresee. 

Char. Pray then, foresee me one. 

Sooth. You shall be yet far fairer than you are. 

Char. He means, in flesh. 

Iras. No, you shall paint when you are old. 

Char. Wrinkles forbid! 

Alex. Vex not his prescience ; be attentive. 

Char. Hush ! 

Sooth. You shall be more beloving, than beloved. 

Char. I iiad rather heat my liver with drinking. 

Alex. Nay, hear him. 

Char. Good now. some excellent fortune ! Let me 
be married to three kings in a forenoon, and widow 
them all : let me have a child at fifty, to whom He- 
lod of Jewry may do homage : find me to marry me 
with Octavius Cicsar, and companion me with my 
mistress. 

Sooth. You shall outlive the lady whom you serve. 

Char. O excellent! I love long life better than figs. 

Sooth. You have seen and proved a fairer former 
Than that which is to approach. [fortune 

Char. Then, belike my children shall have no 
names : Pr'y thee, how many boys and wenches must 
1 have? 

Sooth. If every of your wishes had a womb. 
And fertile every wish, a million. 

C7(«)-. Out, fool ! I forgive thee for a witch. 

Alex. You think, none but your sheets are privy to 

Char. Nay, come, tell Iras hers. [youi wishes. 

Alex, We'll know all our fortunes. 

Eno. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, 
shall be — drunk to bed. 



Iran. There's a palm presages chastity, if nothing 
else. [mine. 

Char. Even as the o'erflowing Nilus presageih fa- 

Iras. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay. 

Char. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prog- 
nostication, 1 cannot scratch mine ear. — I'r'ytliee, 
tell her but a worky-day fortune. 

Sooth. Your fortunes are alike. 

Iras. But how, but how ? give me particulars. 

Sooth. I have said. 

Iras. Am I not an inch of fortune better than she? 

Char. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune 
better than 1, where would you choose it ? 

Iras. Not in my husband s nose. 

Char. Our worser thoughts heavens mend ! Alex- 
as, — come, his fortune, his fortune. — O, let him 
marry a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, 1 beseech 
thee ! And let her die too, and give him a worse ! 
and let worse follow worse, till the worst of all fol- 
low him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a cuckold I 
Good Isis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny me 
a matter of more weight ; good Isis, I beseech thee! 

Iras. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of 
the people! for, as it is a heart-breaking to see a 
handsome man loose-wived, so it is a deadly sorrow 
to behold afoul knave uncuckolded : Therefore, dear 
Isis, keep decorum, and fortune him accordingly ! 

Char. Amen. 

Alex. Lo, now ! if it lay in their hands to make me 
a cuckold, they would make themselves whores, but 
they'd do't. 

Eno. Hush ! here comes Antony. 

Char. Not he, the queen. 

Enter Cleopatra. 

Ctco. Saw you my lord ? 
Eno. No, lady. 

Cleo. Was he not here ? 

Char. No, madam. 

Cleo. He wasdispos'd to mirth ; but on the sudden 
A Roman thought hath struck him. — Enoearbus, — 
End. Madam. 

Cleo. Seek him, and bring him hither. Where's 

Alexas ? [proaches. 

Alex. Here, madam, at your service. — My lord ap- 

Enter Antony, with a Messenger and Attendants. 

Cleo. We will not look upon him: Go with us. 
[Ereu/it Cleopatra, Enobarbus, At.exas, Iras, 
CiiARMiAN, Soothsayer, aju/ Attendants. 

Mess. Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. 

Ant. Against my brother Lucius? 

Mess. Ay : 
But soon that war had end, and the time's state 
Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst 
Whose better issue in the war, from Italy, [Cffisar; 
Upon the first encounter, drave them. 

Ant. Well, 

What worst? 

Mess. The nature of bad news infects the teller. 

Ant. When it concerns the fool, or coward. — On: 
Things, that are past, are done with me. — 'Tis thus : 
Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death, 
I hear him as he flatter'd. 

Mess. Labienus 

(This is stiff news) hath, with his Parthian force, 
I'.xtended Asia from Euphrates ; 
I tis conquering banner shook, from Syria , 

To Lydia, and to Ionia j 
Whilst 

Ant. Antony, thou would'st say, — 

Mess. O, my lord ! 



ACT I.— SCENE HI. 



Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the general 
Name Cleopatra as she's call'd in Rome : [tongue ; 
Rail thou in Fuivia's phrase ; and taunt my faults 
With such full licence, as both truth and malice 
Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds, 
When our quick minds lie still ; and our ills told us, 
Is as our earing. Fare thee well a while. 

Mess. At your noble pleasure. [Eiit. 

Ant. From Sicyon how the news ? Speak there. 

1 Att. The man from Sicyon. — Is there such an 

2 Att. He stays upon your will. [one ] 
Ant. Let him appear, — 

These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, 

Enter -another Messenger. 
Or lose myself in dotage. — What are you 1 

2 Mess, Fulvia thy wife is dead. 

Ant. Where died she ? 

2 Mess. In Sicyon : 
Her length of sickness, with what else more serious 
Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Gives a letter. 

■'Int. Forbear me. — [Exit Messenger. 

There's a great spirit gone ! Thus did I desire it : 
What our contempts do often hurl from us, 
We wish it ours again ; the present pleasure, 
By revolution lowering, does become 
The opposite of itself: she's good, being gone ; 
The hand could pluck her ba<'k, that shov'd heron. 
I must from this enchanting queen break off; 
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know, 
My idleness doth hatch — How now ! Enobarbus ! 

Enter Enobaiibus. 
Eno. What's your pleasure, sir 1 
Ant. I must with haste from hence. 
Eno.- Why, then, we kill all our women : We see 
how mortal an unkindness is to them ; if they suffer 
our departure, death's the word. 
Aiu. I must be gone. 

Eno. Under a compelling occasion, let women die : 
It were pity to cast them away for nothing ; though, 
between them and agreat cause, they should be esteem- 
ed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of 
this, dies instantly ; I have seen her die twenty 
times upon far poorer moment : I do think, there is 
mettle in death, which commits some loving act upon 
her, she hath such a celerity in dying. 

Ant. She is cunning past man's thought. 

Eno. Alack, sir, no ; her passions are made of no- 
thing but the finest part of pure love : We cannot 
call her winds and waters, sighs and tears ; they are 
greater storms and tempests than almanacks can re- 
port : this cannot be. cunning in her; if it be, she 
makes a shower of rain as well as Jove. 

Ant. 'Would I had never seen her! 

Eno. 0, sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful 
piece of work ; which not to have been blessed with- 
al, would have discredited your travel. 

Ant. Fulvia is dead. 

Eno. Sir? 

Ant. Fulvia is dead. 

Eno, Fulvia? 

Ant. Dead. 



675 



Ejio, Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. 
When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a 
man from him, it shews to man the tailors of the 
earth ; comforting therein, that when old robes are 
worn out, there are members to make new. If there 
were no more women but Fulvia, then had you in- 
deed a cut, and the case to be lamented ; this grief 
is crowned with consolation ; your old smock brings 
forth a new petticoat: — and, indeed, the tears live in 
an onion, that should water this sorrow. 



Ant. The business she hath broached in the state. 
Cannot endure my absence. 

Fiio. And the business you have broached here 
cannot be without you ; especially that of Cleopatra's, 
wliich wholly depends on your abode. 

Ant. No more light answers. Let our officers 
Have notice what we purpose. I shall break 
The cause of our expedience to the queen, 
And get her leave to part. For not alone 
The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, 
Do strongly speak to us ; but the letters too 
Of many our contriving friends in Rome 
Petition us at home ; Sextus Pompeius 
Hath given the dare to Caesar, and commands 
The empire of the sea : our slippery people 
(Whose love is never link'd to the deserver. 
Till his deserts are past,) begin to throw 
Pompey the great, and all his dignities. 
Upon his son ; who, high in name and power, 
Higher than both in blood and life, stands up 
For the main soldier : whose quality, going on, 
The sides o'the world may danger : Much is breeding, 
Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life. 
And not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleasure, 
To such whose place is under us, requires 
Our quick remove from hence. 

Eno, I shall do't. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. 
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas. 
Cleo. Where is he 1 

Cfiai: I did not see him since. 

Cleo. See where he is, who's with him, what he 
I did not send you ;_lf you find him sad, [does :— 
Say, I am dancing; if in mirth, report 
That I am sudden sick : Quick, and return. 

[Exit Ar,Ex. 
^ Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly. 
You do not hold the method to enforce 
The like from him. 

Cleo. What should I do, I do not? [thing. 

Char. In each thing give him way, cross him in no- 
Cleo. Thou teachestlikeafool: the way to lose him. 
Char. Tempt him not so too far : I wish, forbear; 
In time we hate that wiiich we often fear. 

Enter Antony. 
But here comes Antony. 

Cleo. I am sick, and sullen. 

Ant. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose : — 

Cleo. Help me a.vay, dear Charmian, I shall fall ; 
It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature 
Will not sustain it. 

Ant. Now, my dearest queen, — 

Cleo. Pray you, stand further from me. 

^"t. What's the matter ? 

Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some good 
What says the married woman! — You may go; [news. 
'Would, she had never given you leave to come ! 
Let her not say, 'tis I that keep you here, 
I have no power upon you ; hers you are. 

Ant. The gods best know, — 

Cleo. O, never was there queen 

So mightily betray'd ! Yet, at the first, 
I saw the treasons planted. 

Ant. Cleopatra, — [true, 

Cleo, Why should I think, you can be mine and 
Though you in swearing shake the throned gods. 
Who have been false to Fulvia ! Riotous madness. 
To be entangled with those mouth-made vows. 
Which break themselves in swearing I 
2 U 2 



6*76 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



Ant. Most sweet queen, — 

Clen. Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going, 
But bid farewell, and go : when you sued staying. 
Then was the time for words : No going then ; — 
Eternity was in our lips, and eyes ; 
liliss in our brows' bent ; none our parts so poor, 
But was a race of heaven : They are so still, 
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world, 
Art turn'd the greatest liar. 

Ant. How DOW, lady? 

Cleo. I would, I had thy inches ; thou should'st 
There were a heart in Egypt. [know. 

Ant. Hear me, queen : 

The strong necessity of time commands 
Our sei'vices a while ; but my full heart 
Remains in use with you. Our Italy 
Shines o'er with civil swords : Sextus Pompeius 
Makes his approaches to the port of Rome : 
Equality of two domestic powers 
Breeds scrupulous faction : The hated, grown to 

strength. 
Are newly grown to love : the condemn'd Pompey, 
Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace 
Into the hearts of such as have not thriv'd 
Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten ; 
And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge 
By any desperate change : My more particular, 
And that which most with you should safe my going. 
Is Fulvia's death. 

Cleo. 'i'hough age from folly could not give me free- 
It does from childishness : — Can i'ulvia die ! [dom, 

Ant. She's dead, my queen: 
Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure, read 
The garboils she awak'd ; at the last, best ; 
See, when, and where she died. 

Cleo. O most false love ! 

Where be the sacred vials thou should'st fill 
With sorrowful water ? Now 1 see, I see, 
In Fulvia's death, how mine receiv'd shall be. 

Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know 
The purposes I bear ; which are, or cease. 
As you shall give the advice : Now, by the fire. 
That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence. 
Thy soldier, servant ; making peace or war. 
As thou affect'st. 

Cleo. Cut my lace, Charmian, come ; — 

But let it be. — I am quickly ill, and well : 
So Antony loves. 

Ant. My precious queen, forbear ; 

And give true evidence to his love, which stands 
An honourable trial. 

Cleo. So Fulvia told me. 

I pr'ythee, turn aside, and weep for her ; 
Then bid adieu to me, and say, the tears 
Belong to Egypt: Good now, play one scene 
Of excellent dissembling ; and let it look 
Like perfect honour. 

Ant. You'll heat my blood ; no more. 

Cleo. You can do better yet ; but this is meetly. 

Ant. Now, by my sword, — 

Cleo. And target, — Still he mends ; 

But this is not the best : Look, pr'ythee, Charmian, 
How this Herculean Roman does become 
The carriage of his chafe. 

Ant. I'll leave you, lady. 

Cleo. Courteous lord, one word. 
Sir, you and I must part, — but that's not it : 
Sir, you and I have lov'd, — but there's not it; 
That you know well : Something it is I would, — 
O, my oblivion is a very Antony, 
And I am all forgotten. 

Am. But that your royalty 



Holds idleness your subject, 1 should take yon 
For idleness itself. 

Cleo. 'Tis sweating labour, 

To bear such idleness so near the heart 
As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me ; 
Since my becomings kill me, when they do not 
Eye well to you : Your honour calls you hence-, 
Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly. 
And all the gods go with you ! upon your sword 
Sit laurel'd victory ! and smooth success 
Be strew'd before your feet ! 

Ant. I>et us go. Come , 

Our separation so abides, and flies, 
That thou residing here, go'st yet with me. 
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. 
Away. [^Exeunt, 

SCENE IV. 
Rome. — An Apartment in Cjesar's House. 

Enter Octavius C«sar, Lepidus, and Attendants. 

Cies. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know. 
It is not Cffisar's natural vice to hate 
One great competitor : from Alexandria 
This is the news ; He fishes, drinks, and wastes 
The lamps of night in revel : is not more manlike 
Than Cleopatra ; nor the queen Ptolemy 
More womanly than he : hardly gave audience, oi 
Vouchsaf'd to think he had partners : You shall find 
A man who is the abstract of all faults [there 

That all men follow. 

Lep. I must not think, there are 

Evils enough to darken all his goodness : 
His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven. 
More fiery by night's blackness ; hereditary. 
Rather than purchas'd ; what he cannot change 
Than what he chooses. 

Cas. You are too indulgent : Let us grant, it is not 
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy ; 
To give a kingdom for a mirth ; to sit 
And keep the turn of tippling with a slave ; 
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet 
With knaves that smell of sweat ; say, this becomes 
(As his composure must be rare indeed, [him, 

Whom these things cannot blemish, )yet must Antony 
Xo way excuse his soils, when we do bear 
So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd 
His vacancy with his voluptuousness, 
Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones. 
Call on him for't : but, to confound such time. 
That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud 
As his own state, and ours, — 'tis to be chid 
As we rate boys ; who being mature in knowledge. 
Pawn their experience to their present pleasure. 
And so rebel to judgment. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Lep. Here's more news. 

Mess. Thy biddings have been done ; and every 
Most noble Ciesar, shalt thou have report [hour, 
How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea ; 
And it appears, he is belov'd of those 
That only have fear'd Cassar; to the ports 
The discontents repair, and men's reports 
Give him much wrong'd. 

Ctrs. I should have known no less : — 

It hath been taught us from the primal state. 
That he, which is, was wish'd, until he were : 
And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd, till ne'er worth love, 
(^omes dear'd, by being lack'd. This common body. 
Like a vagabond flag upon the stream. 



ACT I.— SCENE V. 



677 



Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide, 
ro rot itself with motion. 

Mess. Caesar, I bring thee word. 

Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates. 
Make the sea serve them ; which they ear and wound 
With keels of every kind : Many hot inroads 
They make in Italy ; the borders maritime 
Lack blood to think on't, and flush youth revolt: 
No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon 
Taken as seen ; for Pompey's name strikes more, 
Than could his war resisted. 

C<cs, Antony, 

Leave thy lascivious wassels. When thou once 
Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st 
Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel 
Did famine follow ; whom thou fought' st against. 
Though daintily brought up, with patience more 
Than savages could suffer: Thou didst drink 
The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle 
Which beasts wouldcough at: thy palate then diddeign 
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge ; 
Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets. 
The barks of trees thou browsed'st ; on the Alps 
It is reported, thou didst eat strange flesh. 
Which some did die to look on : And all this 
(It wounds thine honour, that I speak it now,) 
Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek 
So much as lank'd not. 

Lep. It is pity of him. 

Ca:s. Let his shames quickly 
Drive him to Rome : 'Tis time we twain 
Did shew ourselves i' the field ; and, to that end. 
Assemble we immediate council : Pompey 
Thrives in our idleness. 

Lep. To-morrow, Caesar, 

I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly 
Both what by sea and land I can be able. 
To 'front this present time. 

Cas. Till which encounter. 

It is my business too. Farewell. 

Lep. Farewell, my lord: What you shall know mean 
Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir, [time 

To let me be partaker. 

C<es. Doubt not, sir ; 

I knew it for my bond. [EicuiU. 

SCENE V. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Cleopatra, Cuarmian, Iras, atid Mardian, 

Cleo. Charmian, — 

Char. Madam. 

Cleo. Ha, ha !— 
Give me to drink mandragora. 

Char. Why, madam 1 

Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap of time. 
My Antony is away. 

Char. You think of him 

Too much. 

CUo. O, treason ! 

Char. Madam, I trust not so. 

Cleo. Thou, eunuch ! Mardian ! 

Mar. ' What's your highness' pleasure 1 

Cleo. Not now to hear thee sing ; 1 take no pleasure 
In aught an eunuch has : 'Tis well for thee. 
That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts 
May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections 1 

Mar. Yes, gracious madam. 

CUo. Indeed? 

Mar. Not in deed, madam ; for I can do nothing 
But what indeed is honest to be done : 
Yet I have fierce affections, and think 
What Venus did with Mars. 



Cleo. O Charmian, 

Where think'st thou he is now T Stands he, or sits he^ 
Or does he walk"? or is he on his horse 1 
O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony 1 
Do bravely, horse! for wot'st thou whom thou mov'st! 
The demi-Atlas of this earth, tiie arm 
And burgonet of men. — He's speaking now. 
Or murmuring, Where's my serpent if old Nilef 
For so he calls me ; Now I feed myself 
With most delicious poison : — Think on me. 
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black, 
And wrinkled deep in time : Broad-fronted Caisar, 
When thou wast here above the ground, I was 
A morsel for a monarch : and great Pompey 
Would stand, and make his eyes grow in my biow ; 
There would he anchor his aspect, and die 
With looking on his life. 

Enter Alexas. 

Aler. Sovereign of Egypt, hail ! 

Cleo. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony ! 
Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath 
With his tinct gilded thee. — 
How goes it with my brave Mark Antony 1 

Aler. Last thing he did, dear queen, 
He kiss'd, — the last of many doubled kisses, — 
This orient pearl ; — His speech sticks in my heart. 

Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence. 

Alex. Good friend, quoth he, 

Say, The firm Roman to great Egypt sends 
This treasure of an oyster ; at whose foot 
To mend the petty present, 1 will piece 
Her opulent throne with kingdoms; All the east. 
Say thou, shall call her mistress. So he nodded, 
And soberly did mount a termagant steed. 
Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke 
Was beastly dumb'd by him. 

Cleo. What, was he sad or merry 1 

Alex. Like to the time o' the year between the ex- 
tremes 
Of heat and cold ; he was nor sad nor merry. 

Cleo. O well-divided disposition ! — Note him. 
Note him, good Charmian, 'tis the man ; but note him. 
He was not sad ; for he would shine on those 
That make their looks by his : he was not merry ; 
Which seera'd to tell them, his remembrance lay 
In Egypt with his joy : but between both : 

heavenly mingle ! — Be'st thou sad, or merry. 
The violence of either thee becomes ; 

So does it no man else. — Met'st thou my posts 1 

Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers • 
Why do you send so thick 1 

Cleo. Who's born that day 

When I forget to send to Antony, 
Shall die a beggar. — Ink and paper, Charmian. — 
Welcome, my good Alexas. — Uid I Charmian, 
Ever love C^sar so 1 

Char. O that brave Ca?sar ! 

Cleo. Be chok'd with such another emphasis ! 
Say, the brave Antony. 

Char. The valiant Cssar '. 

Cleo. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth. 
If thou with Caesar paragon again 
My man of men. 

Char. By your most gracious pardon, 

1 sing but after you. 

Cleo. My sallad days , 

When I was green in judgment : — Cold in blood 
To say, as I said then ! — But, come, away : 
Get me ink and paper : he shall have every day 
A several greeting, or I'll unpeople Egypt. 

[Exeunt. 



678 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — Messina. A Room in Pompey's House. 
Enter Pompey, Menecrates, and Menas. 

Pom. If the great gods be just, they shall assist 
The deeds of justest men. 

Mene. Know, worthy Pompey, 

That what they do delay, they not deny. 

Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays 
The thing we sue for. 

Mene. We, ignorant of ourselves. 

Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers 
Deny us for our good ; so find we profit, 
By losing of our prayers. 

Pom. I shall do well : 

The people love me, and the sea is mine ; 
My power's a crescent, and my auguring hope 
Says, it will come to the full. Mark Antony 
Ta Egypt sits at dinner, and will make 
No wars without doors : Cresar gets money, where 
He loses hearts : Lepidus flatters both. 
Of both is flatter'd ; but he neither loves, 
Nor either cares for him. 

Men. CjBsar and Lepidus 

Are in the field ; a mighty strength they carry. 

Pom. Where have you thisl 'tis false. 

Men. From Silvius, sir. [gether. 

Pom. He dreams ; I know, they are in Rome to- 
Looking for Antony : But all charms of love, 
Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wan'd lip ! 
Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both ! 
Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts. 
Keep his brain fuming ; Epicurean cooks. 
Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite ; 
That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour, 
Even till a Lethe'd dulness. — How now, Varrius ? 

Enter Varrius. 

Var. This is most certain that I shall deliver : 
Mark Antony is every hour in Home 
Expected ; since he went from Egypt, 'tis 
A space for further travel. 

Pom. 1 could have given less matter 

A better ear. — Menas, I did not think. 
This amorous surfeiter would have don'd his helm 
For such a petty war : his soldiership 
Is twice the other twain : But let us rear 
The higher our opinion, that our stirring 
Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck 
The ne'er lust-wearied Antony. 

Men. I cannot hope, 

Caesar and Antony shall well greet together; 
His wife, that's dead, did trespasses to Cssar ; 
His brother warr'd upon him ; although, I think, 
Not mov'd by Antony. 

Pom. I know not, Menas, 

How lesser enmities may give way to greater. 
Were 't not that we stand up against them all, 
'Twere pregnant they should square between them- 
For they have entertained cause enough [selves ; 
To draw their swords : but how the fear of us 
May cement their divisions, and bind up 
The petty diflerence, we yet not know. 
Be it as our gods will have it ! It only stands 
Our lives upon, to use our strongest hands. 
Come, Menas. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. 
Rome. — A Room in the House of Lepidus. 
Enter Enobarbus and Lepidus. 
Lep, Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed, 



And shall become you well, to entreat >our captain 
To soft and gentle speech. 

Eno. I shall entreat him 

To answer like himself: if Cssar move him, 
Let Antony look over Cajsar's head. 
And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter, 
Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard, 
I would not shave 't to day. 

Lep. 'Tis not a time 

For private stomaching. 

Eno, Every time 

Serves for the matter that is then born in it. 

Lq). But small to greater matters must give way 

Eno. Not if the small come first. 

Lep. Your speech is passion r 

But, pray you, stir no embers up. Here comes 
The noble Antony. 

Enter Antony and Ventidius. 
Eno. And yonder Ctesar. 

Enter C«sar, Mecsinas, a/id Agrippa. 

Ant. If we compose well here, to Parthia: 
Hark you, Ventidius. 

Ccfs. I do not know, 

Mecsenas ; ask Agrippa. 

Lep. Noble friends. 

That which combined us was most great, and let not 
A leaner action rend us. What's amiss. 
May it be gently heard : When we debate 
Our trivial difference loud, we do commit 
Murder in healing wounds? Then, noble partners, 
(The rather, fori earnestly beseech,) 
Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms, 
Nor curstness grow to the matter. 

Ant. 'Tis spoken well : 

Were we before our armies, and to fight, 
I should do thus. 

Cies. Welcome to Rome. 

Ant. Thank you. 

Cits. Sit. 

Ant. Sit, sir! 

Cecs. Nay, 

Then — 

Atit. I learn, you take things ill, which are not so ; 
Or, being, concern you not. 

Cits. I must be laugh'd at. 

If, or for nothing, or a little, I 
Should say myself oft'ended ; and with you 
Chiefly i' the world : more laugh'd at, that I should 
Once name you derogately, when to sound your name 
It not concern'd me. 

Ant. My being in Egypt, Caesar, 

What was 't to you 1 

C(fs. No more than my residing here at Rome 
Might be to you in Egypt : Yet if you there 
Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt 
Might be my question. 

Ant. How intend you, practis'd? 

Ctes. You may be pleas'd to catch at mine intent, 
By what did here befal me. Your wife, and brother, 
Made wars upon ine ; and their contestation 
VVas theme for you, you were the word of war. 

Ant- You do mistake your business ; my brother 
Did urge me in his act : I did enquire it; [never 
And have my learning from some true reports, 
1'hat drew their swords with you. Did he not rather 
Discredit my authority with yours ; 
And make the wars alike against my stomach, 
Having alike your cause 1 Of this, my letters. 
Before did satisfy you. If you'll patch a quarrel, 
As matter whole you have not to make it with. 



ACT II.— SCENE II. 



G79 



ll must not be with this. 

Ctjcs. You praise yourself 

By laying defects of judgment to me ; but 
You patcli'd up your excuses. 

Ant. Not so, not so ; 

I know you could not lack, I am certain on 't, 
Very necessity of this tliouglit, that I, 
Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought, 
Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars 
Which 'fronted mine own peace. As for my wife, 
I would you had lier spirit in such another : 
The third o' the world is yours ; which with a snaffle 
You may pace easy, but not such a wife. 

E710. 'VVould we had all such wives, that the men 
might go to wars with the women ! 

Ant. So much incurable, her garboils, Ca'sar, 
Made out of her impatience, (which not wanted 
Shiewdness of policy too,) 1 grieving grant. 
Did you too much disquiet : for that, you must 
But say, I could not help it. 

Cdss. I wrote to you, 

When rioting in Alexandria ; you 
Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts 
Did gibe my missive out of audience. 

Ant. Sir, 

He fell upon me, ere admitted ; then 
Three kings 1 had newly feasted, and did want 
Of what 1 was i' the morning : but, next day, 
I told him of myself; which was as much 
As to have ask'd him pardon : Let this fellow 
Be nothing of our strife ; if we contend. 
Out of our question wipe him. 

C<es, You have broken 

The article of your oath ; which you shall never 
Have tongue to charge me with. 

Lep. Soft, Caisar. 

Ant. No, Lepidus, let him speak ; 
The honour's sacred which he talks on now. 
Supposing that I lack'd it : But on, Caisar ; 
The article of my oath, — 

CiEs. To lend me arms, and aid, when I requir'd 
The which, you both denied. [them , 

Ant. Neglected, rather ; 

And then, when poison'd hours had bound me up 
From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may, 
I '11 play the penitent to you : but mine honesty 
Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power 
Work without it : Truth is, that Fulvia, 
To have me out of Egypt, made wars here ; 
For which myself, the ignorant motive, do 
So far ask pardon, as befits mine honour 
To stoop in such a case. 

Lep. 'Tis nobly spoken. 

Mee. If it might please you, to enforce no further 
The griefs between ye : to forget them quite. 
Were to remember that the present need 
Speaks to atone you. 

Lep. Worthily spoke, Rlecaenas. 

Eno. Or, if you borrow one another's love for the 
instant, you may, when you hear no more woids of 
Pompey, return it again : you shall have time to wran- 
gle in, when you have nothing else to do. 

Ant. Thou art a soldier only; speak no more. 

JEno. That truth should be silent, 1 had almost forgot. 

Ant. You wrong this presence, therefore speak no 

Eno. Go to then ; your considerate stone, [more. 

C<es, I do not much dislike the matter, but. 
The manner of his spet-ch : For it cannot be. 
We shall remain in friendship, our conditions 
So differing in their acts. Vet, if I knew 
What hoop should hold us staunch, from edge to edge 
0' the world I would pursue it. 



Agr. Give me leave, Caesar, — 

Ctes. Speak, Agrippa. 

Agr. Thou hast a sister by the mother's side, 
Admir'd Octavia : great Mark Antony 
Is now a widower. 

C<£s. Say not so, Agrippa ; 

If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof 
Were well deserv'd of rashness. 

Ant. I am not married, Ceesar : let me hear 
Agrippa fuither speak. 

Agr. To hold you in perpetual amity, 
To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts 
AVith an unslipping knot, take Antony 
Octavia to his wife : whose beauty claims 
No worse a husband than the best of men ; 
Whose virtue, and whose general graces, speak 
That which none else can utter. By this marriage, 
All little jealousies, which now seem great, 
And all great fears, which now import tKeir dangers, 
Would then be nothing : truths would be but tales, 
Where now half tales be truths : her love to both, 
Would, each to other, and all loves to both. 
Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke : 
For 'tis a studied, not a present thought. 
By duty ruminated. 

Ant. Will Caesar speak 1 

CtES. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd 
With what is spoke already. 

Ant. What power is in Agrippa, 

If I would say, Agrippa, be it so. 
To make this good 1 

Cas. The power of Caesar, and 

His power unto Octavia. 

Ant. May I never 

To this good purpose, that so fairly shews, 
Dream of impediment ! — Let me have thy hand • 
Further this act of grace ; and, from this hour, 
The heart of brothers govern in our loves. 
And sway our great designs ! 

Cies. There is my hand. 

A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother 
Did ever love so dearly : Let her live 
To join our kingdoms, and our hearts ; and never 
Fly off our loves again ! 

Lep. Happily, ainen ! [pey ; 

Ant. I did not think to draw my sword "gainst Foui- 
For he hath laid strange courtesies, and great, 
Of late upon me : I must thank him only. 
Lest my remembrance suffer ill report ; 
At heel of that, defy him. 

Lep. Time calls upon us : 

Of us must Pompey presently be sought, 
Or else he seeks out us. 

Ant. And where lies he 1 

CiLs. About the mount Misenum. 

Ant. What's his strength 

By land 1 

CiEs. Great, and increasing : but by sea 
He is an absolute master. 

Ant. So is the fame. 

'Would, we had spoke together ! Haste we for it : 
Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, despatch we 
The business we have talk'd of. 

Ca:s. With most gladness ; 

And do invite you to my sister's view, 
Whither straight I will lead you. 

Ant. Let us, Lepidus, 

Not lack your company. 

Lep. Noble Antony, 

Not sickness should detain me. 

{Flourish. Exeunt C.*-.sar, Ant. flTwi Lepidus. 

Mee. Welcome from Egypt, sir. 



080 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



? 



Eiio. Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Mecsnas ! — 
my honourable friend, Agrippa ! — 

Agr. Good Enobarbus ! 

Mec. We have cause to be glad, that matters are 
so well digested. You stay'd well by it in Egypt. 

£710, Ay, sir ; we did sleep day out of countenance, 
and made the night light with drinking. 

Mec. Eight wild boars roasted whole at a breakfast, 
and but twelve persons there ; Is this true 1 

Eno. This was but as a fly by an eagle : we had 
much more monstrous matter of feasts, which wor- 
thily deserved noting. 

Mec. She 's a most triumphant lady, if report be 
square to her. 

Eno. When she first met Mark Antony, she pursed 
up his heart, upon the river of Cydnus. 

Agr. There she appeared indeed ; or my reporter 
devised well for her. 

Eno. I will tell you : 
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, 
Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold ; 
Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that [silver; 

The winds were love-sick with them : the oars were 
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made 
The water, which they beat, to follow faster. 
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, 
It beggar'd all description : she did lie 
In her pavilion, (cloth of gold, of tissue,) 
O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see. 
The fancy out-work nature : on each side her, 
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem 
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool. 
And what they undid, did. 

A<rr. O, rare for Antony ! 

Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, 
So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes. 
And made their bends adornings : at the helm 
A seeming mermaid steers ; the silken tackle 
Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands. 
That yarely frame the ofiice. From the barge 
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense 
Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast 
Her people out upon her ; and Antony, 
Enthron'd in the market place, did sit alone. 
Whistling to the air ; which, but for vacancy. 
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too. 
And made a gap in nature. 

Agr. Rare Egyptian ! 

Eno. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her. 
Invited her to supper : she replied. 
It should be better, he became her guest ; 
Which she entreated : Our courteous Antony, 
Whom ne'er the word of No woman heard speak. 
Being barbar'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast ; 
And, for his ordinary, pays his heart. 
For what his eyes eat only. 

Agr. Royal wench ! 

She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed ; 
He plough'd her, and she cropp'd. 

£„(,, I saw her once 

Hop forty paces through the public street : 
And having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted. 
That she did make defect, perfection. 
And, breathless, power breathe forth. 

Mec. Now Antony must leave her utterly. 

Eno. Never ; he will not ; 
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
Her mfinite variety : Other women 
Cloy th' appetites they feed ; but she makes hungry. 
Where most she satisfies. For vilest things 
Become themselves in her ; that the holy priests 



Bless her, when she is riggisL 

Mec. If beauty, wisdom, mocesty, tan settle 
The heart of Antony, Octavia is 
A blessed lottery to him. 

Agr. Let us go. — 

Good Enobarbus make yourself my guest, 
Whilst you abide here. 

Eno. Humbly, sir, I thank' you. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — The same. A RoominCxaai's Hotne. 

Enter C«sap., Antony, Octavia between tnem. 
Attendants, and a Soothsayer. 

Ayit. The world, and my great office, will sometimes 
Divide me from your bosom. 

Oct. All which time 

Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers 
To them for you. 

Ant. Good night, sir. — My OctaTia, 

Read not my blemishes in the world's report : 
I have not kept my square ; but that to come 
Shall all bedone by the rule. Good night, dear lady.— 

Oct. Good night, sir. 

Cas. Good night. [Exeunt Cjisar and Octavia. 

Ant. Now, sirrah ! youdo wish yourself in Egypt? 

Sooth. 'Would 1 had never come from thence, nor you 
Thither? 

Ant. If you can, your reason? 

Sooth. I see't m 

My motion, have it not in my tongue : But yet 
Hie you again to Egypt. 

Ant. Saj to me. 

Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar's, or mine "* 

Sooth. Caesar's. 
Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side: 
Thy daemon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is ( 
Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable. 
Where Caesar's is not ; but, near him, thy angel 
Becomes a Fear, as being o'erpower'd ; therefore 
Make space enough between you. 

Ant. Speak this no more. 

Sooth . To none but thee ; no more, but when to thee. 
If thou dost play with him at any game. 
Thou art sure to lose ; and, of that natural luck. 
He beats thee 'gainst the odds ; thy lustre thickens. 
When he shines by : I say again, thy spirit 
Is all afraid to govern thee near him ; 
But, he away, 'tis noble. 

Ant. Get thee gone : 

Say to Ventidius, I would speak with him : — 

[Exit Soothsayer. 
He shall to Parthia. — Be it art, or hap. 
He hath spoken true : The very dice obey him ; 
And, in our sports, my better cunning faints 
Under his chance : if we draw lots, he speeds : 
His cocks do win the battle still of mine. 
When it is all to nought ; and his quails ever 
Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to Egypt: 
And though I make this marriage for my peace, 

Eiiter Ventidius. 
r the east my pleasure lies : — O, come, Ventidius, 
You must to Parthia ; your commission's ready : 
Follow me, and receive it. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The same. A Street. 
Enter Lepidus, Mec^nas, attd Agrippa. 
Lep. Trouble yourselves no further: pray you, 
Your generals after. [hasten 

Agr. Sir, Mark Antony 

Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we '11 follow. 

Lep. Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress. 
Which will become you both, farewell. 



ACT II.— SCENE V. 



681 



Mee. We shall. 

As I conceive the journey, be at mount 
Before you, Lepidus, 

Ley. Your way is shorter, 

My purposes do draw me much about ; 
You '11 win two days upon me. 

Mec. Agr. Sir, good success ! 

Lep. Farewell. [Eieunt. 

SCENE v. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Cleopatra, Ciiarmian, Iras, and Alexas. 

Cleo. Give me some music ; music, moody food 
Of us that trade in love. 

Attend, The music, ho ! 

Enter Mardian. 

Cleo. Let it alone ; let us to billiards : 
Come, Charmian. 

Char. My arm is sore, best play with Maidian. 

Cleo. As well a woman with an eunuch play'd, 
As with a woman ; — Come, you'll play with me, sirt 

Mar. As well as I can, madam. [too short, 

Cleo. And when good will is show'd, though it come 
The actor may plead pardon. I'll none now : — 
Give me mine angle, — \\'e'\l to the river : there, 
My music playing far off, I will betray 
Tawny-finn'd fishes ; my bended hook shall pierce 
Their slimy jaws ; and, as I draw them up, 
I'll think them every one an Antony, 
And say, Ah, ha! you're caught. 

Char. 'Twas merry, when 

You wager'd on your angling ; when your diver 
Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he 
With fervency drew up. 

Cleo. That time ! — O times ! — 

I laugh'd him out of patience ; and that nigiit 
I laugh'd him into patience ; and next morn, 
Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed ; 
Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst 
I wore his sword Phillipan. O ! from Italy ; 

Enter a Messenger. 

Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears. 
That long time have been barren. 

Mess. Madam, madam, — 

Cleo. Antony's dead 1 — 
If thou say so, villain, thou kill'st thy mistress : 
But well and free. 

If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here 
My bluest veins to kiss ; a hand, that kings 
Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing. 

Mess. First, madam, he's well. 

Cleo. Why, there's more gold. But, sirrah, mark ; 
To say, the dead are well: bring it to that, [we use 
The gold I give thee, will I melt, and pour 
Down thy ill-uttering throat. 

Mess. Good madam, hear me. 

Cleo. Well, go to, I will; 

But tltere's no goodness in thy face : If Antony 
He free, and healthful, — why so tart a favour 
To trumpet such good tidings? If not well, 
Thou should'st come like a fury crown'd with snakes. 
Not like a formal man. 

Mess. Will't please you, hear mel 

Cleo. I have a mind to strike thee, ere thou speak'st : 
Yet, if thou say, Antony lives, is well, 
Or friends with Ca;sar, or not captive to him, 
I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail 
Rich pearls upon thee- 

Mess. Madam, he's well. 

Ciea. Well said. 



Mess. And friends with Ca3sar. 

Cleo. Thou'rt an honest man. 

Mess. Caesar and he are greater friends than ever. 

Cleo. Make thee a fortune from me. 

Mess. But yet, madam. — 

Cleo. I do not like but yet, it does allay 
The good precedence ; fye upon bat yet. 
But yet is as a gaoler to bring forth 
Some monstrous malefactor. Pr'ythee, friend. 
Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear. 
The good and bad together : He's friends with Caesar ; 
In state of health, tliou say'st ; and, thou say'st, free. 

l\Iess. Free, madam ! no ; I made no such report: 
He's bound unto Octavia. 

Cleo. For what good turn 1 

Mess. For the best turn i' the bed. 

Cleo. I am pale, Charmian. 

Mess. Madam, he's married to Octavia. 

Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon thee ! 

[6't)i/ie6 him down. 

Mess. Good madam, patience. 

Cleo What say you? — Hence, [Strikes him again. 
Horrible villain ! or I'll spurn thine eyes 
Like balls before me ; I'll unhair thy head ; 

[67ie hales him up and down. 
Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in brine, 
Smarting in ling'ring pickle. 

Mess. Gracious madam, 

I, that do bring the news, made not tlie match. 

Cleo. Say, 'tis not so, a province I will give thee, 
And make thy fortunes proud : the blow thou had'st 
Shall make thy peace, for moving me to rage ; 
And I will boot thee with what gift beside 
Thy modesty can beg. 

Mess. He's married, madam. 

Cleo. Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long. 

[Draics a dagger 

Mess. Nay, then I'll run : — 
What mean you, madam ? I have made no fault. [ Ej it. 

Char. Good madam, keep yourself withinyoarself; 
The man is innocent. 

Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt.— 
Melt Egypt into Nile ! and kindly creatures 
Turn all to serpents ! — Call the slave again ; 
Though I am mad, I will not bite him : — Call. 

Char. He is afeard to come. 

Cleo. I will not hurt him: — 

These hands do lack nobility, that they strike 
A meaner than myself ; since I myself 
Have given myself the cause. — Come hither, sir. 

Re-enter INIessenger. 

Though it be honest, it is never good 
To bring bad news : Give to a gracious message 
An host of tongues ; but let ill tidings tell 
Themselves, when they be felt. 

Mess. I have done my duty 

Cleo. Is he married ? 
T cannot hate thee worser than I do. 
If thou again say, Yes. 

Mess. He is married, madam. 

Cleo. The gods confound thee ! dost thou hold there 

Mess. Should I lie, madam ? [still ? 

Cleo. O, I would, thou didst; 

So half my Egypt were submerg'd, and made 
A cistern for scal'd snakes ! Go, get thee hence : 
Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me 
Thou would'st appear most ugly. He is married ? 

Mess. I crave your highness' pardon. 

Cleo, He is married? 

Mess. Take no oflfence, that I would not offend you: 
To punish me for what you make me do, 



682 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



Seems much unequal : He is married to Octavia. 

Cleo. O, that his fault siiould make a knave of thee, 
That art not ! — What I thou'rt sure oft ? — Get tliee 

hence : 
Themerchandisewhicli thou hastbroughtfrom Rome, 
Are all too dear for me ; lie they upon liiy hand. 
And be undone by 'em ! [EjU Messenger. 

C7far. Good your highness, patience. 

Cleo. In praising Antony, 1 have disprais'd Cajiar. 

Char. Many times, madam. 

Cleo. I am paid for't now. 

Lead me from hence, 

I faint : O Iras, Charmian, — 'Tis no matter : — 
Go to the fellow, good Alexas ; bid him 
Report the feature of Octavia, her years, 
Her inclination ; let him not leave out 
The colour of her hair : — bring me word quickly. — 

Eiit Alexas. 
Let him for ever go : — Let him not — Charmian, 
Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, 
T'other way he's a Mars : — Bid you Alexas 

[To Mardian. 
Bring me word, how tall she is. — Pity me, Ciiarmian, 
But do not speak to me. — Lead me to my chamber. 

[Eieunt. 

SCENE VL— Near Misenum. 

Enter Pompey and Menas, at one side, with drum and 

trumpet : at anotlier, C/esau, Lkpidus, Antony, 

Enobaukus, Meoenas, with Soldiers marching. 

Pom. Your hostages I have, so have you mine ; 
And we shall talk before we fight. 

Cies. IMost meet. 

That first we come to words ; and therefore have we 
Our written purposes before us sent ; 
Which, if thou iiast consider'd, let us know 
If 'twill tie up thy discontented sword ; 
And carry back to Sicily much tall youth, 
That else must perish here. 

Pom. To you all three, 

The senators alone of this great world. 
Chief factors for the gods, — 1 do not know, 
Wherefore my father should revengers want. 
Having a son, and friends ; since Julius Cajsar, 
Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted, 
There saw you labouring for him. What was it. 
That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire 1 And what 
Made the all-honour'd, honest, Roman Brutus, 
With the arm'drest, courtiers of beauteous freedom, 
To drench tlie Capitol ; but that they would 
Have one man but a man 1 And that is it. 
Hath made me rig my navy ; at whose burden 
The anger'd ocean foams ; with which 1 meant 
To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome 
Cast on my noble father. 

C'cci. Take your time. 

Ant. Thou canst not fear us, Pompey.witli thy sails. 
We'll speak with thee at sea: at land, thou know'st 
How much we do o'er-count thee. 

Pom. At land, indeed, 

Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house ; 
But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself, 
Remain in't, as thou may'st. 

Lep. Be pleas'd to tell us, 

(Fcr this is from the present,) how you take 
The ofiers we have sent you. 

C(fs, There's the point. 

Ant. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh 
What it is worth embrac'd. 

CVs. And what may follow, 

To try a larger fortune. 

Pom. You have made me offer 



Of Sicily, Sardinia ; and I must 
Rid all the sea of pirates ; then, to send 
Measures of wheat to Rome : This 'greed upon, 
To part with unhack'd edges, and bear back 
Our targe undinted. 

C<es. Ant. Lep, That's our offer. 

Pom. Know then 

I came before you here, a man prepar'd 
To take this offer: But Mark .Vnlony 
Put me to some impatience: — 'I'liough I lose 
The praise of it by telling, You must know, 
When Caesar and your brothers were at b!ows, 
Your mother came to Sicily, and did find 
Her welcome friendly. 

Ant. I have heard it, Pompey; 

And am well studied for a liberal thanks, 
Which I do owe you. 

Pom. Let me have your hand : 

I did not think, sir, to have met you here. 

Ant. The beds i' the eastare soft; and thanks to you, 
That call'd me, timelier than my purpose, hither ; 
For I have gain'd by it. 

Cits. Since I saw you last. 

There is a change upon you. 

Pom. Well, I know not 

What counts harsh fortune casts upon my face ; 
But in my bosom shall she never come. 
To make my heart her vassal. 

Lep. Well met here. 

Pom, I hope so, Lepidus. — Thus we are agreed : 
I crave, our composition may be written, 
And seal'd between us. 

C(es. That's the next to do. 

Pom. We'll feast each other, ere we part ; and let us 
Draw lots, who shall begin. 

Ant. That will I, Pompey. 

Pom. No, Antony, take the lot: but, first, 
Or last, your fine Egyptian cookery 
Shall have the fame. 1 have heard, that Julius Caesar 
Grew fat with feasting there. 

Ant. You have heard much. 

Pom. I have fair meanings, sir. 

Aiit. And fair words to them. 

Pom. Then so much have 1 heard : — • 
And I have lieard, ApoUodorus carried — 

Eno. No more of that: — He did so. 

Pom. What, I pray you ? 

Eno. A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress. 

Pom. I know thee now ; How far'st thou, soldier? 

Eno. Well j 

And well am like to do ; for, I perceive, 
Four feasts are toward. 

Pom. Let me shake thy hand ; 

I never hated thee : I have seen thee fight. 
When I have envied thy behaviour. 

Eno. Sir, 

I never lov'd you much ; but I have prais'd you, 
When you have well deserv'd ten times as much 
As I have said you did. 

Pom. Enjoy thy plainness, 

It nothing ill becomes thee. — 
Aboard my galley, I invite you all : 
Will you lead, lords? 

C<£s. Ant. Lep. Shew us the way, sin 

Pom. Come. 

[Exeu7it Pompey, C^fsar, Antony, LEPJi-ud, 
Soldiers, and Attendants. 

Men. Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have made 
this treaty. — [Aside.] — You and 1 have known, sir. 

Eno. At sea, I think. 

Men. We have, sir. 

Eno. You have done well by water. 



ACT II.— SCENE VII. 



(>B:) 



Men. And you by land. 

Eno, I will praise any man that will praise me ; 
though it cannot be denied what 1 have done by land. 

Men, Nor what 1 have done by water. 

Eno. Yes, something you can deny for your own 
safety : you have been a great thief by sea. 

Men. And you by land. 

Enn. There I deny my land service. But give me 
your hand, Menas: if our eyes had authority, here 
they might take two thieves kissing. 

Men. All men's faces are true, whatsoe'er their 
hands are. 

Eno. But there is never a fair woman has a true 
face. 

Men. No slander ; they steal hearts. 

Eno. We came hither to fight with you. 

Men. For my part, 1 am sorry it is turned to a drink- 
ing. Pompey doth this day laugh away his fortune. 

Eno. If he do, sure, he cannot weep it back again. 

Men. You have said, sir. We looked not for Mark 
Antony here; Pray you, is he married to Cleopatra? 

Eno. Caesar's sister is call'd Octavia. 

Men. True, sir ; she was the wife of Caius Mar- 
cellus. 

Eno. But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius. 

Men. Pray you, sir 1 

Eno. 'Tis true. 

Men. Then is Caesar, and he, for ever knit together. 

Eno. If I were bound to divine of tliis unity, I 
would not prophesy so. 

Men. I think, the policy of that purpose made 
more in the marriage, than the love of the parties. 

E710. I think so too. But you shall find, the band 
that seems to tie their friendship together, will be the 
very strangler of their amity : Octavia is of a holy, 
cold, and still conversation. 

Men. Who would not have his wife so 1 

Eno. Not he, that himself is not so ; which is 
Mark Antony. He will to his Egyptian dish again: 
then shall the sighs of Octavia blow the fire up in 
Caisar ; and, as I said before, that which is the 
strength of their amity, shall prove the immediate 
author of their variance. Antony will use his affec- 
tion where it is ; he married but his occasion here. 

Men. And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you 
aboard 1 I have a health for you. 

Eno. I shall take it, sir : we have used our throats 
in Egypt. 

Men. Come; let's away. \_Exeunt. 

SCENE VII. 
On board Pompey's Galley, lying near Misenum. 

Music. Enter Two or Three Servants, 
with a banquet, 

1 Serv. Here they'll be, man; Some 0' their plants 
are ill-rooted already, the least wind i' the world will 
blow them down. 

2 Serv. Lepidus is high coloured. 

1 Serv. They have made him drink alms-drink. 

2 Serv, As they pinch one another by the disposi- 
tion, he cries out, no more ; reconciles thera to his 
entreaty, and himself to the drink. 

1 Sect;. But it raises the greater war between him 
and his discretion. 

2 Serv. Why, this it is to have a name in great 
men's fellowship: 1 had as lief have a reed that will 
do me no service, as a partizan I could not heave. 

1 Serv. To be called into a huge sphere, and not to 
be seen to move in't, are tiie holes where eyes should 
be, which pitifully disaster the cheeks. 



A sennet sounded. Enter C«sar, Antony, Pompey 
Ekpidus, AonippA, Meoenas, Enobarbus, Mknas, 
with other captains. 

Ant. Thus do they, sir: [To C.«:5ar.] They take 
the flow o'the Nile 
By certain scales i' the pyramid ; they know. 
By the height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth, 
Or foizon, follow : The higher Nilus swells. 
The more it promises : as it ebbs, the seedsman 
Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain, 
And shortly comes to harvest. 

Lep. You have strange serpents there. 

Ant. Ay, Lepidus. 

Lep. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your 
mud by the operation of your sun : so is your croco- 
dile. 

Ant. They are so. 

Pom. Sit, — and some wine. — A health to Lepidus. 

Lep. I am not so well as 1 should be, but 1 '11 ne'er 
out. 

Eno. Not till you have slept; I fear me, you'll be 
in, till then. 

Lep. Nay, certainly, I have heard, the Ptolemies' 
pyramises are very goodly things ; without contra- 
diction, I have heard that. 

Men. Pompey, a word. [Aside, 

Pom, Say in mine ear: what is't? 

Men. Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee, captain, 

[Aside. 
And hear me speak a word. 

Pom. Forbear me till anon. — 

This wine for Lepidus. 

Lep. What manner 0' thing is your crocodile 1 

Ant. It is shaped, sir, like itself; and it is as 
broad as it hath breadth : it is just so high as it is, 
and moves with ifs own organs ; it lives by that 
which nourisheth it : and the elements once out of 
it, it transmigrates. 

Lep. What colour is it of? 

Ant. Of its own colour too. 

Lep. 'Tis a strange serpent. 

Ant. 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet. 

Cas. Will this description satisfy him ? 

Ant. With the health that Pompey gives him, else 
he is a very epicure. 

Pom. [To Mhs AS aside.] Go, hang, sir, hang! Tell 
me of that ? away ! 
Do as I bid you. — Where's this cup I call'd for ? 

Men. If for the sake of merit thou wilt hear me. 
Rise from thy stool. [Aside. 

Pom. 1 think, thou 'rt mad. The matter 1 

[/iises, and walks aside. 

Men. I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes. 

Pom. Thou hastserv'd me with much faith; What's 
Be jolly, lords. [else to sayl 

Ant. These quick-sands, Lepidus, 

Keep off them, for you sink. 

Men. Wilt thou be lord of all the world? 

Pom. What say'st thou ? 

Men. Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? That's 

Pom. How .should that be ? [twice? 

Men. But entertain it, and. 

Although thou think me poor, 1 am the man 
Will give thee all the world. 

Pom. Hast thou drunk well ? 

Men, No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup. 
Thou art, if thou dar'st be, the earthly Jove • 
Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips. 
Is thine, if thou will have 't. 

Fom. Shew me which way. 

Men. These three world-sharers, these competitors. 



(J84 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



Are in thy vessel : Let me cut the cable ; 
And, when we are put off, fall to their tliroats : 
All there is thine. 

Pom. Ah, this thou should'st have done, 

And not have spoke on't ! In me, 'tis villany ; 
In thee, it had been good service. Thou must know, 
'Tis not my profit that does lead mine honour ; 
Mine honour, it. Repent, that e'er thy tongue 
Hath so betray 'd thine act : Being done unknown, 
I should have found it afterwards well done ; 
But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. 

Men. For this, [Aside, I 

I'll never follow thy pall'd fortunes more. — 
Who seeks, and will not take, when once 'tis ofTer'd, 
Shall never find it more. 

Pom. This health to Lepidus. 

Ant. Bear him ashore. — I '11 pledge it for him, 

Eiio. Here 's to thee, Menas. [Pompey. 

Me7i, Enobarbus, welcome. 

Pom. Fill, till the cup be hid. 

Eno. There 's a strong fellow, Menas. 
[Pointing to the Attendant wfw carries (i^Lepidvs. 

Men. Whyi 

Eno. He bears 

The third part of the world, man ; See'st not ? 

Men. The third part then is drunk: 'Would it were 
That it might go on wheels ! [all, 

Eno. Drink thou ; increase the reels. 

Men. Come. 

Pom. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. 

Ant. It ripens towards it. — Strike the vessels, ho ! 
Here is to Caesar. 

Ctes. I could well forbear it. 

It's monstrous labour, when I wash my brain. 
And it grows fouler. 

Ant. Be a child o' the time. ffast 

C(es. Possess it, I'll make answer: but I had rather 
From all four days, than drink so much in one 

Eno. Ha, my brave emperor ! [To Antonv. 

Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, 
And celebrate our drink 1 

Pom. Let's ha't, good soldier. 

Ant. Come, let us all take hands ; 
'Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense 
In soft and delicate Lethe. 

Eno. All take hands. — 

IMake battery to our ears with the loud music : — 
The while, I'll place you : Then the boy shall sing; 
The holding every man shall bear, as loud 
As his strong sides can volley. 

[Music piays. Enobarbus places them hand in hand. 

SONG. — Come, thou monarch nf the vine, 
Plumpif Bacchus, with ])ink eune: 
In thy vats our cares he drown d ; 
With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd ; 
Cup us, till the world go round ; 
Cup us, till the world go round! 

Ctes, What would you more ?— Pompey , good night. 
Good brother, 
Let me request you off: our graver business 
Frowns at this levity. — Gentle lords, let 's part : 
You see, we have burnt our cheeks: strong Enobaibe 
Is weaker than the wine ; and mine own tongue 
Splits what it speaks : the wild disguise hath almost 
Antick'd us all. What needs more words 1 Good 
Good Antony, your hand. [night. — 

Pom. I '11 try you o' the shore. 

Ant. And shall, sir: give's your hand. 

Pom O, Antony, 

You have my father's house, — But what? we are 
Come, down into the boat. [friends : 



Eno. Take heed you fall not„— 

[Exeunt Pompey, C/fsar, Antony, and Atiendawts. 
Menas, I '11 not on slrore. 

Men. No, to my cabin. — 

These drums ! — these trumpets, flutes ! what I — 
Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell 
To these great fellows : Sound, and be hang'd, sound 
out. [A flourish of trumpets, with drums. 

Eno. Ho, says 'a ! — There 's my cap. 

Men. Ho! — noble captain! 

Come. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE 1,—A Plain in Syria. 

Enter VENTinirs, as after conquest, with Silius, and 
other Romans, Officers, and Soldiers ; the dead 
body of Tacouvs borne before him. 

Ff?!. Now, darting Parthia, art thou streck; and now 
Pleas'd fortune does of Marcus Crassus' death 
Make me revenger. — Bear the king's sort's body 
Before our army : Thy Pacorus, Orodes, 
Pays this for Marcus Crassus. 

Sil. Noble Ventidms, 

Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warns, 
The fugitive Parthians follow ; spur through Media, 
IVIesopotamia, and the shelters whither 
The routed fly : so thy grand captain Antony 
Shall set thee on triumphant chariots, and 
Put garlands on thy head. 

Ven. O Silius, Silius, 

I have done enough : A lower place, note well, 
l\Iay make too great an act : For learn this, Siliaa; 
Better leave undone, than by our deed acquire 
Too high a fame, when him we serve's away. 
Caesar, and Antony, have ever won 
Rlore in their officer, than person : Sossius, 
One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant. 
For quick accumulation of renown, 
Which he achiev'd by the minute, lost his favouF. 
Who does i' the wars more than his captain can. 
Becomes his captain's captain : and ambition, 
The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of losRa 
Than gain, which darkens him. 
I could do more to do Antonius good. 
But 'twould offend him ; and in his offence 
Should my performance perish. 

Sil. Thou hast, Ventidius, 

That without which a soldier, and his sword, 
Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to Antonyl 

Ven. I'll humbly signify what in his name. 
That magical word of war, we have effected ; 
How, with his banners, and his well-paid ranks., 
The ne'er-yet- beaten horse of Parthia 
We have jaded out o'the field. 

Sil. Where is he now? [haste 

Ven. He purposeth to Athens : whither with what 
The weight we must convey with us will permit, 
We shall appear before him. — On, there; pass along. 

[Exeuui. 
SCENE II. 
Rome. — An Ante-Chamber in Caesar's House. 
Enter Acru'PA, and Enobarbus, meeting. 

Agr. What, are the brothers parted ? 

E/io. They have despatch'd with Pompey, he is gone; 
The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps 
To part from Rome : CiEsar is sad ; and Lepidus, 
Since Pompey's feast, as Menas says, is troubled 
With the green sickness. 



ACT III.— SCENE III. 



685 



/IgT. 'Tis a noble Lepidus. 

Eiw. A very fine one : O, how he loves Ceesar ! 

J^gr. Nay, but how clearly he adores Mark Antony ! 

End, Caesar'? Why, he's the Jupiter of men. 

Agr. What's Antony "! The god of Jupiter. 

Eiio. Spake youofCffisar! How? the nonpareil! 

Agr. O Antony ! O thou Arabian bird ! 

Etio. Would you praise Caesar, say, — Csesar ; — go 
no further. [praises. 

At^r. Iisdeed, he ply'd them both with excellent 

£ho. ButhelovesCffisarbest ; Yet he loves Antony : 
Ho ! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, 

cannot 
Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho, his love 
To Antony. But as for Cwsar, 
Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. 

Agr. Both he loves. 

Eno. They are his shards, and he their beetle. So, — 

[Trumpets. 
This is to horse. — Adieu, noble Agrippa. 

Agr. Good fortune, worthy soldier ; and farewell. 

Enter CiESAn, Antony, Lepidus, and Octavia. 

Ant. No further, sir. 

Cecs. You take from me a great part of myself ; 
Use me well in it. — Sister, prove such a wife 
As my thoughts make thee, and as my furthest band 
Shall pass on thy appioof. — Most noble Antony, 
Let not the piece of virtue, which is set 
Betwixt us, as the cement of our love, 
To keep it builded, be the ram, to batter 
The fortress of it : for better might we 
Have loved without this mean, if on both parts 
This be not cherish'd. 

Ant. Make me not offended 

In your distrust. 

Cas, I have said. 

AiU, You shall not find. 

Though you be therein curious, the least cause 
For what you seem to fear : So, the gods keep you, 
And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends ! 
We will here part. 

Ctes. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well ; 
The elements be kind to thee, and make 
Thy spirits all of comfort ! fare thee well. 

Oct. My noble brother! — 

Ant. The April's in her eyes : It is love's spring. 
And these the showers to bring it on. — Be cheerful. 

Oct. Sir, look well to my husband's house ; and — 

Cces. What, 

Octavia ? 

Oct. I'll tell you in your ear. 

Ant- Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can 
Her heart inform her tongue: theswan'sdown feather. 
That stands upon the swell at full of tide, 
And Bcither way inclines. 

Eno. Will Cassar weep 1 [Aside to Aghxppa. 

Agr. He has a cloud in's face. 

Eno. He were the worse for that, were he a horse ; 
So is he, being a man. 

Agr. Why, Enobarbus 1 

When Antony found Julius C*sar dead. 
He cried almost to roaring : and he wept. 
When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. 

Eno. That year, indeed, he was troubled with a 
What willingly he did confound, he wail'd : [rheum; 
Believe it, till I weep too. 

C<es. No, sweet Octavia, 

You shall hear from me still ; the time shall not 
Out-go my thinking on you. 

Ant. Come, sir, come ; 

I'll wi«stle with you in my strength of love : 



Look, here I have you ; thus I let yon go. 
And give you to the gods. 

Cffs. Adieu ; be happy ! 

Lep. Let all the number of the stars give light 
To thy fair way ! 

Ctes. Farewell, farewelP. [Kis$es Oct An a. 

Ant. Farewell ! [Trumpets smmd. Eietint- 

SCENE III.— Alexandria. A Room in the Palare. 
Enter Ci.EopATnA, Chap.mian, Iras, and Alexas. 
Cleo. Where is the fellow 7 

Alex. Half afeard to come. 

Cleo. Go to, go to : — Come hither, sir. 

Enter a INIessenger. 

Alex. Good majesty, 

Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you, 
But when you are well pleas'd. 

Cleo. That Herod's head 

I'll have : But how ? when Antony is gone 
Through whom I might command it. — Come thou near. 

Mess. Most gracious majesty, — 

Cleo. Didst thou behold 

Octavia 1 

Mess. Ay, dread queen. 

Cleo. Where ■? 

Mess. Madam, in Roins 

I look'd her in the face ; and saw her led 
Between her brother and Mark Antony. 

Cleo. Is she as tall as me ! 

Mess. She is not, madam. [or low? 

Clen. Didst hear her speak 1 Is sheshrill-tongu'd, 

Mess. Madam, I heard her speak ; sheislovv-voic'd. 

Cleo. That's not so good : — he cannot like her long. 

Ch'ir. Like her ? O Isis ! 'tis impossible. 

Cleo. I think so, Charmian : Dull of tongue, and 
dwarfish ! — 
What majesty is in her gait? Remember, 
If e'er thou look'dst on majesty. 

Mess. She creeps ,' 

Mer motion and her station are as one ; 
She shews a body rather than a life ; 
A statue, than a breather. 

Cleo. Is this certain ? 

Mess. Or I have no observance. 

Char. Three in Egypt 

Cannot make better note. 

Cleo. He's very knowing, 

I do perceiv't : — There's nothing in her yet : — 
The fellow has good judgment. 

Char. Escellent. 

Cleo. Guess at her years, I pr'ythee. 

Mess. Madam, 

She was a widow. 

Cleo. Widow ? — Charmian, hark. 

Mess. And I do think, she's thirty. 

Cleo. Bear'st thou her face in mind ? is it long, or 

Mess. Round, even to faultiness. [round ? 

Cleo. For the most part too. 

They are foolish that are so. — Her hair, what colour ? 

Mess. Brown, madam ; And her forehead is as low 
As she would wish it. 

Cleo. There is gold for thee. 

Thou must not take my former sharpness ill : — • 
I will employ thee back again ; I find thee 
Most fit for business : Go, make thee ready ; 
Our letters are prepar'd. [Exit Messenger. 

Char. A proper man. 

Cleo. Indeed, he is so : I repent me much. 
That so I harry 'd him. Why, methinks, by him. 
This creatures no such thing. 



686 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



Char. O, nothing, madam. [know. 

Cleo. The man hath seen some majesty, and should 

Char. Hath he seen majesty 1 Isis else defend, 
And serving you so long ! [Charmian : 

Cleo. I have one thing more to ask him yet, good 
But 'tis no matter ; thou shalt bring him to me 
Where I will write : All may be well enough. 

Chur. I warrant you, madam. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Athens. A Room in Antony's House. 

Enter Antony and Octavia. 

Ant. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that,— 
That were excusable, that, and thousands more 
Of semblable import, — but he hath wag'd 
New wars 'gainst Pompey ; made his will, and read it 
To public ear : 

Spoke scantly of me : when perforce he could not 
But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly 
He vented them ; most narrow measure lent me : 
When the best hint was given him, he not took't. 
Or did it from his teeth. 

Oct. O my good lord, 

Believe not all ; or, if you must believe. 
Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady. 
If this division chance, ne'er stood between. 
Praying for both parts : 
And the good gods will mock me presently, 
When 1 shall pray, 0, bless mif lord and husband! 
Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud, 
0, blessmij brother! Husband win, win brother, 
Prays, and destroys the prayer ; no midway 
'Twixt these extremes at all. 

Ant. Gentle Octavia, 

Let your best love draw to that point, which seeks 
Best to preserve it : If I lose mine honour, 
I lose myself: better I were not yours, 
Tiian yours so branchless. But, as you requested, 
Yourself shall go between us: The mean time, lady, 
I'll raise the preparation of a war 
Shall stain your brother ; Make your soonest haste ; 
So your desires are yours. 

Oct. Thanks to my lord. 

The Jove of power make me most weak, most weak. 
Your reconciler I W^ars 'twixt you twain would be 
As if the world should cleave, and that slain men 
Should solder up the rift. 

Ant. When it appears to you where this begins, 
Turn your displeasure that way ; for our faults 
Can never be so equal, that your love 
Can equally move with them. Provide your going ; 
Choose your own company, and command what cost 
Your heart has mind to. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — The same. Another Room in the same. 
Enter Enobarbus and Enos, meeting, 

Eno. How now, friend Eros 1 

Ei-os. There's strange news come, sir. 

Eno. What, man 1 

Eros. Cjesar and Lepidus have made wars upon 
Pompey. 

Eno. This is old ; What is the success? 

Eros. Cresar, having made use of him in the wars 
'gainst Pompey, presently denied him rivality ; would 
not let him partake in the glory of the action : and 
not resting here, accuses him of letters he had for- 
merly wrote to Pompey ; upon his own appeal, seizes 
him ; So the poor third is up, till death enlarge his 

confine. 

Eno. Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps, no more; 
And throw between them all the food thou hast. 



They'll grind the one the other. Where's Antony ? 

Eros. lie's walking in the garden — thus; andspurnE 
The rush that lies before him; cries. Fool, Lepidus! 
And threats the throat of that his officer, 
That murder'd Pompey. 

Eno. Our great navy's rigg'd. 

Eros, For Itifiy, and Cwsar. More, Domitius ; 
My lord, desires you presently : my news 
I might have told hereafter. 

£;(o. 'Twill be naught : 

But let it be. — Bring me to Antony. 

Ej-os. Come, sir. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — Eome. A Boom in Caesar's House. 

Enter C^tsar, Aghippa, and Mec^nas. 

Cifs. Contemning Rome, he has done all this : And 
In Alexandria — here's the manner of it, — [more ; 
r the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, 
Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold 
Were publicly enthron'd : at the feet, sat 
Cffisarion, whom they call my father's son ; 
And all the unlawful issue, that their lust 
Since then hath made between them. Unto her 
He gave the 'stablishment of Egypt ; made her 
Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia, 
Absolute queen. 

Mec. This in the public eye l 

Cics. I'the common show- place, where they exercise. 
His sons he there proclaiin'd. The kings of kings : 
Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia, 
He gave to Alexander ; to Ptolemy he assign'd 
Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia : She 
In the habiliments of the goddess Isis 
That day appear'd ; and oft before gave audience 
As 'tis reported, so. 

Mtc. Let Rome be thus 

Informed. 

Agr. W^ho, queasy with his insolence 

Already, will their good thoughts call from him. 

C(Es. The people know it ; and have now receiv'd 
His accusations. 

Agr. W^hom does he accuse 1 

Ctes. Caesar : and that, having in Sicily 
Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him 
His part o' the isle : then does he say, he lent me 
Some shipping unrestor'd : lastly, he frets, 
That Lepidus of the triumvirate 
Should be depos'd ; and, being, that v.'e detain 
All his revenue. 

Agr. Sir, this should be answer'd. 

Cies. 'Tis done already, and the messenger gone. 
I have told him, Lepidus was grown too cruel ; 
That he his high authority abus'd. 
And did deserve his change ; for what I have con- 
I grant him part ; but then, in his Armenia, [quer'd, 
And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I 
Demand the like. 

Mec, He'll never yield to that. 

C<ts. Nor must not then be yielded to in this. 

Enter Octavia. 

Oct. Hail,Caesar,and my lord! hail, most dearCfesar! 

Cies. That ever I should call thee, cast away ! 

Oct. You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause. 

Cds. Why have you stol'n upon us thus] You come 
Like Cffisar's sister : The wife of Antony [not 

Should have an army for an usher, and 
The neighs of horse to tell of her approach. 
Long ere she did appear ; the trees by the way. 
Should have borne men ; and expectation fainted, 
Longing for what it had not : nay, the dust 



ACT III.-SCENE VII. 



687 



Should have ascended to the roof of heaven, 
llais'd by your populous troops: But you are come 
A market- maid to Rome ; and have prevented 
The ostCiitdtion of our love, which, left unshewn, 
Is often left unlov'd : we should have met you 
By sea and land ; supplying every stage 
With an augmented greeting. 

Oct. Good my lord, 

To come thus was I not constrain'd, but did it 
On my fiee-will. My lord, Mark Antony, 
Hearing that you prepar'd for war, acquainted 
^ly grieved ear withal : whereon, I begg'd 
His pardon for return. 

Cas. Which soon he granted, 

Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him. 

Oct. Do not say so, my lord. 

Cas. I have eyes upon him, 

And his affairs come to me on the wind. 
Where is he now 1 

Oct. My lord, in Athens. 

Cas. No, my most wrong'd sister ; Cleopatra 
Hatli nodded him to her. He hath given his empire 
Up to a whore ; who now are levying 
The kinsrs o' the earth for war: He hath assembled 
Bocchus, the king of Lybia ; Archelaus, 
Of Cappadocia ; PhilaJelphos, king 
Of I'aphlagonia ; the Thracian king, Adallas ; 
King Alaichus of Arabia ; king of Font ; 
Herod of Jevvry ; Milhridates, king 
Of Comagene ; Polemon and Amintas, 
The kings of Mede, and Lycaonia, with a 
More larger list of scepters. 

Oct. Ah me, most wretched, 

That have my heart parted betwixt two friends, 
That do afflict each other ! 

Ctts. Welcome hither : 

Your letters did withhold our breaking forth ; 
Till we perceiv'd, both how you were wrong led. 
And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart • 
Be you not troubled with the time, which drives 
O'er your content these strong necessities ; 
But let determin'd things to destiny 
Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome : 
Nothing more dear to me. You are abus'd 
Beyond the mark of thought : and the high gods, 
To do you justice, make them ministers 
Of us, and those that love you. Best of comfort ; 
And ever welcome to us. 

Agr. Welcome, lady. 

Mec. Welcome, dear madam. 
Each heart in Rome does love and pity you : 
Only the adulterous Antony, most large 
In his abominations, turns you off. 
And gives his potent regiment to a trull. 
That noises it against us. 

Oct. Is it so, sir? 

Cces. Most certain. Sister, welcome: Pray you, 
Be ever known to patience : JNIy dearest sister ! 

[£ieu;i(. 

SCENE VII.— Antony's Camp, near to the 
Promontory o/" Actium. 

Enter Cleopatra and Enobarbus. 

Cleo. I will be even with thee, doubt it not. 

Eno. But, why, why, why? 

Ctec. riiou hast forspoke my being in these wars; 
And say'st, it is not fit. 

E?io. Well, is it, is it? 

Clen. Is't not? Denounce against us, why should 
Be there in person ? [not we 

Eiw. [Aside.} Well, I could reply : — 



If we should serve with horse and mares together, 
rhe horse were merely lost ; the mares would bear 
A soldier, and his horse. 

Cleo. What is't you say ? 

Eno. Your presence needs must puzzle Antony , 
Take from iiis heart, take from his brain, from his time, 
What sliould not then be spar'd. He is already 
Traduc'd for levity ; and 'tis said in Rome, 
That Photinus an eunuch, and your maids, 
ftlanage tliis war. 

Clen. Sink Rome ; and their tongues rot, 

That speak against us ! A charge we bear i' the war. 
And, as the president of my kingdom, will 
Appear tliere for a man. Speak not against it , 
I will not stay behind. 

Eno. Nay, I have done . 

Here comes the emperor. 

Enter Antony and Canidius. 

Ant. Is't not strange, Canidius, 

That from Tarentum, and Brundu.sium, 
He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea. 
And take in Toryne! — You have heard on't, sweet? 

Cleo. Celerity is never more admir'd. 
Than by the negligent. 

Ant. A good rebuke. 

Which might have well becom'd tiie best of men, 
To taunt at slackness. — Canidius, we 
Will fight with him by sea. 

Cleo. By sea ! What else ? 

Can. Why will my lord do so ? 

Ant. For that he dares us to't. 

Eno. So hath my lord dar'd him to single fight. 

Ca)i. Ay, and to wage this battle at Piiarsalia, 
Wliere Cssar fought with Pompey : But these offers, 
\^'hich serve not for his vantage, he shakes off; 
And so should you. 

Eiw. Your ships are not well mann'd : 

Your mariners are muleteers, reapers, people 
Ingross'd by swift impress ; in Cresar's fleet 
Are those, that often have 'gainst Pompey fought : 
Their ships are yare : yours, heavy. No disgiace 
Shall fall you for refusing him at sea. 
Being prepar'd for land. 

Ant. By sea, by sea. 

Eno. ]\Iost worthy sir, you therein throw away 
The absolute soldiership you have by land ; 
Distract your army, which doth most consist 
Of war-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted 
Your own renowned knowledge ; quite forego 
The way which promises assurance ; and 
Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard, 
From firm security. 

Ant. I'll fight at sea. 

Cleo. I have sixty sails, C?Bsar none better. 

Ant. Our overplus of shipping will we burn ; 
And, with the rest full-mann'd,frnm the head of Actium 
Beat the approaching Ciesar. But if we fail, 

Enter a Messenger. 

We then can do't by land. — Thy business ? 

Mess. The news is true, my lord , he is descried ; 
CcBsar has taken Toryne. 

Ant. Can he be there in person? 'tis impossible; 
Strange, that his power should be. Canidius, 
Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land, 
And our twelve thousand horse. — We'll to our ship; 

Enter a Soldier, 

Away, my Thetis ! — How now, worthy soldier? 
Sold. O noble emperor, do not fight by sea ; 
Trust not to rotten planks : Do you misdoubt 
This sword, and these my wounds? Let the Egyptians, 



688 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



And tiie Phoenicians, go a clucking ; we 
Have used to conquer, standing on the earth, 
And fighting foot to foot. 

Ant. Well, well, avay. 

[Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra, and Eno. 

Sold. By Hercules, I think, I am i' the right. 

Can. Soldier, thou art : but his whole action grows 
Not in the power on't : So our leader's led, 
And we are women's men. 

Sold. You keep by land 

The legions and the horse whole, do you not ? 

Can, Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius, 
Publicola, and Caslius, are for sea : 
But we keep whole by land. This speed of Ctesar's 
Carries beyond belief. 

Sold. While he was yet in Rome, 

His power went out in such distractions, as 
Beguil'd all spies. 

Can. Who's his lieutenant, hear you ■? 

Sold. They say, one Taurus. 

Can. Well, I know the man. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. The emperor calls for Canidius. [forth. 

Can. With news the time's with labour : and throes 

Each minute, some. [Eieunt. 

SCENE VIII.— .4 Plain near Actium. 
Enter CiF.SAR, Taurus, Officers, and others, 

Ctcs. Taurus, — 

Taur. My lord. 

C(cs, Strike not by land ; keep whole ; 

Provoke not battle, till we have done at sea. 
Do not exceed the prescript of tiiis scroll : 
Our fortune lies upon this jump. \^Exeunt. 

Enter Antony and Enobarbus. 

Ant. Set we our squadrons on yon side o'the hill, 
In eye of Caesar's battle ; from which place 
We may the number of the ships behold. 
And so proceed accordingly. [^Exeunt. 

Enter Canidius, marching with his land Army one 
way over the stage ; and Tauuus the Lieutenant of 
C*sar, the other way. After their going jji, is 
heard che noise of a sea-fght. 

Alarum. Re-enter Ekobarbvs. 

Eno. Naught, naught, all naught ! 1 can behold no 
The Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral, [longer: 

With all their sixty, fly, and turn the rudder; 
To see't, mine eyes are blasted. 

Enter Scar us. 

Scar. Gods, and goddesses, 

All the whole synod of them ! 

Eito. What's thy passion? 

Scar, The greater cantle of the world is lost 
With very ignorance ; we have kiss'd away 
Kingdoms and provinces. 

Eno. How appears the fight ? 

Scar. On our side like the token'd pestilence, 
Where death is sure. Yon' ribaudred hag of Egypt, 
Whom leprosy o'ertake ! i' the midst o'the fight, — 
When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd, 
Both as the same, or rather ours the elder, 
The brize upon her, like a cow in June, 
Hoists sails, and flies. 

Enn. That I beheld : mine eyes 

Did sicken at the sight on't, and could not 
Endure a further view. 



Scar. She once being loofd, 

The noble ruin of her magic, Antony, 
Claps on his sea-wing, and like a doting mallard, 
Leaving the fight in height, flies after her : 
I never saw an action of such shame ; 
Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before 
Did violate so itself. 

Eno. Alack, alack! 

Enter Canidius. 

Can. Our fortune on the sea is out of breath. 
And sinks most lamentably. Had our general 
Been what he knew himself, it had gone well : 
O, he has given example for our flight. 
Most grossly, by his own. [nigbt 

Eno. Ay, are you thereabouts ? Why then, good 
Indeed. [Ande. 

Can. Towards Peloponnesus are they fled. 

Scar. 'Tis easy to't ; and there I will attend 
What further comes. 

Can. To Cwsar will I render 

My legions, and my horse ; six kings already 
Shew me the way of yielding. 

Eno. I'll yet follow 

The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason 
Sits in the wind against me. [^Eieunt 

SCENE IX. — Alexandria. A Tioom in the Palace. 
Enler Antony and Attendants. 

Ant. Hark, the land bids me tread no more upon't, 
It is asham'd to bear me ! — Friends, come hither, 
I am so lated in the world, that I 
Have lost my way for ever ; — I have a ship 
Laden with gold ; take that, divide it ; fly. 
And make your peace with Caesar. 

Att. Fly ! not we. 

Ant. I have fled myself ; and have instructed cowards 
To run, and shew their shoulders. — Friends, be goae : 
I have myself pesolv'd upon a course. 
Which has n« need of you ; be gone : 
My treasure's in the harbour, take it. — O, 
I follow'd that I blush to look upon : 
My very hairs do mutiny ; for the white 
Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them 
For fear and doting. — Friends, be gone ; you shall 
Have letters from me to some friends, that will 
Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sad. 
Nor make replies of loathness : take the hint 
Which my despair proclaims ; let that be left 
Which leaves itself: to the sea-side straightway. 
I will possess you of that ship and treasure. 
Leave me, I pray, a little : 'pray you now : — 
Nay, do so ; for, indeed, I have lost command. 
Therefore I pray you : — I'll see you by and by. 

[Sils down. 

Enter Eros and Cleopatra, led by Charmian 
and Iras. 



Eros. 

Iras. 

Char. 

Cleo, 

Ant. 

Eros, 

Ant. 

Char. 

Iras. 

Eros. 

Ant. 



-Comfort him. 



Nay, gentle madam, to him ; 
Do, most dear queen. 
Do ! Why, what else 1 
Let me sit down. O Juno ! 
No, no, no, no, no. 
See you here, sir 1 
O fye, fye, fye. 
Madam, — 

Madam ; O good empress ! — 
Sir, sir, — 

Yes, my lord, yes ; — He, at Philippi, kept 

His sword even like a dancer ; while I struck 
The lean and wrinkled Cassius; and 'twas I, 



ACT III.— SCENE Xr. 



t;09 



That the mad Brutus ended : he alone 

Dealt on lietilenantry, and no practice had 

In the brave squares of war : Yet now — No matter. 

Clev. Ah, stand by. 

Eros. The fjueen, my lord, the queen. 

Irns. Go to him, madam, speak to him; 
He is unqualitied with very shame. 

Cleo. Well then, — Sustain me :— O ! 

Eros. Most noble sir, arise ; the queen approaches; 
Her head's declin'd, and death will seize her ; but 
Your comfort makes the rescue. 

Aiit. I have offended reputation ; 
A most unnoble swerving. 

Eios. Sir, the queen. 

Ant. O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt? See, 
How 1 convey my shame out of thine eyes 
By looking back on what 1 have left behind 
'Stroy'd in dishonour. 

Cleo. O my lord, my lord ! 

Forgive my fearful sails ! I little thought, 
You would have follow'd. 

Ant. Egypt, thou knew'st too well, 

My heart was to thy rudder tied by the strings, 
And thou should'st tow me after : O'er my spirit 
Thy full supremacy thou knew'st ; and that 
Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods 
Command me. 

Cleo, O, my pardon. 

Ant. Now I must 

To the young man send humble treaties, dodge 
And palter in the shifts of lowness ; who 
V^'ith half the bulk o'the world play'd as I pleas'd. 
Making, and marrying fortunes. You did know. 
How much you were my conqueror ; and that 
My sword, made weak by my affection, would 
Obey it on all cause. 

Clen. O pardon, pardon. 

Ant. Fall not a tear, I say ; one of them rates 
All that is won and lost : Give me a kiss ; 
Even this repays me. — We sent our schoolmaster, 
Is he come back? — Love, I am full of lead : — 
Some wine, within there, and our viands : — Fortune 

knows. 
We scorn her most, when most she offers blows. [Ex. 

SCENE X.— Csesar's Camp, in Egypt. 
Enter Cssar, Dolabella, Thyreus, and others. 

Cas. Let him appear that's come from Antony. — 
Know you him ? 

Dot. Cffisar, 'tis his schoolmaster : 

An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither 
He sends so poor a pinion of his wing, 
Which had superfluous kings for messengers. 
Not many moons gone by. 

Enter EuPHRONius. 

C<es. Approach, and speak, 

Eup. Such as I am, I come from Antony: 
I was of late as petty to his ends. 
As is the morn-dew on the myrtle leaf 
To his grand sea. 

Ctes. Beit so ; Declare thine office. 

Eup. Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, and 
Requires to live in Egypt : which not granted. 
He lessens his requests ; and to thee sues 
To let him breathe between the heavens and earth, 
A private man in Athens: This for him. 
Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness ; 
Submits her to thy might ; and of thee craves 
'Jhe circle of the Ptolemies for her heirs, 
Now hazarded to thy grace. 



C(fs. For Antony, 

I have no ears to his request. The queen 
Of audience, nor desire, shall fail ; so she 
From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend, 
Or take his life there : I'his if she perform, 
She shall not sue unheard. So to them both. 

Eiip. Fortune pursue thee ! 

Cits. Bring him through the bands. [E.tit Eui-ir. 
To try thy eloquence, now 'tis time : Despatch ; 
From Antony win Cleopatra: promise, [7'« Thyreus. 
And in our name, what she requires ; add more. 
From thine invention, offers : women are not, 
In their best fortunes, strong; but want will perjure 
The ne'er-touch'd vestal : Try thy cunning, Thyreus, 
Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we 
Will answer as a law. 

Thyr. Ca>sar, I go. 

Cas. Observe how Antony becomes his flaw , 
And what thou ihink'st his very action speaks 
In every power that moves. 

Tliyr. Cfesar, I shall. [Exeunt. 

SCENE XL— Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Cleopatra, ENonARBUs,CHAHMiAN, and Iuas. 

Cleo. What shall we do, Enobarbus ? 

Eno. Think, and die. 

Cleo. Is Antony, or we, in fault for this ? 

Eno. Antony only, that would make his will 
Lord of his reason. What though you fled 
From that great face of war, whose several ranges 
Frighted each other? why should he follow? 
The itch of his affection should not then 
Have nick'd his captainship ; at such a point. 
When half to half the world oppos'd, he being 
The mered question : 'Twas a shame no less 
Than was his loss, to course your flying flags. 
And leave his navy gazing. 

Cleo. Pr'ythee, peace. 

Enter Antony, with EuninONios. 

Ant. Is this his answer ? 

Eup. Ay, my lord. 

^"t- The queen 

Shall then have courtesy, so she will yield 
Us up. 

Eup. He says so. 

Ant. Let her know it. — 

To the boy Cresar send this grizled head, 
And he will fill thy wishes to the brim 
With principalities. 

Cleo. That head, my lord? 

Ant. To him a^ain ; Tell him, he wears the rose 
Ofyouth upon him; from which, the world should note 
Something particular: his coin, ships, leg-ions. 
May be a coward's ; whose ministers would prevail 
Under the service of a child, as soon 
As i' the command of Ca;sar : I dare him therefore 
To lay his gay comparisons apart. 
And answer me declin'd, sword against sword. 
Ourselves alone : I'll write it; follow me. 

[Exeunt Antony and Eupiironius. 

Eno. Yes, like enough, high-battled Caesar will 
Unsiate his happiness, and be stag'd to the show, 
Agamst a sworder. — I see, men's judgments are 
A parcel of their fortunes ; and things outward 
Do draw the inward quality after them, 
To suft'er all alike. That he should dream, 
Knowing all measures, the full Cssar will 
Answer his emptiness !— Csesar, thou hast subdu'd 
His judgment too. 

2X 



(590 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



Enter an Attendant. 

Att. A messenger from Caesar. 

C/po. What, no more ceremony? — See, my women ! — 
Against the blown rose may they stop their nose. 
That kneel'd unto the buds. — Admit him, sir. 

Eno, Mine honesty, and I, begin to square. [^Aside. 
The loyalty, well held to fools, does make 
Our faith mere folly : — Yet he, that can endure 
To follow with allegiance a fallen lord, 
Does conquer him that did his master conquer 
And earns a place i' the story. 

Enter Thyreus. 

Cleo. Cissar's will ? 

Tliyr. Hear it apart. 

Cleo. None but friends ; say boldly. 

T/ii/r. So, haply, are they friends to Antony. 

Eno. He needs as many, sir, as Casar has ; 
Or needs not us. If Ca;sar please, our master 
Will leap to be his friend : For us, you know, 
Whose he is, we are ; and that's Cajsar's. 

Thyr. So.— 

Thus then, thou most renown'd ; Ca;sar entreats, 
Not to consider in what case thou stand'st, 
Further than he is C<esar. 

Cleo. Go on : Right royal. 

Thyr. He knows, that you embrace not Antony 
As you did love, but as you fear'd him. 

Cleo. O ! 

Thyr, The scars upon your honour, therefore, he 
Does pity, as constrained blemishes, 
Not as deserv'd. 

Cleo. He is a god, and knows 

What is most right : Mine honour was not yielded, 
But conquer'd merely. 

Eno. To be sure of that, \^Aside. 

I will ask Antony. — Sir, sir, thou'rt so leaky, 
That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for 
Thy dearest quit thee. [Exit Enobarbus. 

Thyr. Shall I say to Cffisar 

What you require of him ? for he partly begs 
To be desir'd to give. It much would please him. 
That of his fortunes you should make a staft" 
To lean upon : but it would warm his spirits. 
To hear from me you had left Antony, 
And put yourself under his shroud, 
The universal landlord. 

Cleo. What's your name 1 

Thyr. My name is Thyreus. 

Cleo. Most kind messenger. 

Say to great Cresar this, In deputation 
I kiss his conqu'ring hand : tell him, I am prompt 
To lay my crown at his feet, and there to kneel : 
Tell him, from his all -obeying breath I hear 
The doom of Egypt. 

Thyr. 'Tis your noblest course. 

Wisdom and fortune combating together, 
[f that the former dare but what it can. 
No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay 
My duty on your hand. 

Cleo. Your Cssar's father 

Oft, when he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in, 
Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, 
As it rain'd kisses. 

Re-enter Antony and ENOBAnBUS. 

Ant. Favours, by Jove that thunders! — 

What art thou, fellow 1 

Thyr. One, that but performs 

The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest 
To have command obey'd. 

Eno. You will be whipp'd. 



Ant. Approach, there : — Ay, you kite ! — No-jv 
gods and devils ! 
Authority melts from me ; Of late, when I cried, ho! 
Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth. 
And cry. Your will? Have you no ears? I am 

Enter Attendants. 

Antony yet. Take hence this Jack, and whip him. 

Eno. 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp. 
Than with an old one dying. 

Ant. Moon and stars! 
Whip him : — Were 't twenty of the greatest tributaries 
That do acknowledge Csesar, should I find them 
So saucy with the hand of she here, ( W hat's her name 
Since she was Cleopatra?) — Whip him, fellows. 
Till, like a boy, you see him cringe his face, 
And whine aloud for mercy : Take him hence. 
Thyr. Mark Antony, — 

Ant. Tug him away : being whipp'd. 

Bring him again : This Jack of Ceesar's shall 
Bear us an errand to him. — 

[Exeunt Attend, wit/i Thyhevs. 
You were half blasted ere I knew you : — Ha ! 
Have 1 my pillow left unpress'd in Rome, 
Forborne the getting of a lawful race, 
And by a gem of women, to be abus'd 
By one that looks on feeders ? 

Cleo. Good my lord, — 

Ant. You have been a boggier ever : — 
But when we in our viciousness grow hard, 
(O misery on 't !) the wise gods seel our eyes ; 
In our own filth drop our clear judgments ; make U3 
Adore our errors ; laugh at us, while we strut 
To our confusion. 

Cleo. O, is it come to this ? 

Ant. I found you as a morsel, cold upon 
Dead Caesar's trencher : nay, you were a fragment 
Of Cneius Pompey's ; besides what hotter hours, 
Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have 
Luxuriously pick'd out : For, I am sure. 
Though you can guess what temperance should be. 
You know not what it is. 

Cleo. Wherefore is this ? 

Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards. 
And say, God quit you ! be familiar with 
My playfellow, your hand ; this kingly seal, 
And plighter of high hearts ! — O, that I were 
Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar 
The horned herd ! for I have savage cause : 
And to proclaim it civilly, were like 
A halter'd neck, which does the hangman thank 
For being yare about him. — Is he whipp'd ? 

Re-enter Attendants, with Thyreus. 

1 Att. Soundly, my lord. 

Ant. Cried he ? and begg'd he pardon ? 

1 Att. He did ask favour. 

Ant. If that tliy father live, let him repent 
Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry 
To follow Csesar in his triumph, since 
Thou hast been whipp'd for following him : hence 
The white hand of a lady fever thee, [forth, 

Shake thou to look on 't. — Get thee back to Ceesar, 
Tell him thy entertainment : Look, thou say. 
He makes me angry with him : for he seems 
Proud and disdainful ; harping on what I am ; 
Not what he knew I was : He makes me angry ; 
And at this time most easy 'tis to do 't; 
When my good stars, that were my former guides, 
Have empty left their orbs, and shot their fires 
Into the abism of hell. Ifhemislike 
My speech, and what is done ; tell him, he has 



ACT IV.— SCENE II. 



{Tipparchus, my enfranchis'd bondman, whom 
He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture, 
As he shall like, to quit me : Urge it thou : 
Hence, with thy stripes, begone. [Exit Thyreus. 
Cleo. Have you done yet ? 

■^nt. Alack, our terrene moon 

Is now eclips'd ; and it portends alone 
The fall of Antony ! 

Cleo. I must stay his time. 

Atit. To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes 
With one that ties his points 1 

Cleo. Not know me yet 1 

A7it. Cold-hearted toward me ? 
Cleo. Ah, dear, if I be so. 

From my cold heart let heaven engender hail. 
And poison it in the source ; and the first stone 
Drop in my neck : as it determines, so 
Dissolve my life ! The next Cssarion smite ! 
Till, by degrees, the memory of my womb. 
Together with my brave Egyptians all, 
By the discandying of this pelleted storm. 
Lie graveless ; till the flies and gnats of Nile 
Have buried them for prey ! 

Ant. I am satisfied. 

Caesar sits down in Alexandria ; where 
I will oppose his fate. Our force by land 
Hath nobly held : our sever'd navy too 
Have knit again, and fleet, threat'ning most sealike. 
Where hast thou been, my heart? — Dost thou hear. 
If from the field I shall return once more [lady 1 
To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood ; 
I and my sword will earn our chronicle ; 
There is hope in it yet. 

Cleo. That's my brave lord ! 

Ant. I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd. 
And fight maliciously : for when mine hours 
Were nice and lucky, men did ransome lives 
Of me for jests ; but now, I'll set my teeth. 
And send to darkness all that stop me. — Come, 
Let's have one other gaudy night : call to me 
All my sad captains, fill our bowls ; once more 
Let's mock the midnight bell. 

Cleo. It is my birth-day : 

I had thought, to have held it poor ; but, since my 
Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. [lord, 

Ant. We'll yet do well. 
Cleo. Call all his noble captains to my lord. 
Ant. Do so, we'll speak to them; and to-night I'll 
force [queen ; 

The wine peep through their scars. — Come on, my 
There's sap in 't yet. The next time I do fight, 
I'll make death love me ; for I will contend 
Even with his pestilent scythe. 

[Exeunt Antony, CLiOPATRA, and Attendants. 
Eno. Now he'll outstare the lightning. To be fu- 
rious, 
Is, to be frighted out of fear : and in that mood. 
The dove will peck the estridge ; and I see still, 
A diminution in our captain's brain 
Restores his heart : When valour preys on reason . 
It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek 
Some way to leave him. [Eiu. 



691 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— Csesar's Camp at Alexandria. 

Enter C-esar, reading a letter ; Agrippa, 
Mec^nas, and others, 
Cffs. He calls me boy ; and chides, as he had power 
To beat me out of Egypt ; my messenger 



He hath whipp'd with rods; dares me to personal com- 
Caesar to Antony : Let the old ruffian know, [bat, 
He hath many other ways to die ; mean time, 
Laugh at his challenge. 

^lec. Csesar must think. 

When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted, 
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now 
Make boot of his distraction : Never anger 
Made good guard for itself. 

^'^^' Let our best heads 

Know, that to-morrow the last of many battles 
We mean to fight :— Within our files there are 
Of those that serv'd mark Antony but late. 
Enough to fetch him in. See it be done ; 
And feast the army : we have store to do 't, 
And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony ! 

lExeunt. 

SCENE II.— Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 

Ewter Antony, Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, 
Iras, Alexas, and others. 

Ant. He will not fight with me, Domitius. 

Eno. No, 

Ant. Why should he not 1 

Eno. He thinks, being twenty times of better for- 
He is twenty men to one. [tune, 

^nt. To-morrow, soldier. 

By sea and land I'll fight : or I will live, 
Or bathe my dying honour in the blood 
Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well 1 

Eno. I'll strike ; and cry. Take all. 

■^"f- Well said ; come on. — • 

Call forth my household servants ; let's to-night 

Enter Servants. 

Be bounteous at our meal.— Give me thy hand. 
Thou hast been rightly honest ; — so hast thou ; — 
And thou,— and thou,— and thou : — you have serv'd 
And kings have been your fellows. [me well, 

Cleo, _ What means this ? 

Eno. 'Tis one of those odd tricks, which sorrow 
shoots [Aside. 

Out of the mind. 

A'lt, And thou art honest too. 

I wish, I could be made so many men ; 
And all of you clapp'd up together in 
An Antony ; that I might do you service. 
So good as you have done. 

Serv. The gods forbid ! 

Ant. Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night: 
Scant not my cups ; and make as much of me. 
As when mine empire was your fellow too, 
And sufl^er'd my command. 

Cieo. What does he mean! 

Eno To make his followers weep. 
^«f' Tend me to-night ; 

May be, it is the period of your duty : 
Haply, you shall not see me more ; or if 
A mangled shadow : perchance, to-morrow 
You'll serve another master. I look on you. 
As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends, 
I turn you not away ; but, like a master 
Married to your good service, stay till death : 
Tend me tonight two hours, I ask no more. 
And the gods yield you for't I 

^"o" What mean you, sir. 

To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep; 
And I, an ass, am onion-ey'd ; for shame, 
Transform us not to women. 

Ant. Ho, ho, ho" 

Now the witch take me, if I meant it thus I 
2X5! 



692 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



Grace grow where thosedrops fall ! My hearty friends, 

You take me in too dolorous a sense : 

I spake to you for your comfort : did desire you 

To burn this night with torches : Know, my hearts, 

I hope well of to-morrow ; and will lead you, 

AVhere rather I'll expect victorious life. 

Than death and honour. Let's to supper ; come, 

And drown consideration. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE in.— The same. Before the Palace. 

Enter Two Soldiers, to their Guard. 

1 Sold. Brother, good night : to-morrow is the day. 

2 Sold. It will determine one way : fare you well. 
Heard you of nothing strange about the streets? 

\ Sold. Nothing: What news? 
2 Sold. Belike, 'tis but a rumour : 

Good night to you. 

1 Sold. Well, sir, good night. 



Enter Two other Soldiers. 



Soldiers, 



2 Sold. 
Have careful watch. 

3 Sold. And you ; Good night, good night. 

[^Thejirst two place themselves at their posts, 

4 Sold. Here we : [they take their posts.] and if to- 
Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope [morrow 
Our landmen will stand up. 

3 Sold. 'Tis a brave army. 
And full of purpose. 

[Musj'r of hautboys under the stage. 

4 Sold. Peace, what noise ? 

1 Sold. List, List ! 

2 Sold. Hark ! 

1 Sold- INIusic i'the aii. 

3 Sold. Under the earth. 

4 Sold. It signs well, 
Does't not ? 

3 Sold. No. 

1 Sold. Peace, I say. What should this mean ? 

2 Sold. 'Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony lov'd. 
Now leaves him. 

1 Sold. Walk ; let's see if other watchmen 
Do hear what we do. {_They advance to another post. 

2 Sold. How now, masters ? 

Sold. How now ? 

How now ? do you hear this ? 

\_Several speaking together. 
1 Sold. Ay ; is't not strange ? 

3 Sold. Do you hear, masters ? do you hear ? 

1 Sold. Follow the noise so far as we have quarter ; 
Let's see how't will give off. 

Sold. [Several speaking.] Content : 'Tis strange. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — The same. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Antony and Cleopatra ; Charmian, 
and others attending. 

Ant. Eros ! mine armour, Eros ! 

C/eo. Sleep a little. [Eros! 

Ant. No, my chuck. — Eros, come ; mine armour. 

Enter Eros, with armour. 

Come, my good fellow, put thine iron on : — 
If fortune be not ours to-day, it is 
Because we brave her. — Come. 

Cleo. Nay, I'll help too. 

What's this for ? 

Ant. Ah, let be, let be ! thou art 

The armourer of my heart ; — False, false ; this, this. 



Cleo. Sooth, la, I'll help; Thus it must be. 

Ant. Well, welJ: 

We shall thrive now. — Seest thou, my good fellow I 
Go, put on thy defences. 

Eros, Briefly, sir. 

Cleo. Is not this buckled well ? 

Ant. Rarely, rarely : 

He that unbuckles this, till we do please 
To doff 't for our repose, sliall hear a storm. — 
Thou fumblest, Eros ; and my queen's a squire 
More tight at this, than thou : Despatch. — O love, 
That thou could'st see my wars to-day, and knew'st 
The royal occupation ! thou shouid'sl see 

Enter an Officer, armed. 

A workman in't. — Good morrow to thee ; welcome : 
Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge: 
To business that we love, we rise betime. 
And go to it with delight. 

1 Ojf. A thousand, sir, 
Early though it be, have on their riveted trim, 
And at the port expect you. 

[Shouts. Trumpets. Flourish. 

Enter other Officers, and Soldiers. 

2 Off. The morn is fair — Good morrow, general. 
All. Good morrow, general. 

Ant. 'Tis well blown, Jads. 

This morning, like the spirit of a youth 
That means to be of note, begins betimes. — 
So, so ; come, give me that : this way ; well said. 
Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becomes of me : 
This is a soldier's kiss : rebukable, [Kisses her. 

And worthy shameful check it were, to stand 
On more mechanic compliment ; I'll leave thee 
Now, like a man of steel. — You, that will fight. 
Follow me close ; I'll bring you to't. — Adieu. 

[Exeunt A.NTONY, Eros, Officers, and Soldiers. 

Char. Please you, retire to your .chamber? 

Cleo. Lead me. 

He goes forth gallantly. That he and Ctesar might 
Determine this great war in single fight! 
Then, Antony, — But now, — Well, on. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Antony's Camp near Alexandria. 

Trumpets sound. Enter Antony and Enos ; 
o Soldier meeting them. 

Sold. The gods make this a happy day to Antony ! 

Ant, 'Would, thou and those thy scars had once 
To make me fight at land ! [prevail'd 

Sold, Had'st thou done so, 

The kings that have revolted, and the soldier 
That has this morning left thee, would have still 
FoUow'd thy heels. 

Ant. Who's gone this morning ? 

Sold. Who? 

One ever near thee : Call for Enobarbus, 
He shall not hear thee ; or from Csesar's camp 
Say, I am none of thine. 

AjU. What say'st thou? 

Sold. Sir, 

He is with Caesar. 

Eros. Sir, his chests and treasure 

He has not with him. 

Ant. Is he gone? 

Sold. Most certain. 

Ant. Go, Eros, send his treasure after ; do it ; 
Detain no jot, I charge thee : write to him 
(I will subscribe) gentle adieus, and greetings : 
Say, that I wish he never find more cause 



ACT IV.— SCENE IX. 



693 



To change a master. — O, my fortunes have 
Comipted honest rnen : — Eros, despatch. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — Cassar's Camp before Alexandria. 

Flotirish. EtiUv C«sar, with Agrippa, Enocarbus, 
and others. 

Cws. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight, 
Our will is, Antony be took alive ; 
Make it so known. 

Agr. Caesar, I shall. \_Exit Agrippa. 

C(£s. The time of universal peace is near: 
Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world 
Shall bear the olive freely. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Antony 

Is come into the field, 

Cas. Go, charge Agrippa : 

Plant those that have revolted in the van. 
That Antony may seem to spend his fury 
Upon himself. [Eieiuit C.t.sar and his Trai7i. 

Eno. Alexas did revolt ; and went to Jewry, 
On affairs of Antony ; there did persuade 
Great Herod to incline himself to CiEsar, 
And leave his master Antony ; for this pains, 
Cffisar hath hang'd him. Canidius, and the rest 
That fell away, have entertainment, but 
No honourable trust. I have done ill ; 
Of which I do accuse myself so sorely. 
That I will joy no more. 

Enter a Soldier o/" Caesar's. 

Sdd. Enobarbus, Antony 

Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with 
His bounty overplus : The messenger 
Came on my guard ; and at thy tent is now. 
Unloading of his mules. 

Eno. I give it .you. 

Sold. Mock me not, Enobarbus. 

i tell you true : Best that you safd the bringer 
Out of the host ; I must attend mine office, 
Or would have done't myself. Your emperor 
Continues still a Jove. [Exit Soldier. 

Eno. I am alone the villain of the earth. 
And feel I am so most. O Antony, 
Thou mine of bounty, how would'st thou have paid 
My better service, when my turpitude 
Thou dost so crown with gold ! This blows my heart ; 
If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean 
Shall outstrike thought : but thought will do't, I feel. 
I fight against thee \ — No : I will go seek 
Some ditch, wherein to die ; the foul'st best fits 
My latter part of life. [Exit. 

SCENE VII.— FieW of Battle between the Camps. 

Alarum. Drums and Trumpets. Enter Achippa, 
and others. 

Agr. Retire, we have engag'd ourselves too far: 
Cssar himself has work, and our oppressioQ 
Eicceeds wliat we expected. [Exeunt. 

Alarum. Enter Antovy atid Scarus, wounded. 

Scar. O my brave emperor, this is fought indeed ! 
Had we done so at first, we had driven them home 
With clouts about their heads. 

Ant. Thou bleed'st apace. 

Scar. I had a wound here that was like a T, 
But now 'tis made an H, 

Ant. They do retire. 



Scar. We'll beat 'em into bench-holes ; I have yet 
Room for six scotches more. 

Enf^r Eros. 

Eros. They are beaten, sir ; and our advantage serves 
For a fair victory. 

Scar. Let us score their backs, 

And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind ; 
'Tis sport to maul a runner. 

Ant. I will reward thee 

Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold 
For thy good valour. Come thee on. 

Scar. I'll halt after. [Exeutit. 

SCENE VIII — Under the TFa2/s o/ Alexandria. 

Alarum. Enter Antony, warc/i inn- ; Scarus, 

and Forces. 
Ant. We have beat him to his camp ; — Run one 
before. 
And let the queen know of our guests. — To-morrow, 
Before the sun shall see us, we'll spill the blood 
That has to-day escap'd. I thank you all ; 
For doughty-handed are you ; and have fought 
Not as you serv'd the cause, but as it had been 
Each man's like mine ; you have shewn all Hectors. 
Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends, 
Tell them your feats ; whilst they with joyful tears 
Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss 
The honour'd gashes whole.— Give me thy hand ; 

[To Scarus. 
Enter Cleopatra, attended. 

To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts. 
Make her thanks bless thee. — O thou day o' the world. 
Chain mine arm'd neck ; leap thou, attire and all, 
Through proof of harness to my heart, and there 
Ride on the pants triumphing. 

Cleo. Lord of lords I 

O infinite virtue ! com'st thou smiling from 
The world's great snare uncaught] 

Ant. ]My nightingale, [^''^y 

We have beat them to their beds. What, girl ? though 
Do something mingle with our brown ; yet have we 
A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can 
Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man ; 
Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand ; — 
Kiss it, my warrior: — He hath fought to-day, 
As if a god, in hate of mankind, had 
Destroy 'd in such a shape. 

Cleo. I'll give thee, friend. 

An armOur all of gold ; it was a king's. 

Ant. He has deserv'd it, were it carbuncled 
Like holy Phoebus' car. — Give me thy hand ; 
Through Alexandria make a jolly march ; 
Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe them : 
Had our great palace the capacity 
To camp this host, we all would sup together; 
And drink carouses to the next day's fate, 
Which promises royal peril. — Trumpeters, 
With brazen din blast you the city's ear ; 
Make mingle with our rattling tabourines ; [gether 
That heaven and earth may strike their sounds to- 
Applauding our approach. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IX.— Cesar's Camp. 
Sentinels o«(/ieir post. Enter Enobarbus. 

1 Sold. If we be not reliev'd within this hour, 
We must return to the coart of guard: The night 
Is shiny ; and, they say, we shall embattle 

By the second hour i' the morn. 

2 Sold. This last day was 
A shrewd one to us. 



ii9i 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



Eno. O, bear me witness, night, — 

3 Sold. What man is this 1 

% Sold. Stand close, and list to him. 

£710. Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon, 
When men revolted shall upon record 
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did 
Before thy face repent I — 

1 Sold. Enobarbus ! 

3 Sold. Peace ; 

Hark further. 

Eno. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy. 
The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me ; 
That life, a very rebel to my will, 
May hang no longer on me : Throw my heart 
Against the flint and hardness of my fault ; 
Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder. 
And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony, 
Nobler than my revolt is infamous, 
Forgive me in thine own particular ; 
But let the world rank me in register 
A master-leaver, and a fugitive : 
O Antony ! O Antony ! [Dies. 

2 Sold. Let's speak 
To him. 

1 Sold. Let s hear him, for the things he speaks 
May concern Cffisar. 

3 Sold. Let's do so. But he sleeps. 

1 Sold. Swoons rather ; for so bad a prayer as his 
Was never yet for sleeping. 

2 Sold. Go we to him. 

3 Sold. Awake, awake, sir ; speak to us. 
^Sold. Hear you, sir? 

1 Sold- The hand of death hath raught him. Hark, 
the drums [Drums afar off. 

Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him 
To the court of guard ; he is of note : our hour 
Is fully out. 

3 Sold. Come on, then ; 

He may recover yet. [Exeunt with the body. 

SCENE X. — Between the two Camps. 
Enter Antony and Scarvs, with Forces marching. 

Ant. Their preparation is to-day by sea; 
We please them not by land. 

Scar. For both, my lord. 

Ant. I would, they'd fight i' the fire, or in the air ; 
We 'd fight there too. But this it is ; Our foot 
Upon the hills adjoining to the city, 
Shall stay with us : order for sea is given ; 
They have put forth the haven ; Further on. 
Where their appointment we may best discover. 
And look on their endeavour. [Exeunt. 

Enter C^sak, and his Forces marching. 
Ctes. But, being charg'd.we will be still by land. 
Which, as I tak't, we shall ; for his best force 
Is forth to man his gallies. To the vales. 
And hold our best advantage. [Exeunt. 

Re-enter Antony and Scarus. 

Ant. Yet they're not join'd ; Where yonder pine 
does stand, 
1 shall discover all : I'll bring thee word 
Straight, how 'tis like to go. [Exit. 

Scar. Swallows have built 

In Cleopatra's sails their nests : the augurers 
Say, they know not,— they cannot tell ;— look grimly. 
And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony 
Is valiant and dejected ; and, by starts, 
His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear. 
Of what he has, and has not. 



Alarum afar uff, as at a sea-Jight, 

Re-ente)' Antony. 

Ant. All is lost J 

This foul Egyptian hath betray'd me : 
My fleet hath yielded to the foe ; and yonder 
They cast their caps up, and carouse together 
Like friends long lost. — Triple-turn'd whore! 'tis then 
Hast sold me to this novice ; and my heart 
Makes only wars on thee. — Bid them all fly ; 
For when I am reveng'd upon my charm, 
I have done all : — Bid them all fly, be gone. 

[Exit ScARUs. 
O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more : 
Fortune and Antony part here ; even here 
Do we shake hands. — All come to this ? — The hearts 
That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave 
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets 
On blossoming Cffisar ; and this pine is bark'd. 
That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am : 
this false soul of Egypt ! this grave charm, 
Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them 
Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end, [home ; 
Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose, 
Beguil'd me to the very heart of loss. — 
What, Eros, Eros ! 

Enter Cleopatra. 

Ah, thou spell ! Avaunt. 

Cleo. Why is my lord enrag'd against his love ? 

Ant. Vanish ; or I shall give thee thy deserving. 
And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee, 
And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians : 
Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot 
Of all thy sex ; most monster-like, be shewn 
For poor'st diminutives, to dolts ; and let 
Patient Octavia plough thy visage up 
With her prepared nails. [Exit Cleo.] 'Tis well 

thou 'rt gone, 
If it be well to live : But better 'twere 
Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death 
Might have prevented many. — Eros, ho ! 
The shirt of Nessus is upon me : Teach me, 
Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage : 
Let me lodge Lichas on the horns 0' the moon ; 
And with those hands that grasp'd the heaviest club, 
Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die ; 
To the Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall 
Under this plot : she dies for't. — Eros, ho ! [Exit. 

SCENE XL — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian. 

Cleo. Help me, my women ! O, he is more mad 
Than Telamon for his shield ; the boar of Thessaly 
Was never so emboss'd. 

Char. To the monument ; 

There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead. 
The soul and body rive not more in parting. 
Than greatness going off. 

Cleo. To the monument : — 

Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself; 
Say that the last 1 spoke was, Antony, 
And word it pr'ythee, piteously : Hence, 
Mardian ; and bring me how he takes my death. — 
To the monument. [Exeunt. 

SCENE XII The same. Another Room, 

Enter Antony and Eros. 

Ant. Eros, thou yet behold'st me? 

Eros. Ay, noble lord. 

Ant. Sometimes we see a cloud that 's dragonish : 



ACT IV.— SCENE XII. 



6.95 



A vapour, sometime, like a bear, or lion, 

A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock, 

A forked mountain, or blue promontory 

With trees upon't, that nod unto the world, 

And mock our eyes with air : thou hast seen these 

They are black vesper's pageants. [signs ; 

Eros, Ay, my lord. 

Ant. That which is now ahorse, even with a thought. 
The rack dislimns ; and makes it indistinct, 
As water is in water. 

Eros. It does, my lord. 

AiU. My good knave, Eros, now thy captain is 
Even such a body : here I am Antony ; 
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave. 
I made these wars for Egypt ; and the queen, — 
Whose heart, I thought, I had, for she had mine ; 
Which, whilst it was mine, had annex'd unto't 
A million more, now lost, — she, Eros, has 
Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false play'd my glory 
Unto an enemy's triumph. — 
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros ; there is left us 
Ourselves to end ourselves. — O, thy vile lady ! 

Enter Mardian. 
She has robb'd me of my sword 



Mar 



No, Antony ; 



My mistress lov'd thee, and her fortunes mingled 
With thine entirely. 

Ant. Hence, saucy eunuch ; peace ; 

She hath betray'd me, and shall die the death. 

Mar. Death of one person can be paid but once ; 
And that she has discharg'd : What thou would'st do 
Is done unto thy hand ; the last she spake 
Was, Antony ! most noble Antony ! 
Then in the midst a tearing groan did break 
The name of Antony ; it was divided 
Between her heart and lips : she render'd life, 
Thy name so buried ia her. 

Ant. Dead then? 

Mar. Dead. 

Ant. Eros, unarm ; the long day's task is done. 
And we must sleep : — That thou depart'st hence safe. 
Does pay thy labour richly ; Go. — Off, pluck off; — 

[Exit Mahdian. 
The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep 
The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides ! 
Heart, once be stronger than thy continent. 
Crack thy frail case ! — Apace, Eros, apace. — 
No more a soldier : — Bruised pieces, go ; 
You have been nobly borne. — From me a while. — 

[Exit Eros. 
I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and 
Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now 
All length is torture : — Since the torch is out. 
Lie down, and stray no further : Now all labour 
Mars what it does ; yea, very force entangles 
Itself with strength : Seal then, and all is done. — 
Eros! — I come, my queen: — Eros! — Stay for me: 
Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in hand, 
And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze : 
Dido and her yEneas shall want troops. 
And all the haunt be ours. — Come, Eros, Eros ! 

Re-enter Eros. 

Eros. What would my lord ? 

Ant. Since Cleopatra died, 

I have liv'd in such dishonour, that the gods 
Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword 
Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back 
With ships made cities, condemn myself, to lack 
The courage of a woman ; less noble rnind 
Than she, which, by her death, our Cajsar tells, 
1 am conqueror of myself. Thou art sworn, Eros, 



That, when the exigent should come, (which now 
Is come, indeed,) when I should see behiud me 
The inevitable prosecution of 
Disgrace, and horror, that, on my command. 
Thou then would'st kill me: do't; the time is come: 
Thou strik'st not me, 'tis Caesar thou defeat'st. 
Put colour in thy cheek. 

Eros. The gods withhold me ! 

Shall I do that, which all the Parthian darts. 
Though enemy, lost aim, and could not? 

Ant. Eros 

Would'st thou be window'd in great Rome, and see 
Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending down 
His corrigible neck, his face subdued 
To penetrative shame ; whilst the wlieel'd seat 
Of fortunate Caisar, drawn before him, branded 
His baseness that ensued I 

Eros. I would not see 't. 

Ant. Come then; for with a wound I must be cur'd. 
Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn 
Most useful for thy country. 

Eros, O, sir, pardon me. 

Ant. When I did make thee free, swor'st thou not 
To do this when I bade thee t Do it at once ; [then 
Or thy precedent services are all 
But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come. 

Eros. Turn from me then that noble countenance, 
Wherein the worship of the whole world lies. 

Ant, Lo thee. [Turning from him, 

Eros. My sword is drawn. 

Ant. Then let it do at once 

The thing why thou hast drawn it. 

Eros. My dear master, 

My captain, and my emperor ; let me say. 
Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell. 

Ant. 'Tis said, man ; — and farewell. 

Eros. Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now? 

Ant. Now, Eros, 

Eros. Why, there then : — [Falls on his sword.] 
Thus do I escape the sorrow 
Of Antony's death. [Dies. 

Ant. Thrice nobler than myself! 

Thou teachest me, valiant Eros, what 
I should, and thou could'st not. My queen and Eros 
Have, by their brave instruction, got upon me 
A nobleness in record : But I will be 
A bridegroom in my death, and run into't 
As to a lover's bed. Come then ; and, Eros, 
Thy master dies thy scholar ; to do thus 

[Falling on his sword. 
I learn'd of thee. How ! not yet dead? not dead? — 
The guard ! — ho ! — O, despatch me. 

Enter Dercetas aiid Guard. 

1 Guard. What's the noise? 
Ant. I have done my work ill, friends ; O, make 

Of what I have begun. [an end 

2 Guard. The star is fallen. 

1 Guard. And time is at his period. 

All. Alas, and woe ? 

Aitt. Let him, that loves me, strike me dead. 

t Guard. Not I. 

2 Guard. Nor I. 

3 Guard. Nor any one. [Exeunt Guard. 
Der. Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly. 

This sword but shewn to Cffisar, witli the tidings, 
Shall enter me with him. 

Enter DiOMEDES. 
Dio. Where 's Antony ? 

Der. There, Diomed, there. 

Dio. Lives he ? 

Wilt thou not answer, man ? [Exit Dercetas. 



006 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



Ant. Art thou there, Diomedl Draw thy sword, and 
Sufficing strokes for death. [g've me 

Dio. Most absolute lord, 

My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee. 
Ant. When did she send thee ] 
Dio. Now my lord. 

Ant. Where is she 1 [ing fear 

Dio. Lock'd in her monument. She had a prophesy- 
Of what hath come to pass : for when she saw 
(Which never shall be found,) you did suspect 
She had dispos'd with Cassar, and that your rage 
Would not be purg'd,she sent you word she was dead; 
But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent 
Me to proclaim the truth ; and I am come, 
I dread, too late. [pr'ythee. 

A7it. Too late, good Diomed : — Call my guard, I 
Dio. What, ho ! the emperor's guard ! The guard. 
Come, your lord calls. [what, ho ! 

Enter some of the Guard. 

Ant. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides ; 
'Tis the last service that I shall command you. 

1 GMard, Woe are we, sir, you may not live to wear 
All your true followers out. 

ALL Most heavy day ! 

Ant. Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp fate 
To grace it with your sorrows : bid that welcome 
Which comes to punish us, and we punish it 
Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up : 
I have led you oft ; carry me now, good friends. 
And have my thanks for all. \JLxeunt, bearing A.vitoii\. 

SCENE XIII.— T/ie same. A Monument. 

Enter above, Cleopatra, Charmian, a7id Iras. 

Cleo. O Charmian, I will never go from hence. 

Char. Be comforted, dear madam. 

Cleo. No, I will not : 

All strange and terrible events are welcome. 
But comforts we despise ; our size of sorrow, 
Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great. 

Enter Diomedes. 
As that which makes it. — How now ? is he dead 1 ' 

Dio. His death 's upon him, but not dead. 
Look out o' the other side your monument, 
His guard have brought him thither. 

Enter Antony, borne by the Guard. 

Cleo. O thou sun. 

Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in ! — darkling stand 
The varying shore o'the world! — O Antony ! 
Antony, Antony! — Charmian, help ; help, Iras ; 
Help, friends below ; let's draw him hither. 

Ant. Peace : 

Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, 
But Antony's hath triumphed on itself. 

Cleo. So it should be, that none but Antony 
Should conquer Antony ; but woe 'tis so ! 

Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying ; only 
I here imp6rtune death a while, until 
Of many thousand kisses the poor last 
I lay upon thy lips. — 

Cleo, I dare not, dear, 

(Dear my lord, pardon,) I dare not. 
Lest I be taken : not the imperious show 
Of the full-fortun'd Caesar ever shall 
Be brooch'd with me ; if knife, drugs, serpents, have 
Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe: 
Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes. 
And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour 
Demuring upon me. — But come, come, Antony, — • 
Help me, my women, — we must draw thee up; — 
Assist, good friends. 



Ant. O, quick, or I am gone. 

Cleo. Here's sport, indeed ! — How heavy weighs my 
Our strength is all gone into heaviness, [lord ! 

That makes the weight : Had I great Juno's power. 
The strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up. 
And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little, — 
Wishers were ever fools ; — O, come, come, come ; 

[2"hey draw Antony up. 
And welcome, welcome! die, where thou hast liv'd: 
Quicken with kissing ; had my lips that power. 
Thus would 1 wear them out. 

All. A heavy sight ! 

Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying : 
Give me some wine, and let me speak a little. 

Cleo. No, let me speak ; and let me rail so high. 
That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel, 
Provok'd by my ofience. 

Ant. One word, sweet queen : 

Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. — O ! 

Cleo. They do not go together. 

Ant. Gentle, hear me ! 

None about Cassar trust, but Proculeius. 

Cleo. ]\Iy resolution, and my hands, I '11 trust ; 
None about Caesar, 

Ant. The miserable change now at my end. 
Lament nor sorrow at : but please your thoughts. 
In feeding them with those my former fortunes 
Wherein I liv'd, the greatest prince o'tlie world, 
The noblest : and do now not basely die. 
Nor cowardly ; put off my helmet to 
My countryman, a Roman, by a Roman 
Valiantly vanquish'd. Now, my spirit is going; 
I can no more. ^Dics. 

Cleo. Noblest of men, woe 't die 1 

Hast thou no care of me? shall 1 abide 
In this dull world, which in thy absence is 
No better than a stye l — O, see my women^ 
The crown o' the earth doth melt : — My lord! — 
O, wither'd is the garland of the war. 
The soldier's pole is fallen ; young boys, and girls, 
Are level now with men : the odds is gone. 
And there is nothing left remarkable 
Beneath the visiting moon. [She faints. 

Char. O, quietness, lady ! 

Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign. 

Char. Lady, — 

Iras. Madam, — 

Char. O madam, madam, madam ! 

Iras. Royal Egypt ■ 

Empress I 

Char. Peace, peace, Iras. 

Cleo. No more, but e'en a woman; and commanded 
By such poor passion as the maid that milks. 
And does the meanest chares. — It were for me 
To throw my scepter at the injurious gods ; 
'J'o tell them, that this world did equal theirs, 
Till they had stolen our jewel. All's but nought; 
Patience is sottish ; and impatience does 
Become a dog that's mad : Then is it sin, 
To rush into the secret house of death. 
Ere death dare come to usl — How do you, women? 
What, what? good cheer ! Why, how now, Charmaini 
My noble girls I — Ah, women, women! look. 
Our lampis spent, it's out: — Good sirs, take heart: — 

[To the Guard belou-. 
We'll bury him : and then, what's brave, what's noble. 
Let's do it after the high Roman fashion. 
And make death proud to take us. Come, away : 
This case of that huge spirit now is cold. 
Ah, women, women ! come ; we have no friend 
But resolution, and the briefest end. 

[Eieunt; those above bearing off' Antony's body. 



ACT v.— SCENE II. 



6'97 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — Cesar's Camp before Alexandria. 

Enter C*sar, Agrippa, Dolabf.li.a, MeC;1;nas, 
Gali.us, Phoculeius, and others. 

Ccrs. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield ; 
Being so frustrate, tell him, he mocks us by 
The pauses that he makes. 

Dol. Ca;sar, I shall. [Exit DoLABELr.A. 

Enter Dercetas, with the sword of Antonv. 

C(fs. Wherefore is that land what art thou, that dar'st 
Appear thus to US'? 

Der. I am call'd Dercetas ; 

Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy 
Best to be serv'd : whilst he stood up, and spoke, 
He was my master ; and I wore my life. 
To spend upon his haters : If thou plcase 
To take me to thee, as I was to him 
I '11 be to Ca3sar ; if thou pleasest not, 
I yield thee up my life. 

Ctes. What is 't thou say'st "! 

Der. I say, O Cffisar, Antony is dead. 

Cas. The breaking of so great a thing should make 
A greater crack : The round world should have shook 
Lions into civil streets. 

And citizens to their dens : — The death of Antony 
Is not a single doom ; in the nUme lay 
A moiety of the world. 

Der. He is dead, Csesar ; 

Not by a public minister of justice, 
Nor by a hiied knife ; but that self hand, 
Which writ his honour in the acts he did. 
Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it, 
Splitted the heart. — This is his sword ; 
I robb'd his wound of it ; behold it stain'd 
With his most noble blood. 

C<es. Look you sad, friends 1 

The gods rebuke me, but it is a tidings 
To wash the eyes of kings. 

Agr. And strange it is, 

That nature must compel us to lament 
Our most persisted deeds. 

Mec. His taints and honours 

Waged equal with him. 

Agr. A rarer spirit never 

Did steer humanity : but you, gods, will give us 
Some faults to make us men. Caesar is touch'd. 

Mec. When such a spacious mirror's set before him, 
He needs must see himself. 

Cas. Antony ! 

I have follow'd thee to this ; — But we do lance 
Diseases in our bodies : I must perforce 
Have shev,'n to thee such a declining day, 
Or look on thine ; we could not stall together 
In the whole world : But yet let me lament. 
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts, 
Tiiat thou, my brother, my competitor 
In top of all design, my mate in empire. 
Friend and companion in the front of war, 
I'he arm of mine own body, and the heart 
Where mine his thoughts did kindle, — that our stars 
Unreconciliable, should divide 
Our equalness to this. — Hear me, good friends, — 
But I will tell you at some meeter season ; 

Entei- a Messenger. 
The bvisine>8 of this man looks out of him. 
We'll hear liini what he says. — Whence are you ? 

Mess. A poor Kgy ptian yet. The queen my mistress, 
Confin'd in all she has, her monument. 
Of tliy intents desires instruction ; 
That she preparedly may frame herself 
To the way she's forced to. 



Cas, Bid her have good heart ; 

She soon shall know of us, by some of ours, 
How honourable and how kindly we 
Determine foe her : for Cassar cannot live 
To be ungentle. 

Mess. So the gods preserve thee ! [Exit, 

C(es. Come hither, Proculeius ; Go, and say. 
We purpose her no shame : give her what comforts 
The quality of her passion shall require ; 
Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke 
She do defeat us : for her life in Rome 
Would be eternal in our triumph : Go, 
And, with your speediest, bring us what she says, 
And how you find of her. 

Pro. Caesar, I shall. [Ea/t Proculeius. 

Ctrs. Gallus, go you along. — Where's Dolabella, 
To second Proculeius 1 [Exit Gallus. 

Agr. Mec. Dolabella ! 

Ctrs. Let him alone, for I remember now 
How he's employed ; he shall in time be ready. 
Go with me to my tent : where you shall see 
How hardly I was drawn into this war ; 
How calm and gentle I proceeded still 
In all my writings ; Go with me, and see 
What I can shew in this. [Eieunt. 

SCENE II. — Alexandria. A Room in the Monument. 
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras. 
Cleo. My desolation does begin to make 
A better life : 'Tis paltry to be C»sar ; 
Not being fortune, he's but fortune's knave, 
A minister of her will ; And it is great 
To do that thing that ends all other deeds ; 
Which shackles accidents, and bolts up change; 
Which sleeps, and never palates more the dung. 
The beggar's nurse and Caisar's. 

Enter, to the gates of the Monument, Proculeius, 
Gallus, and Soldiers. 

Pro. CiFsar sends greeting to the queen of Egypt; 
And bids thee study on what fair demands 
Thou mean'st to have him grant thee. 

Cieo. [Within.] What's thy name 1 

Pro. My name is Proculeius. 

Cleo. [Withiti.] Antony 

Did tell me of you, bade me trust you ; but 
I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd, 
That have no use for trusting. If your master 
Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him. 
That majesty, to keep decorum, must 
No less beg than a kingdom : if he please 
To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son. 
He gives me so much of mine own, as I 
Will kneel to him with thanks. 

Pi". Be of good cheer ; 

You are fallen into a princely hand, fear nothing: 
Make your full reference freely to my lord. 
Who is so full of grace, that it Hows over 
On all that need : Let me report to him 
Your sweet dependancy : and you shall find 
A conqueror, that will pray in aid for kindness, 
Where he for grace is kneeld to. 

C/o. []\'ithin.] Pray you, tell him 

I am his fortune's vassal, and I send liim 
The greatness he has got. 1 hourly learn 
A doctrine of obedience ; and would gladly 
Look him i'the face. 

Pro. This I'll report, dear lady. 

Have comfort ■ for, I know, your plight is pitied 
Of him that caus'd it. 

CkiI. You see how easily she may be surpriz'd ; 
[Here Proculeius, noff tuo of the G\ia.Td, ascend 
the Monument by a ladder placed against a windoio. 



690 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



and having descended, come behind CLEOPAxnA. 
Some of the Guard unbar and open the gates. 
Guard her till Cajsar come. 

[To PnocuLEius and the Guard. Exit Gallus. 

Iras. Royal queen ! 

Char. O Cleopatra! thou art taken, queen! — 

Cleo. Quick, quick, good hands. [Drawing a dagger. 

Pro. Hold, worthy lady, hold : [Seizes 8^ disarms her. 
Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this 
Reliev'd, but not betray'd. 

Cleo, What, of death too 

That rids our dogs of languish 1 

Pro. Cleopatra, 

Do not abuse my master's bounty, by 
The undoing of yourself: let the world see 
His nobleness well acted, which your death 
Will never let come forth. 

Cleo. Where art thou, death? 

Come hither, come ! come, come, and take a queen 
Worth many babes and beggars ! 

Pro. O, temperance, lady ! 

Cleo. Sir, I will eat no meat, I'll not drink, sir ; 
If idle talk will once be necessary, 
I'll not sleep neither : This mortal house I'll ruin, 
Do Caesar what he can. Know, sir, that I 
Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court ; 
Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eye 
Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up. 
And shew me to the shouting varletry 
Of censuring Rome 1 Rather a ditch in Egypt 
Be gentle grave to me ! rather on Nil us' mud 
Lay me stark naked, and let the water -flies 
Blow me into abhorring ! rather make 
My country's high pyramides my gibbet. 
And hang me up in chains ! 

Pro. You do extend 

These thoughts of horror further than you shall 
Find cause in Caasar 

Enter Dolabella. 

Doi. Proculeius, 

What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows. 
And he hath sent for thee : as for the queen, 
I'll take her to my guard. 

Pro. So, Dolabella, 

It shall content me best : be gentle to her. — 
To Csesar I will speak what you shall please, 
If you'll employ me to him. [To Cleopatra. 

Cleo. Say, I would die. [Exeunt Puo. and Sold. 

Dol. Most noble empress, you have heard of me 1 

Cleo. I cannot tell. 

Dol. Assuredly, you know me. 

Cleo. No matter, sir, what I have heard, or known. 
You laugh, when boys, or women, tell their dreams; 
Is't not your trick? 

Dol. I understand not, madam. 

Cleo. I dream'd, there was an emperor Antony ; — 
O, such another sleep, that I might see 
But such another man ! 

Dol. If it might please you, — 

Cleo. His face was as the heavens ; and therein stuck 
A sun, and moon ; which kept their course, and lighted 
The little O, the earth. 

Dol. Most sovereign creature, — 

Cleo. His legs bestrid the ocean : his rear'd arm 
Crested the world : his voice was propertied 
As all the tuned s])heres, and that to friends ; 
But when he meant to quail and shake the orb, 
He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty. 
There was no winter in't ; an autumn 'twas. 
That grew the more by reaping : His delights 
Were dolphin-like ; they shew'd his back above 
Tlie element they liv'd in : In his livery 



Walk'd crowns, and crownets ; realms and islands 
As plates dropp'd from his pocket. [were 

Dol. Cleopatra, — 

Cto. Think you, there was, or might be, suchaman 
As this I dream'd of ? 

Dol. Gentle madam, no. 

Cleo. You lie, up to the hearing of the gods. 
But, if there be, or ever were one such. 
It's past the size of dreaming : Nature wants stufl 
To vie strange forms with fancy ; yet, to imagine 
An Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy, 
Condemning shadows quite. 

Dol. Hear me, good madam: 

Your loss is as yourself, great ; and you bear it 
As answering to the weight: 'Would I might never 
O'ertake pursu'd success, but I do feel. 
By the rebound of yours, a grief that slioots 
My very heart at root. 

Cleo, I thank you, sir. 

Know you, what Cffisar means to do with me 1 

Dol, I am loath to tell you what I would you knew. 

Cleo. Nay, pray you, sir, — 

Dol. Though he be honourable, — 

Cleo. He'll lead me then in triumph ? 

Dol. Madam, he will ; 

I know it. 

Within. Make way there, — Caesar. 

Enter C«sar, Gallus, Proculeius, Mec«nas, 
Seleucus, and Attendants. 

Ctrs. Which is the queen 

Of Egypt? 

Dol. 'Tis the emperor, madam. [Cleopatra kneels. 

Cas. Arise, 

You shall not kneel : 

I pray you, rise ; rise, Egypt. 

Cleo. Sir, the gods 

Will have it thus ; my master and my lord 
I must obey. 

Cces. Take to you no hard thoughts : 

The record of what injuries you did us, 
Though written in our flesh, we shall remember 
As things but done by chance. 

Cleo. Sole sir o' the world, 

I cannot project mine own cause so well 
To make it clear ; but do confess, I have 
Been laden with like frailties, which before 
Have often sham'd our sex. 

C{^s. Cleopatra, know. 

We will extenuate rather than enforce : 
If you apply yourself to our intents, 
(Which towards you are most gentle,) you shall find 
A benefit in this change ; but if you seek 
To lay on me a cruelty, by taking 
Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself 
Of my good purposes, and put your children 
To that destruction which I'll guard them from, 
If thereon you rely. I'll take my leave. [and we 

Cleo. And may, through all the world: 'tis yours; 
Your 'scutcheons, and your signs of conquest shall 
Hang in what place you please. Here, my good lord. 

Cies. You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra. 

Cleo. This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels, 
I am possess'd of: 'tis exactly valued ; 
Not petty things admitted. — Where 's Seleucus ? 

Sel. Here, madam. 

Cleo. This is my treasurer ; let him speak, my lord. 
Upon his peril, that I have reserv'd 
To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus. 

Sel. Madam, 
I had rather seel my lips, than, to my peril. 
Speak that which is not. 

Cleo. What have I kept back 1 



ACT V -SCENE II. 



699 



Sel. Enough to purchase what you have made known. 

Cies. Nay, blush not, Cleopatra ; 1 approve 
Your wisdom in the deed. 

Cleo. See, Cffisar! O, behold, 

How pomp is follow'd ! mine will now be yours ; 
And, should we shift estates, yours would be miue. 
1 he ingratitude of this Seleucus does 
Even make me wild : O slave, of no more trust 
Ihan love that's hir'd 1 — What, goest thou back? 

thou shalt 
Go back, I warrant thee ; I'll catch thine eyes. 
Though they had wings : Slave, soul-less villain, dog ! 

rarely base ! 

Cits. Good queen, let us entreat you. 

Cleo. O Ctesar, what a wounding shame is this ; 
That thou, vouchsafing here to visit me, 
Doing the honour of thy lordliness 
To one so meek, that mine own servant should 
Parcel the sum of my disgraces by 
Addition of his envy ! Say, good Caesar, 
That I some lady trifles have reserv'd, 
Immoment toys, things of such dignity 
As we greet modern friends withal ; and say, 
Some nobler token I have kept apart 
For Livia, and Octavia, to induce 
Their mediation ; must I be unfolded 
With one that I have bredl The gods ! It smites me 
Beneath the fall I have. Pr'ythee, go hence ; 
Or I shall shew the cinders of my spirits [To Seleu. 
Through the ashes of my chance : — Wert thou a man. 
Thou would'st have mercy on me. 

C'ffs. Forbear, Seleucus. [Exit Seleucus. 

Cleo. Be it known, that we, the greatest, are mis- 
For things that others do "! and, when we fall, [thought 
We answer others' merits in our name. 
Are therefore to be pitied. 

Cccs. Cleopatra, 

Not what you have reserv'd, nor what acknowledg'd, 
Put we i' the roll of conquest : still be it yours. 
Bestow it at your pleasure ; and believe, 
Cassar's no merchant, to make prize with you 
Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be cheer'd ; 
Make not your thoughts youi prisons: no, dear queen. 
For we intend so to dispose you, as 
Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed, and sleep 
Our care and pity is so much upon you, 
That we remain your friend ; And so adieu. 

Cleo My master, and my lord ! 

C«s. Not so: Adieu. [Exeunt CjfSAii,a7idhisTrain. 

Cleo. He words me, girls.hewordsme, that I should 
Be noble to myself: but hark thee, (^harmian. [not 

[Whispers Charmian. 

Iras. Finish, good lady ; the bright day is done. 
And we are for the dark. 

Cleo. Hie thee again: 

1 have spoke already, and it is provided ; 
Go, put it to the haste. 

Char. Madam, I will. 

lie-enter Doi.adella. 

Dol. Where is the queen 1 

Char. iiehold, sir. [Eiit Charmian. 

Cleo. Dolabella? 

DpI. Madam, as thereto sworn by your command. 
Which my love makes religion to obey, 
I tell you this : Cajsar through Syria 
Intends his journey ; and, within three days, 
You with your children will he send before : 
Make your best use of this : 1 have perform 'd 
Y'our pleasure, and my promise. 

Cleo. Dolabella, 

1 shall remain your debtor. 



Dol. I your servant. 

Adieu, good queen ; I must attend on Caesar. 

Cleo. Farewell, and tlianks. [Exit Dol. J Now, 
Iras, what tiiink'st tliou ? 
Tiiou, an Egyptian puppet, shalt be shewn 
In Rome, as well as I : mechanic slaves 
With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall 
Uplift us to the view ; in their thick breaths. 
Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded, 
And forc'd to drink their vapour. 

Iras. The gods forbid! 

Cleo. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras : Saucy lictors 
Will catch at us, like strumpets ; and scald rhymers 
Ballad us out o' tune : the quick comedians 
Extemporally will stage us, and present 
Our Alexandrian revels •, Antony 
Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see 
Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness 
I' the posture of a whore. 

Iras. O the good gods ! 

Cleo. Nay, that is certain. 

Iras. I '11 never see it ; for, I am sure, my nails 
Are stronger than mine eyes. 

Cleo. Why, that's the way 

To fool their preparation, and to conquer 
Their most absurd intents. — Now, Charmian 1 — 

Enter Charmian. 
Shew me, my women, like a queen ; — Go fetch 
My best attires ; — I am again for Cydnus, 
To meet Mark Antony: — Sirrah, Iras, go. — 
Now, noble Charmian, we'll despatch indeed : 
And, when thou hast done this chare, I'll give thee leave 
To play till dooms-day. — Bring our crown and all. 
Wherefore 's this noise 1 [Exit ] ras. A noise within. 
Enter one of the Guard. 

Guard. Here is a rural fellow, 

That will not be denied your highness' presence ; 
He brings you figs. 

Cleo. Let him come in. How poor an instrument 

[Exit Guard. 
May do a noble deed ! he brings me liberty. 
My resolution's plac'd, and I have nothing 
Of woman in me : Now from head to foot 
I am marble-constant ; now the fleeting moon 
No planet is of mine. 

Re-enter Guard, with a Clown bringing a basket. 

Guard. This is the man. 

Cleo. Avoid, and leave him. [Exit Guard. 

Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there. 
That kills and pains not ] 

Clown. Truly I have him : but I would not be the 
party that should desire you to touch him, for his 
biting is immortal ; those, that do die of it, do seldom 
or never recover. 

Cleo. Remember'st thou any that have died on't ? 

Clown. Very many, men and women too. I heard 
of one of them no longer than yesterday: a very honest 
woman, but something given to lie ; as a woman 
should not do, but in tlie way of honesty : how she 
died of the biting of it, what pain she felt, — Truly, 
she makes a very good report o' the worm : ]3ut he 
that will believe all that they say, shall never be saved 
by half that they do : But this is most fallible, the 
worm's an odd worm. 

Cleo. Get thee hence ; farewell. 

Clown, I wish you all joy of the worm. 

Cleo. Farewell. [Clown sets down the basket 

Clown. You must think this, look you, that the 
worm will do his kind. 

Cleo. Ay, ay ; farewell. 

Clown. Look you, the worm is not to be trusted. 



700 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



but in the keeping of wise people : for, indeed, there 
is no goodness in the worm. 

Cleo. Take thou no care ; it shall be heeded. 

Clown. Very good : give it nothing, I pray you, for 
it is not worth the feeding. 

Cleo. Will it eat me? 

Clown. You ihust not think I am so simple, but I 
know the devil himself will not eat a woman: 1 know, 
that a woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress 
her not. But, truly, these same whoreson devils do 
the gods great harm in their women ; for in every ten 
that they make, the devils mar five. 

Cleo. Well, get thee gone : farewell. 

Clown. Yes, forsooth ; I wish you joy of the worm. 

[Eiit. 

Re-e)Her Iras, with a robe, crown, <5fc. 

Cleo. Give me my robe, put on my crown ; I have 
Immortal longings in me : Now no more 
The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip : — 
Yare, yare, good Iras ; quick.— Methinks, I hear 
Antony call ; I see him rouse himself 
To praise my noble act ; I hear him mock 
The luck of Cffisar, which the gods give men 
To excuse their after wrath : Husband, I come : 
Now to that name my courage prove my title ' 
I am fire, and air; my other elements 
I give to baser life. — So, — have you done 1 
Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. 
Farewell, kind Charmian ; — Iras, long farewell. 

[A'isses them. Ihas falls and dies. 
Have I the aspick in my lips ? Dost fall 1 
If thou and nature can so gently part. 
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, 
Which hurts, and is desir'd. Dost thou lie still 1 
If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world 
It is not worth leave-taking. 

Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain ; that I may 
The gods themselves do weep ! [say, 

Cleo. This proves me base : 

If she first meet the curled Antony, 
He '11 make demand of her ; and spend that kiss. 
Which is my heaven to have. Come, mortal wretch, 
[To the asp, which she applies to her breast. 
With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate 
Of life at once untie : poor venemous fool. 
Be angry, and despatch. O, could'st thou speak ! 
That 1 might hear thee call great Caesar, ass 
Unpolicied I 

Char. O eastern star! 

Cleo. Peace, peace ! 

Dost thou not see my baby at my breast. 
That sucks the nurse asleep 1 

Char. O, break! O, break I 

Cleo. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle, — 

Antony I — Nay, I will take thee loo : — 

[Applyitig another asp to her arm. 
What should I stay — [Falls on a bed, and dies. 

Char. In this wide worldl— So, fare thee well. — 
Now boast thee, death ! in thy possession lies 
A lass unparallel'd. — Downy windows, close ; 
And golden Phoebus never be beheld 
Of eyes again so royal ! Your crown's awry ; 

1 '11 mend it, and then play. 



Enter the Guard, rushing in, 

1 Guard. Where is the queen 1 
Char. Speak softly, wake her not. 

1 Guard. Caesar hath sent — 
Char. Too slow a messenger. [Applies the asp. 
O, come ; apace, despatch : I partly feel thee. 

1 Guard. Approach, ho! All's notwell: Cffisar's 

beguil'd. [call him. 

2 Guard. There's Dolabella sent from CaBsar ; — 

1 Guard. What work is here? — Charmian, is this 

well done? 
Char. It is well done, and fitting for a princess 
Descended of so many royal kings. 
Ah, soldier ! [Dies. 

Enter Dolabella. 
Dot. How goes it here ? 

2 Guard. All dead. 

Dol. Caesar, thy thoughts 

Touch their effects in this : Thyself art coming 
To see perform 'd the dreaded act, which thou 
So sought'st to hinder. 

Within. A way there, a way for Caesar. 

Entei- C-csAR, and Attendants. 

Dol. O, sir, you are too sure an augurer ; 
That you did fear, is done. 

CcEs. Bravest at the last : 

She levell'd at our purposes, and being royal. 
Took her own way. — The manner of their deaths ? 
I do not see them bleed. 

Dol. Who was last with them ? 

1 Guard. A simple countryman, that brought hei 
This was his basket. [figs 

Cas. Poison'd then. 

1 Guard. O Caesar, 

This Charmian lived but now ; she stood, and spake : 
I found her trimming up the diadem 
On her dead mistress ; tremblingly she stood, 
And on the sudden dropp'd. 

Cizs. O noble weakness ! — 

If they had swallow'd poison, 'twould, appear 
By external swelling: but she looks like sleep. 
As she would catch another Antony 
In her strong toil of grace. 

Dol. Here, on her breast. 

There is a vent of blood, and something blown : 
The like is on her arm. [leaves 

1 Guard. This is an aspick's trail : and these fig- 
Have slime upon them, such as the aspick leaves 
Upon the caves of Nile. 

Cd's. Most probable. 

That so she died ; for her physician tells me, 
Siie hath pursu'd conclusions infinite 
Of easy ways to die. — I'ake up her bed ; " 
And bear her women from the monument : — ■ 
She shall be buried by her Antony : 
No grave upon the earth shall clip in it 
A pair so famous. High events as these 
Strike those that make them ; and their story is 
No less in pity, than his glory, which 
Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall. 
In solemn show, attend this funeral ; 
And then to Rome. — Come, Dolabella, see 
High order in this great solemnity. [Eieinif. 



This play keeps curiosity always busy, and the passions al- 
ways interested. The continual hurry ot the action, the variety 
of incidents, and the quick succession of one i)ersonas;e to an- 
other, call the mind forward without intermission from the first 
act 10 the last. But the power of delighting is derived prin- 
cipally from the frequent changes of the scene ; for, except 
the I'eniinine arts, some of which are too low, which distiii- 
cuish Cleopatra, no character is very strongly discriminaied. 
Upton, who did not easily miss what he desired to find, has 



discovered that the I.^ng^latre of Antony is, with great skill and 
learning, made pompous and superh, according to his real prac- 
tice. But I think his diction not distinguishahle from that ot 
others : the most tumid speech in the play is that which Ltesar 
makes to Octavia. , .. 

1 he events, of which the principal are described according to 
history, are produced without any an of connexion or care o/ 
disposition.— Johnson. 




ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 

CLEOPiTRA. Come, mortal wretch. 

With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate 
Of life at once untie 

-/« v., Xceiie i. 



CYMBELINE. 



This exquisite and romantic drama was nott'tiiered in the Sta- 
tioners' bocil<s, nor priuicd, till 16'Z3. It was probably written 
in about 16i>9. I he plot is in a Kreat decree taken from the 
!Ninth Novel of the Second Day of the Decameron oi Hoc- 
cacio, of which a deformed and interpolaied translation had 
app:;ared so ;arly as 1518 ; and an imitation, in an old story- 
book, entitleU H ennard for Smelli, was printed in ltj03. 

Cymbeline, the king from whom the play takes its title, began 



his reign, according to Ilolinshed, in the nineteenth year of 
tlie reign of Augustus CtKsar; and the play commences in or 
about the twenty-fourth yearof Cynibeline's reign, which was 
the forty-second year ot the reign of Augustus, and tne six- 
teenth ol the Christian tera; notwithstanding which, Shak- 
speare has peopled Kome with modern Italians ; Philario, 
Jachimo, itc. Cymbeline is said to have reigned thirty-five 
years, leaving at his death two sons, Guiderius and Arviragus 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Cymbeline, King o/" Britain. 
Cloten, son to the Queen hu a former liushand. 
hv.oSATVsPosTHVMvsji sent leiminjiiisbund (olmoo'en. 
Belarius, a hanished lord, dhsuised under the name 
nj Morgan. 

Gl sons fi) Cvmbeline, dissitised nnder the 
UIDERIUS, J ^- r> 1 i jn J 1 

A < iinmea of Folvdore (oirf Laavval, siip- 

Arviragus, J J • . "ij 1 • 

( posed sons to belanus. 

Philario, friend to Posthumus, ( t, i- 

Iachimo, _/'(•(«)((/ to Philario, S 

A French Gentleman, friend to Philario. 

Caius Lucius, general of the Roman Forces. 

A Roman Captain. 

Two British Captains. 

Pisanio, servant to Posthumus. 

Cornelius, a physician. 

Two Gentlemen. 

Two Gaolers, 

Queen, xoife to Cymbeline. 

Imogen, daughter to Cymbeline fci/ a former quien. 

Helen, woman to Imogen. 

Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, Apparitions, 
a Soothsayer, a Dutch Gentleman, a Spanish Gen- 
tleman, Musicians, Officers, Captains, Soldiers, Mes- 
sengers, and other Attendants. 

SCENE, — sometimes in Britain ; sometimes i)i Italy. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.— Britain. 

The Garden behind Cymbeline's Palace. 

Enter Two Gentlemen. 

1 Gent. You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods 
No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers ; 
Still seem, as does the king's. 

2 Gent. But what's the matter? 

1 Gent. His daughter, and the heir of his kingdom, 

whom 
He purpos'd to his wife's sole son, (a widow, 
That late he married,) hath referr'd herself 
Unto a poor, but worthy, gentleman : She's wedded ; 
Her husband banish'd ; she imprison'd : all 
Is outward sorrow ; though, I think, the king 
Be touch'd at very heart. 

2 Gent. None but the kingl 

1 GeHt. He, that hath lost her, too: so is the queen, 
That most desir'd the match : but not a courtier. 
Although they wear their faces to the bent 

Of the king's looks, hath a heart tiiat is not 
Glad at the thing they scowl at. 

2 Gent, And why sol 

1 Gent. He that hath miss'd the princess, is a thing 
Too bad for bad report : and he that hath her, 



(I mean, that married her, — alack, good man ! — 
And therefore banish'd,) is a creature such 
As, to seek through the regions of the earth 
For one his like, there would be somethins; failing 
In him that should compare. I do not think, 
So fair an outward, and such stuff within. 
Endows a man but he. 

2 Gent. You speak him far. 

1 Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself; 
Crush him together, rather than unfold 

His measure duly. 

2 Gent. What's his name, and birth ? 

1 Gent. I cannot delve him to the root : His father 
Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour, 
Against the Romans, with Cassibelan ; 

But had his titles by Tenantius, whom 
He serv'd with glory and admir'd success : 
So gain'd the sur-addition, Leonatus: 
And had, besides this gentleman in question. 
Two other sons, who. in the wars o' the time. 
Died with their swords in hand ; for which , their fatlier 
(Then old and fond of issue,) took such sorrow 
That he quit being ; and his gentle lady, 
Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd 
As he was born. The king, he takes the babe 
To his protection ; calk him Posthumus ; 
Breeds him, ana makes him of his bed-chambei : 
Puts him to all the learnings that his time 
Could make him the receiver of; which he took, 
As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd ; and 
In his spring became a harvest: Liv'd in court, 
(Which rare it is to do,) most prais'd, most lov'd : 
A sample to the youngest ; to the more mature, 
A glass that feated them ; and to the graver, 
A child that guided dotards : to his mistress. 
For whom he now is banish'd, — her own price 
Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue ; 
By her election may be truly read. 
What kind of man he is. 

2 Gent. I honour him 

Even out of your report. But, 'pray you, tell me. 
Is she sole child to the king ? 

1 Gent. His only child. 
He had two sons, (if this be worth your hearino-, 
Mark it,) the eldest of them at three years old, 

r the swathing clothes the other, from their nursery 
Were stolen ; and to this hour no guess in knowledo-e 
Which way they went. 

2 Gent, How long is this ago ? 

1 Gent. Some twenty years. 

2 Gent, That a king's children should be so con- 
So slackly guarded ! And the search so slow, [veyed! 
That could not trace them ! 

1 Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange, 
Or that the negligence may well be langh'd at. 
Yet is it true, sir. 

2 Gent, I do well believe you. 

1 Gent. We must forbear : Here comes the queen, 
and princess. lExeunt, 



702 



CYMBELINE. 



SCENE U.—The same. 
Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen. 

Queen. No, be assur'd, you shall not find me, 
After the slander of most step-mothers, [daughter, 
Evil-ey"d unto you : you are my prisoner, but 
Vour gaoler shall deliver you the keys 
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posth6mus, 
So soon as 1 can win the oftended king, 
I will be known your advocate : mairy, yet 
The fire of rage is in him ; and 'twere good, 
You lean'd unto his sentence, with what patience 
Your wisdom may inform you. 

Post. Please your highness, 

I will from hence today. 

Queen. You know the peril : — 

I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying 
I'he pangs of barr'd affections ; though the king 
Hath charg'd you should not speak together. 

Imo. O [Exit Queen. 

Dissembling courtesy ! How fine this tyrant 
Can tickle where she wounds ! — My dearest husband, 
I something fear my father's wrath ; but nothing, 
(Always reserv'd my holy duty,) what 
His rage can do on me : You must be gone ; 
And I shall here abide the hourly shot 
Of angry eyes ; not comforted to live. 
But that there is this jewel in the world. 
That 1 may see again. 

Pust. My queen ! my mistress ! 
O, lady, weep no more : lest I give cause 
To be suspected of more tenderness 
Than doth become a man ! 1 will remain 
The loyal'st husband that did e're plight troth. 
My residence in Rome, at one Philario's ; 
Who to my father was a friend, to me 
Known but by letter : thither write, my queen. 
And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send. 
Though ink be made of gall. 

Re-enter Queen. 

Queen. Be brief, I pray you : 

If the king come, I shall incur I know not 
How much of his displeasure : Yet I'll move him 
To walk this way : I never do him wrong, [Aside. 
But he does buy my injuries, to be friends ; 
Pays dear for my offences. [Exit. 

Post. Should we be taking leave 

As long a term as yet we have to live, 
The loathness to depart would grow : Adieu ! 

17(10. Nay, stay a little: 
Were you but riding forth to air yourself. 
Such parting were too petty. Look here, love ; 
This diamond was my mother's ; take it, heart ; 
But keep it till you woo another wife. 
When Imogen is dead. 

Post, How ! how ! another 1 — 
You gentle gods, give me but this I have. 
And sear up my embracements from a next 
With bonds of death ! — Remain thou here 

[Putthig on the ring. 
While sense can keep it on ! And sweetest, fairest. 
As I my poor self did exchange for you. 
To your so infinite loss ; so in our trifles 
I still win of you : For my sake, wear this ; 
It is a manacie of love ; I'll place it 
Upon this fairest prisoner. 

Inputting a bracelet on her arm 

Imo. O, the gods ! 

When shall we see again 1 

Enter Cymbeline and Lords. 

Post. Alack, the king ! 



Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid I hence, from my 
If, after this command, thou fraught the court [sight! 
With thy unworthiness, thou diest: Away ! 
Thou art poison to my blood. 

Post. The gods protect you ! 

And bless the good remainders of the court ! 
I am gone. [Exit. 

lino. There cannot be a pinch in death 

More sharp than this is. 

Cym. O disloyal thing, 

That should'st repair my youth j thou heapest many 
A year's age on me ! 

Imo. I beseech you, sii, 

Harm not yourself with your vexation ; I 
Am senseless of your wrath ; a touch more rare 
Subdues all pangs, all fears. 

Cym. Past grace ? obedience 1 

Imo. Past hope, end in despair ; that way, past 
grace. [queen ! 

Cym. That might'st have had the sole son of my 

Imo. O bless'd, that I might not ! I chose an eagle, 
And did avoid a puttock. 

Cym. Thou took'st a beggar ; would'st have made 
A seat for baseness. [my throne 

Imo. No ; I rather added 

A lustre to it. 

Cym. O thou vile one ! 

Imo. Sir, 

It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus : 
You bred him as my playfellow ; and he is 
A man, worth any woman ; overbuys me 
Almost the sura he pays. 

Cym, What ! — art thou mad 1 

Imo. Almost, sir: Heaven restore me ! — 'Would I 
A neat-herd's daughter ! and my Leonatus [were 
Our neighbour shepherd's son ! 

Re-enter Queen. 

Cym. Thou foolish thing! — 

They were agam together : you have done 

[To the Queen. 
Not after our command. Away with her. 
And pen her up. 

Queeti. 'Beseech your patience : — Peace, 
Dear lady daughter, peace ; — Sweet sovereign. 
Leave us to ourselves ; and make yourself some com- 
Out of your best advice. [fort 

Cym. Nay, let her languish 

A drop of blood a day ; and, being aged, 
Die of this folly ! [Exit. 

Enter Pisanio. 

Queen. Fye! — you must give way : 

Here is your servant. — How now, sirl What news 1 

Pis. My lord your son drew on my master. 

Queen. Ha ! 

No harm, I trust, is done ? 

Pis. There might have been. 

But that my master rather play'd than fought. 
And had no help of anger ; they were parted 
By gentlemen at hand. 

Queen. I am very glad on't. 

Imo. Your son's my father's friend ; he takes his 
To draw upon an exile ! — O brave sir ! — [part. — 
I would they were in Afric both together ; 
Myself by with a needle, that I might prick 
The goer back. — Why came you from your master? 

Pis. On his command : He would not suffer me 
To bring him to the haven : left these notes 
Of what commands I should be subject to, 
When it pleas'd you to employ me. 

Queen, This hath been 



ACT I.— SCENE V. 



703 



Vour faithful servant; I dare lay mine honour, 
He will remain so. 

Pis. I humbly thank your highness. 

Queen. Pray, walk a while. 

hno. About some half hour hence, 

I pray you, speak with me : you shall, at least, 
Go see my lord aboard : for this time, leave me. [Ex. 

SCENE III.— ^ public Place. 
Enter Cloten and Two Lords. 

1 Lord. Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt ; 
the violence of action hath made you reek as a sacri- 
fice : Where air comes out, air comes in : there's none 
abroad so wholesome as that you vent. 

Clo. If my shirt were bloody, tlien to shift it — 
Have I hurt him 1 

2 Lord. No, faith ; not so much as his patience. 

l^Aside. 

1 Lord. Hurt him? his body's a passable carcase, 
if he be not hurt : it is a thoroughfare for steel, if it 
be not hurt. 

g Lord. His steel was in debt : it went o'the back 
side the town. [^Aside. 

Clo. The villain would not stand me. 

•2 Lord. No; but he fled forward still, toward your 
face. [Aside. 

1 Lord. Stand you ! You have land enough of your 
own : but he added to your having ; gave you some 
ground. 

2 Lord. As many inches as you have oceans : Pup- 
pies '. [Aside. 

Clo. I would, they had not come between us. 

2 Lord. So would I, till you had measured how 
long a fool you were upon the ground. [Aside. 

Clo. And that she should love this fellow, and re- 
fuse me ! 

2 Lord. If it be a sin to make a true election, she 
is damned. [Aside. 

1 Lord. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and 
her brain go not together : She's a good sign, but I 
have seen small reflection of her wit. 

t Lord. She shines not upon fools, lest the reflec- 
tion should hurt her. [Aside. 

Clo. Come, I'll to my chamber: 'Would there had 
been some hurt done ! 

2 Lord. I wish not so ; unless it had been the fall 
of an ass, which is no great hurt. [Aside. 

Clo. You'll go with us? 

1 Lord. I'll attend, your lordship, 
Clo. Nay, come, let's go together. 

2 Lord. Well, my lord. [Eieur.t. 

SCENE IV.— .4 Room in Cymbeline's Palace. 
Enter Imogen and Pisanio. 

Imo. I would thou grew'st unto the shores o'the 
haven, 
And question'dst every sail : if he should write, 
And 1 not have it, 'twere a paper lost, 
As oft'er'd mercy is. What was the last 
That lie spake to thee 1 

Pis. 'Twas, His queen, his queen ! 

Jmo. Then wav'd liis handkerchief? 

Pis. And kiss'd it, madam. 

Imo. Senseless linen ! happier therein than 1 1 — 
And that was all 1 

Pis. No, madam ; for so long 

As lie could make me with this eye or ear 
Distinguish him from others, he did keep 
The deck, witii glove, or hat, or handkerchief, 
Still waving, as the fits and stirs of his mind 
Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on, 



How swift his ship. 

hno. Thou should'st have made him 

As little as a crow, or less, ere left 
To after eye him. 

Pis. Madam, so I did. [them, but 

Imo. I would have broke mine eye-strings ; crack'd 
To look upon him ; till the diminution 
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle : 
Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from 
The sinallness of a gnat to air ; and then 
Have turn'd mine eye, and wept. — But, good Pisanio, 
When shall we hear from him? 

Pis. Be assur'd, madam. 

With his next vantage. 

Imo. I did not take my leave of him, but had 
Most pretty things to say : ere I could tell him. 
How 1 would think on him, at certain hours. 
Such thoughts, and such ; or I could make him swear 
I'he shes of Italy should not betray 
Mine interest, and his honour ; or have charg'd him, 
At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight. 
To encounter me with orisons, for then 
I'am in heaven for him ; or ere I could 
Give him that parting kiss, which I had set 
Betwixt too charming words, comes in my father, 
And, like the tyrannous breathing of the north 
Shakes all our buds from growing. 

Enter a Lady. 

Ladif. The queen, madam. 

Desires your highness' company. 

Imo. Those things I bid you do, get them de- 
I will attend the queen. [spatch'd. — 

Pis. Madam, I shall. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. 

Rome. — An Apartment in Philario's House. 

Enter Philario, Iachimo, a Frenchman, 
a Dutchman, and a Spaniard. 

lack. Believe it, sir: I have seen him in Britain: 
he was then of a crescent note ; expected to prove 
so worthy, as since he hath been allowed the name 
of: but I could then have looked on him without the 
help of admiration ; though the catalogue of his en- 
dowments had been tabled by his side, and I to pe- 
ruse him by items. 

Phi. You speak of him when he was less furnished, 
than now he is, with that which makes him both with- 
out and within. 

French. I have seen him in France : we had very 
many there, could behold the sun with as firm eyes 
as he. 

lach. This matter of marrying his king's daugh- 
ter, (wherein he must be weighed rather by her value, 
than his own,) words him, I doubt not, a great deal 
from the matter. 

French. And then his banishment : 

Inch. Ay, and the approbation of those, that weep 
this lamentable divorce, under her colours, are won- 
derfully to extend him ; be it but to fortify her judg- 
ment, which else an easy battery might lay flat, for 
taking a beggar without more quality. But how 
comes it, he is to sojourn with you ? How creeps ac- 
quaintance ? 

Phi. His father and I were soldiers together ; to 
whom I have been often bound for no less than my 

life: 

Enter Posthumus. 

Here comes the Briton : Let him be so entertained 
amongst you, as suits, with gentlemen of your know- 
ing, to a stranger of his quality. — J beseech you all, 



704 



CYMBELINE. 



be better known to this gentleman ; whom I com- 
mend to you, as a noble friend of mine : How wor- 
thy he is, I will leave to appear hereafter, rather 
than story him iu his own hearing. 

French, Sir, we have known together in Orleans. 

Post. Since when I have been debtor to you for 
courtesies, which I will be ever to pay, and yet pay still. 

French. Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness : I 
was glad I did atone my countryman and you ; it had 
been pity, you should have been put together with 
so mortal a purpose, as then each bore, upon impor- 
tance of so slight and trivial a nature. 

Pest. By your pardon, sir, I was then a young tra- 
veller : rather shunned to go even with what I heard, 
than in my every action to be guided by others" expe- 
riences: but, upon my mended judgment, (if 1 ottend 
not to say it is mended,) my quarrel was not altoge- 
ther slight. 

French. 'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement 
of swords ; and by such two, that would, by all like- 
lihood, have confounded one the other, or have fallen 
both. 

Inch. Can we, with manners, ask what was the 
difference ? 

French. Safely, I think : 'twas a contention in pub- 
lic, which may, without contradiction, suffer the re- 
port. It was much like an argument that fell out last 
night, where each of us fell in praise of our country 
mistresses : This gentleman at that time vouching, 
(and upon warrant of bloody affirmation,) his to be 
more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant-qualified, 
and less attemptible, than any the rarest of our ladies 
in France. 

lack. That lady is not now living; or this gentle- 
man's opinion, by this, worn out. 

Post. She holds her virtue still, and I my mind. 

lach. You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours of 
Italy. 

Post. Being so far provoked as I was in France, 
I would abate her nothing ; thougU I profess myself 
her adorer, not her friend. 

lack. As fair, and as good, (a kind of hand-in- 
hand comparison,) had been something too fair, and 
too good, for any lady in Britany. If she went be- 
fore others I have seen, as that diamond of yours out- 
lustres many I have beheld, I could not but believe 
she excelled many : but I have not seen the most 
precious diamond that is, nor you the lady. 

Post. I praised her as I rated her : so do I my stone. 

lack. What do you esteem it at? 

Post. More than the world enjoys. 

lack. Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, 
or she's outprized by a trifle. 

Post. You are mistaken : the one may be sold, or 
given ; if there were wealth enough for the purchase, 
or merit for the gift : the other is not a thing for sale, 
and only the gift of the gods. 

lach. Which the gods have given you? 

Post. Which, by their graces, I will keep. 

lach. You may wear her in title yours : but, you 
know, strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. 
Your ring may be stolen too : so, of your brace of 
unprizeable estimations, the one is but frail, and the 
other casual ; a cunning thief, or a that- way-accom- 
plished courtier, would hazard the winning both of 
first and last. 

Post. Your Italy contains none so accomplished 
a courtier, to convince the honour of my mistress ; 
if, in the holding or loss of that, you term her frail. 
I do nothing doubt, you have store of thieves ; not- 
withstanding I fear not my ring. 

Pht. Let us leave here, gentlemen. 



Post. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, 
I thank him, makes no stranger of me; we are fami- 
liar at first. 

lack. With five times so much conversation, 1 
should get ground of your fair mistress : make her 
go back, even to the yielding ; had I admittance and 
opportunity to friend. 

Post. No, no. 

lach. I dare, thereupon, pawn the moiety of my 
estate to your ring ; which, in my opinion, o'er-va- 
lues it something: but I make my wager rather 
against your confidence, than her reputation : and, 
to bar your offence herein too, I durst attempt it 
against any lady in the world. 

Post. You are a great deal abused in too bold a 
persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain what you're 
worthy of, by your attempt. 

Inch. What's that ? 

Post. A repulse : Though your attempt, as you call 
it, deserve more ; a punishment too. 

Phi. Gentlemen, enough of this : it came in too 
suddenly ; let it die as it was born, and, I pray you, 
be better acquainted. 

lach. 'Would 1 had put my estate, and my neigh- 
bour's, on the approbation of what I have spoke. 

Post. What lady would you choose to assail ? 

lach. Yours ; whom in constancy, you think, 
stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousand ducats 
to your ring, that, commend me to the court where 
your lady is, with no more advantage than the op- 
portunity of a second conference, and I will bring 
from thence that honour of hers, which you imagine 
so reserved. 

Post. I will wage against your gold, gold to it : 
my ring I hold dear as my finger ; 'tis part of it. 

lach. You are a friend, and therein the wiser. If 
you buy ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you cannot 
preserve it from tainting : But, I see you have some 
religion in you, that you fear. 

Post. This is but a custom in your tongue ; you 
bear a graver purpose, I hope. 

lach. I am the master of my speeches ; and would 
undergo what's spoken, I swear. 

Post, Will you ? — I shall but lend my diamond 
till your return : — Let there be covenants drawn be- 
tween us : ]My mistress exceeds in goodness the 
hugeness of your unworthy thinking: 1 dare you to 
this match : here's my ring. 

Phi. I will have it no lay. 

lach. By the gods it is one : — If I bring you no 
suflBcient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest 
bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats 
are yours ; so is your diamond too. If I come off, 
and leave her in such honour as you have trust in, 
she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are 
yours : — provided, I have your commendation, for 
my more free entertainment. 

Post. I embrace these conditions ; let us have ar- 
ticles betwixt us:— only, thus far you shall answer. 
If you make your voyage upon her, and give me di- 
rectly to understand you have prevail'd, 1 am no fur- 
ther your enemy, she is not worth our debate : if she 
remain unseduced, (you not making it appear other- 
wise,) for your ill opinion, and the assault you have 
made to her chastity, you shall answer me with your 
sword. 

lach. Your hand ; a covenant: We will have these 
things set down by lawful counsel, and straight away 
for Britain ; lest the bargain should catch cold, and 
starve : I will fetch my gold, and have our two 
wagers recorded. 

Poit, Agreed. [Eieunt Posthumus and Iachimo. 



ACT I.— SCENE VII. 



705 



French. Will this hold, think you ? 
Phi. Signior lachinio will not from it. Pray, let 
us follow 'em. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. 

Britain. — A Room in Cymbeline's Palace. 

Enter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius. 

Queen. Whiles yet the dew 's on ground, gather 
those flowers ; 
Make haste : Who has the note of them ? 

1 Lady. I, madam. 

Queen. Despatch. [Exeunt Ladies. 

Now, master doctor ; have you brought those drugs? 

Cor, Pleaseth your highness, ay : here they are, 
madam : [Presenting a smaU box. 

But I beseech your grace, (without ofi'ence ; 
My conscience bids me ask ;) wherefore you have 
Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds. 
Which are the movers of a languishing deatii ; 
But, though slow, deadly 1 

Queen. I do wonder, doctor. 

Thou ask'st me such a question : Have I not been 
Thy pupil long] Hast thou not learn'd me how 
To make perfumes 1 distil 1 preserve "! yea, so. 
That our great king himself doth woo me oft 
For my confections ? Having thus far proceeded, 
(Unless thou think'st me devilish,) is't not meet 
That I did amplify my judgment in 
Other conclusions 1 I will try the forces 
Of these thy compounds on such creatures as 
We count not worth the hanging, (but none human,) 
To try the vigour of them, and apply , 

Allayments to their act ; and by them gather 
Their several virtues, and effects. 

Cor. Your highness 

Shall from this practice but make hard your heart ; 
Besides, the seeing these effects will be 
Both noisome and infectious. 

Queen. O, content thee. — 

Enter Pisanio. 

Here comes a flattering rascal ; upon him [Aside. 
Will I first work : he's for his master. 
And enemy to my son. — How now, Pisanio 1 — 
Doctor, your service for this time is ended ; 
Take your own way. 

Cor. I do suspect you, madam ; 

But you shall do no harm. [Aside. 

Queen. Hark thee, a word. — [To Pisanio. 

Cor. [Aside.] I do not like her. She doth think, 
she has 
Strange lingering poisons : I do know her spirit, 
And will not trust one of her malice with 
A drug of such damn'd nature : Those, she has, 
Will stupify and dull the sense awhile : 
Which first, perchance, she'll prove on cats, and dogs. 
Then afterward up higher; but there is 
No danger in what show of death it makes, 
More than the locking up the spirits a time, 
To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd 
With a most false effect ; and I the truer. 
So to be false with her. 

Queen. No further service, doctor. 

Until I send for thee. 

Cor. 1 humbly take my leave. [Exit. 

Queen. Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou 
think, in time 
She will not quench ; and let instructions enter 
Where folly now possesses 1 Do thou work ; 
W'hen thou shalt bring me word, she loves my son, 
I'll tell thee, on the instant, thou art then 



As great as is thy master : greater ; for 
His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name 
Is at last gasp: Return he cannot, nor 
Continue where he is : to shift his being. 
Is to exchange one misery with another ; 
And every day, that comes, comes to decay 
A day's work in him : What shalt thou expect, 
To be depender on a thing that leans ? 
Who cannot be new built ; nor has no friends, 

[The Queen drops a box ; Pisanio takes it up. 
So much as but to prop him 1 — Thou tak'st up 
Thou know'st not what ; but take it for tl.y labour : 
It is a thing I made, which hath the king 
Five times redeem'd from death : I do not know 
What is more cordial : — Nay, I pr'ythee, take it ; 
It is an earnest of a further good 
That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how 
The case stands with her ; do 't, as from thyself. 
Think what a chance thou changes! on ; but think 
Thou hast thy mistress still ; to boot, my son. 
Who shall take notice of thee : I 'II move the king 
To any shape of thy preferment, such 
As thou 'It desire ; and then myself, I chiefly, 
That set thee on to this desert, am bound 
To load thy merit richly. Call my women : 
Think on my words. [EiitPisA.] — A sly and constant 
Not to be shak'd : the agent for his master; [knave ; 
And the remembrancer of her, to hold 
The hand fast to her lord. — I have given him that. 
Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her 
Of liegers for her sweet ; and which she, after, 
Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd 

Re-enter Pisanio and Ladies. 

The taste of too. — So, so ; — well done, well done : 
The violets, cowslips, and the primroses. 
Bear to my closet : — Fare thee well, Pisanio ; 
Think on my words. [Exeunt Queen and Ladies. 

Pis. And shall do : 

But when to my good lord I prove untrue, 
I 'II choke myself: there 's all I '11 do for you. [Exit, 

SCENE VII. — Another Room in the same. 
Enter Imogen. 

hno. A father cruel, and a step-dame false ; 
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady. 
That hath her husband banish'd ;— O, that husband ! 
JMy supreme crown of grief ! and those repeated 
Vexations of it ! Had 1 been thief-stolen, 
As my two brothers, happy ! but most miserable 
Is the desire that's glorious : Blessed be those. 
How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills. 
Which seasons comfort. — Who may this be I Fye ! 

Enter Pisanio and Iaciii.mo. 

Pis. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome ; 
Comes from my lord with letters. 

lach. Change you, madam ' 

The worthy Leonatus is in safety. 
And greets your highness dearly. [Presents a letter. 

l>no. Thanks, good sir : 

You are kindly welcome. 

lach. All of her, that is out of door, most rich ! 

[Aside, 
If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare, 
She is alone the Arabian bird ; and I 
Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend I 
Arm me, audacity, from head to foot! 
Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight ; 
Rather, directly fly. 

Imo. [Reads.] He is one of the nobUst note, to whose 
2 V 



706 



CYMBELINE. 



kmdnesses I am most injinitely tied, "Reflect upon him 

accord ingli/, as you value your truest Leonatus. 

So far I read aloud : 

But even the very middle of my heart 

Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully.-- 

You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I 

Have words to bid you ; and shall find it so, 

In all that I can do. 

Inch. Thanks, fairest lady. — 

What ! are men mad ? Hath nature given them eyes 
To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop 
Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt 
The fiery orbs above, and the twinn'd stones 
Upon the number'd beach 1 and can we not 
Partition make with spectacles so precious 
'Twixt fair and foul ? 

Imo. What makes your admiration 1 

Inch. It cannot be i' the eye ; for apes and monkeys, 
'Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way, and 
Contemn with mows the other: Nor i' the judgment; 
For idiots, in this case of favour, would 
Be wisely definite : Nor i' the appetite ; 
Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos'd, 
Should make desire vomit emptiness. 
Not so allur'd to feed. 

Imo. What is the matter, trowl 

lach. The cloyed will, 

(That satiate yet unsatisfied desire. 
That tub both fill'd and running,) ravening first 
The lamb, longs after for the garbage. 

Imo. What, dear sir, 

Thus raps you ? Are you well ? 

lach. Thanks, madam ; well : — 'Beseech you, sir, 
desire [To Pisanio. 

My man's abode where I did leave him : he 
Is strange and peevish. 

Pis. I was going, sir, 

To give him welcome. [Exit Pisanio. 

Imo. Continues well my lord? His health, 'beseech 

lack. Well, madam. [you? 

Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope, he is. 

lach. Exceeding pleasant ; none a stranger there 
So merry and so gamesome : he is call'd 
The Briton reveller 

Imo. When he was here, 

He did incline to sadness ; and* oft-times 
Not knowing why. 

lach, I never saw him sad. 

There is a Frenchman his companion, one 
An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves 
A Gallian girl at home : he furnaces 
The thick sighs from him ; whiles the jolly Briton 
(Your lord, I mean,) laughs from's free lungs,cries,0.' 
Can my sides hold, to think, that man, — wiio knows 
By history, report, or his own proof, 
What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose 
Bui must be, — ivill his free hours languish for 
Assured bondage ? 

Imo. Will my lord say so? 

lach. Ay, madam ; with his eyes in flood with 
It is a recreation to be by, [laughter. 

And hear him mock the Frenchman : But, heavens 
Some men are much to blame. [know, 

Imo. Not he, I hope. [might 

lach. Not he : But yet heaven's bounty towards him 
Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much ; 
In you, — which I count his, beyond all talents, — 
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound 
To pity too. 

Imo. What do you pity, sir ? 

lacli. Tv^o creatures, heartily. 

hno. Am T one, sir'' 



You look on me ; What wreck discern you in me, 
Deserves your pity ? 

lach. Lamentable ! What ! 

To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace 
r the dungeon by a snuff? 

Imo. I pray you, sir. 

Deliver with more openness your answers 
'J'o my demands. Why do you pity me ? 

lach. That others do, 

I was about to say, enjoy your But 

It is an office of the gods to venge it, 
Not mine to speak on 't. 

Imo. You do seem to know 

Something of me, or what concerns me ; 'Pray you, 
(Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more 
Than to be sure they do : For certainties 
Either are past remedies ; or, timely knowing, 
The remedy then born,) discover to me 
What both you spur and stop. 

lach. Had I this cheek, 

To bathe my lips upon ; this hand, whose touch. 
Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul 
To the oath of loyalty ; this object, which 
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, 
Fixing it only here : should I (damn'd then,) 
Slaver with lips as common as the stairs 
That mount the Capitol ; join gripes with hands 
Made hard with hourly falsehood (falsehood, as 
With labour ;) then lie peeping in an eye, 
Base and unlustrous as the smoky light 
That 's fed with stinking tallow ; it were fit, 
That all the plagues of hell should at one time 
Encounter such revolt. 

■Imo. My lord, I fear. 

Has forgot Britain. 

lach. And himself. Not I, 

Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce 
The beggary of his change ; but 'tis your graces 
That, from my mutest conscience, to my tongue, 
Charms this report out. 

Imo. Let me hear no more. 

lach . dearest soul ! your cause doth strike my heart 
With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady 
So fair, and fasten'd to an empery. 
Would make the great'st king double ! to be partner'd 
With tomboys, hir'd with that self-exhibition 
Which your own coffers yield ! with diseas'd ventures. 
That play with all infirmities for gold 
Which rottenness can lend nature ! such boil'd stuff. 
As well might poison poison ! Be reveng'd : 
Or she, that bore you, was no queen, and you 
Recoil from your great stock. 

Imo, Reveng'd ! 

How should I be reveng'd ? If this be true, 
(As I have such a heart, that both mine ears 
Must not in haste abuse,) if it be true 
How should I be reveng'd ? 

lach. Should he make me 

Live like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets ; 
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps. 
In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it. 
I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure ; 
More noble than that runagate to your bed ; 
And will continue fast to your affection. 
Still close, as sure. 

Jmo. What ho, Pisanio ! 

Inch. Let me my service tender on your lips. 

Imo. Away! — I do condemn mine ears, that have 
So long attended thee. — If thou wert honourable, 
Thou would'st have told this tale for virtue, not 
For such an end thou seek'st ; as base, as strange 
Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



From thy report, as tliou from honour ; and 

Solicit'st here a lady, that disdains 

Thee and the devil alike. — What, ho ! Pisanio ! — 

The king my father shall be made acquainted 

Of thy assault : if he siiall think it fit, 

A saucy stranger, in his court, to mart 

As in a Romish stew, and to expound 

His beastly mind to us ; he hath a court 

He little cares for, and a daughter whom 

He not respects at all. — What ho, Pisanio !^ 

lack. O happy Leonatus ! I may say : 
The credit, that thy lady hath of thee, 
Deserves thy trust ; and thy most perfect goodness 
Her assur'd credit ! — Blessed live you long ! 
A lady to the worthiest sir, that ever 
Country call'd his ! and you his mistress, only 
For the most worthiest fit ! Give me your pardon, 
I have spoke this, to know if your affiance 
Were deeply rooted; and shall make your lord 
That which he is, new o'er : And he is one 
The truest manner'd ; such a holy witch, 
That he enchants societies unto him : 
Half all men's hearts are his. 

■J^'""- You make amends. 

lach. He sits 'mongst men, like a descended god : 
He hath a kind of honour sets him off, 
More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry. 
Most mighty princess, that 1 have adventur'd 
To try your taking a false rejjort ; which hath 
Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment 
In the election of a sir so rare, 
Which you know, cannot err : The love I bear him 
Made me to fan yoa thus ; but the gods made you. 
Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.' 
Imo. All's well, sir: Take my power i' the court for 

yours. 
lach. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot 
To entreat your grace but in a small request, 
And yet of moment too, for it concerns 
Your lord ; myself, and other noble friends. 
Are partners in the business. 

■f"*"- Pray, what is't ? 

lach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord, 
(The best feather of our wing) have mingled sums 
To buy a present for the emperor ; 
"Which I, the factor for the rest, have done 
In France : 'Tis plate, of rare device ; and jewels. 
Of rich and exquisite form ; their values great ; 
And I am something curious, being strange, 
To have them in safe stowage ; May it please you 
To take them in protection ? 

Imo. Willingly ; 

And pawn mine honour for their safety : since 
My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them 
In my bed-chamber. 

^"'^''* They are in a trunk, 

Attended by my men : I will make bold 
To send them to you, only for this night ; 
I must aboard to-morrow. 

{»"'• O, no, no. 

lack. Yes, I beseech ; or I shall short my word 
By length'ning my return. From Gallia 
I cross'd the seas on purpose, and on promise 
To see your grace. 

^"'°- . I thank you for your pains : 

iJut not away to-morrow ? 

r^,^"'''- , , „, O, I must, madam : 

Iherefore, I shall beseech you, if you please 
To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night r 
I have outstood my time ; which is material 
To the tender of our present. 

^'^' I will write. 



707 



Send your trunk to me ; It shall safe be kept, 
And truly yielded you : You are very welcome. 

ACT II. 

SCENE I — Court before Cymbeline's Palace. 

Enter Cloten and Tivo Lords. 
Clo. Was there ever man had such luck ! when I 
kissed the jack upon an up-cast, to be hit away ' I had 
a hundred pound on't : And then a whoreson jacka- 
napes must take me up for swearing ; as if I bor- 
rowed mine oaths of him, and might not spend them 
at my pleasure. 

t Lord. What got he by that] You have broke his 
pate with your bowl. 

2 Lord. If his wit had been like him that broke it, 
It would have ran all out. [Aside. 

Clo. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is 
not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths. Ha ? 

2 Lard. No, my lord ; nor [Aside.! crop the ears 
of them. >- J r 

M,F''';j^'^°''^^°" dog!— I give him satisfaction? 
Would, he had been one of my rank ! 

2 Lord. To have smelt like a fool. [Aside. 

Clo. 1 am not more vexed at any thing in the earth, 
—A pox on't ! I had rather not be so noble as I am ; 
they dare not fight with me, because of the queen my 
mother: every jack slave hath his belly full of fight- 
ing and I must go up and down like a cock that no 
body can match. 

2 Lord. You are a cock and capon too ; and you 
crow, cock, with your comb on. [Aside. 

Clo. Sayest thou ? 

1 Lord. It is not fit, your lordship should under- 
take every companion that you give oflTence to. 

Clo. No, I know that : but it is fit, I should com- 
mit offence to my inferiors. 

2 Lord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only. 

Clo. Why, so I say. ' 

1 Lord. Did you hear of a stranger, that's come to 
court to-night? 

Clo. A stranger I and I not know on't ! 

2 Lord. He's a strange fellow himself, and knows 

1 Lord. There s an Italian come ; and, 'tis thought, 
one of Leonatus' friends. 

Clo. Leonatus ! a banished rascal ; and he's another 
whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger ? ' 

1 Lord. One of your lordship's pages. 

Clo. Is it fit, I went to look upon him ? Is there no 
derogation in't? 

1 Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord. 
Clo. Not easily, I think. 

2 Lord. You are a fool granted ; therefore your 
issues being foolish, do not derogate. [Aside. 

Clo. Come, I'll go see this Italian : What I have 
lost to-day at bowls, I'll win to-night of him. Come.go. 
2 Lord. I'll attend your lordship. 

[Exeunt Ci^oTEs and Jirst Lord. 
1 hat such a crafty devil as is his mother 
Should yield the world this ass ? a woman, that 
Bears all down with her brain ; and this her son 
Cannot take two from twenty for his heart 
And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess,' 
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'st ! 
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd ; 
A mother hourly coining plots ; a wooer. 
More hateful'than the foul expulsion is 
Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act 
Of the divorce he'd make ! Tlie heavens hold firm 
2 Y 8 



708 



CYMBELINE, 



The walls of thy dear honour ; keep unshali'd 
That temple, thy fair mind; that thou may'st stand, 
Toenjoy thy banish'd lord, and this great land. [Eiit. 

SCENE II. 

A Bed-chamber ; in one part of it a Trunk. 
Imogen reading in her bed ; a Lady attending. 

Imo. Who's there ? my woman Helen ? 

Lady. Please you, madam. 

Imo. What hour is it 1 

Lady. Almost midnight, madam. [weak: — 

Ivio. I have read three hours then : mine eyes are 
Fold down the leaf where I have left : To bed : 
Take not away the ta"per, leave it burning ; 
And if thou canst awake by four o'tlie clock, 
I pr'ythee, call me. Sleep hath seized me wholly. 

[Exit Lady. 
To your protection I commend me, gods ! 
From fairies, and the tempters of the night, 
Guard me, beseech ye ! 

[Sleeps. Iacuimo, from the trnnh. 

larh. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd 
Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus [sense 
Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd 
The chastity he wounded- — Cytherea, 
How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! fresh lily! 
And whiter than the sheets ! That I might touch ! 
But kiss ; one kiss ! — Rubies unparagon'd, 
How dearly they do't — 'Tis her breathing that 
Perfumes the chamber thus : The flame o'the taper 
Hows toward her ; and would underpeep her lids, 
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied 
Under these windows : White and azure, lac'd 
With blue of heaven's own tinct. — But my design 1 
To note the chamber : — I will write all down : — 
Such, and such pictures ; — There the window : — Such 
The adornment of her bed ; — The arras, figures. 
Why , such and such: — And the contents o'the story, — 
Ah, but some natural notes about her body, 
Above ten thousand meaner moveables 
\%ould testify, to enrich mine inventory : 
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her ! 
And be her sense but as a monument. 
Thus in a chapel lying ! — Come off", come off"; 

[Taking off her bracelet. 
As slippery, as the Gordian knot was htird! — 
I'is mine ; and this will witness outwardly, 
As strongly as the conscience does within. 
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast 
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops 
I'the bottom of a cowslip. Here's a voucher, 
Stronger tiian ever law could make : this secret 
AVill force him think I have pick'd the lock, and ta'en 
The treasure of her honour. No more. — To what end? 
V/hy should I write this down, that's rivetted, 
Screw'd to my memory! She iiath been reading late 
The tale of Tereus ; here the leaf's turn'd down. 
Where Philomel gave up ; — I have enough : 
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it. 
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night ! — that dawning 
May bare the raven's eye: I lodge in fear ; 
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. 

[Clock strikes. 
Oae, two, three, — Time, time ! 

[Goes into the trunk. The scene closes. 

SCENE IIL 
An Ante-Chamber adjoining Imogen's Apartment. 
Enter Ci.oten and Lords. 
1 Lord. Your lordship is the most patient man in 
lo99i the most coldest that ever turned up ace. 



Clo. It would make any man cold to lose. 

1 Lord. But not every man patient after the noble 
temper of your lordship ; You are most hot, and fu- 
rious, when you win. 

Clo. Winning would put any man into courage : 
If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold 
enough : It's almost morning, is't not? 

1 Lord. Day, my lord. 

Clo. I would this music would come : I am advis'd 
to give her music o'mornings ; they say, it will pene- 
trate. 

Enter Musicians. 

Come on ; tune : If you can penetrate her with your 
fingering, so ; we'll try with tongue too : if none will 
do, let her remain ; but I'll never give o'er. First, a 
very excellent good-conceited thing ; after, a won- 
derful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, — 
and then let her consider. 

SONG. — Hark! hark! thelarkat heaven's gate singf. 
And Phccbtis 'gins arise, 
His steeds to water at those springs 

On chalic d Jinwers that liei } 
And winking Mary-hitds begin 
To ope their golden eyes ; 
With every thing that pretty bin : 
My lady sweet, arise; 
Arise, arise. 

So, get you gone : If this penetrate, I will conside/ 
your music the better : If it do not, it is a vice in her 
ears, which horse-hairs, and cats-guts, nor the voice 
of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend. 

[Exeunt Musicians. 

Enter Cymbeline and Queen. 

2 Lord. Here comes the king. 

Clo. I am glad, I was up so late ; for that's the 
reason I was up so early : He cannot choose but take 
this service I have done, fatherly. — •Good-morrow to 
your majesty, and to my gracious mother. 

Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter? 
Will she not forth ? 

Clo. I have assailed her with music but she vouch- 
safes no notice. 

Cym. The exile of her minion is too new ; 
She hath not yet forgot him : some more time 
Must wear the print 6f his remembrance out. 
And then she's yours. 

Queen. You are most bound to the king ; 

Who lets go by no vantages, that may 
Prefer you to his daughter ; Frame yourself 
To orderly solicits ; and be friended 
With aptness of the season ; make denials 
Increase your services ; so seem, as if 
You were inspir'd to do those duties which 
You tender to her ; that you in all obey her, 
Save when command to your dismission tends. 
And therein you are senseless. 

Clo. Senseless ? not so. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome; 
The one is Caius Lucius. 

Ci/m. A worthy fellow. 

Albeit he comes on angry purpose now ; 
But that's no fault of his : We must receive him 
According to the honour of his sender ; 
And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us 
We must extend our notice. — Our dear son, 
When you have given good morning to your mistress. 
Attend the queen, and us j we shall have need 






ACT II.— SCENE IV. 



To employ you towards this Roman. — Come, our 
queen. 
[EieiiiU Cym. Queen, Lords, atid Mess. 
Ch. If she be up, I'll speak with her ; if not, 
Let her lie still, and dream. — By your leave, ho ! 

J , , [Knocks, 

i know her women are about her ; What 
If I do line one of their hands 1 'Tis gold 
Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes 
Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up 
Their deer to the stand of the stealer ; and 'tis gold 
Which makes the true man kili'd, and saves the thief- 
Nay, sometime, hangs both thief and true man : What 
Can it not do, and undo ! 1 will make 
One of her women law3'er to me ; for 
I yet not understand the case myself. 
By your leave. [Enoch. 

Enter a Lady. 

L<idy. Who's there, that knocks ? 

^^; A gentleman. 

r/f-^'v . , No more? 

^M. I es, and a gentlewoman's son. 

Ladu. 1N,„»' 

Tu , . ^ "^^ s more 

ihan some, whose tailors are as dear as yours 
Canjustly boast of : What's your lordship's pieasure^ 

Uo. \ our lady's person ; Is she ready ' 

Lady. ^^ 

To keep her chamber. " 

CIa>. There's gold for you ; sell me your good report. 

«ru T* ?Tl ™y ^°°^ "^'"« • <"" to report of you 
What I shall thmk is good ?— The princess - 

Enter Imogen. 

Cfo. Gtwd-morrow, fairest sister; Your sweet hand. 

imo\ Good-morrow, sir: You layout too much pains 
tor purchasing but trouble : the thanks I give 
A ^f '''"& y°^ ^^^^ I am poor of thanks. 
And scarce can spare them. 

9'*'* ^^ , Still, I swear, I love you. 

Irno. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me - 
11 you swear still, your recompence is still 
That I regard it not. 

f'^"' This is Qo answer. 

Imo.Bnt that you shall not say I yield, being silent 
I wou d not speak. I pray you, spare me : i' faith,' 
1 shall unfold equal discourtesy 
To your best kindness : one of your great knowino- 
Should learn, being taught, forbearance. 

Cb. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin • 
1 will not. •' 

Imo. Fools are not mad folks. 

f ^- . ^ , Do you call me fool ? 

Imo. As I am mad, I do : 

If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad ; 

1 hat cures us both. I am much sorry, sir 

You put me to forget a lady's manners, 

By being so verbal : and learn now, for all. 

That I, which know ray heart, do here pronounce 

13y the very truth of it, I care not for you • 

And am so near the lack of charity ' 

(To accuse myself ) I hate you ; which I had rather 

1 ou felt, than make't my boast, 

nu^l'-' u- , ^'^^ ^•'i against 

Ubedience, which you owe your father. For 
The contract you pretend with that base wretch 
(One bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes 
With scraps o' the court,) it is no contract, none • 
And thougli It be allow'd in meaner parties 
( Y et who, than he, more mean ]) to knit their souls 
(Un whom there is no more dependency 
But brats and beggary) in self figur'd knot ; 
Vet you axe curb'd from that enlargement by 



709 



1 he consequence o' the crown ; and must not soil 
1 he precious note of it with a base slave, 
A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, 
A pantler, not so eminent. 

-./"'"V Profane fellow ! 

Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more. 
But what thou art, besides, thou wert too base 
1 o be his groom : thou wert dignified enough, 
Lven to the point of envy, if 'twere made 
Comparative for your virtues, to be styl'd 
The under-hangman of his kingdom ; and hated 
xor being preferred so well. 

^^"- „ The south-fog rot him ! 

Imo. He never can meet more mischance, than come 
lo be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment 
Ihat ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer, 
In my respect, than all the hairs above thee 
Were they all made such men.— How now, Pisanio? 

Enter Pisanio. 



Clc. 
Imo. 
Clo. 
Imo. 



His garment? Now, the devil — 
To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently : — 
His garment ? 

„ . , , I am sprighted with a fool 

* righted, and anger'd worse:— Go, bid my woman 

Search for a jewel, that too casually 

Hath left mine arm ; it was thy master's : 'shrew me. 

If 1 would lose it for a revenue 

Of any king's in Europe. I do think, 

I saw't this morning : confident I am. 

Last night 'twas on mine arm ; I kiss'd it : 

I hope, it be not gone, to tell my lord 

That I kiss aught but he. 

^'•*- 'Twill not be lost. 

Imo. I hope so : go, and search. [Exit Pis. 

.J. "• You have abus'd me : — 

His meanest garment ? 

■''"''• Ay ; I said so, sir. 

If you will make't an action, call witness to't. 

Clo. I will inform your father. 

■^f • Your mother too : 

She s my good lady ; and will conceive, I hope. 
But the worst of me. So I .leave you, sir, 
To the worst of discontent. [Etit. 

p^"- I'll be reveng'd: — 

His meanest garment ?— Well. [Eiii. 

SCENE IV. 



Rome.— .Ih Apartment in Philario's House. 
Enter Posthumus a?id Philario. 

Post. Fear it not, sir ; I would I were so sure 
To wm the king, as I am bold, her honour 
Will remain hers. 

•^'"- What means do you make to him } 

Post. Not any ; but abide the change of time ; 
Quake in the present winter's state, and wish 
That warmer days would come: In these fear'd hopes, 
I barely gratify your love ; they failing, 
I must die much your debtor. 

Pf'i- Your very goodness, and your company, 
O erpays all I can do. By this, vour king 
Hath heard of gr<^at Augustus ; Caius Lucius 
Will do his commission throughly: And, I think, 
He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages. 
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance 
Is yet fresh in their grief. 

""f'^' I do believe, 

(Statist though I am none, nor like to be,) 
'fhat this will prove a war ; and you shall hear 
The legions, now in Gallia, sooner landed 
In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings 



10 



CYMBELINE- 



Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen 

Are men more order'd, than when Julius CaBsar 

Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage 

Worthy his frowning at : Their discipline 

(Now mingled with their courages) will make known 

To their approvers, they are people, such 

That mend upon the world. 

Enter Iachimo. 

Phi. See ! lachimo ? 

Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land : 
And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails, 
To make your vessel nimble. 

Phi. Welcome, sir. 

Post. I hope, the briefness of your answer made 
The speediness of your return. 

lach. Your lady 

Is one the fairest that I have look'd upon. 

Post. And therewithal, the best : or let her beauty 
Look through a casement to allure false hearts. 
And be false with them. 

lack. Here are letters for you. 

Post. Their tenour good, 1 trust. 

Inch. 'Tis very like. 

Phi. Was Cains Lucius in the Britain court. 
When you were there 1 

lach. He was expected then. 

But not approach'd. 

Post. All is well yet. — 

Sparkles this stone as it was wont 1 or is't not 
Too dull for your good wearing 1 

lach. If I have lost it, 

I should have lost the worth of it in gold. 
I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy 
A second night of such sweet shortness, which 
Was mine in Britain ; for the ring is won. 

Post. The stone's too hard to come by. 

Inch. Not a whit 

Your lady being so easy. 

Post. Make not, sir, 

Your loss your sport : I hope, you know that we 
Must not continue friends. 

lack. Good sir, we must. 

If you keep covenant : 'Had I not brought 
The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant 
AVe were to question further : but I now 
Profess myself the winner of her honour, 
Together with your ring ; and not the wronger 
Of her, or you, having proceeded but 
By both your wills. 

Post. If you can make't apparent 

That you have tasted her in bed, my hand. 
And ring, is yours : If not, the foul opinion 
You had of her pure honour, gains, or loses. 
Your sword, or mine ; or masterless leaves both 
To who shall find them. 

lach. Sir, my circumstances. 

Being so near the truth, as I will make them, 
Must first induce you to believe : whose strength 
1 will confirm with oath ; which, I doubt not. 
You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find 
You need it not. 

Post. Proceed. 

lach. First, her bed-chamber, 

( Where, I confess, I slept not ; but, profess. 
Had that was well worth watching,) It was hang'd 
With tapestry of silk and silver ; the story 
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, 
And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for 
The press of boats, or pride : A piece of work 
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive 
In workmanship, and value ; which I wonder'd. 



Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, 
Since the true life on't was 

Pnst. This is true ; 

And this you might have heard of here, by me. 
Or by some other. 

lach. More particulars 

Must justify my knowledge. 

Post. So they must, 

Or do your honour injury. 

lach. The chimney 

Is south the chamber ; and the chimney-piece. 
Chaste Dian, bathing : never saw I figures 
So likely to report themselves : the cutter 
Was as another nature, dumb ; outwent hej, 
Motion and breath left out. 

Post. This is a thing. 

Which you might from relation likewise reap j 
Being, as it is, much spoke of. 

lach. The roof o'the chamber 

With golden cherubins is fretted : Her andirons 
(I had forgot them,) were two winking Cupids 
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely 
Depending on their brands. 

Post. This is her honour ! — 

Let it be granted, you have seen all this, (and praise 
Be given to your remembrance) the description 
Of what is in her chamber, nothing saves 
The wager you have laid. 

lach. Then if you can, [Ptdling out the bracelet. 
Be pale ; I beg but leave to air this jewel : See ! — 
And now 'tis up again : It must be married 
To that your diamond ; I'll keep them. 

Post. Jove ! — 

Once more let me behold it : Is it that 
Which I left with her? 

lach. Sir, (I thank her.) that: 

She stripp'd it from her arm ; I see her yet ; 
Her pretty action did outsell her gift. 
And yet enrich'd it too : She gave it me, and said. 
She priz'd it once. 

Post. May be, she pluck'd it off, 

To send it me. 

lach. She writes so to you? doth she? 

Post. O, no, no, no ; 'tis true. Here, take this too ; 

[Gives the ring. 
It is a basilisk unto mine eye. 
Kills me to look on't : — Let there be no honour, 
Where there is beauty ; truth, where semblance ; love 
Where there's another man : The vows of women 
Of no more bondage be, to where they are made. 
Than they are to their virtues ; which is nothing: — 
O, above measure false ! 

Phi. Have patience, sir, 

And take your ring again ; 'tis not yet won : 
It may be probable, she lost it ; or, 
Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted. 
Hath stolen it from her ? 

Post. Very true ; 

And so, I hope, he came by't : — Back my ring ; — 
Render to me some corporeal sign about her. 
More evident than this ; for tliis was stolen. 

lach. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm. 

Post. Hark you, he swears ; by Jupiter he swears. 
'Tis true ; — nay, keep the ring — 'tis true, I am sure, 
, She would not lose it : her attendants are 
All sworn, and honourable : — They induc'd to steal it ! 
And by a stranger ! — No, he hath enjoy'd her: 
The cognizance of her incontinency 
Is this, — she hath bought the name of whore thus 

dearly. — 
There, take thy hire ; and all the fiends of hell 
Divide themselves between you ! 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 



711 



Phi. Sir, be patient ! 

This is not strong enough to be believ'd 
Of one persuaded well of 

Post. Never talk on't ; 

She hath been colted by him. 

lach. If you seek 

For further satisfying, under her breast 
(Worthy the pressing,) lies a mole, right proud 
Of that most delicate lodging : By my life, 
I kiss'd it ; and it gave me present hunger 
To feed again, though full. You do remember 
This stain upon her 1 

Post. Ay, and it doth confirm 

Another stain, as big as hell can hold. 
Were there no more but it. 

lack. Will you bear morel 

Post. Spare your arithmetic : nevercount the turns ; 
Once, and a million ! 

lach. I'll be sworn, — 

Post. No swearing. 

If you will swear you have not done't, you lie ; 
And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny 
Thou hast made me cuckold.* 

lach. I will deny nothing. 

Post. O, that I had her here, to tear her limbmeal ! 
I will go there, and do't; i'the court; before 
Her father : — I'll do something [Exit. 

Phi. Quite besides 

The government of patience ! — You have won : 
Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath 
He hath against himself. 

lach. With all my heart. [£aeu?it. 



SCENE V, — The same. Another Room in the same, 
filter Posthumus. 

Post. Is there no way for men to be, but women 
Must be half-workers ? We are bastards all ; 
And that most venerable man, which I 
Did call my father, was I know not where 
When I was stamp'd ; some coiner with his tools 
Made me a counterfeit : Yet my mother seem'd 
The Diana of that time : so doth my wife 
The nonpareil of this. — O vengeance, vengeance ' 
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd. 
And pray'd me, oft, forbearance : did it with 
A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on't 
Might well have warm'd old Saturn ; that I thought her 
As chaste as unsunn'd snow : — O, all the devils I — 
This yellow lachimo, in an hour, — vvas't not! — 
Or less, — at first: Perchance he spoke not; but. 
Like a full acorn'd boar, a German one, 
Cry'd, oh ! and mounted : found no opposition 
But what he look'd for should oppose, and she 
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out 
The woman's part in me ! For there's no motion 
That tends to vice of man, but I affirm 
It is the woman's part : Be it lying, note it, 
The woman's ; flattering, hers ; deceiving, hers ; 
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers; 
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, 
Nice longings, slanders, mutability. 
All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knows, 
Why, hers, in part, or all; but, rather, all: 
For ev'n to vice 

They are not constant, but are changing still 
One vice, but of a minute old, for one 
Not half so old as that. I'll write against them, 
Detest them, curse them : — Yet 'tis greater skill 
In a true ha'e, to pray they have their will : 
The very devils cannot plague them better. [Exit. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I.- Britain. 
A Room oF State in Cymbeline's Palace. 

Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, and Lords, at 
one door ; and at another, Caius Lucius and 
Attendants. 

Ciym. Now say ,what would Augustus Caesar with us? 

Luc. When Julius Csesar (whose remembrance yet 
Lives in men's eyes; and will to ears, and tongues, 
Be theme, and hearing ever,) was in this Britain, 
And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, 
(Famous in Cffisar's praises, no whit less. 
Than in his feats deserving it,) for him. 
And his succession, granted Rome a tribute, 
Yearly three thousand pounds; which by thee lately 
Is left untender'd. 

Queen. And, to kill the marvel, 

Shall be so ever. 

Clo. There be many Caesars, 

Ere such another Julius. Britain is 
A world by itself; and we will nothing pay, 
For wearing our own noses. 

Queen. That opportunity. 

Which then they had to take from us, to resume 
We iiave again — Remember, sir, my liege. 
The kings your ancestors ; together with 
The natural bravery of your isle ; which stands 
As Neptune's park, libbed and paled in 
With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters ; 
With sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats. 
But suck them up to the top mast. A kind of conquest 
Cffisar made here ; but made not here liis brag 
Of, came, and saw, and overcame: with shame 
(The first that ever touch'd him,) he vvas carried 
From off our coast, twice beaten ; and his shipping 
(Poor ignorant baubles I) on our terrible seas. 
Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd 
As easily 'gainst our rocks ; For joy whereof. 
The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point 
(O, giglot fortune !) to master Caesar's sword, 
Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright. 
And Britons strut with courage. 

Clo. Come, there's no more tribute to be paid: 
Our kingdom is stronger than it vvas at that time ; 
and, as 1 said, there is no more such Csesars : other 
of them may have crooked noses ; but, to owe such 
straight arms, none. 

Cym. Son, let your mother end. 

Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe as 
hard as Cassibelan : I do not say, I am one ; but I 
have a hand. — What tribute? why should we pay 
tribute 1 If Caesar can hide the sun from us with a 
blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay 
him tribute for light ; else, sir, no more tribute, pray 
you now. 

Cym. You must know. 
Till the injurious Romans did extort 
This tribute from us, we were free : Caesar's ambition, 
(Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch 
The sides o'the world,) against all colour, here 
Did put the yoke upon us ; which to shake off, 
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon 
Ourselves to be. We do say then to Caesar, 
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius. which 
Ordain'd our laws ; (whose use the sword of Cffisar 
(fath too much mangled ; whose repair, and franchise, 
Shall, by the power we hold, be our <rood de(/d, 
Though Rome be therefore angry ;) Mulmutius, 
Who was the first of Britain, which did put 



712 



CYiMBELINE. 



His brows within a golden crown, and call'd I 

Himself a king. 

Luc, I am sorry, Cymbeline, 

That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar 
(Ceesar, that hath more kings his servants, than 
Thyself domestic officers,) thine enemy: 
Receive it from me, then : — War, and confusion, 
In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee : look 
For fury not to be resisted : — Thus defied, 
I thank thee for myself. 

Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius. 

Thy Caesar knighted me ; my youth I spent 
Much under him ; of him I gather'd honour ; 
Which he to seek of me again, perforce. 
Behoves me keep at utterance ; I am perfect, 
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for 
Their liberties, are now in arms : a precedent 
Which, not to read, would shew the Britons cold : 
So Caesar shall not find them. 

Luc. Let proof speak. 

Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime 
with us a day, or two, longer : If you seek us after- 
wards in other terms, you shall find us in our salt- 
water girdle : if you beat us out of it, it is yours ; if 
you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the 
better for you ; and there 's an end. 

Luc. So, sir. 

Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine : 
All the remain is, welcome. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 
Enter Pisanio. 
Pis. How! of adultery"! Wherefore write you not 
What monster's her accuser? — Leonatus ! 
0, master ! what a strange infection 
Is fallen into thy ear? What false Italian 
(As poisonous tongue'd, as handed,) hath prevail'd 
On thy too ready hearing ? — Disloyal ? No : 
She's punish'd for her truth ; and undergoes. 
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults 
As would take in some virtue.— 0, my master ! 
Thy mind to her is now as low, as were 
Thy fortunes.— How! that I should murder her? 
Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I 
Have made to thy command? — I, her?— her blood? 
If it be so to do good service, never 
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I, 
That I should seem to lack humanity. 
So much as this fact comes too ? Do't : The letter 

[Reading, 
That I have sent her, by her own command 
Shall give thee opportunity : — O damn'd paper ! 
Black as the ink that's on thee ! Senseless bauble. 
Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st 
So virgin-like without ? Lo, here she comes. 

Enter Imogen. 
1 am ignorant in what I am commanded. 

Itno. How now, Pisanio ? 

Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord. 

Lrio. Who? thy lord? that is my lord? Leonatus? 
O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer. 
That knew the stars, as I his characters ; 
He'd lay the future open. — You good gods. 
Let what is here contain'd relish of love, 
Of my lord's health, of his content,— yet not. 
That we two are asunder, let that grieve him, — 
(Some griefs are med'cinable ;) that is one of them, 
For it doth pliysic love ; — of his content. 
All but in that !— Good wax, thy leave : — Bless'd be. 
You bees, that make these locks of counsel ! Lovers, 
And men in dangerous bonds, pray not alike ; 



Though forfeiters you cast 'n prison, yet 
You clasp young Cupid's tables. — Good news, gods! 

[Reads. 
Justice, and your father's ivrath, should he take me 
in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as you, 
the dearest of creatures, icotild not even renew me 
with your eyes. Take notice, that I am iri Cambria, 
at Milford-Haven : What your awn love will, out of 
this, advise you, follow. Sn he wishes you all happi- 
ness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your, increas- 
ing in love, Leonatus Posthumus, 

O, for a horse with wings! — Hear'st thou, Pisanio? 
He is at Milford-Haven : Read, and tell me 
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs 
May plod it in a week, why may not I 
Glide thither in a day ? — Then, true Pisanio, 
(Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord ; wholong'st, — 
O, let me 'bate, — But not like me : — yet long'st. — 
But in a fainter kind : — 0, not like me ; 
For mine's beyond beyond,) say, and speak thick, 
(Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing. 
To the smothering of the sense,) how far it is 
To this same blessed Milford : And, by the way. 
Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as 
To inherit such a haven : But, first of all. 
How we may steal from hence ; and, for the gap 
That we shall make in time, from our hence-going. 
And our return, to excuse : — but first, how get hence : 
Why should excuse be born or e'er begot? 
We'll talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee, speak, 
How many score of miles may we well ride 
'Twixt hour and hour? 

Pis. One score, 'twixt sun and sun, 

Madam, 's enough for you ; and too much too. 

Imn. Why, one that rode to his execution, man. 
Could never go so slow: I have heard of riding wagers, 
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands 

That run i the clock's behalf: But this is foolery: 

Go, bid my woman feign a sickness ; say 

She'll home to her father : and provide me, presently, 

A riding suit ; no costlier than would fit 

A franklin's housewife. 

Pis. Madam, you're best consider. 

hno. I see before me, man, nor here, nor here. 
Nor what ensues ; but have a fog in them, 
That I cannot look through. Away, I pr'ythee ; 
Do as I bid thee : There's no more to say ; 
Accessible is none but Milford way. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. 
Wales. — A mountaino^is Country, with a Cave. 
Enter Belabius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 

Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such 
Whose roof's as low as ours ! Stoop, boys: This gate 
Instructs you how to adore the heavens ; and bows you 
To morning's holy office : The gates of monarchs 
Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet through 
And keep their impious turbands on, without 
Good morrow to the sun.— Hail, thou fair heaven ! 
We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly 
As prouder livers do. 

Gui, Hail, heaven ! 

Arv. Hail, heaven! 

Bel. Now for our mountain sport : Up to your hill. 
Your legs are young ; I'll tread these flats. Consider, 
When you above perceive me like a crow. 
That it is place, which lessens, and sets oflT. 
And you may then revolve what tales I have told you 
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war : 
This service is not service, so being done, 



ACT III.— SCENE IV. 



713 



But being so allow'd : To apprehend thus, 
Draws us a profit from all things we see : 
And often, to our comfort, shall we find 
The sharded beetle in a safer hold 
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life 
Is nobler, than attending for a check ; 
Richer than doing nothing for a babe ; 
Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk : 
Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine. 
Yet keeps his book uncross'd : no life to ours. 

Giu.Outofyourproofyouspeakl we, poorunfledg'd. 
Have never wing'd from view o' the nest; nor know 
What air's from home. Haply, this life is best, [not 
If quiet life be best? sweeter to you. 
That have a sharper known; well corresponding 
With your stiff age : but, unto us, it is 
A cell of ignorance ; travelling abed ; 
A prison for a debtor, that not dares 
To stride a limit. 

Arv. What should we speak of, 

When we are old as you 1 when we shall hear 
The rain and wind beat dark December, how, 
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse 
The freezing hours away "! We have seen nothing : 
We are beastly ; subtle as the fox, for prey ; 
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat : 
Our valour is, to chase what flies ; our cage 
We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird. 
And sing our bondage freely. 

Bel. How you speak ! 

Did you but know the city's usuries. 
And felt them knowingly : tlie art o' the court, 
As hard to leave, as keep ; whose top to climb 
Is certain falling, or so slippery, that 
The fear's as bad as falling : the toil of the war, 
A pain tliat only seems to seek out danger 
I'the name of fame, and honour; which dies i'the search ; 
And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph. 
As record of fair act ; nay, many times. 
Doth ill deserve by doing well ; what's worse, 
Must court'sey at the censure : — O, boys, this story 
The world may read in me : iNIy body's mark'd 
With Roman swords ; and my report was once 
First with the best of note : Cymbeline lov'd me ; 
And when a soldier was the theme, my name 
Was not far off: I'hen was I as a tree. 
Whose boughs did bend with fruit : but, in one night, 
A storm, or robbery, call it what you will. 
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves. 
And left me bare to weather. 

Gut. Uncertain favour ! 

Bel. My fault being nothing (as I have told you oft, ) 
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd 
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline, 
I was confederate with the Romans : so, 
FoUow'd my banishment ; and, this twenty years. 
This rock, and these demesne^ , have been my world : 
Where I have liv'd at honest freedom ; paid 
More pious debts to heaven, than in all 
The fore-end of my time. — But, up to the mountains ; 
This is not hunter's language : — He, that strikes 
The venison first, shall be the lord o' the feast ; 
To him the other two shall minister ; 
And we will fear no poison, wiiich attends 
In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys. 

[Eieunt Gui. and Anv. 
How hard it is, to hide the sparks of nature ! 
These boys know little, they are sons to the king ; 
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive, [meanly 
Tiiey think, they are mine : and, thougii train'd up thus 
I'the cave, wherein they bow, tlieir thoughts do hit 
The roofs of palaces ; and nature prompts them. 



In simple and low things, to prince it, much 

Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore — 

The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, wliom 

The king his father call'd Guiderius, — Jove ! 

When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell 

The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out 

Into my story : say, — Thus mine eneini) fell ; 

And tlnis I set mi/ foot un his neck ; even then 

The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats, 

Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture 

That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal, 

(Once Arviragus,) in as like a figure, 

Strikes life into my speech, and shews much more 

His own conceiving. Hark ! the game is rous'd ! — 

O Cymbeline ! heaven, and my conscience, knows. 

Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon, 

At three, and two years old, I stole these babes ; 

Thinking to bar thee of succession, as 

Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile, 

Thou wast their nurse ; they took thee for their mother , 

And every day do honour to her grave : 

Myself, Belarms, that am Morgan call'd, 

They take for natural father. The game is up. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— Near Milford-Haven. 
Enter Pisanio and Imogen. 

Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, 
the place 
Was ne'er at hand : — Ne er long'd my mother so 
To see me first, as I have now : — Pisanio ! Man ! 
Where is Posthumus 1 What is in thy mind. 
That makes thee stare thus ? \V herefore breaks that sigh 
From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus. 
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd 
Beyond self-explication : Put thyself 
Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness 
Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter ? 
Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with 
A look untender ] If it be summer news. 
Smile to't before : if winterly, thou need'st 
But keep that countenance still. — j\Iy husband's hand! 
That drug damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him. 
And he's at some hard point. — Speak, man ; thy tongue 
May take oft' some extremity, which to read 
Would be even mortal to me. 

Pis. Please you, read ; 

And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing 
The most disdain'd of fortune. 

Imo. [Rearfs.] Thu mistress, Pisanio, hath played 
the strumpet lit mi/ bed ; the testimonies whereof lie 
bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises ; hut 
fro7n proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I 
expect my revenge. That part, thou, Pisanio, must 
act for me, if thy faith be 7iot tainted with the breach 
of hers. Let thine own hands take away her life: I 
shall give thee opportunities at Milford-Haven : she 
hath mij letter for the purpose: Where, if thou fear to 
strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the 
pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloi/al. 

Pis. Whatshall I need to draw my sword ? the paper 
Hath cut her throat already — No, 'tis slander; 
Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue 
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile ; whose breath 
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie 
All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states. 
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave 
This viperous slander enters. — What cheer, madam ? 

Imo. False to his bed ! What is it, to be false 1 
To lie in watch theie, and to think on him? 
To weep 'twixt clock and clock ? if sleep charge nature. 



714 



CYMBELINE. 



To break it with a fearful dream of him, 

And cry myself awake ? that's false to his bed 1 

Is it? 

Pis. Alas, good lady ! 

Imo. I false? Thy conscience witness : — lachimo, 
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency ; 
Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks. 
Thy favour's good enough. — Some jay of Italy, 
Whose mother was her painting, hath betray 'd him: 
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion ; 
And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, 
I must be ripp'd : — to pieces with me! — 0, 
Men's vows are women's traitors ! All good seeming, 
By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought 
Put on for villany ; not born, where't grows ; 
But worn, a bait for ladies. 

Pis. Good madam, hear me. 

Imo. True honest men being heard, like false /Eneas. 
Were, in his time, thought false : and Sinon's weeping 
Did scandal many a holy tear ; took pity 
From most true wretchedness : So, thou, Posthdmus, 
Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men ; 
Goodly, and gallant, shall be false, and perjur'd, 
From thy great fail. — Come, fellow, be thou honest: 
Do thou thy master's bidding: W hen thou see'st him, 
A little witness my obedience : Look ! 
I draw the sword myself : take it ; and hit 
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart : 
Fear not ; 'tis empty of all things, but grief: 
Thy master is not there; who was, indeed, 
The riches of it : Do his bidding ; strike. 
Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause ; 
But now thou seem'st a coward. 

PiS' Hence, vile instrument ! 

Thou shalt not damn my hand. 

Imo. Why, I must die ; 

And if I do not by thy hand, thou art 
No servant of thy master's : Against self-slaughter 
There is a prohibition so divine. 
That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart ; 
Something's afore't :— Soft, soft; we'll no defence ; 
Obedient as the scabbard. — What is here? 
The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus, 
All turn'd to heresy? Away, away. 
Corrupters of my faith ! you shall no more 
Be stomachers to my heart ! I'hus may poor fools 
Believe false teachers : Though those that are betray'd 
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor 
Stands in worse case of woe. 
And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up 
My disobedience 'gainst the king my father, 
And make me put into contempt the suits 
Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find 
It is no act of common passage, but 
A strain of rareness : and I grieve myself. 
To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her 
That now thou tir'st on, how thy memory 
Will then be pang'd by me. — Pr'ythee, despatch : 
The lamb entreats the butcher: Where's thy knife? 
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, 
When I desire it too. 

_ P's- O gracious lady, 

Since I receiv'd command to do this business, 
I have not slept one wink. 

^"^o. Do 't, and to bed then. 

Pis, I '11 wake mine eye-balls blind first. 

Imo. Wherefore then 

Didst underta'icc it ? Why hast thou abus'd 
So many miles, with a pretence ? this place ? 
Mine action, and thine own? our horses' labour? 
The time inviting thee ? the perturb'd court, 
For my being absent ; whereunto I never 



Purpose to return ? Why hast thou gone so far, 
To be unbent, when thou hast la'en thy stand. 
The elected deer before thee ? 

Pis. But to win time 

To lose so bad employment : in the which 
I have consider'd of a course ; Good lady, 
Hear me with patience. 

Imo. Talk thy tongue weary ; speak: 

I have heard, I am a strumpet ; and mine ear. 
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound. 
Nor tent, to bottom that. But speak. 

Pis. Then, madam, 

I thought you would not back again. 

Imo. Most like ; 

Bringing me here to kill me. 

Pis. Not so, neither : 

But if I were as wise as honest, then 
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be. 
But that my master is abus'd : 
Some villain, ay, and singular in his art 
Hath done you both this cursed injury. 

Imo. Some Roman courtezan. 

Pis. No, on my life. 

I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him 
Some bloody sign of it ; for 'tis commanded 
I should do so : You shall be miss'd at court. 
And that will well confirm it. 

Imo. Why, good fellow. 

What shall I do the while ? Where bide ? How live? 
Or in my life what comfort, when I am 
Dead to my husband ? 

Pis. If you'll back to the court,— 

Imo. No court, no father ; nor no more ado 
With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing: 
That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me 
As fearful as a siege. 

Pis. If not at court. 

Then not in Britain must you bide. 

Imo. Where then ! 

Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night. 
Are they not but in Britain? I' the world's volume 
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it ; 
In a great pool, a swan's nest ; Pr'ythee, think 
There 's livers out of Britain. 

Pis. I am most glad 

You think of other place. The embassador, 
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven 
To-morrow ; Now, if you could wear a mind 
Dark as your fortune is ; and but disguise 
That, which, to appear itself, must not yet be. 
But by self-danger ; you should tread a course 
Pretty, and full of view : yea, haply near 
The residence of Posthumus : so nigh, at least, 
That though his actions were not visible, yet 
Report should render him hourly to your ear, 
As truly as he moves. 

Imo. 0, for such means ! 

Though peril to my modesty, not death on't, 
I would adventure. 

Pis. Well then, here's the point: 

You must forget to be a woman ; change 
Command into obedience ; fear, and niceness, 
(The handmaids of all women, or, more truly. 
Woman its pretty self,) into a waggish courage; 
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and 
As quarrellous as the weasel ; nay, you must 
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek. 
Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart ! 
Alack no remedy ! ) to the greedy touch 
Of common-kissing Titan : and forget 
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein 
You made great Juno angry. 



ACT HI.— SCENE V, 



715 



Imo. Nay, be brief; 

I see into thy end, and am almost 
A man already. 

Pis. First, make yourself but like one. 

Fore-thinking this, I have already fit, 
("lis in my cloak-bag,) doublet, hat, hose, all 
That answer to them : Would you, in their serving. 
And with what imitation you can borrow 
From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius 
Present yourself, desire his service, tell him 
Wherein you are happy, (which you'll make him know, 
If that his head have ear in music,) doubtless 
With joy he will embrace you ; for he's honourable. 
And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad 
You have me, rich ; and I will never fail 
Beginning, nor supplyment. 

Imo. Thou art all the comfort 

The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away: 
There 's more to be consider'd ; but we'll even 
All that good time will give us : This attempt 
I'm soldier to, and will abide it with 
A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee. 

Pis, Well, madam, we must take a short farewell ; 
Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of 
Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, 
Here is a box : I had it from the queen ; 
What's in't is precious ; if you are sick at sea, 
Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this 
Will drive away distemper. — To some shade. 
And fit you to your manhood : — May the gods 
Direct you to the best ! 

Imo, Amen: I thank thee. [Eaeuxi. 

SCENE v.— ^ Room in Cymbeline's Palace. 
E»tterCYMBELiNE,QuEEN,Ci.OTEN, Lucius, and Lords. 

Cym. Thus far; and so farewell. 

Luc. Thanks, royal sir. 

My emperor hath wrote ; I must from hence ; 
And am right sorry, that I must report ye 
My master's enemy. 

Cym. Our subjects, sir, 

Will not endure his yoke ; and for ourself 
To shew less sovereignty than they, must needs 
Appear unkinglike. 

Luc. So, sir, I desire of you 

A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven. — 
Madam, all joy befal your grace, and you ! 

Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office ; 
The due of honour in no point omit : — 
So, farewell, noble Lucius. 

Luc. Your hand, my lord. 

Clo. Receive it friendly: but from this time forth 
I wear it as your enemy. 

Luc. Sir, the event 

Is yet to name the winner: Fare you well. 

Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords. 
Till he have cross'd the Severn. — Happiness ! 

[Eieinit Lucius and Lords. 

Queen. He goes hence frowning : but it honours us. 
That we have given him cause. 

Clo. 'Tis all the better ; 

Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. 

dim. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor 
How it goes here. It fits us therefore, ripely. 
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness : 
The powers that lie already hath in Gallia 
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves 
His war for Britain. 

Queen. 'Tis not sleepy business ; 

But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly. 

Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus, 



Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen. 

Where is our daughter? She iiath not appear'd 

Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd 

The duty of the day: She looks us like 

A thing more made of malice, than of duty. 

We have noted it. — Call her before us ; for 

We have been too slight in sufterance. [Exit an Attend. 

Queen. Royal sir. 

Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd 
Hath her life been ; the cure whereof, my lord, 
'Tis time must do. 'Beseech yoar majesty. 
Forbear sharp speeches to her : She's a lady 
So tender of Vebukes, that words are strokes, 
And strokes death to her. 

Re-enter an Attendant. 

Cym. Where is she, sir 1 How 

Can her contempt be answer'd 1 

Atten, Please you, sir, 

Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer 
That will be given to the loud'st of noise we make. 

Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her. 
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close ; 
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity. 
She should that duty leave unpaid, to you, 
Which daily she was bound to proffer : this 
She wish'd me to make known ; but our great court 
Made me to blame in memory. 

Cyjn. Her doors lock'd"? 

Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that, which I fear. 
Prove false ! [Exit. 

Queen. Son, I say, follow the king. 

CU). That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, 
I have not seen these two days. 

Queen. Go, look after. — [Exit Cloten. 

Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus ! — 
He hath a drug of mine : I pray, his absence 
Proceed by swallowing that ; for he believes 
It is a thing most precious. But for her, 
Where is she gone ? Haply, despair hath seiz'd her 
Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown 
To her desir'd Posthumus : Gone she is 
To death, or to dishonour ; and my end 
Can make good use of either : She being down, 
I have the placing of the British crown. 

Re-enter Ci.oten. 
How now, my son 1 

Clo. 'Tis certain, she is fled * 

Go in, and cheer the king; he rages ; none 
Dare come about him. 

Queen. All the better : May 

This night forestall him of the coming day ! 

[Ejit Queen. 

Clo. I love, and hate her : for she 's fair and royal ; 
And that she hatli all courtly parts more exquisite 
Than lady, ladies, woman ; from every one 
Tiie best she hath, and she, of all compounded. 
Outsells them all : I love her tlierefore ; But, 
Disdaining me, and throwing favours on 
I'he low Posthfimus, slanders so her judgment, 
That what's else rare, is chok'd ; and, in that point. 
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed. 
To be reveng'd upon her. For, when fools 

Enter Pisanio. 

Shall — W^ho is here 1 W iiat ! are you packing, sirrah "• 

Come hither: Ah, you precious pander ! Villain, 

Where is thy lady! In a word ; or else 

Thou art straightway with the fiends. 

Pi's. O, good my lordl 

Clo. Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter 

1 will not ask again. Close villain 



716 



CYMBELINE. 



I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip 
Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthiimus? 
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot 
A dram of worth be drawn. 

Pis. Alas, my lord. 

How can she be with him 1 When was she miss'd 1 
He is in Rome. 

Clo. Where is she, sir "! Come nearer ; 

No further halting : satisfy me home, 
What iias become of her? 

Pis. O, my all-worthy lord ! 

Clo. All-worthy villain ! 

Discover where thy mistress is, at once, 
At the next word, — No more of worthy lord, — 
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is 
Thy condemnation and thy death. 

Pis. Then, sir, 

This paper is the history of my knowledge 
Touching her flight. [Presenting a letter. 

Clo. Let's see't : — I will pursue her 

Even to Augustus' throne. 

Pis. [Aside.] Or this, or perish. 
She's far enough ; and what he learns by this, 
May prove his travel, not her danger. 

Clo. Humph ! 

Pis. I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen, 
Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again! [Aside- 

Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true 1 

Pis. Sir, as I think. 

Clo. It is Posthumus' hand ; I know't. — Sirrah, if 
thou would'st not be a villain, but do me true sei 
vice ; undergo those employments, wherein I should 
have cause to use thee, with a seri6us industry, — 
that is, what villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform 
it, directly and truly, — 1 would think thee an honest 
man ; tliou should'st neither want my means for thy 
relief, nor my voice for thy preferment. 

Pis. Well, my good lord. 

Clo. Wilt thou serve me 1 For since patiently and 
constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of that 
beggar Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of 
gratitude but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt 
thou serve me 1 

Pis. Sir, I will. 

Clo. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast 
any of thy late master's garments in thy possession ? 

Pis. 1 have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit 
he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress. 

Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit 
hither : let it be thy first service ; go. 

Pis. I shall, my lord. [Eiit. 

Clo. Meet thee at Milford- Haven : — I forgot to ask 
him one thing ; I'll remember't anon : — Even there 
thou villain, Posthumus, will I kill thee. — I would, 
these garments were come. She said upon a time, 
(the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart,) that 
she held the very garment of Posthumus in more 
respect than my noble and natural person, together 
with the adornment of my qualities. With that suit 
upon my back, will I ravish her: First kill him, and 
in her eyes : there shall she see my valour, which will 
then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, 
my speech of insultment ended on his dead body, — 
and when my lust hath dined, (which, as I say, to vex 
her, I will execute in the clothes that she so praised, ) 
to the court I'll knock her back, foot her home again. 
She hath despised me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry 
in my revenge. 

Re-enter Pisanio, with the clothes. 

Be those the garments 1 
Pii. Ay, my noble lord. 



C/(i. How long is't since shewenttoMilford-Haven? 

Pis. She can scarce be there yet. 

Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the 
second thing that 1 have commanded thee : the third 
is, that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. 
Be but duteous, and true preferment shall tender it- 
self to thee. — My revenge is now at Milford ; 'Would 
I had wings to follow it ! — Come, and be true. [Exit. 

Pis. Thou bidd'st me to my loss : for, true to thee, 
Were to prove false, which 1 will never be, 
To him that is most true. To Milford go, 
And find not her whom thou pursu'st. Flow, flow, 
You heavenly blessings, on her ! This fool's speed 
Be cross'd with slowness: labour be his meed! [Exit. 

SCENE VI.— Before the Cave of Belarius. 
Enter Imogen, in boy^s clothes. 
Tmo. I see a man's life is a tedious one : 
I have tir'd myself ; and for two nights together 
Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick. 
But that my resolution helps me. — jNlilford, 
When from the mountain-top Pisanio shew'd thee, 
Thou wast within a ken : Jove ! I think, 
Foundations fly the wretched : such, I mean, 
Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me 
I could not miss my way : will poor folks lie, 
That have afHictions on them ; knowing 'tis 
A punishment, or trial ? Yes ; no wonder, 
When rich ones scarce tell true: To lapse in fulness 
Is sorer, than to lie for need ; and falsehood 
Is worse in kings than beggars. — My dear lord ! 
Thou art one o'the false ones : Now I think on thee. 
My hunger's gone ; but even before, I was 
At point to sink for food. — But what is this 1 
Here is a path to it : 'tis some savage hold : 
I were best not call ; I dare not call : yet famine. 
Ere clean it o'erlhrow nature, makes it valiant. 
Plenty, and peace, breeds cowards ; hardness ever 
Of hardiness is mother. — Ho ! who's here? 
If any thing that 's civil, speak ; if savage. 
Take, or lend. — Ho ! — No answer? then I'll enter. 
Best draw my sword ; and if mine enemy 
But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't. 
Such a foe, good heaven ! [She goes into the cave. 

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 

Bel. You, Polydore, have prov'd bestwoodman, and 
Are master of the feast : Cadwal, and I, 
Will play the cook, and servant; 'tis our match : 
The sweat of industry would dry, and die, 
But for the end it works to. Come ; our stomachs 
Will make what's homely, savoury : Weariness 
Can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth 
Finds the down pillow hard. — Now, peace be here. 
Poor house, that keep'st thyself! 

Gui. I am thoroughly weary. 

Arv. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite. 

Gui. There is cold meat i' the cave ; we'll browze 
on that 
Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd. 

Bel. Stay ; come not in : [Looking in. 

But that it eats our victuals, I should think 
Here were a fairy. 

Giii. What's the matter, sir"! 

Bel. By Jupiter, an angel ! or, if not, 
An earthly paragon ! — Behold divineness 
No elder than a boy ! 

Enter Imogen. 

Into. Good masters, harm me not : 
Before I enter'd here, I call'd ; and thought [troth, 
To have begg'd, or bought what I have took : Good 



ACT IV.— SCENE II. 



717 



I have stolen nought ; nor would not, though I had 

found 
Gold strew'a o'er the floor. Here's money for my meat: 
I would have left it on the board, so soon 
As I had made my meal ; and parted 
With prayers for the provider. 

Gtii. INIoney, youth 1 

Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt! 
As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those 
Who worship dirty gods. 

Imo. I see you are angry : 

Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should 
Have died, had I not made it. 

Bel. Whither bound 1 

Imo. To Milford-Haven, sir. 

Bel. What is your name 1 

Imo. Fidele, sir : I have ?i kinsman, who 
Is bound for Italy ; he embark'd at INlilford ; 
To whom being gone, almost spent with hunger, 
I am fallen in this offence. 

Bel. Pr'ythee, fair youth, 

Think us no churls ; nor measure our good minds 
By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd! 
'Tis almost night ; you shall have better cheer 
Ere you depart ; and thanks, to stay and eat it. — 
Boys, bid him welcome. 

Gui. Were you a woman, youth, 

I should woo hard, but be your groom, — [n honesty, 
I bid for you, as I'd buy. 

Arv, I'll make't my comfort, 

He is a man ; I '11 love him as my brother : — 
And such a welcome as I'd give to him. 
After long absence, such as yours : — ]Most welcome ! 
Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends. 

Imo. 'Mongst friends ! 

If brothers 1 — Would it had been so, that they [Aside. 
Had been my father's sons, then liad my prize 
Been less ; and so more equal ballasting 
To thee, Posthumus. 

Bel. He wrings at some distress. 

Gui. 'Would, I could free't ! 

Arv. Or I ; whate'er it be. 

What pain it cost, what danger! Gods ! 

Bel. Hark, boys. [Whispering- 

Imo. Great men. 
That had a court no bigger than this cave. 
That did attend themselves, and had the virtue 
Which their own conscience seal'd them, (laying by 
That nothing gift of differing multitudes,) 
Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods! 
I'd change my sex to be companions with them. 
Since Leonatus false. 

Bel. It shall be so : 

Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. — Fair youth, come in: 
Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd, 
We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story, 
So far as thou wilt speak it. 

Gui. Pray, draw near. 

>4rv. The night to the owl, and morn to the lark, less 

Imo. Thanks, sir. [welcome. 

Arv. I pray, draw near. [ Eieunt, 

SCENE VII.— Rome. 

Enter Two Senators and Tribunes. 

1 Sen. This is the tenour of the emperor's writ ; 
That since the common men are now in action 
Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians; 
And that the legions iiow in Gallia are 
Full weak to undertake our wars against 
The fallen-off Britons ; that we do incite 
The gentry to this business : He creates 



Lucius pro-consul : and to you the tribunes, 

For this immediate levy, he commands 

His absolute commission. Long live Ca;sar ! 

Tri. Is Lucius general of the forces 1 

t Sen. Ay. 

Tri. Remaining now in Gallia ? 

1 Sen. With those legions 

Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy 
Must be supplyant : The words of your commission 
Will tie you to the numbers, and the time 
Of their despatcii. 

Tri. We will discharge our duly. [Ey.mnt. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — The Forest, near the Cave. 
Enter Cloten. 

Clo. I am near to the place where they should meet, 
if Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his gar- 
ments serve me I Why should his mistress, who was 
made by him that made the tailor, not be tit too ? the 
rather (saving reverence of the word) for 'tis said, 
a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I musi 
play the workman. I dare speak it to myself, (for 
it is not vain-glory, for a man and his glass to confer ; 
in his own chamber, I mean,) the lines of my body 
are as well drawn as his ; no less young, more strong, 
not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the ad- 
vantage of the time, above him in birth, alike con- 
versant in general services, and more remarkable in 
single oppositions : yet this imperseverant thing loves 
him in my despite. What mortality is ! Posth'umus, 
thy head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, 
shall within this hour be otl'; thy mistress enforced ; 
thy garments cut to pieces before thy face : and all 
this done, spurn her iiome to her father : wlio may, 
haply, be a little angry for my so rough usage ; but 
my mother, having power of his testiness, shall turn 
all into my commendations. ]My horse is tied up safe: 
Out, sword, and to a sore purpose ! Fortune, put them 
into my hand ! This is the very description of their 
meeting-place ; and the fellow dares not deceive me. 

[Eiit. 
SCENE II.— Before the Cave. 

Enter, from the Cave, BELAnius, Guidkrius, 
Arviragus, and Imogen. 

Bel. You are not well : [To I.mocen.] remain here 
in tiie cave ; 
We '11 come to you after hunting. 

Arv. Brother, stay here : [To Imogen. 

7\re we not brothers 1 

Imo. So man and man should be; 

But clay and clay differs in dignity. 
Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. 

Gui. Go you to hunting, I'll abide with him. 

Imo. So sick I am not ; — yet I am not well : 
But not so citiien a wanton, as 
To seem to die, ere sick ; So please you, leave me ; 
Stick to your journal course: the breach of custom 
Is breach of all. I am ill ; but your being by me 
Cannot amend me : Society is no comfort 
To one not sociable : I am not very sick. 
Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here 
I'll rob none but myself: and let me die, 
Stealing so poorly. 

Gui. I love thee ; I have spoke it : 

How much the quantity, the weight as much. 
As I do love my father. 



718 



CYMBELINE. 



Bel. What? how? howl 

Arv. It" it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me 
In my good brother's fault : I know not why 
I love this youth ; and I have heard you say. 
Love's reason's without reason ; the bier at door, 
And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say, 
Mil fallter, not this youth, 

Bel. O noble strain ! [Aside. 

worthiness of nature ! breed of greatness ! 
Cowards father cowards, and base tilings sire base: 
Nature hath meal, and bran ; contempt, and grace. 

1 am not their father ; yet who this should be. 
Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me. — 

'Tis the ninth hour of the morn. 

Arv. Brother, farewell. 

Itnn. I wish ye sport. 

Arv. You health. — So please you, sir. 

Imo. [Aside.'] These are kind creatures. Gods, 
what lies I have heard ! 
Our courtiers say, all's savage, but at court : 
Experience, O, thou disprov'st report ! 
The imperious seas breed monsters ; for the dish, 
Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. 
I am sick still ; heart-sick : — Pisanio, 
I'll now taste of thy drug. 

Gin. I could not stir him : 

He said, he was gentle, but unfortunate ; 
Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. 

Arv. Thus did he answer me : yet said, hereafter 
I might know more. 

Bel. To the field, to the field :— 

We'll leave you for this time ; go in, and rest. 

Arv. We'll not be long away. 

Bel. Pray, be not sick, 

For you must be our housewife. 

/mo. Well, or ill, 

I am bound to you. 

Bel. And so shalt be ever. [Exit Imogen. 

This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears, he hath had 
Good ancestors. 

Arv. How angel-like he sings I [racters ; 

Gu(. But his neat cookery! He cut our roots in cha- 
And sauc'd our broths, as Juno had been sick, 
And he her dieter. 

Arv. Nobly he yokes 

A smiling with a sigh : as if the sigh 
Was that it was, for not being such a smile ; 
The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly 
From so divine a temple, to commix 
With winds that sailors rail at. 
. Giti. I do note. 

That grief and patience, rooted in him both, 
Mingle their spurs together. 

Arv. Grow, patience ! 

And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine 
His perishing root, with the increasing vine ! [there? 

Bel. It is great morning. Come; away. — Who's 

Enter Cloten. 

Clo. I cannot find those runagates : that villain 
Hath mock'd me ! — I am faint. 

Bel. Those runagates ! 

Means he not us ? I partly know him ; 'tis 
Cloten, the son o'the queen. I fear some ambush. 
I saw him not these many years, and yet 
I know 'tis he: — We are held as outlaws: — Hence. 

Gtii. He is but one : You and my brother search 
What companies are near : pray you, away ; 
Let me alone with him. [Exeunt Bei,. and Arv. 

Clo. Soft ! What are you 

That fly me thus 1 some villain mountaineers I 
I have heard of such. — What slave art thou ? 



Gui. A thing 

More slavish did I ne'er, than answering 
A slave without a knock. 

Clo. Thou art a robber, 

A law-breaker, a villain : Yield thee, thief. 

Gui. To who? to thee? Whatartthou? Have not I 
An arm as big as thine? a heart as big? 
Thy words, I grant, are bigger : for I wear not 
My dagger in my mouth Say, what thou art ; 
Why 1 should yield to ihee? 

Clo. Thou villain base, 

Know'st me not by my clothes ? 

Gui. No, nor thy tailor, lascal, 

Who is thy grandfather ; he made those clothes. 
Which, as it seems, make thee. 

Clo. Thou precious Tarlet, 

My tailor made them not. 

Giit. Hence then, and thank 

The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool ; 
I am loath to beat thee. 

Clo. Thou injurious thief. 

Hear but my name, and tremble. 

Gui. What's thy name ? 

Clo. Cloten, thou villain. 

Gui. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name, 
I cannot tremble at it ; were't toad, or adder, spider, 
'Twould move me sooner. 

Clo. To thy further fear, 

Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know 
I'm son to the queen. 

Gui. I'm sorry for't ; not seeming 

So worthy as thy birth. 

Clo. Art not afeard ? 

Gui. Those that I reverence, those I fear ; the wise 
At fools I laugh, not fear them. 

Clo. Die the death : 

When I have slain thee with my proper hand, 
I'll follow those that even now fled hence, 
And on the gates of Lud's town set your heads : 
Yield, rustic mountaineer. [^Exeunt, Jighting. 

Enter Belarius and Arviragus. 

Eel. No company's abroad. 

Arv. Nonein the world: You did mistake him, sure 

Bel. I cannot tell : Long is it since I saw him, 
But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour 
Which then he wore ; the snatches in his voice, 
And burst of speaking, were as his : I am absolute, 
'Twas very Cloten. 

Arv. In this place we left them : 

I wish my brother made good time with him, 
You say he is so fell. 

Bel. Being scarce made up, 

I mean, to man, he had not apprehension 
Of roaring terrors ; for the effect of judgment 
Is oft the cause of fear : But see, thy brother. 

Ue-enter Guiderius, with Cloten's head. 

Gui. This Cloten was a fool; an empty purse, 
There was no money in't: not Hercules 
Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none : 
Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne 
My head, as I do his. 

'Bel. What hast thou done ? 

Gui. I am perfect, what : cutoff one Cloten's head, 
Son to the queen, after his own report ; 
Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer ; and swore. 
With his own single hand he'd take us in, 
Displace our heads, where (thank the gods!) they 
And set them on Lud's town. [grow, 

Bel. We are all undone. 

Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose, 



ACT IV.— SCENE II. 



719 



But, that he swore to take our lives 1 The law 
Protects not us : Then why should we be tender, 
To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us ; 
Play judge, and executioner, all himself; 
For we do fear the law"! What company 
Discover you abroad 1 

Bel. No single soul 

Can we set eye on, but in all safe reason, 
He must have some attendants. Though his humour 
Was nothing but mutation ; ay, and that 
From one bad thing to worse ) not frenzy, not 
Absolute madness could so far iiave rav"d. 
To bring him here alone: Although, perhaps. 
It may be heard at court, that such as we 
Cave here, hunt here, are outlav/s, and in time 
May make some stronger head : the which he hearing, 
(As it is like him,) might break otit, and swear 
He'd fetch us in ; yet is't not probable 
To come alone, either he so undertaking, 
Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear. 
If we do fear this body hath a tail 
More perilous tlian the head. 

Arv. Let ordinance 

Come as the gods foresay it : howsoe'er, 
INIy brother hath done well. 

Bel. I had no mmd 

To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness 
Did make my way long forth. 

Gui. With his own sword, 

Which4ie did wave against my throat, I have ta'en 
His head from him : I'll throw't into the creek 
Behind our rock ; and let it to the sea. 
And tell the fishes, he's the queen's son, Cloten : 
That's all I reck. [Exit. 

Bel, I fear, 'twill be reveng'd : 

'Would, Polydore, thou had'st not done't ! though 
Becomes thee well enough. [valour 

Arv. '^Vould I had done't, 

So the revenge alone pursued me ! — Polydore, 
I love thee brotherly; but envy much, 
Thou hast robb'd me of tliis deed : I would, revenges, 
That possible strength might meet, would seek us 
And put us to our answer. [through, 

Bel. Well, 'tis done : 

We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger 
Where there's no profit. I pr'ythee, to our rock ; 
You and Fidele play the cooks : I'll stay 
Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him 
To dinner presently. 

Arv. Poor sick Fidele ! 

I'll willingly to him : To gain his colour, 
I'd let a parish of such Clotens' blood. 
And praise myself for charity. [Exit. 

Bel. O thou goddess, 

Thou divine nature, how thyself thou blazon'st 
In these two princely boys ! They are as gentle 
As zephyrs, blowing below the violet. 
Not wagging his sweet head : and yet as rough, 
Their royal blood enchafd, as the rud'st wind, 
That by the top doth take the mountain pine, 
And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful, 
That an invisible instinct should frame them 
To royalty unlearn'd ; honour untaught ; 
Civility not seen from other : valour, 
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop 
As if it had been sow'd ! Yet still it's strange, 
What Cloten's being here to us portends ; 
Or wiiat his death will bring us. 

He-enter GuiDF.nius. 

Gui. Where's my brother 1 

I have ;>ent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream, 



In embassy to his mother ; his body's hostage 
For his return. [Solemn music. 

Bel. Jly ingenious instrument ! 

Hark, Polydore, it sounds ! But what occasion 
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion ! Hark ! 

Gui. Is he at home ! 

Bel. He went hence even now. [mothei 

Gui. What does he mean? since death of my dear'st 
It did not speak before. All solemn things 
Should answer solemn accidents. The matter 1 
Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys. 
Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys. 
Is Cadwal mad ! 

Re-enter AnvinAGUs, hearing Imogen as dead, 

Bel. Look, here he comes, 

And brings the dire occasion in his arms. 
Of what we blame him for ! 

Arv. The bird is dead. 

That we have made so much on. I had rather 
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty, 
To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch, 
Than have seen this. 

Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily. 

My brother wears thee not one-half so well. 
As when thou giew'st thyself. 

Bel, O, melancholy ! 

Who ever yet could sound thy bottom f find 
The ooze, to shew what coast thy sluggish crare 
Might easiliest harbour in? — Thou blessed thing! 
Jove knows what man thou might'st have made ; but I, 
Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy ! 
How found you him ? 

Arv. Stark, as you see: 

Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber. 
Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at : his right cheek, 
Reposing on a cushion. 

Gui. Where ? 

Arv. O'the floor ; 

His arms thus leagu'd : I thought, he slept ; and put 
My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness 
Answer'd my steps too loud. 

Gui. Why, he but sleeps; 

If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed ; 
With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, 
And worms will not come to thee. 

Arv. W^ith fairest flowers, 

Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, 
I'll sweeten thy sad grave : Thou shall not lack 
The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose ; nor 
The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins ; no, nor 
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, 
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath : the ruddock would, 
With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming 
Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie 
Witliout a monument!) bring thee all this ; 
Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, 
To winter-ground thy corse. 

Gui. Pr'ythee, have done ; 

And do not play in wench-like words with that 
Which is so serious. Let us bury him. 
And not protract with admiration wliat 
Is now due debt. — To the grave. 

Arv. Say, where shall 's lay him? 

Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. 

Arv. Be 't so 

And let us, Polydore, though now our voices 
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground, 
As once our mother ; use like note, and words. 
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. 

Gid. Cadwal, 
I cannot sing : I'll weep, -and word it with thee: 



720 



CYMBELINE. 



For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse 
Than priests and fanes that lie. 

Arv. We 11 speak it then. 

Bel. G reat griefs, I see, medicine the less : for Cloten 
Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, hoys : 
And, though he came our enemy, remember, 
He was paid for that : Though mean and mighty, rotting 
Together, have one dust ; yet reverence, 
(That angel of the world,) doth make distinction 
Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely ; 
And though you took his life, as being our foe, 
Yet bury him as a prince. 

Gni. Pray you, fetch him hither. 

Thersites' body is as good as Ajax, 
When neither are alive. 

Arv. If you'll go fetch him. 

We '11 say our song the whilst. — Brother, begin. 

[Exit Belarius. 

G?(i. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east: 
My father hath a reason for 't. 

Arv. ' 'Tis true. 

Gui. Come on then, and remove him. 

Arv. So, — Begin. 

SONG. 

Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun 

Nor the furious winter's rages ; 
Thou thy ivorldly task hast done, 

Home ai't gone, and ta'eii thy tvages : 
Golden lads and girls all must, 
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 

Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great. 
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ; 

Care no more to clothe, and eat; 
To thee the reed is as the oak: 

The sceptre, learning, physic, must 

All follow this, and come to djist, 

Gui, Fear no more the tight'ningflash, 
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ; 
Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash ; 
Arv. Thou hast finish' d joy and moan: 
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must 
Consig7i to thee, and come to dust. 

Gui. No exerciser harm thee ! 
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! 
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee! 
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee ! 
Both. Quiet consummation have ; 
, And renowned be thy grave ! 

Re-enter Belarius, with the body o/" Cloten. 

Gui. We have done our obsequies : Come, lay him 
down. [more : 

Bel. Here 's a few flowers ; but about midnight, 
The herbs, that have on them cold dew o'the night, 
Arestrewings fitt'st for graves. — Upon their faces: — 
You were as flowers, now wither'd : even so 
These herb'lets shall, which we upon you strow. — 
Come on, away : apart upon our knees. 
The ground, that gave them first, has them again : 
Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. 

[Exeunt Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 

Jmo, \_Awaking.~\ Yes.sir.toMilford-Haven j Which 
is the way 1 
Ithankj'ou. — By yon bush? — Pray, how far thither? 
'Ods pittikins ! — can it be six miles yet? — 
I have gone all night: — 'Faith, I'll lie down and sleep. 
But, soft ! no bedfellow : — O, gods and goddesses ! 

[Seeing the body. 
These flowers are like the pleasures of the world ; 
This bloody man, the care on't. — I hope, I dream; 



For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper. 
And cook to honest creatures : But 'tis not so ; 
'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, 
Which the brain makes of fumes : Our very eyes 
Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith, 
I tremble still with fear : But if there be 
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity 
As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it ! 
The dream's here still : even when I wake, it is 
Without me, as within me ; not imagin'd, felt. 
A headless man ! — The garments of Poslhumus! 
I know the shape of his leg: this is his hand ; 
His foot Mercurial : his Martial thigh , 
The brawns of Hercules : but his Jovial face — 
Murder in heaven! — How? — 'Tis gone. — Pisanio, 
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, 
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou, 
Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten, 
Hast here cut off' my lord. — To write, and read. 
Be henceforth treacherous ! — Damn'd Pisanio 
Hath with his forged letters,— damn'd Pisanio — 
From this most bravest vessel of the world 
Struck the main-top ! — O, Posth(imus ! alas, 
Where is thy head? where 's that? Ah me ! where 's 
Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart, [that? 
And left this head on. — How should this be ? Pisanio ? 
'Tis he, and Cloten : malice and lucre in them 
Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant ! 
The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious 
And cordial to me, have I not found it 
Murd'rous to the senses ? That confirms it home: 
This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's : O ! — 
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, 
That we the horrider may seem to those 
Which chance to find us : O, my lord, my lord'. 

Enter Lucius, a Captain, and other Officers, 
and a Soothsayer. 

Cap. To them, the legions garrison'd in Gallia, 
After your will, have cross'd the sea; attending 
You here at Mil ford-Haven, with your ships : 
They are here in readiness. 

Luc. But what from Rome 1 

Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the c<jnfiner3. 
And gentlemen of Italy ; most willing spirits, 
That promise noble service : and they come 
Under the conduct of bold lachimo. 
Sienna's brother. 

Luc. When expect you them ? 

Cap. With the next benefit o' the wind. 

Ltic. This forwardness 

Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers 
Be muster'd ; bid the captains look to't. — Now, sir. 
What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's purpose ? 

Sooth. Last night the very gods shew'd me a vision : 
(I fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence,) Thus :^ 
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd 
From the spungy south to this part of the west. 
There vanish'd in the sunbeams : which portends, 
(Unless my sins abuse my divination,) 
Success to the Roman host. 

Luc. Dream often so, 

And never false. — Soft, ho ! what trunk is here, 
Without his top ? The ruin speaks, that sometime 
It was a worthy building. — How ! a page ! — 
Or dead, or sleeping on him ? But dead, rather : 
For nature doth abhor to make his bed 
With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. — 
Let 's see the boy's face. 

Cap. He is alive, my lord. 

Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body. — Young 
Inform us of thy fortunes; for, it seems, [on^. 






.«f=t 




S^^^j^S^ ''Ss^'"^ ' 



CYI\/[BELINE 

OntDEHiTTs. Nay, Cadwal, Wf ujust lay bi>= bead to Che £;«t : 
My futher hath a rf^aeoD for't 

/Ift n.. XrfK, i 



fr 



ACT IV. -SCENE IV. 



721 



They crave to be demanded : Who is this, 

Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow ? Or who was he, 

That, otherwise than noble nature did. 

Hath alter'd that good picture 1 What's thy interest 

In this sad wreck 1 How came it? Who is it? 

What art thou ! 

I"'o. I am nothings : or if not, 

Nothing to be were better. This was my master. 
A very valiant Briton, and a good, 
That here by mountaineers lies slain : — Alas I 
There are no more such masters' : I may wander 
From east to Occident, cry out for service. 
Try many, all good, serve truly, never 
Find such another master. 

Luc. 'Lack, good youth ! 

Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than 
Thy master in bleeding ; Say his name, good friend. 

Imo. Richard du Champ — If I do lie, and do 
No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope 
They'll pardon it. [Aside.] Say you, sir? 

Luc. Thy name? 

Imo, Fidele. 

Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same : 
Thy name well fits thy faith ; thy faith, thy name. 
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say, 
Thou shalt be so well master'd ; but, be sure. 
No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters. 
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner 
Than thine own worth prefer thee ; Go vnth me. 

Imo. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods, 
I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep 
As these poor pickaxes can dig : and when 
With wild wood-leaves and weeds 1 have strew'd his 
And on it said a century of prayers, [grave, 

Such as I can, twice o'er, I '11 weep, and sigh ; 
And, leaving so his service, follow you, 
So please you entertain me. 

Luc. Ay, good youth : 

And rather father thee, than master thee. — 
My friends. 

The boy hath taught us manly duties : Let us 
Find out the prettiest daizied plot vi^e can, 
And make him with our pikes and partisans 
A grave : Come ; arm him. — Boy, he is preferr'd 
By thee to us •, and he shall be interr'd. 
As soldiers can. Be cheerful ;• wipe thine eyes : 
Some falls are means the happier to arise. [Eieiuit. 

SCENE III.— .4 Room in Cymbeline's Palace. 
Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pisanio. 

Cym. Again ; and bring me word, how 'tis with her. 
A fever with the absence of her son ; 
A madness, of which her life's in danger: — Heavens, 
How deeply you at once do touch me ! Imogen, 
The great part of my comfort, gone ; my queen 
Upon a desperate bed : and in a time 
When fearful wars point at me ; her son gone. 
So needful for this present : It strikes me, past 
The hope of comfort. — But for thee, fellow. 
Who needs must know of her departure, and 
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee 
By a sharp torture. 

Pis. Sir, my life is yours, 

I humbly set it at your will : But, for my mistress, 
I nothing know where she remains, why gone. 
Nor when she purposes return. 'Beseech your high- 
Hold me your loyal servant. [ness, 

1 L.y-d. Good my liege, 

The day that she was missing, he was here : 
I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform 
All parts of his subjection loyally. 



For Cloten, — 

There wants no diligence in seeking him. 

And will, no doubt, be found. 

Cijm. The time's troublesome. 

We'll slip you for a season; but our jealou.sy 
Does yet depend. [To Pisanio. 

] Lnrd. So please your majesty, 

The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn. 
Are lauded on your coast ; with a supply 
Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent. 

Cym. Now for the counsel of my son, and queen! 
I am amaz'd with matter. 

1 Lord. Good my liege. 

Your preparations can affront no less [ready •. 

Than what you hear of: come more, for more vou 're 
The want is, but to put those powers in motion. 
That long to move. 

Cvm. I thank you : Let's withdraw : 

And meet the time, as it seeks us. We fear not 
What can from Italy annoy us ; but 
We grieve at chances here. — Away. [Exeunt. 

Pis. 1 heard no letter from my master, since 
I wrote him, Imogen was slain : 'Tis strange : 
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise 
To yield me often tidings : Neither know I 
What is betid to Cloten ; but remain 
Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work : 
Wherein I am false, I am honest ; not true, to be true. 
These present wars shall find I love my country, 
Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in them. 
All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd : 
Fortune brings in some boats, that are not steer'd. [Ex. 

SCENE IV — Before the Cave. 
BnJer Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 

Giii, The noise is round about us. 

Bel. Let us from it. 

A'-v. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it 
From action and adventure ? 

Gui. Nay, what hope 

Have we in hiding us 1 this way, the Romans 
Must or for Britons slay us ; or receive us 
For barbarous and unnatural revolts 
During their use, and slay us after. 

Bel. Sons, 

We'll higher to the mountains ; there secure us. 
To the king's party there's no going : newness 
Of Cloten's death (we being not known, not muster'd 
Among the bands) may drive us to a render 
Where we have liv'd ; and so extort from us 
That which we've done, whose answer would be death 
Drawn on with torture. 

Gui. This is, sir, a doubt, 

In such a time, nothing becoming you, 
Nor satisfying us. 

Arv. It is not likely. 

That when they hear the Roman horses neigh, 
Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes 
And ears so cloy'd importantly as now. 
That they will waste their time upon our note, 
To know from whence we are. 

Bel. O, I am known 

Of many in the army : many years. 
Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him 
From my remembrance. And, besides, the king 
Hath not deserv'd my service, nor your loves ; 
Who find in my exile the want of breeding, 
The certainty of this hard life ; aye hopeless 
To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd. 
But to be still hot summer's tanlings, and 
The shrinking slaves of winter. 
2Z 



722 



CYMBELINE. 



Gui. Than be so. 

Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army, 
I and my brother are not known ; yourself, 
So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown, 
Cannot be question'd. 

Arv, By this sun that shines, 

I'll thither : What thing is it, that I never 
Did see man die 7 scarce ever look'd on blood, 
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison ? 
JVever bestrid a horse, save one, that had 
A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel 
Nor iron on his heel 1 I am ashai^^'d 
To look upon the holy sun, to have 
The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining 
So long a poor unknown. 

Giii. By heavens, I'll go : 

If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, 
I'll take the belter care ; but if you will not, 
The hazard therefore due fall on me, by 
The hands of Romans ! 

Jrv. So say I ; Amen. 

Bel. No reason I, since on your lives you set 
So slight a valuation, should reserve 
My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys : 
If in your country wars you chance to die. 
That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie : 
Lead, lead. — 'J'he time seems long : their blood 

thinks scorn, \^Aside. 

Till it fly out, and shew them princes born. \_Eieunt. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I.— ^ Field hetueen the British 
and Roman Camps. 

^nter Posthumus, inth a bloody handkerchief. 

Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; fori wish'd 
Thou shou'd'st be colour'd thus. You married ones. 
If each of you would take this course, how many 
Must murder wives much better than themselves, 
For wrying but a little ? — O, Pisanio ! 
Every good servant does not all commands ; 
No bond, but to do just ones. — Gods ! if you 
Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never 
Had liv'd to put on this : so had you saved 
The noble Imogen to repent ; and struck 
Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But, alack. 
You snatch some hence for little faults ; that's love, 
To have them fall no more : you some permit 
To second ills with ills, each elder worse ; 
And make them dread it to the doers' thrift. 
But Imogen is your own : Do your best wills. 
And make me bless'd to obey ! 1 am brought hither 
Among the Italian gentry, and to fight 
Against my lady's kingdom : 'Tis enough 
That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress ; peace ! 
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens, 
Hear patiently my purpose ; I'll disrobe me 
Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself 
As does a Briton peasant : so I'll fight 
Against the part I come with ; so I'll die 
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life 
Is, every breath, a death : and thus, unknown, ' 
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril 
Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know 
More valour in me, than my habits shew. 
Gods, put the strength o'tlie Leonati in me ! 
To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin 
The fashion, less without, and more within. [E.rfJ. 



SCENE 11.— T}ie same. 

Enter at one side, Lucius, Lachimo, and the Roman 
army ; at the other side, the British army; Lkona- 
Tus PosTiiuMUS following it, like a poor soldier. 
Theii march over, and go out. Alarums. Then enter 
again in skirmish, Iachimo and Posthumus : he van- 
qaisheth and disarmeth Iachimo, and then leaves him. 

lach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom 
Takes off my manhood : I have belied a lady, 
The princess of this country, and the air on't 
Revengingly enfeebles me ; Or, could this carl, 
A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me, 
In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, borne 
As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn. 
If that thy gentry, Britain, go before 
This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds 
Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gods. [Eiff. 

The battle continues ; the Britons Jiy ; Cymbeline is 
taken ; then enter, to his rescue, Belarius, Guide- 
Rius, and Akvikagus. 

Bel. Stand, stand ! We have the advantage of the 
The lane is guarded ; nothing routs us, but [ground ; 
The villany of our fears. 

Gtu. Arv. Stand, stand, and fight ! 

Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons: They re- 
scue Cymbeline, and exeunt. Then, enter Lucius, 
Iachimo, and Imogen. 

Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself: 
For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such 
As war were hood-wink'd. 

lach. 'Tis their fresh supplies, 

Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely : Or betimes 
I,et's re-enforce, or fly. [Exeunt 

SCENE 111.— Another Part of the Field. 
Enter Posthumus and a British Lord. 

Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the stand 1 

Post. ' I did: 

Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. 

Lord. 1 did. 

Post. No blame be to you, sir ; for all was lost. 
But that the heavens fought : The king himself 
Of his wings destitute, the army broken. 
And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying 
Through a strait lane ; the enemy full-hearted, 
Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work. 
More plentiful than tools to do'l, struck down 
Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling 
Merely through fear ; that tlie strait pass was damin'd 
With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living 
To die with lengthen'd shame. 

Lord. Where was this lane ? 

Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with 
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, — [turf, 
An honest one, I warrant ; who deserv'd 
So long a breeding, as his white beard came to. 
In doing this for his country ; — athwart the lane. 
He, with two striplings, (lads more like to run 
The country base, than to commit such slaughter ; 
With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer 
Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame,) 
Rlade good the passage ; cry'd to those that fled. 
Our Britain's liurts diejivi>>g, not our men: 
To darkness fleet, soJils that ft i) backwards ! Stand; 
Or we are Romans, and will give you that 
Like beasts, which you shun beastly ; and 7nay save. 
But to look hack in frown: stand, stand. — These three, 
Three thousand confident, in act as many. 



ACT v.— SCENE IV. 



723 



''For three performers are the file, when all 

The rest do nothing,) with this word, stand, stand, 

Accoinmcdated by the place, more charming. 

With their own nobleness, (which could have turn'd 

A distaff to a lance,) gilded pale looks, 

Piirt, shame, part, spirit renew'd ; that some, turn'd 

But by example (O, a sin in war, [coward 

Damn'd in the first beginners!) 'gan to look 

The way that they did, and to grin like lions 

Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began 

A stop i'the chaser, a retire ; anon, 

A rout, confusion thick : Forthwith, they fly 

Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles ; slaves, 

The strides they victors made : And now our cowards 

(Like fragments in hard voyages,) became 

The life o'the need ; having found the back-door open 

Of the unguariled hearts, Heavens, how they wound ! 

Some, slain before ; some, dying ; some, their friends 

O'er-borne i'the former wave : ten, chac'd by one. 

Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty : 

Those, that would die or ere resist, are grown 

The mortal bugs o'the field. 

Lord. This was strange chance ; 

A narrow lane ! an old man, and two boys ! 

Post. Nay, do not wonder at it : You are made 
llather to wonder at the things you hear, 
Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't, 
And vent it for a mockery ! Here is one : 
Two hoi^s, an old man twice a boy, a lane, 
Pieseiv'd the Britons, was ttie Romans' bane. 

Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir. 

Post. 'Lack, to what end 7 

Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend : 
For if he'll do as he is made to do, 
I know, he'll quickly fly my friendship too. 
You have put me into rhyme. 

Lord. Farewell ; you are angry. [Exit. 

Post. Still going? — This is a lord! O noble misery! 
To be i'the field, and ask, what news, of me ! 
To-day, how many would have given their honours 
To have sav'd their carcasses 1 took heel to do't, 
And yet died too "! I, in my own woe charm "d, 
Could not find death, where I did hear him groan ; 
Nor feel him, where he struck: Being an ugly monster*, 
'Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, 
Sweet words ; or hath more ministers than we 
That draw his knives i'the war. — Well, I will find him: 
For being now a favourer to the Roman, 
No more a Briton, I have resum'd again 
The part I came in : Fight I will no more. 
But yield me to the veriest hind, that shall 
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is 
Here made by the Roman ; great the answer be 
Britons must take ; For me, my ransome's death ; 
On either side I come to spend my breath ; 
Which neither here I'll keep, nor bear again, 
But end it by some means for Imogen. 

Enter Two British Captains, and Soldiers. 

1 Cap. Great Jupiter be prais'd ! Lucius is taken : 
'Tis thought, the old man and his sons wore angels. 

2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit 
That gave the aflPront with them. 

1 Cap. So 'tis reported : 
But none of them can be found. — Stand ! who is 

Post. A Roman ; [there ? 

Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds 
Had answer'd him. 

2 Cap. Lay hands on him ; a dog ! 
A leg of Rome shall not return to tell 

What crows have peck'd them here : He brags his 
As if he were of note : bring him to the king, [service 



Eiiter Cymbeline, attended ; Belarius, GoiDEnius, 
AnviRAors, Pisanio, and Roman Cavtives. The 
Captains prese'it Posthumus to Cvmdeline, who 
delivers him over to a Gaoler : after which, all go out. 

SCENE IV.— ^ Prison. 
Enter Posthumus, and Two Gaolers. 

1 Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, you have 

locks upon you ; 
So, graze, as you find pasture. 

2 Gaol. Ay, or a stomach. \^Exeunt Gaolers. 
Post. IMost welcome, bondage ! for thou art a way, 

I think, to liberty : Yet am I better 

Than one that's sick o'the gout : since he had rather 

Groan so in perpetuity, than be curd 

By the sure pliysician, death ; who is the key [ter'd 

To unbar these locks. My conscience! thou art fet« 

More tlian my shanks, and wrists : You good god;>. 

The penitent instrument, to pick that bolt, [give me 

Then, free for ever ! Is't enough, I am sorry ? 

So children temporal fathers do appease ; 

Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent ? 

I cannot do it better than in gyves, 

Desir'd, more than constrain'd : to satisfy. 

If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take 

No stricter render of me, than my all. 

I know, you are more clement than vile men, 

Who of tlieir broken debtors take a third, 

A sixtli, a tenth, letting them thrive again 

On their abatement : that's not my desire : 

For Imogen's dear life, take mine ; and though 

'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life ; you coin'd it: 

'Tween man and man, they weigh not every stamp ; 

Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake 

You rather mine, being yours : And so, great powers, 

If you will take this audit, take this life. 

And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen ! 

I'll speak to thee in silence. [^He sleeps. 

Solemn Music. Enter, as an apparition, Sicilius 
LEONATns,_/'ai/!er to Posthumus, an old man, at- 
tired like a warrior ; leading in his hand an ancient 
matron, his wife, and mother to Posthumus, loith 
music before them. Then, after other mxisic, follow 
the Two young Leonati, brothers to Posthumus, 
with ivounds, as they died in the wars. They circle 
Posthumus rou/id, as he lies sleeping. 

Sici. No more, thou thunder-master, shew 

Thy spite on mortal flies : 
With ftlars fall out, with Juno chide, 

That thy adulteries 

Rates and revenges. 
Hath my poor boy done aught but well, 

Whose 'face I never saw? 
I died, whilst in the womb he stay'd 

Attending Nature's law. 
W'hose father then (as men report, 

Thou orphans' father art, ) 
Thou should'st have been, and shielded him 

From this earth-vexing smart. 

Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid, 
But took me in my throes ; 
That from me was Posthumus ript. 
Came crying 'mongst his foes, 
A thing of pity '. 

Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry, 
Moulded the stuff" so fair, 
Tiiat he deserv'd the praise o'the world 
As great Sicilius' heir. 
2 Z 2 



724 



CYMBELINE. 



i Bro. Wlieii once lie was mature for man. 

In Britain where was he 
That could st;\nJ up bis parallel; 

Or fruitful oljject be 
In eye of Imogei), tiial best 

Could deem his dignity ? 

Moth, With marriage wherefore was he mock'd. 
To be exii'd, and thrown 
From Leonati' seat, and cast 
From her his dearest one. 
Sweet Imogen ? 

Sici. Why did you suffer lachimo. 

Slight thing of Italy, 
To taint his nobler heart and brain 

With needless jealousy ; 
And to become the geek and scorn 

O' the other's villany ? 

8 Bro. For this, from stiller seats we came, 

Our parents, and us twain, 
That, striking in our country's cause, 

Fell bravely, and were slain ; 
Our fealty, and 'I'enaiuius' right, 

With honour to maintain. 

1 Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath 
To Cymbeline perform'd : 

Then Jupiter, thou king of gods, 

Why hast thou thus adjourn'd 
The graces for his merits due ; 

Being all to dolours turn'd? 

Sici. Thy crystal window ope ; look out ; 
No longer exercise. 
Upon a valiant race, thy hai'sh 
And potent injuries: 

Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good. 
Take off his miseries. 

Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion ; help ! 
Or we poor ghosts will cry 
To the shining synod of the rest, 
Against thy deity. 

2 Bro, Help, Jupiter ; oi we appeal. 
And from thy justice fly. 

Jupiter descends in thunder and lishtnins, sittiiis 
uvoii an eagle : he throws a thunder-bolt. The 
Ghosts fall on their knees. 

Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region low, 

Offend our hearing : hush ! — How dare you ghosts, 
Accuse the thunderer, whose boll you know, 

Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts? 
Poor shadows of Elysium, hence ; and rest 

Upon your never-withering banks of flowers : 
Be not with mortal accidents opprest ; 

No care of yours it is ; you know, 'tis ours. 
Whom best I love, I cross ; to make my gift, 

The more delay'd, delighted. Be content ; 
Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift : 

His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. 
Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in 

Our temple was he married. — Rise, and fade ! — 
He shall he lord of lady Imogen, 

And happier much by his affliction made. 
This tablet lay upon his breast ; wherein 

Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine ; 
And so, away : no further with your din 

Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. — 

Rlount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. [^Ascends. 

Sici, He came in thunder ; his celestial breath 
Was sulphurous to smell : the holy eagle 



Stoop'd, as to foot us : his ascension 2s 
More sweet than our bless'd fields : his royal bird 
Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, 
As when his god is pleas'd. 

All. Thanks, Jupiter! 

Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd 
His radiant roof: — Away 1 and, to be blest. 
Let us with care oerform his great behest. 

[Ghosts vanish 

Post. [walcing.~\ Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, 
A father to me : and thou hast created [and begot 
A mother, and two brothers : But (O scorn!) 
Gone ! they went hence so soon as they were born. 
.4.nd so I am awake. — Poor wretches that depend 
On greatness' favour, dream as I have done ; 
Wake, and find nothing. — But, alas, I swerve : 
Many dream not to find, neither deserve. 
And yet are steep'd in favours ; so am I, 
That have this golden chance, and know not why. 
What fairies haunt this ground 1 A book ] O, rare 
Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment [one 1 
Nobler than that it covers : let thy effects 
So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers. 
As good as promise. 

[^Reads.'] When as a Ho)i's whelp shall, to himself un- 
known, without seeking Jind, and be embraced by a 
piece of tender air ; and when from a stately cedar 
shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many 
years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, 
and freshly grow ; then shall Posthumus end his 
miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peaea 
and plenty. 

'Tis still a dream ; or else such stuff as madmen 
Tongue, and brain not: either both, or nothing: 
Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such 
As sense cannot unite. Be what it is, 
The action of my life is like it, which 
I'll keep, if but for sympathy. 

lie-enter Gaolers. 

Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for death ? 

Post, Over-roasted rather : ready long ago. 

Gaol, Hanging is the word, sir ; if you be ready 
for that, you are well cooked. 

Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, 
the dish pays the shot. 

Gaol. A heavy reckoning for you, sir : But the com- 
fort is, you shall be called to no more payments, fear 
no more tavern bills ; which are often the sadness 
of parting, as the procuring of mirth : you come in 
faint for want of meat, depart reeling with too much 
drink ; sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry 
that you are paid too much ; purse and brain both 
empty : the brain the heavier for being too light, the 
purse too light, being drawn of heaviness : O ! of 
this contradiction you shall now be quit. — O, the 
charity of a penny cord I it sums up thousands in a 
trice : you have no true debitor and creditor but it ; 
of what's past, is, and to come, the discharge • — 
Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and counters ; so the 
acquittance follows. 

Post. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live. 

Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the tooth 
ache : But a man that were to sleep your sleep, and 
a hangman to help him to bed, I think, he would 
change places with his officer : for, look you, sir, 
you know not which way you shall go. 

Post. Yes, indeed, do 1, fellow. 

Gaol. Your death has eyes in's head then ; 1 have 
not seen him so pictured : you must either be di- 
rected by some that take upon them to know ; or take 



ACT v.— SCENE V. 



725 



upon yours€!f that, which I am sure you do not know ; 
or jump the after-inquiry on your own peril : and 
how vou shall speed in your journey's end, 1 think 
you'll never return to tell one. 

Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes 
to direct them the way I am going, but such as wink, 
and will not use them. 

Gaol. What an infinite mock is this, that a man 
should have the best use of eyes, to see the way of 
blindness ! I am sure, hanging's the way of winking. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Knock off his manacles ; bring your prisoner 
to the king. 

Post. Thou bringest good news ; — I am called to 
be made free. 

GaoL I'll be hanged then. 

Post. Thou shall be then freer than a gaoler ; no 
bolts for the dead. [Exit Posthi'mus ^ RIessenger. 

GaoL Unless a man would marry a gallows, and 
beget young gibbets, 1 never saw one so prone. Yet, 
on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to 
live, for all he be a Roman : and there be some of 
them too, tliat die against their wills ; so should I, 
if I were one. I would we were all of one mind, and 
one mind good ; O, there were desolation of gaolers, 
and gallowses ! I speak against my present profit ; 
but my wish hath a preferment in't. lEieuut, 

SCENE v.— Cymbeline's Teut. 

Enter Cysibeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arvira- 
cus, PiSANio, Lords, Officers, and Attendants. 

Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have 
Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart, [made 
Tliat the poor soldier, that so richly fought, 
U'liose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast 
Stepp'd before targe of proof, cannot be found : 
He sliall be happy that can find him, if 
Our grace can make him so. 

Bel. I never saw 

Sucli noble fury in so poor a thing ; 
Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought 
But beggary and poor looks. 

Cifm. No tidings of him "! 

J'k. He has been search'd among the dead and 
But no trace of him. [living, 

Cum. To my grief, I am 

The heir of his reward ; which I will add 
To you the liver, heart, and brain of Britain. 

[To Ber.ARius, Guidekius, aud Arviragus. 
By whom I grant she lives : 'Tis now the time 
To ask of whence you are : — report it. 

Bel. Sir, 

In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen : 
Further to boast, were neither true nor modest. 
Unless I add, we are honest. 

Cym. Bow your knees : 

Arise, my knights o' the battle ; I create you 
Companions to our person, and will lit you 
VVith dignities becoming your estates. 

Enter Cornelius and Ladies. 

There's business in these faces : — Why so sadly 
Greet vou o<ir victory • you look like Romans, 
And not o' the court of liritain. 

Cor. Hail, great king I 

To sour your happiness, 1 must report 
The queen is dead. 

Cym. Whom worse than a physician 

Would this report become t But I consider, 



By medicine life may be prolongM, yel death 
Will seize the doctor too. — How ended she"! 

Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life ; 
Which, being cruel to the world, concluded 
Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd 
I will report, so please you : These her women 
Can trip me, if I err ; who, with wet cheeks. 
Were present when she finish'd. 

Cym. I'r'ythee, say. 

Cor. First, she confess'd she nevei lovd you j only 
Affected greatness got by you, not you : 
Married your royalty, was wife to your place ; 
Abhorr'd your person. 

Cym. She alone knew this ; 

And, but she spoke it dying, I wouki not 
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. 

Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand lolove 
With such integrity, slse did confess 
Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life. 
But that her flight prevented it, she had 
Ta'en off by poison. 

Cym. O most delicatf fiend ' 

Who is 't can read a woman 1 — Is theie more ? 

Cor More, sir, and worse. She did confess, sht had 
For you a mortal mineral ; which, being took, 
Should by the minute feed on life, and, ling'ring, 
By inches waste you : In which time she putpos'd. 
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to 
O'ercome you with her show : yes, and in time, 
(When she had fitted you with her craft,) to woik 
Her son into the adoption of the crown. 
But failing of her end by his strange absence. 
Grew shameless-desperate ; open'd, in despite 
Of heaven and men, her purposes ; repi'nted 
The evils she hatch'd were not effected ; so, 
Despairing, died. 

Cym. Heard you all this, hei woii.ti 1 

Lady, We did so, please your highness. 

Cym. Mine eyes 

Were not in fault, for she was beautiful ; 
Mine ears, that heard her flattery ; nor my heart. 
That thought her like her seeming : it had been vi- 
cious, 
To have mistrusted her : yet, O my daughter! 
That it was folly in me, thou may'st say, 
And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all ! 

Enter Luctus, Iachimo, the Soothsayer, and otke^ 
Roman prisoners, guarded; Posthumus. behitul . 
and Imogen. 

Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute ; that 
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss 
Of many a bold one ; whose kinsmen have made suit, 
'i'hat their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughtei 
Of you their captives, which ourselves have granted : 
So, think of your estate 

Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war : the day 
Was yours by accident ; iiad it gone with us, [end 
We should not, when the hlood was cool, have threat 
Our prisoneis vvitli the sword. But since the gods 
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives 
Alay be call'd ransome, let it come : sufficeth, 
A Roman with a Roman's h«art can suffer : 
Augustus lives to think on 't : and so much. 
For my peculiar care. This one thing only 
I will entreat ; My boy, a Briton born. 
Let him he ransom'd : never master had 
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, 
So tender over his occasions, true, 
So feat, sii nurse-like : let his virtue join [ nes.' 

With my request, which, I'll make bold, your higli 
Cannot deny ; he hath done no Briton harm. 



7-26 



CYiMBELINE. 



Though he have serv'd a Roman : save him, sir. 
And spare no blood beside. 

Ciim. I have surely seen him : 

His favour is familiar to me. — 
Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace, 
And art mine own. — 1 know not why, nor wherefore, 
To say, live, boy : ne'er thank thy master ; live : 
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt. 
Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I'll give it j 
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner, 
The noblest ta'en. 

Inw. I humbly thank your highness. 

Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad ; 
And yet, I know, thou wilt. 

Imo. No, no : alack, 

There's other work in hand ; I see a thing 
Bitter to me as death : your life, good master, 
Must shuffle for itself. . 

Luc. The boy disdains me, 

He leaves me, scorns me : Briefly die their joys 
That place them on the truth of girls and boys. — 
Why stands he so perplex'd 1 

Cym. What would'st thou, boy 1 

I love thee more and more ; think more and more 
What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on ? 

speak. 
Wilt have him live 1 Is he thy kin 1 thy friend ? 

Imo. He is a Roman ; no more kin to me, 
Than I to your highness; who, being born yourvas- 
Am something nearer. [sal, 

Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so ? 

Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please 
To give me hearing. 

Cym. Ay, with all my heart. 

And lend my best attention. What's thy namel 

Imo. Fidele, sir. 

Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page ; 

I'll be thy master : Walk with me ; speak freely. 

[Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart. 

Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death t 

Arv, One sand another 

Not more resembles : That sweet rosy lad, 
Who died, and was Fidele : — What think you? 

Qui. The same dead thing alive. [forbear ; 

Bel. Peace, peace ! see further ; he eyes us not ; 
Creatures may be alike : were 't he, I am sure 
He would have spoke to us. 

Gui. But we saw him dead. 

Bel. Be silent , let's see further. 

Pis. It is my mistress. [^Aside, 

Since she is living, let the time run on. 
To good, or bad. 

[Cymbeline and Imogen come forward. 

Cym. Come, stand thou by our side ; 

Make thy demand aloud. — Sir, [to Iacii.J step you 
Give answer to this boy, and do it freely ; [forth. 
Or, by our greatness, and the grace of it. 
Which is our honour, bitter torture shall 
Winnow the truth from falsehood. — On, speak to him. 

Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may render 
Of whom he had this ling. 

Post. What s that to him ? [Aside. 

Cym. That diamond upon your finger say. 
How came it yours 1 

lack. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that 
Which, to be spoke, would torture thee. 

Cym. How ! me ? 

lach. I am glad to be conslrain'd to utter that which 
Torments me to conceal. By villany i 

I got this ring ; 'twas Leonatus' jewel : | 

Whom thou didstbanish ; and (which more may grieve 
As it doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd [thee, j 



'Twixtskyandground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord? 

Cym. All that belongs to this. 

lack. That paragon, thy daughter, — 

For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits 
Quail to remember, — Give me leave ; I faint. 

Cym. My daughter ! what of her i. Renew thy 
strength : 
I had rather thou should'st live while nature will, 
Than die ere I hear more : strive, man, and speak. 

lach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock 
That struck the hour !) it was in Rome, (accurs'd 
The mansion where !) 'twas at a feast, (O 'would 
Our viands had been poison'd ! or, at least, 
Those which I heav'd to head !) the good Posthumus, 
(What should I say 1 he was too good, to be 
Where ill men were ; and was the best of all 
Amongst the rar'st of good ones,) sitting sadly. 
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy 
For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast 
Of him that best could speak : for feature, laming 
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva, 
Postures beyond brief nature ; for condition, 
A shop of all the qualities that man 
Loves woman for ; besides, that hook of wiving. 
Fairness, which strikes the eye : 

Cym. I stand on fire . 

Come to the matter. 

lach. All too soon I shall. 

Unless thou would'st grieve quickly. — This Posthu- 
(Most like a noble lord in love, and one [mus. 

That had a royal lover,) took his hint ; 
And, not dispraising whom we prais'd, (therein 
He was as calm as virtue) he began 
His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being made. 
And then a mind put in 't, either our brags 
Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description 
Prov'd us unspeaking sots. 

Cym. Nay, nay, to the purpose. 

lach. Your daughter's chastity. — There it begins. 
He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams. 
And she alone were cold : Whereat, I, wretch ! 
Made scruple of his pra.se ; and wager'd with him 
Pieces of gold, 'gainst lias which then he wore 
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain 
In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring 
By here and mine adultery : he, true knight. 
No lesser of her honour confident 
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring ; 
And would so, had it been a carbuncle 
Of Phoebus' wheel ; and might so safely, had il 
Been all the worth of his car. Away to Britain 
Post I in this design : Well may you, sir. 
Remember me at court, where 1 was taught 
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference 
'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'd 
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain 
'Gan in your duller Britain operate 
Most vilely 1 for my vantage, excellent ; 
And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd, 
That I return'd with simular proof enough 
To make the noble Leonatus mad. 
By wounding his belief in her renown 
With tokens thus, and thus ; averring noi&s 
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet, 
(O, cunning, how 1 got it !) nay, some inarks 
Of secret on her person, that he could not 
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, 
I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon, — 
Methinks, I see him now,- 

Post. Ay, so thou dost. [Coming farviard. 

Italian fiend ! — Ali me, most credulous fool. 
Egregious murderer,'thief, any thing 



ACT v.— SCENE V. 



72; 



That's due to all the villains past, in being, 
1 o come ! — O, give me cord, or knife, or poison, 
Some upright justicer ! Thou, king, &end out 
For toiturers ingenious : it is I 
1'hat all the abhorred things o' the ea-th amend, 
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus, 
'] hat kill'd thy daughter ; — villain-like, I lie ; 
That caus'd a lesser villain than myself, 
A sacrilegious thief, to do't : — the temple 
Of virtue was she ; yea, and she herself. 
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set 
The dogs o'the street to bay me : every villain 
Be call'd, Posthumus Leonatus ; and 
Be villany less than 'twas !— O Imogen ! 
INIy queen, my life, my wife ! O Imogen, 
Imogen, Imogen ! 

l"io. Peace, my lord ; hear, hear — 

Poit. Shall's have a play of this 1 Thou scornful page. 
There lie thy part. [Striking her : she falls. 

Pis. O, gentlemen, help, help 

Mine, and your mistress : — O, my lord Posthumus ! 
You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now: — Help, help! — 
Mine honour'd lady ! 

Cym, Does the world go round 1 

Post. How come these staggers on me 1 

Pis. Wake, my mistress ! 

Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me 
To death with mortal joy. 

Pis, How fares my mistress 1 

Imo. O, get thee from my sight ; 
Thou gav'st me poison : dangerous fellow, hence ! 
Breathe not where princes are. 

Cym. The tune of Imogen ! 

Pis. Lady, 
The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if 
That box I gave you was not thought by me 
A. precious thing ; I had it from the queen. 

Cym. New matter still ] 

Imo. It poison'd me. 

Cor. O gods ! — 

I left out one thing which the queen confess'd. 
Which must approve thee honest : If Pisanio 
Have, said she, given his mistress that confection 
Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv'd 
As I would serve a rat. 

Cym. What's this, Cornelius 1 

Cor. The queen, sir, very oft imp6rtun'd me 
To temper poisons for her ; still pretending 
The satisfaction of her knowledge, only 
[n killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs 
Of no esteem : I, dreading that her purpose 
Was of more danger, did compound for her 
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease 
The present power of life ; but, in short time, 
All offices of nature should again 
Do their due functions. — Have you ta'en of it ? 

Imn. JMost like I did, for I was dead. 

Bel. My boys. 

There was our error. 

Gui. This is sure, Fidele. 

Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from 
Think, that you are upon a rock; and now [you ? 
Throw me again. lEmhracing him. 

Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul. 

Till the tree die ' 

Cym. How now, my flesh, my child? 

Wliat, mak'st thou me a dullard in this actf 
Wilt thou not speak to me '! 

Imo. Your blessing, sir. [Kneeling. 

Bel. Thoughyou did love thisyouth, Iblameyenot ; 
You had a motive for it. [To Gi'i. and Auv. 

Cym. My tears that fall. 



Prove holy water on thee ! Imogen, 
Thy mother's dead. 

Imo, I am sorry for't, my lord. 

Cym. O, she was naught; and long of her it was, 
That we meet here so strangely : But her sou 
Is gone, we know not how, nor where. 

Pis. My lord, 

Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten, 
Upon my lady's missing, came to me 
With his sword drawn ; foam'd at the mouth, and 
If I discover'd not which way she was gone, [swore. 
It was my instant death : By accident, 
I had a feigned letter of mv master's 
Then in my pocket ; which directed him 
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford ; 
Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments. 
Which he inforc'd from me, away he posts 
With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate 
My lady's honour : what became of him, 
I further know not. 

Gui, Let me end the story : 

I slew him there. 

Cym. Marry, the gods forefend! 

I would not thy good deeds should from my lips 
Pluck a hard sentence: pr'ythee, valiant youth. 
Deny 't again. 

Gui, I have spoke it, and I did it. 

Cym. He was a prince. 

Gui. A most uncivil one : The wrongs he did me 
Were nothing prince-like ; for he did provoke me 
With language that would make me spurn the sea, 
If it could so roar to me : I cut off's head ; 
And am right glad, he is not standing here 
To tell this tale of mine. 

Cym. I am sorry for thee. 

By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must 
Endure our law : Thou art dead. 

Imo. That headless man 

I thought had been my lord. 

Ci/m. Bind the offender, 

And take him from our presence. 

Bel, Stay, sir king : 

This man is better than the man he slew. 
As well descended as thyself; and hath 
More of thee merited, than a band of Clotens 
Had ever scar for. — Let his arms alone ; 

[To the guaid. 
They were not born for bondage. 

Cym. Why, old soldier. 

Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for. 
By tasting of our wrath 1 How of descent 
As good as we 1 

Arc. In that he spake too far. 

Cum. And thou shalt die for't. 

Bel. We will die all three: 

But I will prove, that two of us are as good 
As I have given out him.— JMy sons, I must, 
For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech. 
Though, haply, well for you. 

Arv. Your danger is 

Ours. 

Gui. And our good his. 

Bel. Have at it then. — 

By leave ; — Thou hadst, great king, a subject, who 
Was call'd Belarius. 

Cum. What of him 1 he is 

A banish'd traitor. 

Bel. He it is, that hath 

Assum'd this age : indeed, a banish'd man ; 
I know not how, a traitor. 

Cum. Take him hence ; 

The whole world shall not save him. 



728 



CYMBELINE. 



Bel. Not too hot : 

First pay me for the nursing of thy sons ; 
And let it be confiscate all, so soon 
As I have receiv'd it. 

Cym. Nursing of my sons ? 

Bel. I am too blunt, and saucy : Here's my knee • 
Eie I arise, I will prefer my sons ; 
Then, spare not the old father. Mighty sir, 
These two young gentlemen, that call me father. 
And think they are my sons, are none of mine • 
They are the issue of your loins, my liege. 
And blood of your begetting, 

Cym. How ' my issue ? 

Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan, 
Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd : 
Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment 
Itself, and all my treason ; that I suffer'd, 
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes 
(For such, and so they are,) these twenty years 
Have I train'd up : those arts they have, as I 
Could put into them ; my breeding was, sir, as 
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile, 
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children 
Upon my banishment : I mov'd her to't ; 
Having receiv'd the punishment before, 
For that which I did then : Beaten for loyalty. 
Excited me to treason : Their dear loss, 
The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd 
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir, 
Here are your sons again ; and I must lose 
Two of the sweet'st companions in the world : — 
The benediction of these covering heavens 
Fall on their heads like dew I for they are worthy 
To inlay heaven with stars. 

Cym. Thou weep'st, and speak'st 

The service that you three have done, is more 
Unlike than this thou tell'st : I lost my children ; 
If these be they, I know not how to wish 
A pair of worthier sons. 

^el. Be pieas'd awhile. — 

This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, 
Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius : 
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus, 
Your younger princely son ; he, sir, was lapp'd 
In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand 
Of his queen mother, which, for more probation, 
I can with ease produce. 

Cym. Guiderius had 

Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star ; 
It was a mark of wonder. 

Bel. This is he ; 

Who hath upon him still that natural stamp : 
It was wise nature's end in the donation. 
To be his evidence now. 

Cym. O, what am I 

A mother to the birth of three ? Ne'er mother 
Rejoic'd deliverance more : — Bless'd may you be. 
That, after this strange starting from your orbs, 
You may reign in them now ! — O Imogen, 
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom. 

Imo. No, my lord ; 

I have got two worlds by't.—O my gentle brothers. 
Have we thus met 1 O never say hereafter, 
But I am truest speaker : you call'd me brother. 
When I was but your sister ; I you brothers. 
When you were so indeed. 

Cym. Did you e'er meet ? 

Arv. Ay, my good lord. 

Giii. And at first meeting lov'd ; 

Continued so, until we thought he died. 
Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd. 
Cyvt. O rare instinct ! 



When shall I hear all through 1 This fierce abridg- 
ment. 
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which 
Distinction should be rich in. — Where, howliv'd you. 
And when came you to serve our Roman captive? 
How parted with your brothers 1 how first met them ? 
Why fled you from the court? and whither ? These, 
And your three motives to the battle, with 
I know not how much more, should be demanded ; 
And all the other by-dependancies. 
From cliance to chance ; but nor the time, nor place, 
Will serve our long interrogatories. See, 
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen ; 
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye 
On him, her brothers, me, her master ; hitting 
Each object with a joy ; the counterchange 
Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground. 
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices. — 
Thou art my brother ; So we'll hold thee ever. 

[To Belarjus. 
Imo. You are my father too ; and did relieve me. 
To see this gracious season. 

Cym. All o'erjoy'd. 

Save these in bonds ; let them be joyful too. 
For they shall taste our comfort. 

•':''"'• My good master, 

I will yet do you service. 

Luc. Happy be you ! 

Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought. 
He would have well becom'd this place, and grac'd 
The thankings of a king. 

Pest. I am, sir. 

The soldier that did company these three 
In poor beseeming ; 'tvi^as a fitment for 
The purpose I then foUow'd ;— That I was he. 
Speak, lachimo : I had you down, and might 
Have made you finish. 

lack. I am down again : [Kneeliw. 

But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee. 
As then your force did. Take that life, 'beseech you. 
Which I so often owe : but, your ring first ; 
And here the bracelet of the truest princess. 
That ever swore her faith. 

Post. Kneel not to me ; 

The power that I have on you, is to spare you ; 
The malice towards you, to forgive you : Live, 
And deal with others better. 

Cyn. Nobly doom'd ; 

We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law; 
Pardon's the word to all. 

■^rv. You holp us, sir. 

As you did mean indeed to be our brother ; 
Joy'd are we, that you are. 

P<)«.Yourservant,princes.—Goodmy lord of Rome, 
Call forth your soothsayer: As I slept, methought. 
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back. 
Appear 'd to me, with other spritely shows 
Of mine own kindred : when I wak'd, I found 
This label on my bosom ; whose containing 
Is so from sense in hardness, that I can 
Make no collection of it ; let him shew 
His skill in the construction. 

Lvc. Philarmonus, 

Sooth. Here, my good lord. 

Luc. Read, and declare the meaning. 

Sooth. [Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to 
himself nnknoivn, without seeking Jind, and be embraced 
by a piece of tender air ; and when from a stately ceda/- 
shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many years, 
shall after revive, he jointed to the old stock, and freshlij 
grow ; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britaia 
be fortunate, and Jiourish in peace and plenty. 



J 



ACT v.— SCENE V. 



729 



Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp ; 
The fit and apt construction of thy name, 
Being Leo-natus, doth import so much : 
The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, 

[To Cymbeline. 
Which we call mollis aer ; and mollis aer 
We term it mulier : which mulier I divine. 
Is this most constant wife ; who, even now, 
Answering the letter of the oracle. 
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about 
With this most tender air. 

Cym. This hath some seeming. 

Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, 
Personates thee : and thy lopp'd branches point 
Thy two sons forth : who, by Belarius stolen. 
For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd. 
To the majestic cedar join'd ; whose issue 
Promises Britain peace and plenty. 

Cym. _ Well, 

My peace we will begin :--And, Caius Lucius, 
Although the victor, we submit to Cassar, 
And to the Roman empire ; promising, 
fo pay our wonted tribute, from the which 
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen : 



Whom heavens, in justice, (both on her, and hers,) 
Have laid most heavy hand. 

Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune 
The harmony of this peace. The vision 
Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke 
Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant 
Is full accomplish'd : For the Roman eagle, 
From south to west on wing soaring aloft, 
Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun 
So vanish'd : which foreshew'd our princely eagle, 
The imperial Caesar, should again unite 
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, 
Which shines here in the west. 

Cym. Laud we the gods ; 

And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils 
From our bless'd altars ! Publish we this peace 
To all our subjects. Set we forward: Let 
A Roman and a British ensign wave 
Friendly togetiier : so through Lud's town march : 
And in the temple of great Jupiter 
Our peace we'll ratify ; seal it with feasts. — 
Set on there: — Never was a war did cease, 
Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace. 

[Exeunt, 



This play has many just sentiments, some natural dialogues, 
and some pleasing scenes, but they are obtained at the expense 
of much inconaruity. To remark the folly of ihe fiction, the 
absurdity of the conduct, the confusion of the names, and man- 
ners of different times, and the impossibility of the events in any 
system of life, were to waste criticism upon unresisting imbeci- 
lity, upon faults too evident for detection, and too gross for 
aggravation .—.I o H N s (i N . 

Of the enormous injustice of the above sentence, nearly every 
page of Cymbeline will, to a reader of any taste or discrimina- 
tion, bring the most decisive evidence. Ihat it possesses many 
of the loo common inattentions of Shakspeare, that it exhibits 
a frequent violation to costume, and a singular confusion of 
Qomenclature, cannot be denied ; but these are triiies light as 
air, when contrasted with its merits, which are of the very es- 
sence of dramatic worth, rich and lull in all that breathes of 
vigour, animation, and intellect ; in all that elevates the fancy, 
and improves the heart. In possession of excellencies vital as 
those must be deemed, cold and fastidious is the criticism, that, 
on account of irregularities in mere technical detail, would shut 
its eyes upon their splendour. Kor are their wanting criiics 
of equal learning with, and superior taste to, iolinson, who have 
considered what he has branded with the unqualified charge of 
"coafusion of uiaiuiers," ss foricing id a, cenaJD point of view. 



one of the most pleasing recommendations of the piece. Thus 
Schlegel, after characterising Cymbeline, as one of Shakspeare's 
most wonderful compositions, adds, " lie has here connected 
a novel of Boccacio with traditionary tales of the ancient Bri- 
tons, reaching back to the limes of the first Roman emperors: 
and he has contrived by the most gentle transitions, to blend 
together into a harmonious whole, the social manners of the 
latest times, with the heroic deeds, and even with the appear- 
ances, of the gods." iilssay on Dram. Lit. vol. ii. p. IH^.i It 
may also be remarked, that if the unities of time and place be 
as little observed in this play, as in many others of tne same 
poet, unity of character and feeling, the test of gf.nius, and 
without which the utmost efforts of art will be unavailing, is 
uniformly and happily supported. 

In this drama, poetical justice has been strictly observed, thf 
vicious characters meet the punishment due to their crimes, 
while virtue in all its various degrees is proportionably re- 
warded. 1 he scene of retribution, wliich is the closinb' one of 
the play, is a masterpiece of skill ; the developement of the plot, 
for Its fulness, completeness, and ingeuuitj-, surpassing any ef- 
fort of the kind among our author's cnutemporaries, anti atoning 
for any partial incongruity which the structure or conduct of 
ihs storj' nw.y havo disiitaj'ed,— Dr. Dsark. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



This iilay was entered at Stationers' Hall, Feb. 6, 1593 — 4 ; in 
which year (according to Langbaiije, who alone appears to 
have seen the first eilition) it was also printed. Ihere were 
two editions in quarto, one in 1600, and another in 1611; hut 
neither of these have the author's name on the title page. 1 he 
tragedy however was written several years before ; as it is 
mentioned in the induction to Ben Jonson's Bartholomew Fair 
in lol4, as one that had been exhibited five-and-twenty or 
thirty years: which, if we take the lowest number, throws it 
back to the year 158y, at wliich time Shakspeare was but 
twenty-five. It was most probably written two or three years 
earlier, and was the first prodtiction of our author. 

That it is his, there is not only tile testimony of its having been 
printed in the players' edition; but the authority oi Me res, a 
contemporary author, who in a little book called Palladis 
U'amia, printed in 15'JS, enumerates this tragedy among the 
■works of .Shakspeare. 

The commentators have shewn themselves very desirous of 
discrediting the authenticity of this play; but they have no- 
thing to oppose to the above strong evidence in its favour ; 
but such inconclusive arguments as may be derived fron, the ! 
dissimilarity of its style, and the inferiority of its merit to the 
other works of our author, Jo which maybe aiiswei-<.d, thit 
it was a boyish production ; that it is, perhaps, superior to anj' 



of the plays which were most popular at the period of its com. 
position, and which a young writer would naturally be led to 
imitate in the first tumid exi)eriment of his powers ; and that 
however displeasing its horrors and its turgid declamation 
may be to us, they were particularly admired by our author's 
conteaiporaries. 

Much stress has been laidbyMalone on the tradition mentioned 
by liavenscroft ; in his preface to the alteration of this play, 
puldished in 16H7, he says, " I have been told by some an- 
ciently conversant with the stage, that it was not originally 
Shakspeare's ; but brought by a private author to be acted, 
and he only gave some master touches to one or two of the 
principal parts or characters." Ihis tradition, from wliom- 
soever Kavenscroft received it, is overthrown by the slightest 
reference to dates. 'Ihe jday was produced, as we have al- 
ready seen, certainly in 1589. probably as early as 15ii4, at 
this time .Stiakspeare was as yet unknown; a young man little 
more than twenty, without either literary reputation or thea- 
trical inHuence, and the very last person to whom a play 
would be entrusted for the benefit of revision and correction. 

1 he plot, names, and characters of the play are from an old bal- 
lad, which the reader will find in the first volume of Percy's 
Reliques of Ancie?U Eiijiiih Poetry, 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Saturninus, son to the late Emperor of Rome, and 
afterwards declared Emperor himself. 

Bassianus, brother to Saturninus ; in love ■with La- 
vinia. 

Titus Andronicus, a noble Roman, general against 
the Goths. 

Marcus Andronicus, tribune of the people, and bro- 
ther to Titus. 

Lucius, Quintus, Martius, Mutius, sons to Titus 
Andronicus. 

Young Lucius, a boi/, son to Lucius. 

PuBLius, son to Marcus the tribune. 

-^JULIUS, a noble Roman. 

Ai.ARBus, Chiron, Demetrius, sons to Tamora. 

Aaron, a Moor, beloved 6i/ Tamora. 

A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Clown ; Romans. 

Goths and Romans. 

Ta-mora, Queen of the Goths. 
Lavinia, daugltter to Titus Andronicus. 
A Nurse, and a black Child. 

Kinsmen of Titus, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, 
Soldiers, and Attendants, 

SCENE,— Rome; and the Country near it. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.— Rome. Before the CapitoL 

The tomb of the Andronici appearing : the Tribunes 
and Senators aloj't, as in the Senate. Enter, below, 
Saturninus and his Followers, on one side; and 
Bassianus and his Followers, on the other ; with 
drum and colours. 

Sat. Noble patricians, patrons of my right, 
Defend the justice of my cause with arms ; 
And, countrymen, my loving followers. 
Plead my successive title with your swords : 
I am his first-born son, that v/as the last 
That ware the imperial diadem of Rome ; 
Then let my father's honours live in me. 
Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. 

Bas. Romans, — friends, followers, favourers of 
If ever Bassianus, Cajsar's son, [my ri^ht, — 

Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, 



Keep then this passage to the Capitol ; 

And suffer not dishonour to approach 

The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate. 

To justice, continence, and nobility : 

But let desert in pure election shine ; 

And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. 

Enter Marcus Andronicus, aloft, with the crown. 

Mar. Princes — that strive by factions, and by 
Ambitiously for rule and empery,. — [friends. 

Know, that the people of Rome, for whom we stand 
A special party, have, by common voice. 
In election for the Roman empery, 
Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius, 
For many good and great deserts to Rome •, 
A nobler man, a braver warrior, 
Lives not this day within the city walls : 
He by the senate is accited home, 
From weary wars againrt the barbarous Goths ; 
That, with his sons, a terror to our foes, 
Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms. 
Ten years are spent, since first he undertook 
This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms 
Our enemies' pride : Five times he hath return'd 
Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons 
In coffins from the field ; 
And now at last, laden with honour's spoils, 
Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, 
Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. 
Let us entreat. — By honour of his name. 
Whom, worthily, you would have now succeed. 
And in the Capitol and senate's right, 
Whom you pretend to honour and adore, — 
That you withdraw you, and abate your strength ; 
Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should. 
Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. 

Sat, How fair the tribune speaks to calm my thoughts! 

Bas, Marcus Andronicus, so do I atfy 
In thy uprightness and integrity, 
And so 1 love and honour thee and thine. 
Thy nobler brother Titus, and his sons, 
And her, to wiiom my thoughts are humbled all. 
Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, 
That I will here dismiss my loving fiiends ; 
And to my fortunes, and tlie people's favour, 
I Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd. 

[Exeirnt the Followers <^ Bassianus. 

Sat, Friends, that have been thus forward in my right 



ACT I.— SCENE II. 



731 



I tliank you all, and here dismiss you all ; 
And to the love and favour of my country 
Commit myself, my person, and the cause. 

[Kieutit the Fullnwers n/' Saiurninus. 
Rome, be as just and gracious unto me, 
As I am confident and kind to thee. — 
Open the gates, and let me in. 

Bas, Tribunes ! and me, a poor competitor. 

[Sat. and Bas. go into the Capitol, ajid exeunt 
with Senators, Marcus, &;c. 

SCENE \l.—The same. 
Enter a Captain and others. 
Cap, Romans, make way ; The good Andronicus, 
Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, 
Successful in the battles that he fights. 
With honour and with fortune is return 'd, 
From where he circumscribed with his sword, 
And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. 

Flourish of trumpets, (Sfc. Enter Mutius and Mar- 
Tius : after them, two men heari)ig a coffin covered 
with black; then Quintus and Lucius. After them, 
Titus Andronicus ; and t/ieuTAMonA, with Alar- 
bus, Chiuon, Demetrius, A Anoj^, and other Goths, 
prisoners ; Soldiers and People, following. The 
bearers set down the coffin, and Titus speaks. 
Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds ! 
T,o, as the bark, that hath discharg'd her fraught. 
Returns with precious lading to the bay, 
From whence at first she weigh 'd her anchorage, 
Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs. 
To re-salute his country with his tears ; 
Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. — 
Thou great defender of this Capitol, 
Stand gracious to the rites that we intend ! — 
Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons. 
Half of the number that king Priam had. 
Behold the poor remains, alive, and dead! 
These, that survive, let Rome reward with love ; 
These, that I bring unto their latest home, 
With burial amongst their ancestors : 
Here Goths have given me leave to sheath my sword. 
Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own. 
Why sufFer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet. 
To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx ! — 
Make way to lay them by their brethren. 

[The tomb is opened. 
There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, 
And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars ! 
O sacred receptacle of my joys. 
Sweet cell of virtue and nobility. 
How many sons of mine hast thou in store. 
That thou wilt never render to me more ? 

Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, 
That we may hew his limbs, and, on a pile, • 
Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh. 
Before this earthly prison of tlieir bones ; 
That so the shadows be not unappeas'd. 
Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth. 

Tit. I give him you; the noblest that survives, 
The eldest son of this distressed queen. 

Tarn. Stay. Roman brethren ; — Graciousconqueror, 
Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, 
A mother's tears in passion for her son : 
And, if thy sons were ever dear to thee, 
O, think my son to be as dear to me. 
Sufliceth not, that we are brouglit to Rome, 
'J'o beautify thy triumphs, and return, 
Captive to thee, and to thy Roman yoke ; 
3ut must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets. 
For valiant doings in their country's cause I 



1 if to fight for king and common weal 
Were piety in thine, it is in these. 
Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood : 
Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods ^ 
Draw near them then in being merciful : 
Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge ; 
Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son. 

Tit. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon ine. 
These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld 
Alive, and dead ; and for their brethren slain, 
Religiously they ask a sacrifice : 
To this your son is mark'd ; and die he must, 
To appease their groaning shadows that are gone. 

Luc. Away with him ; and make a fire straight ; 
And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, 
Let's hew his limbs, till they be clean consumed. 

[E.xeunt Lucius, Quintus, Martius, and 

MUTIUS, with Al.ARBUS. 

Tarn. O cruel, irreligious piety! 

Clii. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous? 

Dem. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. 
Alarbus goes to rest ; and we survive 
To tremble under Titus' threatening look. 
Then, madam, stand resolv'd ; but hope withal. 
The self-same gods that arm'd the queen of Troy 
With opportunity of sharp revenge 
Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent. 
May favour Tamora, the queen of Goths, 
(When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was queen,) 
To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. 

Re-enter Lucius, Quintus, Martius, and Mutius, 
with their swords bloody. 

Luc. See, lord and father, how we have perform 'd 
Our Roman rites : Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, 
And entrails feed the sacrificing fire. 
Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky. 
Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren. 
And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. 

Tit. Let it be so, and let Andronicus 
Make this his latest farewell to their souls. 

[Trumiiets sounded, and tlie coffin laid in the tomb. 
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons ; 
Rome's readiest champions, repose you here. 
Secure from worldly chances and mishaps ! 
Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells. 
Here grow no damned grudges ; here are no storms. 
No noise, but silence and eternal sleep : 

Enter Lavinia. 
In peace and honour rest you liere, my sons. 

Lav. In peace and honour live lord Titus long j 
My noble lord and fatlicr, live in fame ! 
Lo ! at this tomb my tributary tears 

1 render, for my brethren's obsequies ; 
And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy 
Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome : 
O, bless me here with thy victorious hand. 
Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud. 

Tit. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd 
The cordial of mine age to glad my heart ! — ■ 
Lavinia, live ; outlive thy father's days. 
And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise ! 

Enter Marcus ANnnos'icus, Saturninus, 
Bassianus, and others. 
Mar. Long live lord Titus, my beloved brothei. 
Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome. 

Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother iMarcus. 
Mar. And welcome, nephews, from successful wars 
Vou that survive, and you that sleep in fame. 
Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all, 
That in your country's service drew your swords : 



732 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



But safer triumph is this funeral pomp, 
That hath aspir"d to Solon's happiness, 
And triumphs over chance, in honour's bed. — • 
Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, 
Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, 
Send thee by me, their tribune, and their trust. 
This palliament of white and spotless hue ; 
And name thee in election for the empire, 
With these our late deceased emperor's sons : 
Be candidatus then, and put it on. 
And help to set a head on headless Rome. 

Tit. A better head her glorious body fits, 
Than his, that shakes for age and feebleness : 
What ! should I don this robe, and trouble you 1 
Be chosen with proclamations to-day ; 
To-morrow, yield up rule, resign my life, 
And set abroad new business for you all 1 
Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, 
And buried one and twenty valiant sons. 
Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms. 
In right and service of their noble country: 
Give me a staff of honour for mine age. 
But not a sceptre to control the world : 
Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. 

Mar. Titus, thou slialt obtain and ask the empery. 

Sat. Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou tell 1— 

Tit. Patience, prince Saturnine. 

Sat. Romans, do me right; — 

Patricians, draw your swords, and sheath them not 
Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor :— 
Andronicus, 'would thou wert shipp'd to hell. 
Rather than rob me of the people's hearts. 

Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good 
That noble-minded Titus means to thee ! 

Tit. Content thee, prince ; I will restore to thee 
The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves. 

Bas. Andronicus, 1 do not flatter thee 
But honour thee, and will do till I die ; 
My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, 
I will most thankful be : and thanks, to men 
Of noble minds, is honourable meed. 

Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes here, 
I ask your voices, and your suffrages ; 
Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus ? 

Trih. To gratify the good Andronicus, 
And gratulate his safe return to Rome, 
The people will accept whom he admits. 

Tit. Tribunes, I thank you : and this suit I make 
That you create your emperor's eldest son. 
Lord Saturnine ; whose virtues will, I hope. 
Reflect on Rome, as Titan's rays on earth, 
And ripen justice in this commonweal : 
Then if you will elect by my advice, 
Crown him, and say, — Long live our emperor! 

Mar. With voices and applause of every sort. 
Patricians, and plebeians, we create 
Lord Saturninus, Rome's great emperor ; 
And say, — Long live our emperor Saturnine ! 

l^A long Jinurish, 

Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done 
To us in oui election this day, 
I give thee Ihanks in part of thy deserts. 
And will with deeds requite thy gentleness: 
And, for an onset, Titus, to advance 
Thy name, and honourable family, 
Lavinia will I make my emperess, 
Rome's royal mistress, mistsess of my heart, 
And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse : 
Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee ? 
Tit. It doth, my worthy lord ; and, in this match, 
I hold me highly honour'd of your grace : 
And here, in sight of Rome, to Saturnine, — 



King and commander of our common-weal. 
The wide world's emperor, — do I consecrate 
jMy sword, my chariot, and my prisoners ; 
Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord : 
Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, 
Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet. 

Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life ! 
How proud I am of thee, and of thy gifts, 
Rome shall record ; and, when I do forget 
The least of these unspeakable deserts, 
Romans, forget your fealty to me. 

Tit. Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor ; 

[To Tamora. 
I'o him, that for your honour, and your state, 
Will use you nobly, and your followers. 

Sat. A goodly lady, trust me ; of the hue 
That I would choose, were I to choose anew. — 
Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance ; 
Though chance of war hath wrought this change of 
Thou com'st not to be made a scorn in Rome : [cheer, 
Princely shall be thy usage every way. 
Rest on my word, and let not discontent 
Daunt all your hopes ; Madam, he comforts you. 
Can make yon greater then the queen of Goths. — 
Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this ? 

Lav. Not 1, my lord ; sith true nobility 
Warrants these words in princely courtesy. 

Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. — Romans, let us go; 
Ransomeless here we set our prisoners free : 
Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. 

Bas. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. 

[Seizing Lavinia. 

Tit. How, sir 1 Are you in earnest then, my lord 1 

Bas. Ay, noble Titus ; and resolv'd withal. 
To do myself this reason and this right. 

[The Emperor courts Tamora in dumb show. 

Mar. Suum cuique is our Roman justice : 
This prince in justice seizeth but his own. 

Luc. And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live. 

Tif. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the emperor's guardl 
Treason, my lord ; Lavinia is surpriz'd. 

Sat. Surpriz'd ! By whom 1 

Bas. By him that justly may 

Bear his betroth'd from all the world avTay. 

[Eieuut Marcus and Bassianus, with Lavinia. 

Mat. Brothers, help to convey her hence away. 
And with my sword I'll keep this door safe. 

[Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, and Martius. 

Tit. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back. 

Mut. My lord, you pass not here. 

Tit. What, villain boy ! 

Barr'st me my way in Rome 1 [Titus kills Mutius. 

Mut. Help, Lucius, help ! 

Re-enter Lucius. 

L71C. My lord, you are unjust ; and, more than so, 
In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. 

Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine : 
IVIy sons would never so dishonour me : 
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. 

Luc. Dead, if you will ; but not to be his wife, 
That is another's lawful proinis'd love. [Exit. 

Sat. No, Titus, no ; the emperor needs her not. 
Not her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock : 
I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once ; 
Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons. 
Confederates all thus to dishonour me. 
Was there none else in Rome to make a stale of. 
But Saturnine ? Full well. Andronicus, 
Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine, 
That said'st, I begg'd the empire at thy hands. 

Tit. O monstrous! what reproachful words are these! 



ACT 1.— SCENE II. 



733 



Sat. But go thy ways ; go, give that changing piece 
To him that flourish'!! for her with his sword : 
A valiant son-in-law thou shall enjoy ; 
One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons. 
To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. 

Tit. These words are razors to my wounded heart. 
Saf . And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of Gotiis, — 
That like the stately Phcebe 'niongst her nymphs, 
Dost overshine tlie gallant'st dames of Rome, — 
If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice, 
Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride, 
And will create thee emperess of Rome. 
Speak, queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice 1 
And here I swear by all the Roman gods, — 
Sith priests and holy water are so near. 
And tapers burn so bright, and every thing 
In readiness for Hymeneus stand, — 
I will notrelfcalute the streets of Rome, 
Or climb my palace, till from forth this place 
I lead espous'd my bride along with me. 

Tain. And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I swear, 
If Saturnine advance the queen of Goths, 
She will a handmaid be to his desires, 
A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. 

Sat. Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon: — I.ords, accom- 
Your noble emperor, and his lovely bride, [pa-ny 
Sent by the heavens for prince Saturnine, 
Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquer'd : 
There shall we c6nsummate our spousal rites. 

\_Exeunt Satvr'si'svs, and his Followers ; Tamora, 
and her sons ; Aaron, and Goths. 

Tit. I am not bid to wait upon this bride ; — 
Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, 
Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs ? 

Re-enter Marcus, Lucius, Quintus, and Martius. 

Mar. O, Titus, see, O, see, what thou hast done! 
In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous spn. 

Tit. No, foolish tribune, no ; no son of mine, — 
Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed 
That hath dishonour'd all our family ; 
Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons ! 

Luc. But let us give him burial, as becomes ; 
Give Mutius burial with our brethren. 

Tit. Traitors, away ! he rests not in this tomb. 
This monument five hundred years hath stood, 
Which I have sumptuously re-edified : 
Here none but soldiers, and Rome's servitors. 
Repose in fame ; none basely slain in brawls : — 
Bury him where you can, he comes not here. 

Mar. My lord, this is impiety in you : 
My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for you : 
He must be buried with his brethren. 

Qiii?i. Mart. And shall, or him we will accompany. 

Tit. And shall? What villain was it spoke that word? 

Quin. He that would vouch't in any place but here. 

Tit. What, would you bury him in my despite ; 

Mar. No, noble Titus ; but entreat of thee 
To pardon IMutius, and to bury him. 

Tit. Marcus even thou hast struck upon my crest, 
And, with these boys, mine honour thou hast wounded: 
My foes I do repute you every one ; 
So trouble me no more, but get yo\i gone. 

Mart. He is not with himself; let us withdraw. 

Quin. Not I, till ]\Iutius' bones be buried. 

[Marcus and the sons ii/'Tnus kneel. 

Mar. Brother, for in that name dcth nature plead. 

Qnin. Father, for in that name doth nature speak. 

Tit. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. 

Mar. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul, 

Luc. Dear father, soul and substance of us all, — 

Mar. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter 



His noble nephew here in virtue's nest, 
I'hat died in honour and Lavinia's cause. 
Thou art a Roman, be not barbarous. 
The Greeks, upon advice, did bury Ajax 
That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son 
Did graciously plead for his funerals. 
Let not young Mutius then, that was thy joy, 
Be barr'd his entrance here. 

Tit. Rise, Marcus, rise : — 

The dismall'st day is this, that e'er 1 saw, 
To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome ! — 
Well, bury him, and bury me the next. 

[Mutius is put into the tomh, 

Luc. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, wuh thy 
Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb! — [friends. 

All. No man shed tears for noble iMutius ; 
He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. 

Mar. My'lord , — to step out of those dreary dumps, — 
How comes it, that the subtle queen of Goths 
Is of a sudden tlius advanc'd iu Rome ! 

Tit. I know not, Marcus ; but, I know, it is ; 
Whether by device, or no, the heavens can tell : 
Is she not then beholden to the man 
That brought her for this high good turn so far? 
Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. 

Flourish. Tie-enter at one side, Saturninus, attended ; 
Ta.-mora, CiiiHON, Demetrius, and Aaron : At the 
ether, Bassianus, Lavinia, and others. 

Sat. So Bassianus, you have play'd your prize; 
God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride. 

Bas. And you of yours, my lord : I say no more, 
Nor wish no less ; and so I take my leave. 

Sal. Traitor, if Rome have law, or we have power, 
Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. 

Bas. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own, 
My true- betrothed love, and now my wife? 
But let the laws of Rome determine all ; 
Mean while, I am possess'd of that is mine. 

Sat. 'I'is good, sir: You are very short with us ; 
But, if we live, we '11 be as sharp with you. 

Bas. My lord, what I have done, as best I may. 
Answer 1 must, and shall do with my life. 
Only thus much I give your grace to know, 
By all the duties that I owe to Rome, 
This noble gentleman, lord Titus here. 
Is in opinion, and in honour, wrong'd ; 
That, in the rescue of Lavinia, 
With his own hand did slay his youngest son. 
In zeal to you, and highly inov'd to wrath 
To be controll'd in that he frankly gave : 
Receive him then to favour, Saturnine ; 
That hath express'd himself, in all his deeds, 
A fatiier, and a friend, to thee, and Rome. 

Tit. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds ; 
'Tis thou, and those, that have dishonour'd me : 
Rome and the righteous heavens be mv judge. 
How 1 have lov'd and honour'd Saturnine! 

Tarn. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora 
Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, 
Then hear me speak inditlerently for all ; 
And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. 

Sat. \\'hat! madam! be dishonour'd openly. 
And basely put it up without revenge ? 

Tam. Not BO, my lord ; The gods of Rome forefend, 
I should be author to dishonour you ! 
But, on mine honour, dare I undertake 
For good lord 'J'itus' innocence in all. 
Whose fury, not dissembled, speaks his griefs : 
Then, at my suit, look graciously on him ; 
Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, 
Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. — 



734 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



yAside. 



My lord, be rul'd by me, be won at last. 
Dissemble all your griefs and discontents : 
You are but newly planted in your throne : 
Lest then the people, and patricians too, 
Upon a just survey, take Titus' part, 
And so supplant us for ingratitude, 
(Which Home reputes to be a heinous sin,) 
Yield at entreats, and then let me alone ; 
1 '11 find a da.y to massacre them all 
And raze their faction, and their family, 
The cruel father, and his traitorous sons, 
To whom I sued for my dear son's life ; 
And make them know, what 'tis to let a queen 
Kneel in the streets, and beg for grace in 

vain. — 

Come, come, sweet emperor, — come, Andronicus, 
Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart 
That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. 

Sat. Rise, Titus, rise; my empress hath prevail'd. 

Tit. I thank your majesty, and her, my lord : 
These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. 

Tarn. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, 
A Roman now adopted happily. 
And must advise the emperor for his good. 
This day all quarrels die, Andronicus ; — 
And let it be mine honour, good my lord. 
That I have reconcil'd your friends and you. — 
For you, prince Bassianus, 1 have pass'd 
j\Iy word and promise to the emperor, 
That you will be more mild and tractable. — 
And fear not, lords, — and you, Lavinia ; — 
By my advice, all humbled on your knees, 
You shall ask pardon of his majesty. 

Luc. We do ; and vovvto lieaven, andtohishigluiess 
That, what we did, was mildly, as we might 
Tend'ring our sister's honour, and our own. 

Mar. That on mine honour here I do protest. 

Sat. Away, and talk not ; trouble us no more. — 

ram.Nay,nay,sweetemperor,weniustall be friends: 
The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace ; 
I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back. 

Sat. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother's here, 
And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, 
I do remit these young men's heinous faults. 
Stand up. 

Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, 
I found a friend : and sure as death I swore, 
I would not part a bachelor from the priest. 
Come, if the emperor's court can feast two brides. 
You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends: 
This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. 

Tit. To-morrow, an it please your majesty, 
To hunt the panther and the hart with me, 
With horn and hound, we'll give your grace bon-jour. 

Sat. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. [Eieimt. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — The same. Before the Palace. 

Enter Aaron. 

Aar. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, 
Safe out of fortune's shot ; and sits aloft. 
Secure of thunder's crack, or lightning's flash ; 
Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach. 
As when the golden sun salutes the morn. 
And, having gilt the ocean with his beams. 
Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach, 
And oveilooks the highest-peering hills ; 
So Tamora. 



Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait, 
And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. 
Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts. 
To mount aloft wit i thy imperial mistress, 
And mount her pitch ; whom thou in triumph long 
Hast prisoner held, fetter d in amorous chains ; 
And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes, 
Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. 
Away with slavish weeds, and idle thoughts ! 
I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, 
To wait upon this new-made emperess. 
To wait, said I ? to wanton with this queen. 
This goddess, this Semiramis ; — this queen, 
This syren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine, 
And see his shipwreck, and his commonweal's. 
Holla ! what storm is this 1 

Enter Chiron and Demetrius, ll^aving. 

Dem. Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit wants edge. 
And manners, to intrude where 1 am grac'd ; 
And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be. 

Chi. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all ; 
And so in this to bear me down with braves. 
'Tis not the difference of a year, or two. 
Makes me less gracious, thee more fortunate 
1 am as able, and as fit, as thou. 
To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace ; 
And that my sword upon thee shall approve. 
And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. 
^(ir.Clubs,clubs! these lovers will not keep the peace. 

Dem. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis'd, 
Gave you a dancing- i-apier by your side. 
Are you so desperate grown, to threat your friends ? 
Go to : have your lath glued within the sheath. 
Till you know better how to handle it. 

Chi. Mean while, sir, with the little skill T have, 
Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare. 

Dem. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave 1 [The]) draw. 

Aar. Why, how now, lordsl 

So near the emperor's palace dare you draw, 
And maintain such a quarrel openly 1 
Full well 1 wot the ground of all this grudge ; 
I would not for a million of gold, 
The cause were known to them it most concerns 
Nor would your noble mother, for much more. 
Be so dishonour'd in the court of Rome. 
For shame, put up. 

Dem. Not I ; till I have sheath'd 

My rapier in his bosom, and, withal. 
Thrust these reproachful speeches down his throat. 
That he hath breath'd in my dishonour here. 

Chi. For that I am prepar'd and full resolv'd, — 
Foul-spoken coward ! that thunder'st with thy tongue , 
And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform. 

Aar. Away, I say.— 
Now by the gods, that warlike Goths adore. 
This petty brabble will undo us all. — 
W'hy, lords, — and think you not how dangerous 
It is to jut upon a prince's right 1 
W^hat, is Lavinia then become so loose. 
Or Bassianus so degenerate, 
That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd, 
Without controlment, justice, or revenge? 
Young lords, beware ! an should the empress know 
This discord's ground, the music would not please. 

Chi. I care not, I, knew she and all the world ; 
I iove Lavinia more than all the world. 

Dem. Youngling, learn thou to make some meanei 
Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. [choice : 

Aar. W'hy, are ye mad? or know ye not, in Rome 
How furious and impatient they be, 
And cannot brook competitors in love? 



ACT II.— SCENE III. 



735 



f tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths 
By this device. 

Chi. Aaron, a thousand deaths 

Would I propose, to achieve iier whom I love. 

Aar. To achieve her ! — How 1 

Dem. Why mak'st thou it so strange ? 

She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd ; 
She is a woman, therefore may be won ; 
Slje is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd. 
AVhat, man ! more water glidelh by the mill 
Than wots the miller of ; and easy it is 
Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know : 
Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother, 
Better than he have yet worn Vulcan's badge. 

Aar. Ay, and as good as Saturninus may. [Aside. 

Dem Then why should he despair, that knows to 
With words, fair looks, and liberality? [court it 

What, hast thou not full often struck a doe. 
And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose ? 

Aar. Why, then, it seems, some certam snatch or so 
Would serve your turns. 

Chi. Ay, so the turn were serv'd. 

Dem. Aaron, thou hast hit it. 

Aar. 'Would you had hit it too : 

Then should not we be tir'd with this ado. 
Why, hark ye, hark ye, — And are you such fools, 
To square for this? Would it ofl'end you then 
That both should speed 1 

Chi. I'faith, not me. 

Dem. Nor me, 

So 1 were one. 

Aar. For shame, be friends; and join fortliat you 
'Tis policy and stratagem must do [jar. 

That you affect ; and so must you resolve ; 
That what you cannot, as you would, achieve. 
You must perforce accomplish as you may. 
Take this of me, Lucrece was not more chaste 
Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. 
A speedier course than lingering languishmenl 
Must we pursue, and I have found the path. 
My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand ; 
There will the lovely Roman ladies troop : 
The forest walks are wide and spacious ; 
And many unfrequented spots there are. 
Fitted by kind for rape and villany : 
Single you thither then this dainty doe, 
And strike her home by force, if not by words : 
This way, or not all, stand you in hope. 
Come, come, our empress, with her sacred wit. 
To villany and vengeance consecrate. 
Will we acquaint with all that we intend ; 
And she shall tile our engines with advice. 
That will not suffer you to square yourselves. 
But to your wlsiies' height advance you both. 
The emperor's court is like the hou.se of fame, 
I'he palace full of tongues, of eyes, of ears ; 
The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull ; 
J'iierespeak,andstrive,braveboys,and take your turns: 
'I'here serve your lust, shadow'd from heaven's eye, 
And revel in Lavinia's treasury. 

Chi. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice. 

Dem. Sit fas aitt nefas, till 1 find the stream 
To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits, 
Per Stuga, per maties vehnr. [Eiei/nt. 

SCENE II. — A Forest near Rome. A Lodge seen at 
a distance. Horns, and cry of Hounds heard. 

Enter Titus Andronicus, rvith Hunters, S^c- Marcus, 
Lrcii's, QuiNTUS, and Wautius. 

Tit. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey, 
The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green : 



Uncouple here, and let us make a bay, 
And wake the emperor and his lovely bride. 
And rouse the prince ; and ring a hunter's peal. 
That all the court may echo with the noise. 
Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours, 
To tend the emjieror's person carefully : 
1 have been troubled in my sleep this night. 
But dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd. 

Horns ivind a -peal. Enter Saiuuninus, Tamoha, 
Bassianus, Lavinia, Ciiiuon, Demetrius, and 
Attendants. 

Tit. Many good morrows to your majesty ; — 
Madam, to you as many and as good ! — 
I promised your grace a hunter's peal. 

Sat. And you have rung it lustily, my lords. 
Somewhat too early for new married ladies. 

Bus. Lavinia, how say you 1 

Lav, 1 say, no ; 

I have been broad awake two hours and more. 

Sat. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have. 
And to our sport : — Madam, now shall ye see 
Our Roman hunting. [7'o Tamora. 

Mur. I have dogs, my lord, 

Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase. 
And climb the highest promontory top. 

Tit. And I have horse will follow where the game 
Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. 

Dem. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with iiorse nor hound. 
But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— ^ desert Part of the Forest. 
Enter Aahon, with a hag of gold. 

Aar. He that had wit, would think that I had none. 
To bury so mucli gold under a tree. 
And never after to inherit it. 
Let him, that thinks of me so abjectly, 
Know, that this gold must coin a stratagem ; 
Which, cunningly effected, will beget 
A very excellent piece of villany ; 
And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest, 

[Hides the gold 
That have their alms out of the empress' chest. 

Enter Tamoua. 

Tam. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad. 
When every thing doth make a gleeful boast 1 
The birds c"haunt melody on every bush ; 
The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun ; 
The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind, 
And make a checquer'd shadow on the ground : 
Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit. 
And — whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds. 
Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns, 
As if a double hunt were heard at once, — 
Let us sit down, and mark their yelling noise : 
And — after conflict, such as was supposed 
The wandering prince of Dido once enjoy 'd, 
When with a happy storm they were surpriz'd. 
And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave, — 
We may, each wreathed in the other's arms. 
Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber ; 
Whiles hounds, and horns, and sweet melodious birds, 
Be unto us, as is a nurse's song 
Of lullaby, to bring her babe asleep. 

Aar. Madam, though Venus govern your desires, 
Saturn is dominator over mine : 
What signifies my deadly-standing eye, 
My silence, and my cloudy melancholy ? 
My fleece of woolly hair tliat now uncurls, 
Even as an adder, when she doth unroll 



736 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



To do some fatal execution 1 
No, madam, these are no venereal signs ; 
Vengeance is in my iieart, death in my hand, 
Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. 
Hark, Tamora, — the empress of my soul, 
Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee,. — 
This is the day of doom for Bassianus ; 
His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day : 
Thy sons make pillage of her chastity, 
And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. 
Seest thou this letter? take it up, I pray thee, 
And give the king this fatal- plotted scroll : — 
Now question me no more, we are espied ; 
Here comes a parcel of our Jiopeful booty. 
Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. 

Tarn. Ah,my sweet Rloor, sweeter tome than life! 

Aar. No more, great empress, Bassianus comes : 
Be cross with him ; and I'll go fetch thy sons 
To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. \_Exit. 

Enter Bassianus and Lavinia. 

Bas. "Who have we here ? Rome's royal emperess, 
Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop] 
Or is it Dian, habited like her ; 
Who hath abandoned her holy groves, 
To see the general hunting in this forest'? 

Tam. Saucy controller of our private steps! 
Had I the power, that, some say, Dian had, 
Thy temples should be planted presently 
With horns, as was Action's ; and the hounds 
Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs, 
Unmannerly intruder as thou art ! 

Lav. Under your patience, gentle emperess, 
Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning ; 
And to be doubted, that your Moor and you 
Are singled forth to try experiments : 
Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day ! 
'Tis pity, they should take him for a stag. 

Bas. Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmerian 
Doth make your honour of his body's hue, 
Spotted, detested, and abominable. 
Why are you sequester'd from all your train ? 
Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed. 
And wander'd hither to an obscure plot. 
Accompanied with a barbarous Moor, 
If foul desire had not conducted you ? 

Lav, And, being intercepted in your sport, 
Great reason that my noble lord be rated 
For sauciness. — I pray you, let us hence. 
And let her 'joy her raven-colour'd love ; 
This valley fits the purpose passing well. 

Bas. The king, my brother, shall have note of this. 

Lav. Ay, for these slips have made him noted long: 
Good king ! to be so miglitily abus'd! 

Tam. Why have I patience to endure all this? 

Enter Chiron and Demetrius. 

Dem. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious 
mother. 
Why doth j'our highness look so pale and wan ? 

Tam. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale? 
These two have 'tic'd me hither to this place, 
A barren detested vale, you see, it is : 
The trees, though summer, yet forlorn, and lean, 
O'ercome with moss, and baleful misletoe. 
Here never shines the sun ; here nothing breeds. 
Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven. 
And, when they shew'd me this abhorred pit, 
They told me, here, at dead time of the night, 
A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes. 
Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, 
Would make such fearful and confused cries, 



As any mortal body, hearing it. 

Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. 

No sooner had they told this hellish tale, 

But straight thuy told me, they would bind me here 

Unto the body of a dismal yew ; 

And leave me to this miserable death. 

And then they call'd me, foul adulteress, 

Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms 

That ever ear did hear to such effect. 

And, had you not by wondrous fortune come. 

This vengeance on me had they executed : 

Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, 

Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. 

Dem. This is a witness that 1 am thy son. 

[^Stabs Bassianus. 

Chi. And this for me, struck home to shew my 
strength. [Stabhing him likewise. 

Lav. Ay come, Semiramis, — nay, barbarous Ta- 
For no name fits thy nature but thy own ! [mora ! 

Tam. Give me thy poniard ; you shall know, my 
boys, 
Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong. 

Dem. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her ; 
First, thrash the corn, then after burn the straw : 
This minion stood upon her chastity. 
Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, 
And with that painted hope braves your mightiness : 
And shall she carry this unto her grave ? 

Chi. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. 
Drag hence her husband to some secret hole. 
And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. 

Tam. But when you have the honey you desire, 
Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. 

Chi. I warrant you, madam ; we will make that 
Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy [sure. — 
That nice-preserved honesty of yours. 

Lav. O Tamora ! thou bear'st a woman's face. — 

Tam, I will not hear her speak ; away with her. 

Lav. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word. 

Dem. Listen, fair madam : Let it be your glory 
To see her tears ; but be your heart to them. 
As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. 

Lav. When did the tiger's young ones teach the 
O, do not learn her wrath ; she taught it thee : [dam? 
The milk, thou suck'dst from her, did turn to marble: 
Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. — 
Yet every mother breeds not sons alike ; 
Do thou entreat her shew a woman pity. [To Chiron. 

Chi. What ! would'st thou have me prove myself 
a bastard ? 

Lav. 'Tis true ; the raven doth not hatch a lark: 
Yet I have heard, (O could I find it now I) 
The lion, mov'd with pity, did endure 
To have his princely paws par'd all away. 
Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, 
The whilst their own birds famish in their nests : 
O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, 
Nothing so kind, but something pitiful ! 

Tam. I know not what it means ; away with her. 

Lav. O, let me teach thee : for my father's sake, 
That gave thee life, when well he might have slain 
Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. [thee, 

Tam. Had thou in person ne'ei offended me. 
Even for his sake am I pitiless : — 
Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain, 
To save your brother from the sacrifice ; 
But fierce Andronicus would not relent. 
Therefore away with her, and use her as you will ; 
The worse to her, the better lov'd of me. 

Lav. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen. 
And with thine own hands kill me in this place : 
For 'tis not life, that 1 have begg'd so long ; 



ACT II.— SCENE IV. 



7;57 



Poor I was slain, when Bassianus died. [me go. 

Tain. What begg'st thou then] fond woman, let 

Lav. 'Tis present death I beg ; and one thing more, 
That womanhood denies my tongue to tell : 
O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, 
And tumble me into isome loathsome pit ; 
Where never man's eye may behold my body : 
Do this, and be a charitable murderer. 

Tarn. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee : 
No, let them satisfy their hist on thee. 

Dem. Away, for thou hast staid us here too long, 

Lav. No grace"! no womanhood "! Ah, beastly crea- 
The blot and enemy to our general name 1 [ture ! 
Confusion fall 

Chi. Nay, then I'll stop your mouth : — Bring thou 
her husband ; [Dragging uffLwiyiA. \ 

This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. [Ex. 

Tarn. Farewell, my sons: see, that you make her 
Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed, [sure : 
Till all the Andronici be made away. 
Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, 
And let my spleenful sons this trull deflour. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— The same. 
Enter Aaron, with Quintus and Martius. 

Aar. Come on, my lords ; tlie better foot before : 
Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit, 
Where I espy'd the panther fast asleep. 

Quill. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. 

Mart. And mine, I promise you ; wer't not for 

Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile, [shame, 

[MAnTius/ai/s into the pii. 

Quin. What art thou fallen? What subtle hole is 
this. 
Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briars ; 
Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood, 
As fresh as morning's dew distill'd on flowers'! 
A very fatal place it seems to me : — 
Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fail ! 

Mart. O, brother, with the dismallest object 
That ever eye, with sight, made heart lament. 

Aar. [Aside.'l Now will I fetch the king to find 
That he tliereby may give a likely guess, [them here ; 
How these were they that made away his brother. 

[Exit AAnox. 

Mart. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out 
From this unhallow'd and blood-stained hole ? 

Quin. I am surprized with an uncouth fear : 
A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints ; 
IMy heart suspects more than mine eye can see. 

Mart. To prove thou hast a true-divining heart, 
Aaron and thou look down into this den, 
And see a fearful sight of blood and death. 

Quin. Aaron is gone ; and my compassionate heart 
Will not permit mine eyes once to behold 
The thing, whereat it trembles by surmise : 
O, tell me how it is ; for ne'er till now 
Was I a child, to fear I know not what. 

Mart. Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here, 
All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb. 
In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. 

Quin. If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis lie? 

Mart. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear 
A precious ring, that lightens all the liole. 
Which, like a taper in some monument. 
Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, 
And shews tlie ragged entrails of this pit : 
So pale did siiine the moon on Pyramus, 
When he by night lay batli'd in maiden blood. 
brother, help me with thy fainting hand, — 
If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath, — 



Out of this fell devouring receptacle, 
As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. 

Quin. Ileach me thy hand, thatl may help thee out; 
Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, 
I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb. 
Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. 
I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. 

Mart. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. 

Quin. Thy hand once more ; I will not loose asjain. 
Till thou art here aloft, or I below : 
Thou canst not come to me, I come to thee. [_FalU in. 

EiUer Saturninus and Aaron. 

Sat. Along with me : — I'll see what hole is here, 
And what he is, that now has leap'd into it. 
Say, who art thou, that lately didst descend 
Into this gaping hollow of the earth 1 

Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronicus ; 
Brought hither in a most unlucky hour. 
To find thy brother Bassianus dead. 

Sat. My brother dead ? I know, thou dost but jest : 
He and his lady both are at the lodge, 
Upon the north side of this pleasant chase ; 
'Tis not an hour since I left him there. 

Mart. We know not where you left him all alive, 
But, out alas ! here have we found him dead. 

Enter TAMORA,u,'ii?i Attendants ; Titus Andronicus, 
and Lucius. 

Tarn, W^here is my lord, the king? 

Sdt. Here, Tamora ; though griev'd with killing 

Tam. Where is thy brother Bassianus ? [gl'ief. 

Sat. Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound; 
Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. 

Tam. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, 
The complot of this timeless tragedy ; [Giving a letter. 
And wonder greatly, that man's face can fold 
In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. 

Sat. [Reads.^ Anifwemissto meet himhandsomeiti, — ■ 
Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 'tis, we mean, — 
Do thou so much as dig the grave for him ; 
Thou know'st otir meaning: Look for thy reward 
Among the nettles at the elder tree. 
Which overshades the mouth of that same pit, 
Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. 
Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends. 
O, Tamora I was ever heard the like? 
This is the pit, and this the elder-tree ! 
Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out, 
That should have murder'd Bassianus here. 

Aar. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. 

[Shewing it. 

Sat. Tv/o of thy whelps, [to Tit.] fell cursof bloody 
Have here bereft my brother of his life : — [kind, 
Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison ; 
There let them bide, until we have devis'd 
Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. 

Tam. What, are they in this pit ; O wond'rous 
How easily murder is discovered! [thing' 

Tit. High emperor, upon my feeble knee 
I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, 
That this fell fault of my accursed sons. 
Accursed, if the fault be prov'd in them, 

Sat. If it be prov'd ! you see, it is apparent. — 
Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you ? 

Tam. Andronicus himself did take it up. 

Tit I did, my lord : yet let me be their bail : 
For by my father's reverend tomb, I vow. 
They shafl be ready at your highness' will. 
To answer their suspicion with their lives. 

Sat. Thou shalt not bail them ; see, thou follow me. 
Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers : 
3 A 



738 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



Let them not speak a word, the guilt is plain ; 
For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, 
That end upon them should be executed. 

Tarn. Andronicus, I will entreat the king ; 
Fear not thy sons, they shall do well enough. 

Tit. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with 
them. [Ereu7it severally. 

SCENE V — The same. 

Enter Demetrius andCmROs,icith Lavinia, rot;is^- 
ed ; her Iiands cut off, and her tongue cut out. 

Dem. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak. 
Who 'twas that cut thy tongue, and ravish'd thee. 

Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so ; 
And, if thy stumps will let thee, play the scribe. 

Dem. Sec, how with signs and tokens she can scowl. 

Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands. 

Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash; 
And so let's leave her to her silent walks. 

Chi. An 'twere my case, I should go hang myself. 

Dem, If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. 
[_Eieunt Demetrius and Chiron. 

Enter Marcus. 

Afar. Who's this, — my niece, that flies away so fasti 
Cousin, a word ; Where is your husband 1 — 
If I do dream, 'would all my wealth would wake me ! 
If I do wake, some planet strike me down, 
That I may slumber in eternal sleep ! — 
Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands 
Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare 
Of her two branches 1 those sweet ornaments, 
Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in ; 
And might not gain so great a happiness. 
As half thy lovel Why dost not speak to me 1 — 
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, 
Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind. 
Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips. 
Coming and going with thy honey breath. 
But, sure, some Tereus hath defloured thee ; 
And, lest thou should'st detect him, cut thy tongue. 
Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame ! 
And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood, — 
As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, — 
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face, 
Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud. 
Shall I speak for thee 1 shall I say, 'tis sol 
O, that I knew thy heart ; and knew the beast. 
That I might rail at him to ease my mind ! 
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, 
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. 
Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue, 
And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind : 
But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee; 
A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal. 
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off. 
That could have better sew'd than Philomel. 
O, had the monster seen those lily hands 
Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute, 
And make the silken strings delight to kiss them ; 
He would not then have touch'd them for his life : 
Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony. 
Which that sweet tongue hath made, 
He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep, 
As Cerberus at the Thraclan poet's feet. 
Come, let us go, and make thy father blind : 
For such a sight will blind a father's eye : 
One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads ; 
What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes? 
Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee ; 
0, could our mourning ease thy misery ! [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I Kome. A Street. 

Ejiter Senators, Tribunes, and Officers of JusCtcr, 
with Martius and Quinius, honnd, passing on to 
the place of eiecution ; Tnvs going before, pleading. 

Tit. Hear me, grave fathers ! noble tribunes, stay! 
For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent 
In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept ; 
For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed j 
For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd ; 
And for these bitter tears, which now you see 
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks ; 
Be pitiful to my condemned sons. 
Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought ! 
For two and twenty sons I never wept. 
Because they died in honour's lofty bed. 
For these, these tribunes, in the dust I write 

[Throwing himself on the ground. 
My heart's deep languor, and my soul's sad tears. 
Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite ; 
My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush. 
[Ereunt Sen., Trib., &)C. v>ith the prisoner^ 
O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain. 
That shall distil from these two ancient urns. 
Than youthful April shall with all his showers : 
In summer's drought, 1 '11 drop upon thee still ; 
In winter, with warm tears I '11 melt the snow. 
And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, 
So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. 

Enter Lucius, with his sword drawn. 
O, reverend tribunes ! gentle aged men ! 
Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death ; 
And let me say, that never wept before. 
My tears are now prevailing orators. 

Luc. O, noble father, you lament in vain : 
The tribunes hear you not, no man is by, 
And you recount your sorrows to a stone. 

Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead ; 
Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you. 

Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. 

Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man : if they did hear, 
They would not mark me ; or, if they did mark. 
All bootless to them, they 'd not pity me. 
Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones ; 
Who, though they cannot answer my distress. 
Yet in some sort they 're better than the tribunes. 
For that they will not intercept my tale : 
When I do weep, they humbly at my feet 
Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me ; 
And, were they but attired in grave weeds, 
Rome could afford no tribune like to these. 
A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than stones : 
A stone is silent, and offendeth not ; 
And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. 
But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn ? 

Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death : 
For which attempt, the judges liave pronounc'd 
My everlasting doom of banishment. 

Tit. O happy man ! they have befriended thee. 
Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive, 
That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers ? 
Tigers must prey ; and Rome aftbrds no prey. 
But me and mine : How happy art thou then. 
From these devourers to be banished ? 
But who comes with our brother Marcus here '' 

Enter Marcus and Lavima. 
Mar. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weep : 
Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break ; 
I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. 



ACT m.—SCENE I. 



739 



Tt\. Wili it consume me 1 let me see it then. 

Mar. This was thy daughter. 

Tit. Why. Marcus, so she is. 

Luc. Ah me ! this object kills me ! 

Tit. Fainthearted boy, arise, and look upon her: — 
Speak, my Lavinia, what accursed hand 
Flath made thee handless in thy father's sight 1 
What fool hath added water to the sea^ 
Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy ■? 
My grief was at the height, before thou cam'st. 
And now, like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds, 
(iive me a sword, I'li chop off my hands too ; 
For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain; 
And they have nurs'd this woe, in feeding life ; 
In bootless prayer have they been held up, 
And they have serv'd me to effectless use: 
Now, all the service I require of them 
Is, that the one will help to cut the other. — 
'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands ; 
For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. 

Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee ? 

Mar. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, 
That blab'd them with such pleasing eloquence, 
Is torn from forth that pretty hoHow cage; 
Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung 
Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear ! 

Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deedl 

Mar. O, thus I found her, straying in the park, 
Seeking to hide herself ; as doth the deer. 
That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound. 

Tit. It was my deer ; and he that wounded her. 
Hath hurt me more, than had he kill'd me dead : 
For now I stand as one upon a rock, 
Environ'd with a wilderness of sea ; 
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave. 
Expecting ever when some envious surge 
Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. 
This way to death my wretched sons are gone ; 
Here stands my other son, a banish'd man ; 
And here my brother, weeping at my woes ; 
But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn. 
Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. — 
Had I but seen thy picture in this plight. 
It would have madded me ; What shall I do 
Now I behold thy lively body so "! 
Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears ; 
Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd thee : 
Thy husband he is dead ; and, for his death. 
Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this: 
Look, Marcus ! ah, son Lucius, look on her ! 
When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears 
Stood on her cheeks ; as doth the honey dew 
Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. [husband : 

Mar, Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd her 
Perchance, because she knows them innocent. 

Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful. 
Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. — ■ 
No, no, they would not do so foul a deed ; 
Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. — 
Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips ; 
Or make some sign how I may do thee ease : 
Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, 
And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain ; 
Looking all downwards, to behold our cheeks 
How they are stain'd ; like meadows, yet not dry 
With miry slime left on them by a flood I 
And in tiie fountain shall we gaze so long. 
Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, 
And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears ! 
Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine 1 
Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows 
Pass the remainder of our hateful days ? 



What shall we do"! let us, that have our tongues; 

Plot some device of further miserv, 

'lo make us wonder'd at, in time to come. 

Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears ; for, at your grief, 
See, how my wretched sister sobs and weeps, [eyes. 

Mur. Patience, dear niece; — good Titus, dry thine 

Tit, Ah, Marcus, Marcus ! brother, well I wot. 
Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine. 
For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own, 

I.uc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. 

Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: 
Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say 
That to her brother which I said to thee ; 
His napkin, with his true tears all bewet. 
Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. 
O, what a sympathy of woe is this ? 
As far from help as limbo is from bliss ! 

F titer A A HON, 

Aar, Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor 
Sends thee this word, — That, if thou love thy sons, 
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, 
Or any one of you, chop off your hand. 
And send it to the king : he, for the same. 
Will send thee thither both thy sons alive ; 
And that shall be the ransome for their fault. 

Tit. O, gracious emperor ! O, gentle Aaron ! 
Did ever raven sing so like a lark. 
That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprssel 
With all my heart, I'll send the emperor 
My hand ; 
Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off' 

Luc. Stay, father : for that noble hand of thine, 
That hath thrown down so many enemies. 
Shall not be sent : my hand will serve the turn . 
My youth can better spare my blood than you : 
And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. 

Mar. Whichofyour hands hath not defended Rome. 
And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe. 
Writing destruction on the enemy's castle ? 
O, none of both but are of high desert : 
My hand hath been but idle ; let it serve 
To ransome my two nephews from their death ; 
Then have I kept it to a worthy end. 

Aar. Nay, come agree, whose hand shall go along, 
For fear they die before their pardon come. 

Mar. My hand shall go. 

Liic. By heaven, it shall not go. 

Tit. Sirs, strive no more ; such wither'd herbs as 
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine, [these 

Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, 
Let me redeem my brothers both from death. 

Mar. And, for our father's sake, and mother's care. 
Now let me shew a brother's love to thee. 

Tit. Agree between you ; I will spare my hand. 

Lne. Then I 'II go fetch an axe. 

Mar. But I will use the a.ve. 

[Eieunt Lucius and Maucvs. 

Tit. Come hither, Aaron ; I '11 deceive them both ; 
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. 

Aar. If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest. 
And never, whilst I live, deceive men so ; — 
lint I '11 deceive you in another sort. 
And tliat you '11 say, ere half an hour can pass. [Aside. 

[He cuts 0^' Titus's hand 

Enter Lucius and Marcus. 

Tit. Now, stay your strife ; what shall be, is de- 
Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand : [spatch'd. — 
Tell hirrt, it was a hand that warded him 
From thousand dangers ; bid him bury it j 
More hath it merited, that let it have. 
3 A 2 



740 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



As for my sons, say, I account of them 

As jewels purclias'd at an easy price ; 

And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. 

Aar. 1 go, Andronicus : and for thy hand, 
Look by and by to have thy sons with thee : 
Their heads I mean. — O, how this villany [Aside. 
Uoth fat me with the very thoughts of it ! 
].et fools do good, and fair men call for grace, 
Aaron will have his soul black like his face. [Eiit. 

Tit. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, 
And bow this feeble ruin to the earth : 
if any power pities wretched tears, 
I'o that 1 call : — What, wilt thou kneel with me"? 

[To Lavinia. 
Do then, dear heart ; for heaven shall hear our prayei s : 
Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim. 
And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds. 
When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. 

Mar. O ! brother, speak with possibilities, 
And do not break into these deep extremes. 

Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom ? 
Then be my passions bottomless with them. 

Mar. But yet let reason govern thy lament. 

Tit. If there were reason lor these miseries, 
Then into limits could I bind my woes : 
When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow'? 
If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, 
Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swoln face? 
And wilt thou have a reason for this coil ? 
I am the sea ; hark, how her sighs do blow 1 
She is the weeping welkin, I the earth : 
1'lien must my sea be moved with her sighs ; 
Then must my earth with her continual tears 
Become a deluge, over-flow d and drown'd : 
For why f my bowels cannot hide her woes, 
But like a drunkard must I vomit them. 
Then give me leave ; for losers will have leave 
To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. 

Enter a Messenger w;i(^i two heads and a ha)id. 

Mess. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid 
For that good hand thou seut'st the emperor. 
Here are the heads of thy two noble sons ; 
And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back ; 
Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd : 
That woe is me to think upon thy woes, 
More than remembrance of my father's death. [Exit. 

Mur. Now let hot yEtna cool in Sicily, 
And be my heart an ever-burning hell ! 
These miseries are more than may be borne ! 
To weep with them that weep doth case some deal. 
But sorrow flouted at is double death. 

Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a 
And yet detested life not shrink thereat ! [wound. 
That ever death should let life bear his name. 
Where life hath no more interest but to breathe ! 

[Lavimia kisses him. 

Mar. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless. 
As frozen water to a starved snake. 

Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end"! 

Mar. Now, farewell, flattery: Die, Andronicus ; 
Thou dost not slumber : see, thy two sons' heads ; 
Thy warlike hand ; thy mangled daughter here ; 
Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight . 
Struck pale and bloodless ; and thy brother, I, 
fjven like a stony image, cold and numb. 
Ah ! now no more will I control thy griefs : 
Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand 
Gnawing with thy teeth ; and be this dismal sight 
The closing up of our most wretched eyes ! 
i\ow is a time to storm ; why art thou stUll- 

Tiu J la, ha. ha! 



Mar. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this bouT, 
Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed : 
Besides, this sorrow is an enemy. 
And would usurp upon my wat'ry eyes, 
And make them blind with tributary tears ; 
Then which way shall I find revenge's cave ? 
For these two heads do seem to speak to me ; 
And threat me, I shall never come to bliss. 
Till all these mischiefs be retum'd again. 
Even in their throats that have committed them. 
Come, let me see what task I have to do. — 
You heavy people, circle me about ; 
That I may turn me to each one of you. 
And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. 
The vow is made — Come, brother, take a head ; 
And in this hand the other will I bear : 
Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things ; 
Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth 
As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight ; 
Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay : 
Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there : 
And, if you love me, as I think you do. 
Let 's kiss and part, for we have much to do. 

[Eieunt Titus, Marcus, and Lavinia 
Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, mjj noble father; 
The woeful'st man that ever liv'd jn Rome ! 
Farewell, proud Rome ! till Lucius come again, 
He leaves his pledges dearer than his life 
Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister ; 
O, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast been ! 
But now nor Lucius, nor Lavinia lives, 
But in oblivion, and hateful griefs. 
If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs ; 
And make proud Saturninus and bis empress 
Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen. 
Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, 
To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. [Eait. 

SCENE II. 

A Room hi Titus's House. — A Banquet set out. 

Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and young 
Lucius, a hoy. 

Tit. So, so ; now sit : and look, you eat no more 
Than will preserve just so much strength in us 
As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. 
Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot ; 
Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands. 
And cannot passionate our tenfold grief 
With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine 
Is left to tyrannize upon my breast ; 
And when my heart, all mad with misery, 
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, 
Then thus I thump it down. — 
Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs ! 

[To Lavinia. 
When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating. 
Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. 
Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans; 
Or get some little knife between thy teeth. 
And just against thy heart make thou a hole : 
That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall. 
May run into that sink, and soaking in. 
Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. 

Mar. Fye, brother, fye ! teach her not thus to laj 
Such violent hands upon her tender life. 

Tit. How now ! has sorrow made thee dote already ? 
Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. 
What violent hands can she lay on her life ! 
Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands; — 
To bid /Eneas tell the tale twice o'er. 
How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable ? 



ACT IV.- SCENE I. 



741 



0, handle not the them«, to t-aSk of hands ; 

Lest we remember still, that we have none. — 

Fye, fye, how franticly 1 square my talk ! 

As if we should forget we had no hands, 

If Marcus did not name the word of hands \ — 

Come, let 's fall to ; and, gentle girl, eat this : — 

Here is no drink ! Hark, JNlarcus, what she says ;■ - 

I can interpret all her martyr'd signs ; — 

She says, she drinks no other drink but tears, 

Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon liercheekK: — 

Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought ; 

In thy dumb action will I be as j>erfect. 

As begging hermits in their holy prayers : 

Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, 

Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, 

But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet. 

And, by still practice, learn to know thy meaning. 

Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments; 
Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. 

Mar. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd, 
Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. 

TU. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears. 
And tears will quickly melt thy life away. — 

[Marcus strikes the dish ivith a knife. 
What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife 1 

Mar. At that that I have kiil'd, my lord ; a fly. 

Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart; 
Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny : 
A deed of death, done on the innocent, 
Becomes not Titus' brother : Get thee gone ; 
I see, thou art not for my company. 

Mar. Alas, my lord, 1 have but kiil'd a fly. 

Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and a mother 1 
How would he hang his slender gilded wings. 
And buE lamenting doings in the air! 
Poor harmless fly ! 

That with his pretty buzzing melody, 
Came here to make us merry; and thou hast kiil'd him. 

Mar. Pardon me, sir ; 'twas a black ill-favour'd fly. 
Like to the empress' Jloor ; therefore I kiil'd him. 

Tit. O, O, O, 
Then pardon me for reprehending thee, 
For thou hast done a charitable deed. 
Give me thy knife, I will insult on him ; 
Flattering myself, as if it were the Bloor, 
Come hither purposely to poison me. — 
There 's for thyself, and that 's for Tamora. — 
Ah, sirrah '. 

Yet I do think we are not brought so low. 
But that, between us, we can kill a fly. 
That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. 

Mar. Alas, poor man! grief basso wrought on him, 
He takes false shadows for true substances. 

Tit. Come, take away. — Lavinia, go with me: 
I '11 to tliy closet; and go read with thee 
Sad stories, chanced in the times of old. — 
Come, boy, and go with me ; thy sight is young, 
And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle. 

[ Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— The same. Before Titus's House. 

Enter Titus and Marcus. Then enter yoiiug Lucius, 
Lavinia running after him. 

Boy. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia 
Follows me every where, I know not why : — 
Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes ! 
.Has, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. 

Mar. Stand by me, Lucius ; do not fear thine aunt 



Tit, She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. 

Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did. 

Mar. What means my nieA; Lavinia by these signs 1 

Tit. Fear her not, Lucius: — Somewhat doth she 
mean : , 

See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee : 
Somewhither would she have thee go with her. 
Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care 
Read to her sons, than she hath read to thee, 
Sweet ]K)etry, and Tully's Orator. 
Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus \ 

Buy. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess. 
Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her : 
For 1 have heard my grandsire say full oft. 
Extremity of griefs would make men mad ; 
And I have read, that Hecuba of Troy 
Ran mad through sorrow : That made me to fear ; 
Although, my lord, I know, my noble aunt 
Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did. 
And would not, but in fury, fright my youth : 
VVhich made me down to throw my books, and fly; 
Causeless, perhaps : But pardon me, sweet aunt: 
And, madain, if my uncle Marcus go, 
I will most willingly attend your ladyship. 

Mar. Lucius, 1 will. [Lavinia turns ocer the hooks 
which Lucius has let fall. 

Tit. How now, Lavinia] Marcus, what means this? 
.Some book there is that she desires to see : — 
VVhich is it, girl, of these ? — Open them, boy. — 
But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd ; 
Come, and take choice of all my libiary. 
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens 
Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed. — 
Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus ! [one 

Mar. I think, she means, tliat there was more than 
Confederate in the fact ; — Ay, more there was : — 
Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. 

Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so? 

Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses; 
My mother gave't me. 

Mar. For love of her that's gone. 

Perhaps she cuH'd it from among tiie rest. 

Tit. Soft! see, how busily she turns the leaves! 
Help her : — 

What would she find ? — Lavinia, shall I read ? 
This is the tragic tale of Philomel, 
And treats of Tereus's treason, and his rape ; 
And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy, [leaves. 

Mar. See, brother, see ; note, how she quotes the 

Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpriz'd, sweet girl, 
Ravish'd, and wrong 'd, as Philomela was, 
Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods ! — 

See, see ! 

Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt 
(0, had we never, never, hunted there !) 
Pattern'd by that the poet here describes. 
By nature made for murders, and for rapes. 

Mar. O, why should nature build so foul a dec, 
Unless the gods delight in tragedies ! [friends, — 

7'!(. Give signs, sweet girl, — for here are none but 
What Roman lord it was durst do the deed: 
Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst. 
That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed ? 

Mar. Sit down, sweet niece ; — brother, sitdown by 
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, [me. — ■ 

Inspire me, that I may this treason find? — 
My lord, look here ; — Look here, I^avinia : 
This sandy plot is plain ; guide, if thou canst. 
This after me, when 1 have writ my name 
Without the help of any hand at all. 

\_He writes his name tcith his staff, and guides it 
with hii feet and mouth. 



742 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



Curs'd be that heart, that forc'd us to this shift !— 
Write thou, good niece ; and here display, at last. 
What God will have discover'd for revenge : 
Heaven guide thy pen to write thy sorrows plain, 
That we may know the traitors, and the truth ! 

[She takes the staff' in her mouth, and guides it 
with her stumps, and writes- 
Tit. O, do you read, my lord, what she hath writ 1 
Stuprum — Cliiron — Demetrius. 

Mar. What, what !— the lustful sons of Taniora 
Performers of this heinous, bloody deed ? 

Tit. Magne Dominator poii. 
Tain lentus audis scelera ? turn lentus vides ? 

Mar. 0, calm thee, gentle lord! although I know. 
There is enough written upon this earth. 
To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts, 
And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. 
My lord, kneel down with me ; Lavinia, kneel ; 
And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope ; 
And swear with me, — as with the woful feere. 
And father, of that chaste dishonour'd dame. 
Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape, — 
That we will prosecute, by good advice, 
jNIortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, 
And see their blood, or die with this reproach. 

Tit. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew hoAv, 
But if you hurt these bear whelps, then beware : 
The dam will wake ; and, if she wind you once. 
She's with the lion deeply still in league. 
And lulls him whilst she"playeth on her back. 
And, when he sleeps, will she do what she list. 
You're a young huntsman, Marcus ; let it alone 
And, come, 1 will go get a leaf of brass, 
And with a gad of steel will write these words, 
And lay it by : the angry northern wind 
Will blow these sands, like Sybil's leaves, abroad. 
And Where's your lesson then ? — Boy, what say you 'i 

Boi/. I say, my lord, that if I were a man, 
Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe 
For these bad-bondmen to the yoke of Rome. 

Mar. Ay, that's my boy ! thy father hath full oft 
For this ungrateful country done the like. 
Boy. And uncle, so will I, an if I live. 
Tit. Come, go with me into mine armoury ; 
Lucius, I'll fit thee ; and withal, my boy 
Shall carry from me to the empress' sons 
Presents, that I intend to send them both : 
Come, come ; thou'lt do thy message, wilt thou not ? 
Bov. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire. 
Tit. No, boy, not so ; I'll teach thee another course. 
Lavinia, come: — Marcus, look to my house j 
Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court ; 
Ay, marry, will we, sir ; and we'll be waited on. 

[Exeunt Titus, Lavinia, and Boy. 
Mar. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan. 
And not relent, or not compassion him ? 
Marcus, attend him in his ecstacy ; 
That hath more sears of sorrow in his heart. 
Than foe-men's marks upon his batter'd shield : 
But yet so just, that he will not revenge : — 
Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus! [Exit. 

SCENE IL— T;ie same. A Rornn in tJie Palaee. 

Enter Aauon, Chiron, and Demetrius, at onedooy; 
at another door, young Lvc:us, and an Attendant, 
with a bundle of ireapons, and verses writ vpon them, 

Chi. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius; 
He hath some message to deliver to us. [father. 

Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad grand- 
Hoy. My lords, with all the humbleness I may. 



I greet your honours from Andronicns ; — 
And pray the Roman gods, confound you both. [Aside. 
Dem. Gramercy, lovely Lucius : What's the news ? 
Bou- That you are both decipher'd, that's the news. 
For villains mark'd with rape. {Aside.} Blay it please 
My grandsire, well advis'd, hath sent by me [you. 
The goodliest weapc.ns of his armoury. 
To gratify your honourable youth. 
The hope of Rome ; for so he bade me say ; 
And so 1 do, and with his gifts present 
Your lordships, that whenever you have need. 
You may be armed and appointed well : 
And so 1 leave you both, [Aside.'] like bloody villains. 
[Exeunt Boy and Attendant. 
Bern. What's here ? A scroll ; and written round 
Let's see; [about 1 

Integer vitir, scelerisque jmrus, 
Non eget Manri jacuUs, nee arcu. 

Chi. O, 'tis a verse in Horace ; I know it well : 
I read it in the grammar long ago. 

Aar. Ay, just! — averse in Horace; — right, you 
have it. 
Now, what a thing it is to be an ass ! "" 

Here's no sound jest ! the old man hath found 

their guilt ; 
And sends the weapons wrapp'd about with 

lines, [quick. ^Aiide. 

That wound, beyond their feeling, to the 
But, were our witty empress well a-foot. 
She would applaud Andronicus' conceit. 
But let her rest in her unrest awhile. — ^ 
And now, young lords, was't not a happy star 
Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so. 
Captives, to be advanced to this height ] 
It did me good, before the palaee gate 
To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing. 

Bern. But me more good, to see so great a lord 
Basely insinuate, and send us gifts. 

Aar. Had he not reason, lord Denaetrius? 
Did you not use his daughter very friendly 1 

Bern. 1 would, we had a thousand Roman dames 
At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust. 
Chi. A charitable wish, and full of love. 
Aar. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen. 
Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand more. 
Dem. Come, let us go ; and pray to all the gods. 
For our beloved mother in her pains. 

Aor. Pray to the devils ; the gods have given us 
o'er. [Aside. Flourish, 

Bern. Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish thus? 
Chi, Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son. 
Bern. Soft ; who comes here ? 

Enter a Nuyse, mith a blaek-a-moor ehiid in heremns. 

Nur, Good morrow, lords: 

O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor. 

Aar. Weil, more or less, or ne'er a whit at aU, 
Here Aaron is ; and what with Aaron now ? 

IVur. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone I 
Now help, or woe betide thee evermore ! 

Aar. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep? 
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms ? 

Nur. O.thatwhichlwould hide from heaven's eye. 
Our empress' shame and stately Rome's disgrace ; — 
She is deliver'd, lords, she is deliver'd. 

Aar. To whom 1 

Nnr. I mean, she's brought to bed. 

Aar. Well, God 

Give her good rest ? What hath he sent her ? 

Nnr. A devil. [issue. 

Aar. Why, then she's the devil's dam ; a joyful 

Nur. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful i&s,ue • 




^WUEP^"" ' 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



Marcus. Heaven guide thy pen to write thy sorrows plain, 
That we may know the traitors, and the truth ! 

/*c( jr., Scene I 



ACT IV.— SCENE III. 



743 



Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad 
Amongst the fairest breeders of our cliine. 
The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal, 
And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point. 

Aar. Out, out, you wliore ! is black so base a hue 1 — 
Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure. 
Dern, Villain, what hast thou done ? 
Aar. Done ! that which thou 

Canst not undo. 

Chi. Thou hast undone our mother. 

Aar. Villain, I have done thy mother. 

Dem. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone. 
Woe to her chance, and danin'd her loathed choice ! 
Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a fiend ! 

Chi. It shall not live. 

Aar. It shall not die. 

Nttr. Aaron, it must : the mother wills it so. 

Aar. What, must it, nurse t then letno man,but I, 
Do execution on my flesh and blood. 

Dem. I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's point ; 
Nurse, give it me ; my sword shall soon despatch it. 

Aar. Sooner this sword shall plow thy bowels up. 
[Takes the child from the Nurse, and draws. 
Stay, murderous villains! will you kill your brother? 
Now, by the burning tapers of the sky 
That shone so brightly when this boy was got, 
He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point. 
That touches this my first-born son and heir ! 
I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus, 
With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood. 
Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war. 
Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands. 
What, what; ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys! 
Ye white lim'd walls ! ye alehouse painted signs I 
Coal-black is better than another hue 
In that it scorns to bear another hue : 
For all the water in the ocean 
Can never turn a swan's black legs to white, 
Although she lave them hourly in the flood. 
Tell the emperess from me, I am of age 
To keep mine osvn ; excuse it how she can. 

Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus 1 

Aar, My mistress is my mistress; this, myself: 
The vigour, and the picture of my youth : 
This, before all the world, do I prefer ; 
This, maugre all the world, will I keep safe, 
Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome. 

Dem. By this our motlier is for eversham'd. 

Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul escape. 

Nur. Theemperor,inhisrage, will doom her death. 

Chi. I blush to think upon this ignomy. 

Aar. Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears : 
Fye, treacherous hue! that will betray with blushing 
The close enacts and counsels of the heart ! 
Here's a young lad fram'd of another leer : 
I^ok, how the black slave smiles upon the father ; 
As who should say, Old lad, I am thine own. 
He is ycur brother, lords, sensibly fed 
Of that self blood that first gave life to you ; 
And, from that womb, where you imprison'd were, 
He is enfranchised and come to liglit : 
Nay, he's your brother by the surer side. 
Although my seal be stamped in his face. 

Nur. Aaron, what shall 1 say unto tiie empress? 

Dem. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done, 
And we will all subscribe to tliy advice ; 
Save thou the child, so we may all be safe. 

Aar. 'i'hen sit we down, and let us all consult. 
My son and I will have the wind of you : 
Keep there : Now talk at pleasure of your safety, 

[Y'/iev sit on the ground. 

Dem. How many women saw this child of his 1 



Aar. Why, so, brave lords ; When we all join in 
I am a lamb : but if you brave the Moor, [league, 
The chafed boar, the mountain lioness. 
The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms. — 
But, say again, how many saw the child ? 

Nur. Cornelia the midwife, and myself. 
And no one else, but the deliver'd empress. 

Aar. The empress, the midwife, and yourself: 
Two may keep counsel, when the third's away : 
Go to the empress ; tell her, this I said : — 

[^Stabbing her. 
\Veke, weke! — so cries a pig, prepar'd to the spit. 

Dem. What mean'st thou, Aaron? Whereforedidsf 

Aar. O, lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy : [thou this' 
Shall she live to betray tiiis guilt of ours? 
A long-tongu'd babbling gossip? no, lords, no. 
And now be it known to you my full intent. 
Not far, one Muliteus lives, my countryman, 
His wife but yesternight was brought to bed ; 
His child is like to her, fair as you are : 
Go pack with him, and give the mother gold, 
And tell them both the circumstance of all ; 
And how by this their child shall be advanc'd, 
And be received for the emperor's heir. 
And substituted in the place of mine. 
To calm this tempest whirling in the court ; 
And let the emperor dandle him for his own. 
Hark ye, lords ; ye see, that I have given her physic, 

[Pointing to the Nurse. 
And you must needs bestow her funeral ; 
The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms • 
This done, see that you take no longer days, 
But send the midwife presently to me. 
The midwife, and the nurse, well made away, 
Then let the ladies tattle what they please. 

Chi. Aaron, 1 see, thou wilt not trust the air 
With secrets. 

Dem. For this care of Tamora, 

Herself, and hers, are highly bound to thee. 

[Ereurit Dkm. and Cm. bearing off the Nurse. 

Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies ; 
There to dispose the treasure in mine arms, 
And secretly to greet the empress' friends. — 
Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I'll bear you hence ; 
For it is you that puts us to our shifts : 
I'll make you feed on berries, and on roots. 
And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat, 
And cabin in a cave ; and bring you up 
To be a warrior, and command a camp. [Eiit. 

SCENE 111.— The same. A public Place. 

Enter Titus, bearing arrows, with letters at the end> 
of them; with him Marcus, young Lucius, and 
other Gentlemen, with bows. 

Tit. Come, Marcus, come; — Kinsmen, this is the way: 
Sir boy, now 'let me see your archery ; 
Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straigiit : 
Terras Astrcea reliijuit : 

Be you remember'd, Marcus, she's gone, she's fled. 
Sir, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall 
Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets ; 
Happily you may find her in the sea ; 
Yet there 's as little justice as at land : — 
No ; I'ublius and Sempronius, you must do it ; 
'Tis you must dig with mattock, and with spade. 
And pierce the inmost center of the earth : 
Then, when you come to Pluto's region, 
I pray you, deliver him this petition : 
Tell him, it is for justice, and for aid : 
And that it comes from old .\ndronicus, 
Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome — 



741 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



Ah, Rome!— Well, well ; I made thee miserable, 
What time I threw the people's suffrages 
On him that doth tyrannize o'er me. — 
Go, get you gone ; and pray be careful all, 
And leave you not a man of war unsearch'd ; 
This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hence, 
And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice. 

Mar. O, Publius, is not this a heavy case. 
To see thy noble uncle thus distract 1 

Ptih. Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns, 
By day and night to attend him carefully ; 
And feed his humour kindly as we may, 
Till time beget some careful remedy. 

Mar. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy. 
Join with the Goths ; and with revengeful war 
Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude, 
And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. [What, 

Tit. Publius, how now] how now, my masters ? 
Have you met with her ? 

Pub. No, my good lord ; but Pluto sends you word 
If you vn\l have revenge from hell, you shall : 
Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd. 
He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else. 
So that perforce you must needs stay a time. 

7'it. He doth me wrong, to feed me with delays. 
I'll dive into the burning lake below, 
And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. — 
Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we ; 
TVo big-bon'd men, fram'd of the Cyclops' size: 
But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back ; 
Yet wrung with wrongs, more than our backs can bear: 
And, sith there is no justice in earth or hell. 
We will solicit heaven ; and move the gods, 
To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs : 
Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus. 

[He gives them the arrows. 
Ad Jovem, that's for you : — Here, ad ApoUinem : — 
Ad Martem, that's for myself: — 
Here, boy, to Pallas : — Here, to Mercury : 
To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine, — 
You were as good to shoot against the wind. — 
To it, boy. Slarcus, loose when I bid : 
O'my word, I have written to effect ; 
There 's not a god left unsolicited. 

Mar. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court : 
We will afflict the emperor in his pride. 

Tit. Now, masters, draw. [Theii shoot. "\ O.well said. 
Good boy, in Virgo's lap ; give it Pallas. [Lucius ! 

Mar. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon ; 
Your letter is with Jupiter by this. 

Tit. Ha 1 Publius, Publius, what hast thou done! 
See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. 
Mar. This was the sport, my lord : when Publius 
shot, 
The bull being galld. gave Aries such a knock 
1'hat down fell both the ram's horns in the court; 
And who should find them but the empress' villain? 
Slie laugh'd, and told the Moor, he should not choose 
But give them to his master for a present. 

Tit. Why, there it goes: God give your lordship joy. 

Ejjter a Clown, with a basket, and two pigeons. 

News, news from heaven ! Marcus, the post is come. 
Sirrah, what tidings, have you any letters ? 
Shall I have justice "! what says Jupiter ? 

Clo. Ho ! the gibbet maker] he says, that he hath 
taken them down again, for the man must not be 
hanged till the next week. 

Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee ] 

C7(). Alas, sir, I know not v upiter ; I never drank 
with him in all my life. 

Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier] 



Clo. Ay, of my pigeons, sir ; nothing else. 

Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heaven ? 

Clo. From heaven ] alas, sir, I never came there : 
God forbid, 1 should be so bold to press to heaven 
in myyoungdays. Why, lam going with my pigeons 
to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl 
betwixt my uncle and one of the emperial's men. 

Mar. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be, to serve for 
your oration ; and let him deliver the pigeons to the 
emperor from you. 

Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the em- 
peror with a grace ] 

Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace m 
all my life. 

Tit. Sirrah, come hither: make no more ado, 
But give your pigeons to the emperor : 
By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. 
Hold, hold; — mean while, here's money for thy 
Give me a pen and ink. — [charges. 

Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication ] 

Clo. Ay, sir. 

Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. And 
when you come to him, at the first approach, you 
must kneel ; then kiss his foot ; then deliver up your 
pigeons ; and then look for your reward. 1 '11 be at 
hand, sir; see you do it bravely. 

Clo. I warrant you, sir ; let me alone. 

Tit. Sirrah, hast thou aknife ] Come, let me see it. 
Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration ; 
For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant ; — 
And when thou hast given it to the emperor. 
Knock at my door, and tell me what he says. 

Clo. God be with you, sir ; I will. 

Tit. Come, Marcus, let's go : — Publius, follow me. 

[E.ieuiit. 

SCENE lY.— The same. Before the Palace. 

Enter Saturninus, Tamora, Chiron, Demetrius, 
Lords, and others : Saturninus, with the arrows in 
his hand that Titus shot. 

Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these] Was ever 
An emperor of Rome thus overborne, [seen 

Troubled, confronted thus ; and, for the extent 
Of egal justice, us'd in such contempt ] 
My lords, you know, as do the mightful gods. 
However these disturbers of our peace 
Buz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd, 
Bst even with law, against the wilful sons 
Of old Andronicus. And what an if 
His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits, 
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks, 
His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness ] 
And now he writes to heaven for his redress : 
See, here's to Jove, and this to ^lercury ; 
This to Apollo ; this to the god of war : 
Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome? 
What's this, but libelling against the senate. 
And blazoning our injustice every where ] 
A goodly humour, is it not, my lords ] 
As who would say, in Rome no justice were. 
But, if I live, his feigned ecstacies 
Shall be no shelter to these outrages : 
But he and his shall know, that justice lives 
In Saturninus' health ; whom, if she sleep, 
He'll so awake, as she in fury shall 
Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives. 

Tarn. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, 
Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts. 
Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age. 
The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons, 
W hose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his hear'.; 
And rather comfort his distressed plight. 



ACT V. -SCENE I. 



745 



Than prosecute the meanest, or the best, 

For these contempts. Why, thus it shall become 

High-witted Tamora to gloze with all : [^Aside. 

But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick. 

Thy life-blood out : if Aaron now be wise. 

Then is all safe, the anchor's in the port. — 

Enter Clown. 
How now, good fellow, would'st thou speak with usl 

Clo. Yes, forsooth, an your mistership be imperial. 

Tarn. Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor. 

Clo. 'Tis he. — God, and saint Stephen, give you 
good den: I have brouglit you a letter, and a couple 
of pigeons here. [Saiurninus reads the letter. 

Sdt. Go, take him away, and hang him presently. 

Clo. How much money must I have 1 

Tain. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd. 

Clo. Hang'd ! By'r lady, then 1 have brought up 
a neck to a fair end. [E.iit, guarded. 

Sat. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs ! 
Shall I endure this monstrous villanyl 
I know from whence this same device proceeds ; 
May this be borne ! — as if his traitorous sons, 
That died by law for murder of our brother. 
Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully. — ■ 
Go, drag the villain hither by the hair; 
Nor age, nor honour, shall shape privilege : — 
For this proud mock, I'll be thy slaughter-man ; 
Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great. 
In hope thyself should govern Rome and me. 

Enter .iEmilil's. 
What news with thee, ^milius? [causel 

JEmil. Arm, arm, my lords ; Rome never had more 
The Goths have gather'd head ; and with a power 
Of high-resolved men bent to the spoil, 
rhey hither march amain, under conduct 
Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus ; 
Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do 
As much as ever Coriolanus did. 

Sat. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths'! 
These tidings nip me ; and I hang the head 
As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms. 
Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach : 
'Tis he, the common people love so much ; 
Myself hath often over-heard them say, 
(When I have walked like a private man,) 
That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully, 
And they have wish'd that Lucius were tlieir emperor. 

Tarn. Why should you fear? is notyour city strong! 

Sat. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius ; 
And will revolt from me, to succour him. 

Tarn. King, be thy thoughts imperious, like thy 
Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in if! [name. 
The eagle suff'ers little birds to sing. 
And is not careful what they mean thereby ; 
Knowing tiiat, with the shadow of his wings. 
He can at pleasure stint their melody : 
Even so may'st thou the giddy men of Rome. 
Then cheer thy spirit : for know, thou emperor, 
I will enchant the old Andronicus, 
With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous, 
Tiian baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep ; 
When as the one is wounded with the bait, 
The other rotted with delicious feed. 

Sat. But he will not entreat his son for us. 

Tarn. If Tamora entreat him, then he will: 
For 1 can smooth, and fill iiis aged ear 
With golden promises : that were his heart 
Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf, 
Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue. — 
Go thou before, be our embassador: [To ^Emilius. 
Say, that the emperor requests a parley 



Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting. 
Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus. 

Sat. ^Emilius do this message honourably: 
.And if he stand on hostage for his safety, 
Bid him demand what pledge will please him best. 

JEmil. Your bidding shall I do eft'ectually. 

[Exit .iEmilius. 

Tarn, Now will I to that old Andronicus ; 
And temper him, with all the art I have, 
To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths. 
And now, sweet empeior, be blithe again, 
And bury all thy fear in my devices. 

Sat. Then go successfully, and plead to him. 

[Exeunt, 

ACT V. 

SCENE \.— Plains near Rome. 
Enter Lucius and Goths, with drum and colours. 

Luc. Approved warriors, and my faithful friends, 
I have received letters from great Rome, 
VVhich signify, what hate they bear their emperor, 
And how desirous of our sight they are. 
Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness. 
Imperious, and impatient of your wrongs ; 
And, wherein Rome hath done you any scath, 
Let him make treble satisfaction. [nicus, 

1 Gotli. Brave slip, sprung from the great Andro- 
Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort j 
Whose high exploits, and honourable deeds, 
Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt, 
Be bold in us : we'll follow where thou lead'st, — 
Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day, 
Led by their master to the flower'd fields, — 
And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora. 

Goths. And, as he saith, so say we all with him. 

Luc. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all. 
But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth ! 

Enter a Goth, leading AAROH,tDith hischild in his armt. 

"Z Go(/i. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray 'd, 
To gaze upon a ruinous monastery ; 
And as 1 earnestly did fix mine eye 
Upon the wasted building, suddenly 
I heard a cluld cry underneath a wall : 
I made unto the noise ; when soon I heard 
The crying babe controU'd with this discourse : 
Peace, tawny slave ; half me, and half ihu darn! 
Did not thii hue betvrau whose brat ihou art. 
Had nature lent thee but tliii molher^s took. 
Villain, thou might'st have been an emperor: 
But where the hull and cow are both tniik-white, 
They never do beget a coal-black calf. 
Peace, villain, peace! — even thus he rates the babe, — 
For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth ; 
Who, when he knows thou art the empress' babe, 
]Vill hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake. 
With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him, 
Surpriz'd him suddenly ; and brought him hither. 
To use as you think needful of the man. 

Luc. O worthy Goth ! this is the incarnate devil. 
That robb d Andronicus of his good hand : 
Tliis is the pearl tluit pleas'd your empress' eye ; 
And here's the base fruit of his burning lust. — 
Say, wall-ey'd slave, whither would'st thou convey 
This growing image of thy fiend-like face ? 
Why dost not speak ! What! deaf! X o ; not a word J 
A halter, soldier ; hang njm on this tree. 
And by his side his fruit of bastardy. 

Aar. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood. 

Luc. Too like the sire for ever being good. — 



746 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



First, hang tlie child, that he may see it sprawl ; 
A sight to vex the father's soul withal. 
Get me a ladder. [^4 Udder brought, ivhich Aahon 

is obliged to ascend. 

Aar. Lucius, save the child ; 

And bear it from me to the emperess. 
Jf thou do this, I'll shew thee wond'rous things, 
That highly may advantage thee to hear : 
If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, 
I'll speak no more ; But vengeance rot you all ! 

Luc. Say on ; and, if it please me which thou 
speak'st. 
Thy child shalt live, and I will see it nourish'd. 

Aar. An if it please thee? why, assure thee, Lucius, 
Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak ; 
For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres, 
Acts of black night, abominable deeds, 
Complots of mischief, treason ; villanies 
Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd : 
And this shall all be buried by my death. 
Unless thou swear to me, my child shall live. 

Luc. Tell on thy mind ; I say, thy cliild shall live. 
. Aar. Swear, that he shall, and then I will begin. 

Luc. Who should I swear by? thou believ'stno god ; 
That granted, how canst thou believe an oath ? 

Aar. What if I do not ? as, indeed, I do not : 
Yet, — for I know thou art religious. 
And hast a thing within thee, called conscience ; 
And twenty popish tricks and ceremonies. 
Which I have seen thee careful to observe, — 
Therefore I urge thy oath ; — For that, I know, 
An idiot holds his bauble for a god. 
And keeps the oath, which by that god he swears ; 
To that I'll urge him : — Therefore, thou shalt vow 
l$y that same god, what god soe'er it be, 
That thou ador'st and hast in reverence, — • 
To save my boy, to nourish, and bring him up; 
Or else I will discover nought to thee. 

Luc, Even by my god, I swear to thee I will. 

4ar. First, know thou, I begot him on the empress. 

Luc. most insatiate, luxurious woman ! 

Aar. Tut, Lucius ! this was but a deed of charity, 
To that which thou shalt hear of me anon. 
Twas her two sons, that murder'd Bassianus : ] 

They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravish'd her, ; 

And cut her hands; and trimm'd her as thou saw'st. 

Luc. O, detestable villain! call'st thou that trim- 
ming? [and 'twas j 

Aar. Wiiy, she was wash'd, and cut, and trimm'd ; ' 
Trim sport for them that had the doing of it. 

Luc. O, barbarous, beastly villains, like thyself ! 

Aar. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them ; 
That codding spirit had they from their mother. 
As sure a card as ever won the set ; 
That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me, 
As true a dog as ever fought at head. 
Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. 
I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole, 
Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay : 
T wrote the letter that thy father found. 
And hid the gold within the letter mention'd, 
Confederate with the queen, and her two sons ; 
And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue, 
Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it? 
I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand ; 
A.nd, when I had it, drew myself apart. 
And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter. 
I pry'd me through the crevice of a wall. 
When, for his hand, he had his two sons' heaas ; 
Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily, 
That both mine eyes were rainy like to his ; 
And when I told the empress of this sport, 



.She swounded almost at my pleasing tale. 

And, for my tidings, gave me twenty kisses, [blush? 

Goth. What I canst thou say all this, and never 

Aar. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is. 

Luc. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds ? 

Aar. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more. 
Even now I curse the day, (and yet, I think. 
Few come within the compass of my curse,) 
Wherein I did not some notorious ill ; 
As kill a man, or else devise his death ; 
Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it ; 
Accuse some innocent and forswear myself: 
Set deadly enmity between two friends ; 
Make poor men's cattle break their necks ; 
Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night. 
And bid the owners quench them with their tears. 
Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves. 
And set them upright at their dear friends' doors. 
Even when their sorrows almost were forgot ; 
And on their skins, as on the bark of trees, 
Have with my knife carved in Roman letters. 
Let not tjour sorrows die, though I am dead. 
Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things. 
As willingly as one would kill a fly ; 
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed. 
But that I cannot do ten thousand more. 

Luc. Bring down the devil ; for he must not die 
So sweet a death, as hanging presently. 

Aar. If there be devils, 'would I were a devil, 
To live and burn in everlasting fire ; 
So I might have your company in hell. 
But to torment you with my bitter tongue ! 

Luc. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no more. 

Enter a Goth. 

Goth. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome, 
Desires to be admitted to your presence. 
Lue. Let him come near. — 

Enter /Emilius. 

Welcome, ..Emilius, what's the news from Rome ? 

JEinil. Lord Lucius, and you, princes of the Goths. 
The Roman emperor greets you all by me : 
And, for he understands you are in arms. 
He craves a parley at your fatiier's house. 
Willing you to demand your hostages. 
And they shall be immediately deliver'd. 

1 Goth. What says our general ? 

Luc. iEmilius, let the emperor give his pledges 
Unto my father and my uncle Marcus, 
And we will come. — March away. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Rome. Be/me Titus's House. 
Enter Tamora, Chiron, and Demetrius, disguised. 

Tarn. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment. 
I will encounter with Andronicus ; 
And say, I am Revenge, sent from below. 
To join with him, and right his heinous wrongs. 
Knock at his study, where, they say, he keeps, 
To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge ; 
Tell him. Revenge is come to join with him. 
And work confusion on his enemies. [They knock, 

JE'nter Titus, above. 

Tit. Who doth molest my coniemplation 1 
Is it your trick, to make me ope the door ; 
That so my sad decrees may fly away, 
And all my study be to no effect ? 
You are deceiv'd : for what I mean to do, 
See here, in bloody lines I have set down ; 
And what is written shall be executed. 



ACT v.— SCENE II. 



747 



Tarn. Titus, I am corae to talk with thee. 
Tit. No; not a word: How can 1 grace my talk. 
Wanting a hand to give it action ? 
Thou hast tlie odds of me, therefore no more. 

Tarn. If thou did'st know me, thou would'st talk 

with me. 
Tit, I am not mad ; I know thee well enough : 
Witness this wretched stump, these crimson lines ; 
Witness these trenches, made by grief and care ; 
Witness the tiring day, and heavy night ; 
Witness all sorrow, that I know thee well 
For our proud empress, mighty Tamora : 
Is not thy coming for my other hand ? 

Tarn. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora ; 
She is thy enemy, and 1 thy friend : 
I am Revenge ; sent from the infernal kingdom. 
To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind. 
By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes. 
Come down, and welcome me to this world's light ; 
Confer with me of murder and of death : 
There 's not a hollow cave, or lurking-place, 
No vast obscurity, or misty vale. 
Where bloody murder, or detested rape, 
Can couch for fear, but I will find them out ; 
And in their ears tell them my dreadful name, 
Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake. 

Tit. Art thou Revenge ! and art thou sent to me, 
To be a torment to mine enemies 1 

Tarn. 1 am ; therefore come down, and welcome me. 

Tit. Do me some service, ere I come to thee 
Lo, by thy side where Rape, and Murder, stands ; 
Now give some 'surance that thou art Revenge, 
Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels ; 
And then I'll come, and be thy waggoner. 
And whirl along with thee about the globes. 
Provide thee proper palfries, black as jet. 
To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away. 
And find out murderers in their guilty caves : 
And when thy car is loaden with their heads, 
I will dismount, and by the waggon wheel 
Trot, like a servile footman, all day long ; 
Even from Hyperion's rising in the east. 
Until his very downfall in the sea. , 

And day by day I'll do this heavy task. 
So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there. 

Tarn. These are my ministers, and come with me. 

Tit. Are they thy ministers? what are theycall'd? 

Tarn. Rapine, and Murder; therefore called so, 
Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men. 

Tit. Good lord, how like tiie empress' sons they are! 
And you, the empress ! But we worldly men 
Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. 

sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee : 

And, if one arm's embracement will content thee : 

1 will embrace thee in it by and by. 

[E.xit TiTVS.from above. 
Tarn, This closing with him fits his lunacy : 
Whate'er I for^e, to feed his brain-sick fits, 

... I 

Do you uphold and mamtam in your speeches. 
Foi now he firmly takes me for Revenge ; 
And, being credulous in this mad thought, 
I "11 make him send for Lucius, his son ; 
And, whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, 
I '11 find some cunning practice out of hand. 
To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths, 
Or, at the least, make them his enemies. 
See, here he comes, and I must ply ray theme. 

Enter Titus. 

Tit. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee. 
Welcome, dread fury, to my woful house ; — 
Rapine, and Murder, you are welcome too : — 



How like the empress and her sons you are ! 
Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor; — 
Could not all hell afford you such a devil ? 
For, well I wot, the empress never wags, 
But in her company there is a Moor ; 
And, would you represent our queen aright. 
It were convenient you had such a devil : 
But welcome, as you are. What shall we do "* 

Turn. What would'st thou have us do, AndronicusT 

Dern. Shew me a murderer, I '11 deal with him. 

Chi. Shew me a villain, that hath done a rape. 
And 1 am sent to be reveng'd on him. 

Turn. Shew me a thousand, that have done thee 
And 1 will be revenged on them all. [wrong, 

Tit Look round about the wicked streets of Rome ; 
And when thou find'st a man that's like thyself. 
Good Murder, stab him ; he's a murderer. — 
Go thou with him ; and, when it is thy hap. 
To find another that is like to thee, 
Good Rapine, stab him ; he is a ravisher. — 
Go thou with them ; and in the emperor's court 
There is a queen, attended by a Moor ; 
Well may'st thou know her by thy own proportion. 
For up and down she doth resemble thee ; 
1 pray thee, do on them some violent death. 
They have been violent to me and mine. 

Tatn. Well hast thou lesson'd us ; this shall we do. 
But would it please thee, good Andronicus, 
To send for Lucius, thy thrice valiant son, 
Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths, 
And bid him come and banquet at thy house : 
When he is here, even at tliy solemn feast, 
I will bring in the empress and her sons. 
The emperor himself, and all thy foes ; 
And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel, 
And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart. 
What says Andronicus to this device ? 

Tit. iMarcus, my brother 1 — 'tis sad Titus calls. 

Enter Marcus. 

Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius ; 
Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths ; 
Bid him repair to me, and bring with him 
Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths ; 
Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are: 
Tell him, the emperor and the empress too 
Feast at my house : and he shall feast with them. 
This do thou for my love ; and so let him. 
As he regards his aged father's life. 

Mar. This will I do, and soon return again. [Eail. 

Turn. Now will I hence about thy business, 
And take my ministers along with me. 

Tit. Nay, nay, let Rape and Rlurder stay with me ; 
Or else 1 '11 call my brother back again. 
And cleave to no revenge but Lucius. 

Tarn. What say you, boys? will you abide with him. 
Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor. 
How I have govern'd our determin'd jest ? 
Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair? 

[Aside. 
And tarry with him, till 1 come again. 

Tit. 1 know them all, though they suppose me mad ; 
And will o'erreach them in their own device, 
A pair of cursed hell-hounds, and their dam. [Aside. 

Dem. INIadam, depart at pleasure, leave us here. 

Tarn. Farewell, Andronicus: Revenge now goes 
To lay a complot to betray thy foes. [Eiit Tamora. 

Tit. 1 know thou dost ; and, sweet Revenge, fare- 
well. 

Chi. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ'd ? 

Tit. Tut, 1 have work enough for you to do. — 
Publius, come hither, Caius, and \"alentine . 



718 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



Enter Publius and others. 

Puh. What s your will ? 

Tit, Know you these two ? 

Piih. Th' empress' sons, 

I take them, Chiron and Demetrius. 

Tit. Fye, Publius,^ fye ! thou art too much deceiv'd ; 
The one is IMurder, Rape is the other's name : 
And therefore bind them, gentle Publius ; 
Caius, and Valentine, lay hands on them : 
Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour. 
And now I find it ; therefore bind them sure ; 
And stop their mouths, if they begin to cry. 

[Eiit Titus. — Publius, 6;c. lay hold 07» 
Chiron and Demetrius. 

Chi. Villains, forbear; we are the empress' sons. 

Pub. And therefore do we what we are commanded. 
Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word : 
Is he sure bound ! look, that you bind them fast 

Re-enter Titus Andronicus, icith Lavinia ; she 
bearing a bason, and he a knife. 

Tit, Come, come, Lavinia: look, thy foes are 
bound ; — 
Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me ; 
But let them hear what fearful words I utter. — 
O villains, Chiron and Demetrius ! [mud ; 

Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd with 
This goodly summer with your winter mix'd. 
You kill'd her husband ; and, for that vile fault, 
Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death : 
My hand cut off, and made a merry jest : 
Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that, more dear 
Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity, 
Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd. 
What would you say, if I should let you speak ? 
Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace. 
Hark, wretches, how I mean to martyr you. 
This one hand yet is left to cut your throats ; 
Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold 
The bason, that receives your guilty blood 
You know, your m.other means to feast with me. 
And calls herself. Revenge, and thinks me mad, — • 
Hark, villains ; I will grind your bones to dust. 
And with your blood and it, I '11 make a paste ; 
And of the paste a coffin I will rear, 
And make two pasties of your shameful heads ; 
And bid that strumpet, your unhallow'd dam. 
Like to the earth, swallow her own increase. 
This is the feast that I have bid her to. 
And this the banquet she shall surfeit on ; 
For worse than Philomel you us'd my daughter, 
And worse than Progne I will be reveng'd : 
And now prepare your throats. — Lavinia, come, 

[He cuts their tlirnats. 
Receive the blood : and, when that they are dead, 
Let me go grind their bones to powder small. 
And with this hateful liquor temper it ; 
And in that paste let their vile heads be bak'd. 
Come, come, be every one officious 
To make this banquet ; which I wish may prove 
More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast. 
So, now bring them in, for I will play the cook. 
And see them ready "gainst their mother comes. 

[Eje(t»t, bearing the dead bodies. 

SCENE III.— ITie same. A Pavilion, with Tables, Sec. 

Enter Lucius, Marcus, and Goths, with 
Aaron, prisoner. 

Luc. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my father's mind, 
That I repair to Rome, I am content. 



1 Goth. And ours, with thine, befall what fortune 
will. 

Ltic. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous Moor, 
This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil ; 
Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him, 
Till he be brought unto the empress' face; 
For testimony of her foul proceedings : 
And see the ambush of our friends be strong : 
I fear, the emperor means no good to us. 

Aar. Some devil whisper curses in mine ear. 
And prompt me, that my tongue may utter forth 
The venomous malice of my swelling heart ! 

Luc. Away, inhuman dog! unhallow'd slave! — 
Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in. — 

[Exeunt, Goths, with Aaron. Flourish. 
The trumpets shew, the emperor is at hand. 

Enter Satuuninus, and Tamora, with Tribunes, 
Senators, and others. 

Sat. What, hath the firmament more suns than one? 

Luc. What boots it thee, to call thyself a sun? 

Mac. Rome's emperor, and nephew, break the parle, 
These quarrels must be quietly debated. 
The feast is ready, which the careful Titus 
Hath ordain'd to an honourable end. 
For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome: 
Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your places. 

Sat. ftlarcus, we will. 
\_Hautbflys sound. The company sit down at table. 

Enter Titus, dressed like a cook, Lavinia, veiled, 
young Lucius, and others. Titus places the dishes 
on the table. 

Tit, Welcome, my gracious lord; welcome, dread 
queen ; 
Welcome, ye warlike Goths ; welcome, Lucius ; 
.And welcome, all : although the cheer be poor, 
'Twill fill your stomachs ; please you eat of it. 

Sat. Why art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus? 

Tit. Because I would be sure to have all well. 
To entertain your highness, and your empress. 

Tarn. W'e are beholden to you, good Andronicus. 

Tit. An if your highness knew my heart, you were. 
My lord the emperor, resolve me this ; 
Was it well done of rash Virginius, 
To slay his daughter with his own right hand. 
Because she was enforc'd, stain'd, and deflour'd ■• 

Silt. It was, Andronicus. 

Tit. Your reason, mighty lord ! 

Sat. Because the gii 1 should not survive her shame. 
And by her presence still renew his sorrows. 

Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual : 
A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant. 
For me, most wretched to perform the like ; — 
Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee ; 

[He kills Lavinia. 
And, with thy shame, thy father's sorrow die ! 

Sat. What hast thou done, unnatural, and unkind? 

Tit. Kill'd her, for whom my tears have made me 
I am as woful as Virginius was : [blind. 

And have a thousand times more cause than he 
To do this outrage ; — and it is now done. 

Sat. What, was she ravish'd ! tell, who did thedeed. 

Tit. Will't please you eat? will't please your 
highness feed ? 

Tarn. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus? 

Tit. Not 1 ; 'twas Chiron, and Demetrius : 
They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue, 
And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong. 

Sat. Go, fetch them hither to us presently. 

Tit. Why, there they are both, baked in that pye ; 
Whereof their mother daintilv hath fed, 



ACT V.-^SCENE III. 



749 



Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. 
'Tis true, 'tis true ; ^vitness my knife's sharp point. 

[_Killiug 'I'amoha. 

Sat. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed. 

[luUiiig Titus. 

Luc. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed 1 
There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed. 

[/\iWi Saturninus. a great tumult. The people in 
coujusion disperse. jMarcus, Lucius, and their 
partisans ascend the steps bejore Titus's house. 

Mar. Yousad-fac'd men, people and sons of Rome, 
By uproar sever'd, like a flight of fowl 
Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts, 
O, let me teach you how to knit again 
This scatter'd corn into one mutal sheaf. 
These broken limbs again into one body. 

Sen. Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself ; 
And she, whom mighty kingdoms court'sy to. 
Like a forlorn and desperate cast-away. 
Do shameful execution on herself. 
But if my frosty signs and chaps of age. 
Grave witnesses of true experience, 
Cannot induce you to attend my words, — [ancestor. 
Speak, Rome's dear friend ; ['i'o Lucius] as erst our 
VVhen with his solemn tongue he did discourse, 
To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear, 
The story of that baneful burning night, 
When subtle Greeks surpriz'd king Priam's Trny : 
Tell us, what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears. 
Or who hath brought the fatal engine in. 
That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound. — 
My heart is not compact of flint nor steel 1 
Nor can I utter all our bitter grief. 
But floods of tears will drow n my oratory. 
And break my very utterance ; even I'the time 
When it should move you to attend me most. 
Lending your kind commiseration : 
Here is a captain, let him tell the tale : 
Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak. 

Luc. Then, noble auditory, be it known to you. 
That cursed Chiron and Demetrius 
Were they that murdered our emperor's brother ; 
And they it were that ravished our sister : 
For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded ; 
Our father's tears despis'd ; and basely cozen'd 
Of that true hand, that fought Rome's quarrel out. 
And sent her enemies unto the grave. 
Lastly myself unkindly banish'd, 
The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out, 
To beg relief among Rome's enemies ; 
Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears. 
And op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend : 
And 1 am the turn'd-forth, be it known to you, 
That have preserv'd her welfare in my blood ; 
And from her bosom took the enemy's point. 
Sheathing the steel in my advent'rous body. 
Alas ! you know, I am no vaunter, I ; 
My scars can witness, dumb although they are, 
That my report is just, and full of truth. 
But, soft ; methinks I do digress too much. 
Citing my worthless praise : 0, pardon me ; 
For when no friends are by, men praise themselves. 

Mar. Now is my turn to speak ; Behold this child, 

[Pointing to the child in the arms of an Attendant. 
Of this was Tamora delivered : 
The issue of an iireligious Moor, 
Chief architect and plotter of these woes ; 
The villain is alive in Titus' house, 
Damn'd as he is, to witness this is true. 
Now judge, what cause had Titus to revenge 
These wrongs unspeakable, past patience. 
Or more than any living man could bear. 



Now you have heard the truth, what say you, Romansi 
Have we done aught amiss 1 Shew us wherein. 
And, from the place where you behold us novir 
The poor remainder of Andronici 
Will, hand in hand, all headlong cast us down. 
And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains. 
And make a mutual closure of our house. 
Speak, Romans, speak ; and, if you say we shall, 
Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and 1 will fall. 

Mmil. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome, 
And bring our emperor gently in thy hand, 
Lucius our eniperor ; for, well 1 know, 
The common voice do ciy, it shall be so. [emperor! 

Rom. [Several speak.'\ Lucius, all hail: Rome's royal 

Lucius, i;c. descend* 

Mar. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house ; 

[To an Attendant. 
And hither hale that misbelieving Moor, 
To be adjudg'd some direful slaughtering death, 
As punishment for his most wicked life. 

Rom, [Several speak.'^ Lucius, all hail ; Rome's 
gracious governor ! 

Luc. Thanks, gentle Romans ; INIay I govern so, 
To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her woe ! 
But, gentle people, give me aim a^vhile, — 
For nature puts me to a heavy task ; — 
Stand all aloof ; — but uncle draw you near, 
To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk : 
O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips. 

[/vfsses Titus. 
Those sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face, 
Tbe last true duties of thy noble son ! 

Mar. Tear for tear, and loving kiss for kiss. 
Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lipsl 
O, were the sum of these that 1 should pay 
Countless and infinite, yet would I pay llieni ! [of us 

Luc. Come hither, boy ; come, come, and learn 
To melt in sh»wers : Thy erandsire lov'd thee well 
Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee. 
Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow ; 
Many a matter hath he told to thee, 
]\Ieet, and agreeing with thine infancy ; 
In that respect then, like a loving child. 
Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring, 
Because kind nature doth require it so : 
Friends should associate friends in grief and woe : 
Bid him farewell ; commit him to the grave ; 
Do him that kindness, and take leave of him. 

Boy. O grandsire, grandsire ! even with all my 
Would I were dead, so you did live again ! [heart 

lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping ; 
INIy tears will choke me, if 1 ope my mouth. 

Enter Attendants, with Aaron. 

1 Rom. You sad Andronici have done with woes ; 
Give sentence on this execrable wretch, 
That hath been breeder of these dire event'^. 

Lric. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him; 
There let him stand, and rave and cry for food : 
If any one relieves or pities him, 
For the offence he dies. This is our doom. 
Some stay, to see him fasten'd in the earth. 

Aar. O, why should wrath be mute, and fury 

1 am no baby, 1, that with base prayers, [dumb 2 
I should repent the evils I have done ; 

Ten thousand, worse than ever yet I did, 
Would I perform, if I might have my will ; 
If one good deed in all my life I did, 
I do repent it from my very soul. 

Luc. Some loving friends convey the emperor 
And give him burial in his father's grave : [hence 



750 



PERICLES. 



My father, and Lavinia, shall forthwith 

Be closed in our household's monument. 

As for that heinous tiger, lamora. 

No funeral rite, nor man in mournful weeds, 

No mournful bell shall ring her burial ; 

But throw her forth to beasts and birds of prey : 



All the editors and critics agree with Mr. Theobald in 
supposing this play spurious. 1 see no reason for differing from 
them: for the colourof the style is wholly different from that 
of the other plnys, and there is an attempt at regular versih- 
cation, and artificial closes, not always ineletjant, yet seldom 
pleasinij. 1 he tiarbaritv of the spectacles, and tiie general mas. 
sacre which are here exhibited, can scarcely be conceived toler- 
able to any audience ; yet we are told by .lonson, that they were 
not only borne but praised. That Shakspeare wrote any part, 
though Theobald declares it ittconieuahle, 1 see no reason for 
believing. 

the testimony by which it is ascribed to Shakspeare, is by 
no meaiis equal to tne argument against its authenticity, arising 



Her life was beast-like, and devoid of pity , 

And being so, shall have like want of pity. 

See justice done to Aaron, that damn'd Moor, 

By whom our heavy haps had their beginning : 

Then, afterwards, to order well the stale ; 

That like events may ne'er it ruinate. [Eieiint. 



from the total difference of conduct, language, and sentiments, 
by which it stands apart from all the rest. iMeresh:id probably 
no other evidence than th.it of a title page, which, though in 
our time it be sutficient, was then of no great authority ; for 
all the plays which were rejected by the first collectors of 
Shakspeare's works, and admitted in later editions, and again 
rejected by the critical editors, had Shak.'^peare's name on the 
title, as we must suppose by the fraudulence of tbe printers, 
who, while there were yet no gazettes, nor advertisements, nor 
any means of circulating literary intelligence, could usurp <\l 
pleasure any celebrated name. Is or had Shakspeare any intertst 
in detecting the imposture, as none of his fame or profit was 
produced by the press. — JOHNSON. 



PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 



This play was entered at Stationers' Mall, May 2, 1608, by 
Edward Blount, one of the printers of the first tolio edition 
of Shakspeare's works ; but it did not appear in print till the 
following year, and then it was published not by blount, but 
by Henry Gosson, who had probably anticipated the other, 
by getting a hasty transcript from a idny-house copy, there 
is no plav of the author's, perhaps not in the Lnjilislt lan- 
guage, of which the text is as corrupted as that of this tra- 
gedy. I'he most corrupt of Shakspeare's other dramas is 
purity itself comiiared wiih Pericles. 

The story on which this play is formed, is of great antiquity. 
It is found in a book, once very popular, entiiled (^cf^a Ko- 
manorum, which is supposed bv Mr. lyrwhitt, the learned 
editor of rheCamerbury Tales of Chaucer, I7?5, to have been 
written five hundred years ago. The earliest impression ol 
that work (which 1 have seen) was printed i.i 1488 ; in that 
edition the history oi AppoUmius King of J.v'f niakes the lo.ld 
chapter. It is likewise related by Gower in his t<.«/«;jto 
Amantis, lib. viii. p. 175-185, edit. 1554. Ihe Rev. Dr. 
Farmer has in his possession a tragment ot a MS. poem on the 
same subject, which appears, from the handwriting and the 
metre, to be more ancient than Gower. there is also an an- 
cient Romance on this subiect, called hyng Appotyn of l/iyre, 
translated from tbe French by Robert Copland, and printed 
by Wynkyn de Worde in 1510 In 1576 William How had a 
licence for printing 'J'/ie most excellent, pleasant, and yariahle 
iiistorie nf the slranae Adventura of Prince Appolonius, Lu- 
cine Ms wyfe, and I harsa his daughter. I he author of I'ertcles 
having introduced Gower in his piece, it is reasonable enough 



to suppose that he chiefly followed the work of that poet. It 
is observable, that the hero of this tale is, in Gower's poem, 
as in the present play, called Prince of Tyre ; in the Gesta 
Jiomano.'um, and Copland's prose Romance, he is entitled 
Kitig. Most of the iiicidentsof the play are found in the Conf, 
Amant. and a few of Gower's expressions are occasionally bor- 
rowed. However, I think it is not unlikely, that there may 
have been (though I have not met with it) an early prose 
translation of this popular story from the Hest. Homan. in 
which the name of Appolonius was changed to Pericles ; to 
which, likewise, the author of this drama may have been in- 
debted. In 1607 was published at London, by Valentine Sims, 
" I he patterne of painful adventures, containing the most ex- 
cellent, pleasant, and variable Historic of the strange Acci- 
dents that befell unto Prince Appolonius, the lady Lucina his 
wife, and iharsia his daughter, wherein the uncertaintie of 
this world and the fickle state of man's life are lively described. 
Translated into English by T. Twine, Gent." I have never 
seen the book, but it was without doubt a re-publication of 
that published by W. Howe in 1577. Thisplay seems to have 
been particularly successful. In the four quarto editions it is 
called the" much admired" play of Pericles, prince of Tj're, 
and is mentioned by many ancient writers as a popular per- 
formance.— M ALONE. 
Rowe, in his first edition of Shakspeare, says, "It is owned 
that some part of Pericles certainly was written by him, par- 
ticularly the last act. Farmer thinks the hand of Shakspeare 
may be sometimes seen in the latter part of the play, but there 
only. " 



. PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Antiochus, King of Antioch. 

Pehicles, Prince of Tyre. 

Helicanus, Escanes, two lords of Tyre. 

SiMONiDEs, King o/' Pentapolis. 

Cleon, governor o/'Tharsus. 

Lysimachus, governor of Mitylene. 

Cerimon, a lord o/" Ephesus. 

Thaliard, a lord ii/' Antioch. 

Philemon, servant to Cerimon, 

Leonine, seriatit to Dionyza. 

Marshal. 

A Pander, and his Wife. 

RouLT, their servant. 

Gower, as Chorus. 

The Daughter of Antiochus. 

DiONvzA, wife to Cleon. 

Thaisa, daughter to Simonides. 

Marina, daughter to Pericles and Thaisa. 

Lychorida, nurse to Marina. 

Diana. 

Lo -ds, Ladies, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pirates, 
Fishermen, and Messengers, &;c. 

SCENE, — disversedly in various Cottntriet. 



ACT I. 

Enter Gower. 

Before the Palace ofAntioch. 
To sing a song of old was sung, 
From ashes ancient Gower is come ; 
Assuming man's infirmities, 
To glad your ear, and please your eyes. 
It hath been sung at festivals, 
On ember-eves, and holy-ales ; 
And lords and ladies of their lives 
Have read it for restoratives : 
'Purpose to make men glorious ; 
Et quo antiquius, eo melius. 
If you, born in these latter times. 
When wit's more ripe, accept my rhymes, 
And that to hear an old man sing. 
May to your wishes pleasure bring, 
I life would wish, and that I might 
Waste it for you, like taper-light.— 
This city then, Antioch the great 
Built up for his chiefest seat ; 
The fairest in all Syria ; 
(I tell you what nnne authors say ;) 
This king unto him took a pheere, 
Who died and left a female heir, 



ACT I.—SCENE I. 



751 



So buxo n, blithe, and full of face, 

As heaven had lent her all his grace 

With whom the father liking took, 

And her to incest did provoke : 

Bad father ! to entice his own 

To evil, should be done by none. 

By custom, what they did begin, 

Was, with long use, account no sin. 

The beauty of this sinful dame 

Made many princes thither frame, 

To seek her as a bed-fellow. 

In marriage- pleasures play-fellow • 

Which to prevent, he made a law, 

(To keep her still, and men in awe,) 

That whoso ask'd her for his wife, 

His riddle tokl not, lost his life : 

So for her many a wight did die, 

As yon grim looks do testify. 

What now ensues, to the judgment of your eye 

I give, my cause who best can justify. [i.nt. 

SCENE I. — Antioch. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Antiochus, Pericles, and Attendants. 

Ant. Young prince of Tyre, you have atlarge receiv'd 
The danger of the task you undertake. 

Per. 1 have, Antiochus, and with a soul 
Embolden'd with the glory of her praise, 
Think death no hazard, m this enterprise. [Music. 

Ant. Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride, 
For the embracements even of Jove himself; 
At whose conception, (till Lucina reign'd,) 
Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence, 
The senate-house of planets all did sit. 
To knit in her their best perfections. 

Eyiter the Daughter of Antiochus. 

Per. See,whereshe comes, apparell'd like the spring, 
Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king 
Of every virtue gives renown to men ! 
Her face, the book of praises, where is read 
Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence 
Sorrow were ever ras'd, and testy wrath 
Could never be her mild companion. 
Ye gods that made me man, and sway in love, 
That have inflam'd desire in my breast, 
To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree. 
Or die in the adventure, be my helps. 
As I am son and servant to your will. 
To compass such a boundless happiness ! 

Ant. Prince Pericles, 

Per. That would be son to great Antiochus. 

Ant. Before thee stands this fair Hesperides, 
With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch'd ; 
For death-like dragons here aflVight thee hard : 
Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view 
A countless glory, which desert must gain : 
And which, without desert, because thine eye 
Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die. 
Yon sometime famous princes, like thyself. 
Drawn by report, advent'rous by desire. 
Tell thee with speechless tongues, and semblance pale, 
That, without covering, save yon field of stars, 
They here stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars ; 
And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist. 
For going on death's net, whom none resist. 

Per. Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught 
I\Iy frail mortality to know itself. 
And by those fearful objects to prepare 
This body, like to them, to what I must : 
For death remember'd, should be like a mirror, 
Who tells us, life 's but breath j to trust it, error. 



I '11 make my will then ; and as sick men do, 

Who know the world, see heaven, but feeling woe, 

Gripe not at earthly joys, as erst they did ; 

So 1 bequeath a happy peace to you. 

And all good men, as every prince should do ; 

My riches to the earth from whence they came : 

But my unspotted fire of love to you. 

[To the Daughter nf Antiochus. 
Thus ready for the way of life or death, 
I wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus, 
Scorning advice. 

Ani. Read the conclusion then ; 

Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed. 
As these before thee, thou thyself shalt bleed. 

Daiight. In all, save that, may'st thou prove pros- 
In all, save that, I wish thee happiness! [perous! 

Per. Like a bold champion, 1 assume the lists. 
Nor ask advice of any other thought 
But faithfulness, and courage. 

[Here reads the Riddle.] 

I am «() viper, yet I feed 
On 7nother'sJie:ih, which didme breed: 
I sought a liushund, in which labour, 
I found that kindness in a father. 
He's father, son, and husband mild, 
I mother, wife, and yet his child. 
Bow they may be, and yet in two. 
As you loill live, resolve it you. 

Sharp physic is the last : but O you powers ! 
That give heaven countless eyes to view men's act.s. 
Why cloud they not their sights perpetually. 
If this be true, which makes me pale to read it? 
Fair glass of light, I lov'd you, and could still, 

[Takes hold of the hand of the Princess. 
Were not this glorious casket stor'd with ill : 
But 1 must tell you,— now, my thoughts revolt ; 
For he's no man on whom perfections wail, 
That knowing sin within, will touch the gate. 
You're a fair viol, and your sense the strings ; 
Who finger'd to make man his lawful music. 
Would draw heaven down, and all the gods to hearken , 
But, being play'd upon before your time, 
Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime : 
Good sooth, I care not for you. 

Ant. Prince Pericles, touch not upon thy life, 
For that's an article within our law, 
As dangerous as the rest. Your time's expir'd ; 
Either expound now, or receive your sentence. 

Per. Great king. 
Few love to hear the sins they love to act ; 
'T would 'braid yourself too near for me to tell it. 
Who has a book of all that monarchs do. 
He's more secure to keep it shut, than shewn ; 
For vice repeated, is like the wand'ring wind, 
Blows dust in others' eyes, to spread itself ; 
And yet the end of all is bought thus dear. 
The breatii is gone, and the sore eyes see clear : 
To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts 
Copp'd hills towards heaven, to tell, the earth is 

wrong'd 
By man's oppression ; and the poor worm doth die for't. 
Kings are earth's gods : in vice their law's their will ; 
And if Jove stray, who dares say, Jove doth ill 1 
It is enough you know ; and it is fit. 
What being more known grows worse, to smother it. 
All love the^omb that their first beings bred. 
Then give my tongue like leave to love my head. 

Ant. Heaven, that I had thy head! he has found the 
meaning ; — L ^ J'""^' 

But I will glozewith him. [Aside.'] Young prince of 
Though by the tenour of our strict edict. 



752 



FERTCLES. 



Your exposition misinterpreting, 
We might proceed to cancel of your days; 
Vet liope, succeeding from so fair a tree 
As your fair self, doth tune us otiierwise : 
Forty days longer we do respite you ; 
If by which time our secret be undone. 
This mercy shews, we'll joy in such a son : 
And until then, your entertain shall be. 
As doth befit our honour, and your worth. 
[_Exeunt Antiochus, his Daughter, and Attendants. 
Per. How courtesy would seem to cover sin ! 
When what is done is like an hypocrite. 
The which is good in nothing but iu sight. 
If It be true that I interpret false. 
Then were it certain, you were not so bad, 
As with foul incest to abuse your soul ; 
Where now you're both a father and a son, 
By your untimely claspings with your child, 
(Which pleasure fits an husband, not a father ;) 
And she an eater of her mother's flesh, 
By the defiling of her parent's bed ; 
And both like serpents are, who though they feed 
On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed. 
Antioch, farewell ! for wisdom sees, those men 
Blush not in actions blacker than the night. 
Will shun no course to keep them from the light. 
One sin, I know, another doth provoke ; 
Murder's as near to lust, as flame to smoke. 
Poison and treason are the hands of sin. 
Ay, and the targets to put ofl^ the shame : 
Then, lest my life be cropp'd to keep you clear, 
By flight I'll shun the danger which I fear. \^Eiit. 

Re-enter Antiochus. 

Ant. He hath found the meaning, for the which 
we mean 
To have his head 

He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy, 
Nor tell the world, Antiochus doth sin 
In such a loathed manner : 
And therefore instantly this prince must die ; 
For by his fall my honour must keep high. 
Who attends on us there 1 

Enter Thaliard. 

Thai. Doth your highness call? 

Ant. Thaliard,you're of our chamber, and our mind 
Partakes her private actions to your secresy : 
And for your faithfulness we will advance you. 
Thaliard, behold here's poison, and here's gold ; 
We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him ; 
It fits thee not to ask the reason why. 
Because we bid it. Say, is it done 7 

Thai. My lord, 

'Tis done. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Ant. Enough ; 
Lest your breath cool yourself, telling your haste. 

Mess. My lord, prince Pericles is fled. 

\_Exit Messenger. 

Ant. As thou 

Wilt live, fly after ; and, as an arrow, shot 
From a well-experienc'd archer, hits the mark 
His eye doth level at, so ne'er return, 
TInless thou say. Prince Pericles is dead. 

Thai My lord, if I # 

Can get him once within my pistol's length, 
I'll make him sure : so farewell to your highness. 

[Eiit. 

Ant. Thaliard, adieu ! till Pericles be dead. 
My heart can lend no succour to my head. [Ejif. 



SCENE II.— Tyre. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Pericles, Helicanus, ajid other Lords. 

Per. Let none disturb us : Why tiiis charge of 
thoughts 1 
The sad companion, dull-ey'd melancholy. 
By me so us'd a guest is, not an hour, 
In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night, [quiet! 
(The tomb where grief should sleep,) can breed me 
Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun 
And danger, which I feared, is at Antioch, [them, 
Whose arm seems far too short to hit me here : 
Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits. 
Nor yet the other's distance comfort me. 
Then it is thus : the passions of the mind, 
That have their first conception by mis-dread, 
Have after-nourishment and life by care ; 
And what was first but fear what might be done, 
Grows elder now, and cares it be not done. 
And so with me ; — the great Antiochus 
("Gainst whom I am too little to contend. 
Since he's so great, can make his will his act,) 
Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence* 
Nor boots it me to say, I honour him. 
If he suspect I may dishonour him : 
And what may make him blush in being known, 
He'll stop the course by which it might be known ; 
With hostile forces he'll o'erspread the land. 
And witli the ostent of war will look so huge. 
Amazement shall drive courage from the state ; 
Our men be vanquish'd, ere they do resist. 
And subjects punish'd that ne'er thought off"ence : 
Which care of them, not pity of myself, 
(Who am no more but as the tops of trees. 
Which fence the roots they grow by, and defend them,) 
Blakes both my body pine, and soul to languish. 
And punish that before, that he would punish. 

1 Lord. Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast ! 

2 Lord, And keep your mind, till you return to us, 
Peaceful and comfortable ! [tongue. 

Hel. Peace, peace, my lords, and give experience 
They do abuse the king, that flatter him : 
For flattery is the bellows blows up sin ; 
The thing the which is flatter'd, but a spark, 
To which that breath gives heat and stronger glowing ; 
AVhereas reproof, obedient, and in order. 
Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err. 
When signior Sooth here does proclaim a peace, 
He flatters you, makes war upon your life : 
Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please ; 
I cannot be much lower than my knees. 

Per. All leave us else ; but let your cares o'erlook 
What shipping, and what lading's in our haven. 
And then return to us. [Ereunt Lords.] Helicanus, 
Hast moved us : what seest thou in our looks'! [thou 

Hel. An angry brow, dread lord. 

Per. If there be such a dart in princes' frowns. 
How durst thy tongue move anger to our face 1 

Hel. How dare the plants look up to heaven, from 
They have their nourishment ? [whence 

Per. Thou know'st I have powei 

To take thy life. 

Hel. [Kneeling.'] I have ground the axe myself; 
Do you but strike the blow. 

Per. Rise, pr'ythee rise ; 

Sit down, sit down ; thou art no flatterer : 
I thank thee for it ; and high heaven forbid. 
That kings should let their ears hear their faults hid ! 
Fit counsellor, and servant for a prince. 
Who by thy wisdom mak'st a prince thy servant. 
What would'st thou have me do ? 

HeL With patience bear 



ACT 1.— SCENE IV. 



753 



Surh griefs as you do lay upon yourself. 

Per. Thou speak'st like a physician, Helicanus ; 
Who minister'st a potion unto me, 
That thou would'st tremble to receive thyself. 
Attend me then : I went to Antioch, 
Where, as thou know'st, against the face of death, 
1 sought the purchase of a glorious beauty, 
From whence an issue 1 might propagate. 
Bring arms to princes, and to subjects joys. 
Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder ; 
The rest (hark in thine ear,) as black as incest ; 
Which by my knowledge found, the sinful father 
Seem'd not to strike, but smooth : but thou know'st 
'Tis time to fear, when tyrants seem to kiss, [this. 
Which fear so grew in me, 1 hither fled, 
Under tlie covering of a careful night. 
Who seem'd my good protector ; and being here, 
Bethought me what was past, what might succeed. 
I knew him tyrannous ; and tyrant's fears 
Decrease not, but grow faster than their years : 
And should he doubt it, (as no doubt he doth,) 
That I should open to the listening air. 
How many worthy princes' bloods were shed, 
To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope, — 
To lop that doubt, he'll fill this land with arms. 
And make pretence of wrong that I have done him , 
When all, for mine, if I may call 't offence. 
Must feel war's blow, who spares not innocence : 
Which love to all (of which thyself art one. 
Who now reprov'st me for it) 

Hoi. Alas, sir ! 

Per. Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my 
Musings into my mind, a thousand doubts [cheeks. 
How I might stop this tempest, ere it came ; 
And finding little comfort to relieve them, 
I thought it princely charity to grieve them. 

Hel. Well, my lord, since you have given me leave 
Freely I'll speak. Antiochus you fear, [to speak. 
And justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant. 
Who either by public war, or private treason, 
Will take away your life. 
Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while, 
Till that his rage and anger be forgot. 
Or Destinies do cut his thread of life. 
Your rule direct to any ; if to me, 
Day serves not light more faithful than I'll be. 

Per. 1 do not doubt thy faith ; 
But should he wrong my liberties in absence — 

Hel. We'll mingle bloods together in the earth. 
From whence we had our being and our birth. 

Per. Tyre, I now look from thee then, and to Tharsus 
Intend my travel, where I'll hear from thee ; 
And by whose letters I'll dispose myself. 
The care I had and have of subjects' good. 
On thee I lay, whose wisdom's strength can bear it. 
I'll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath ; " 
Who shuns not to break one, will sure crack both : 
But in our orbs we'll live so round and safe. 
That time of both this truth shall ne'er convince, 
rhou shew'dst a subject's shine, I a true prince. 

[_Eieunt. 

SCENE III. — Tyre. An Ante-chamher in the Palace. 
Enter Thaliard. 

Thai. So, this is Tyre, and this is the court. Here 
must I kill king Pericles ; and if 1 do not, I am sure 
to be hanged at home : 'tis dangerous. — Well, I per- 
ceive he was a wise fellow, and had good discretion, 
that being bid to ask what he would of the king, de- 
sired he mi^ht know none of his secrets. Now do I 

o .... 

see he had some reason for it : for if a king bid a man 



be a villain, he is bound by the indenture of his oath 
to be one. — Hush, here come the lords of Tyre. 

Enter Helicanus, Escales, attd other Lords. 

Hel. You shall not need, my fellow peers of Tyre, 
Further to question of your king's departure. 
His seal'd commission, left in trust with me. 
Doth speak sufficiently he's gone to travel. 

Thtd. How ! the king gone ! \^Asicle. 

Hel. If further yet you will be satisfied. 
Why, as it were unlicens'd of your loves. 
He v/ould depart, I'll give some light unto you. 
Being at Antioch 

Thai. What from Antioch l [Aside. 

Hel. Royal Antiochus (on what cause I know not,) 
Took some displeasure at him ; at least he judg'd so : 
And doubting lest that he haderr'd or sinn'd, 
To shew his sorrow, would correct himself ; 
So puts himself unto the shipman's toil. 
With whom each minute threatens life or death. 

Thai. Well, I perceive [Aside. 

I shall not be hang'd now, although I would ; 
But since he's gone, the king it sure must please. 
He 'scap'd the land, to perish on the seas. — 
But I'll present me. Peace to the lords of Tyre ! 

Hel. Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome. 

Thai. From him I come 
With message unto princely Pericles ; 
But, since my landing, as I have understood 
Your lord has took himself to unknown travels, 
My message must return from whence it came. 

Hel. We have no reason to desire it, since 
Commended to our master, not to us : 

Yet, ere you shall depart, this we desire, 

As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre. 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE IV. 

Tharsus. — A Room iri the Governor's House. 

Enter Cleon, Dionyza, and Attendants. 

Cle. My Dionyza, shall we rest us here, 
And by relating tales of other's griefs. 
See if 'twill teach us to forget our own ? 

Dio. That were to blow at fire, in hope to quench 
For who digs hills because they do aspire, [it ; 

Throws down one mountain, to cast up a higher. 
O my distressed lord, even such our griefs ; 
Here they're but felt, and seen with mistful eyes. 
But like to groves, being topp'd, they higher rise. 

Cle. O Dionyza, 
Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants it. 
Or can conceal his hunger, till he famish 1 
Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep our woes 
Into the air: our eyes do weep, till lungs 
Fetch breath that may proclaim them louder ; that. 
If heaven slumber, while their creatures want. 
They may awake their helps to comfort them. 
I'll then discourse our woes felt several years. 
And wanting breath to speak, help me with tears. 

Dio. I'll do my best, sir. 

Cle. This Tharsus, o'er which I have government, 
(A city, on whom plenty held full hand,) 
For riches, strew'd herself even in the streets ; 
Whose towers bore heads so high, they kiss'd the 
And strangers ne'erbeheld, but wonder'd at ; [clouds. 
Whose men and dames so jetted and adorn'd. 
Like one another's glass to trim them by : 
Their tables were stor'd full, to glad the sight. 
And not so much to feed on, as delight ; 
.Ml poverty was scorn'd, and pride so great, 
The name of help grew odious to repeat. 
3B 



754 



PERICLES. 



Dio, O, 'tis too true. [change, 

Cle. But see what heaven can do ! By this our 
These mouths, whom but of late, earth, sea, and air, 
Were all too little to content and please. 
Although they gave their creatures in abundance, 
As houses aredefil'd for want of use. 
They are now starv'd for want of exercise : 
Those palates, who not yet two summers younger, 
Must have inventions to delight the taste, 
Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it ; 
Those mothers who, to nousle up their babes. 
Thought nought too curious, are ready now, 
To eat those little darlings whom they lov'd. 
So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and wife 
Draw lots, who first shall die to lengthen life : 
Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping ; 
Here many sink, yet those which see them fall, 
Have scarce strength left to give them burial. 
Is not this true 1 

Dio. Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it. 

Cle. 0, let those cities, that of Plenty's cup 
And her prosperities so largely taste, 
With their superfluous riots, hear these tears ! 
The misery of Tharsus may be theirs. 

Enter a Lord. 

Lord. Where's the lord governor? 

Cle. Here. 
Speak out thy sorrows which thou bring'st in haste, 
for comfort is too far for us to expect. 

Lord. We have descried, upon our neighbouring 
A portly sail of ships make hitheiward. [shore, 

Cle. I thought as much. 
One sorrow never comes, but brings an heir, 
That iTiay succeed as his inheritor ; 
And so in ours : some neighbouring nation, 
Taking advantage of our misery, 
Have stufT'd these hollow vessels with their power, 
To beat us down, the which are down already ; 
And make a conquest of unhappy me, 
Wliereas no glory's got to overcome. 

Lord. That's the least fear ; for, by the semblance 
Of their white flags display'd, they bring us peace. 
And come to us as favourers, not as foes. 

Cle. Tliou speak'st like him's untutor'd to repeat. 
Who makes the fairest show, means most deceit. 
But bring they what they will, what need we fearl 
The ground's the lowest, and we are half way there. 
Go tell their general, we attend him here. 
To know for what he comes, and whence he comes, 
And what he craves. 

Lord. I go, my lord, [Exit. 

Cle. Welcome is peace, if he on peace consist; 
If wars, we are unable to resist. 

Enter Pericles, with Attendants. 

Per. Lord governor, for so we hear you are. 
Let not our ships and number of our men 
Be, like a beacon fir'd, to amaze your eyes. 
We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre, 
And seen the desolation of your streets : 
Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears, 
But to relieve them of their heavy load ; 
And these our ships you happily may think 
Are, like the Trojan horse, war-stuft"'d within 
With bloody views, expecting overthrow. 
Are stor'd Nyith corn, to make your needy bread. 
And give them life, who are hunger-starv'd, half dead. 

All. The gods of Greece protect you ! 
And we'll pray for you. 

Per. Rise, I pray you, rise ; 

^^'e do not look for reverence, but for love, 



And harbourage for ourselt, our ships, and men. 

Cle. The which when any shall not gratify, 
Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought, 
Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves. 
The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils ' 
Till when, (the which, I hope, shall ne'er be seen.) 
Your grace is welcome to our town and us. [while, 

Per. Which welcome we'll accept ; feast here a 
Until our stars that frown, lend us a smile. [Eiemit. 



ACT II. 

Enter Gower. 

Gow, Here have you seen a mighty king 
His child, I wis, to incest bring ; 
A better prince, and benign lord. 
Prove awful both in deed and word. 
Be quiet then, as men should be, 
Till he hath pass'd necessity. 
I'll shew you those in troubles reign. 
Losing a mite, a mountain gain. 
The good in conversation 
(To whom I give my benizon,) 
Is still at Tharsus, where each man 
Thinks all is writ he spoken can : 
And, to remember what he does. 
Gild his statue glorious : 
But tidings to the contrary 
Are brought your eyes ; what need speak I ? 

Dumb show. 

Enter at one door Pericles, talking with Cleon ; all 
the Traimvith them. Enter at another door a Gen- 
tleman, with a letter to Pericles ; Pericles shews 
the letter toCLEON; t/ien gives (/le Messenger a re- 
ward, and knights him. L'jeunt Pericles, Cleo.\\ 
Stc. severally. 

Go2o. Good Helicane hath staid at home. 
Not to eat honey like a drone. 
From others' labours ; forth ho strive 
To killen bad, keep good alive ; 
And, to fulfil his prince' desire. 
Sends word of all that haps in Tyre : 
How Thaliard came full bent with sin. 
And hid intent, to murder him; 
And that in Tharsus was not best 
Longer for him to make his rest : 
He knowing so, put forth to seas. 
Where when men been, there's seldom ease. 
For now the wind begins to blow ; 
Thunder above, and deeps below, 
Make such unquiet, that the ship 
Should house him safe, is wreck'd and split ; 
And he, good prince, iiaving all lost. 
By waves from coast to coast is tost ; 
All perishen of man, of pelf 
Ne aught escapen but himself; 
Till fortune, tir'd with doing bad. 
Threw him ashore, to give him glad : 
And here he comes : what shall be next. 
Pardon old Gower; this long's the text. [Eiil. 

SCEN E I. — Pentapolis. An open Place by the Sea Side. 

Enter Perici.es, wet. 

Per. Yet cease your ire, ye angry stars of heaven ' 
Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man 
Is but a substance that must yield to you ; 
And I, as fits my nature, do obey you. 
Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks, 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



755 



Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me breath 
Nothing to think on, but ensuing death : 
Let it suffice the greatness of your powers. 
To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes ; 
And having thrown hini from your watry grave, 
Here to have death in peace, is all he'll crave. 

Fiiiter Three Fishermen. 

1 Fish. What, ho, Pilche ! 

2 Fish. Ho ! come, and bring away the nets. 
1 Fish. What Patch-breech, 1 say! 

3 Fish. What say you, master? 

1 Fish. Look how thou stirrestnow! come away, 
or I'll fetch thee with a wannion. 

3 Fish. 'Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor 
men that were cast away before us, even now. 

1 Fisli. Alas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to 
hear what pitiful cries they made to us, to help them, 
when, well-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves. 

3 Fish. Nay, master, said not I as much, when I 
saw the porpus, how he bounced and tumbled f they 
say, they are half fish, half flesh : a plague on them, 
they ne'er come, but 1 look to be washed. Master, 
1 marvel how the fishes live in the sea. 

1 Fish. Why, as men do aland ; the great ones 
eat up the little ones : I can compare our rich misers 
to nothing so fitly as to a whale : 'a plays and tum- 
bles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last de- 
vours them all at a mouthful. Such whales have I 
heard on a'the land, who never leave gaping, till 
they've swallow'd the whole parish, church, steeple, 
bells and all. 

Per. A pretty moral. 

3 Fish. But, master, if I had been the sexton, 1 
would have been that day in the belfry. 

2 Fish Why, man ■! 

3 Fish. Because he should have swallowed me 
too : and when I had been in his belly, I would have 
kept such a jangling of the bells, that he should 
never have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church, 
and parish, up again. But if the good king Simo- 
nides were of my mind 

Per, Simonides ] 

3 Fish. We would purge the land of these drones, 
that rob the bee of her honey. 

Per. How from the finny subject of the sea 
These fishers tell the infirmities of men ; 
And from their wat'ry empiie recollect 
All that may men approve, or men detect; — 
Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen. 

2 Fish. Honest! good fellow, what's thatl if it 
be a day fits you, scratch it out of the calendar, and 
no body will look after it. 

Per. Nay, see, the sea hath cast upon your coast — 

2 Fish. What a drunken knave was the sea, to cast 
thee in our way ! 

Per. A man whom both the waters and the wind. 
In that vast tennis-court, hath made the ball ■ 
For them to play upon, entreats you pity him ; 
He asks of you, that never us'd to beg. 

1 Fish. No, friend, cannot you beg"! here's them 
in our country of Greece, gets more with begging, 
than we can do with working. 

2 Fisn. Canst thou catch any fishes then 1 
Per. I never practis'd it. 

2 Fish. Nay, then thou wilt starve sure ; for here's 
nothing to be got now a-days, unless thou can'st fish 
for't. 

Per. What I have been, I have forgot to know ; 
But what I am, want teaches me to think on ; 
A man shrunk up with cold : my veins are chill. 
And have no more of life, than may suffice 



To give my tongue that heat, to ask your help ; 
Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead. 
For I am a man, pray see me buried. 

1 Fisli. Diequoth-a? Now gods forbid ! I have a 
gown here ; come put it on; keep thee warm. New, 
afore me, a handsome fellow ! Come, thou shall go 
home, and we'll have flesh for holidays, fish for fast- 
ing-days, and moreo'er puddings and flapjacks ; and 
thou shalt be welcome. 

Per. I thank you, sir. 

2 Fish. Hark you, my friend, you said you could 
not beg. 

Per. I did but crave. 

2 Fish. But crave ? Then I'll turn craver too, and 
so I shall 'scape whipping. 

Per. ^^'hy, are all your beggars whipped then? 

2 Fish. O, not all, my friend, not all ; for if all 
your beggars were whipped, I would wish no better 
office, than to be beadle. But, master, I'll go draw 
up the net. [Exeunt Two of the Fishermen. 

Per. How well this honest mirth becomes their 
labour! 

1 Fish. Hark you, sir ! do you know where you are? 

Per. Not well. 

1 Fish. Why, I'll tell you: this is called Penta- 
polis, and our king, the good Simonides. 

Per. The good king Simonides, do you call him ? 

1 Fish. Ay, sir ; and he deserves to be so called, 
for his peaceable reign, and good government. 

Per. He is a happy king, since from his subjects 
He gains the name of good, by his government. 
How far is his court distant from this shore ? 

1 Fish. Marry, sir, half a day's journey ; and I'll 
tell you, he hath a fair daughter, and to-morrow is 
lier birth-day ; and there are princes and knights come 
from all parts of the world, to just and tourney for 
her love. 

Per. Did but my fortunes equal my desires, 
I 'd wish to make one there. 

1 Fish. O, sir, things must be as they may ; and 
what a man cannot get, he may lawfully deal for — 
his wife's soul. 

Re-enter the Two Fishermen, drawing up a net. 

2 Fish. Help, master, help; here's a fish hangs in 
the net, like a poor man's right in the law ; 'twill 
hardly come out. Ha! bots on 't, 'tis come at last, 
and 'tis turned to a rusty armour. 

Per. An armour, friends ! I pray you, let me see it. 
Thanks, fortune, yet, that after all my crosses. 
Thou giv'st me somewhat to repair myself: 
And, tliough it was mine own, part of mine heritage, 
Which my dead father did bequeath to me. 
With this strict charge, (even as he left his life,) 
Keep it, my Pericles, it hath been a shield 
'Twiit me and death ; (and pointed to I'.iis brace :) 
For that it sav'd me, keep it ; in. like necessitu. 
Which gods protect thee from! it mail defend thee. 
It kept where I kept, I so dearly lov'd it ; 
Till the rough seas, that spare not any man. 
Took it in rage, tlio>igh calm'd, they give 't again: 
I thank thee for 't ; my shipwreck's now no ill. 
Since I have here my father's gift by will. 

1 Fish. What mean you, sir? 

Per. To bee of YOU, kind friends, thiscoat of worth, 
For It was sometnne target to a king ; 
I know it by this mark- lie lov"d nie dearly. 
And for his sake, 1 wish the having of it ; 
And that you'd guide me to your sovereign's court, 
Where with 't I may appear a gentleman ; 
And if that ever my low fortunes better, 
I '11 pay your bounties ; till then, rest your debtor. 
3B2 



756 



PERICLES. 



1 Fish. Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady? 
Per. I '11 shew the virtue I have bonie in arms. 

1 Fish. Why, do ye take it, and the gods give thee 
good on 't ! 

2 Fish. Ay, but hark you, my friend ; 'twas we that 
made up this garment through the rough seams of the 
waters : there are certain condolements, certain vails. 
1 hope, sir, if you thrive, you 'U remember from 
whence you had it. 

Per. 15elieve 't, I will. 
jVow, by your furtherance, I am cloth'd in steel ; 
And spite of all the rupture of the sea, 
This jewel holds his biding on my arm ; 
Unto thy value will I mount myself 
Upon a courser, whose delightful steps 
Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread. — 
Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided 
Of a pair of bases. 

2 Fish. We '11 sure provide : thou shalt have my 
best gown to make thee a pair ; and I '11 bring thee 
to the court myself. 

Per. Then honour be but a goal to my will ; 
This day I '11 rise, or else add ill to ill. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The same. A public Way, or Platform, 
leading to the Lists. A Pavilion bi) the side of it, 
for the reception of the King, Princess, Lords, ^c. 

Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, and Attendants. 

Sim. Are the knights ready to begin the triumph? 

1 Lord. They are, my liege ; 
And stay your coming to present themselves. 

Sim. Return them, we are ready ; and our daughter. 
In honour of whose birth these triumphs are, 
Sits here, like beauty's child, whom nature gat 
For men to see, and seeing wonder at. [Exit a Lord. 

Thai. It pleaseth you, my father, to express 
My commendations great, whose merit's less. 

Sim. 'Tis fit it should be so ; for princes are 
A model, which heaven makes like to itself: 
As jewels lose their glory, if neglected, 
So princes their renown, if not respected. 
'Tis now your honour, daughter, to explain 
The labour of each knight, in his' device. [form. 

Thai. Which, to preserve mine honour, I '11 per- 

Enter a Knight ; he passes over the stage, and his 
Squire presents his shield to the Princess. 

Sim. Who is the first that doth prefer himself? 

Tltai. A knight of Sparta, my renowned father ; 
And the device he bears upon his shield 
Is a black ii2thiop, reaching at tlie sun ; 
The word, Lux tun viln m:hi. 

Sim. He loves you well, that holds his life of you. 
[The second Knight passes. 
Who is the second, that presents himself? 

Thai. A prince of Macedon, my royal father ; 
And the device he bears upon his shield 
Is an arm'd knight, that's conquer'd by a lady : 
The motto thus, in Spanish, Piu per dulcura (pie per 
fuer^a. [The third Knight passes. 

Sim. And what 's the third ? 

Thai. The third of Antioch ; 

And his device, a wreath of chivalry: 
The word. Me pompte proveiit apex. 

[The fourth Knight passes. 

Sim. What is the fourth ? 

Thai. A burning torch, that's turned upside down ; 
The word. Quod me alit, me eitinguit. 

Sim. Which shews, that beauty hath his power and 
Which can as well inflame, as it can kill. [will, 

[Theffth Knight passes. 



Thai, The fifth, an hand environed with clouds ; 
Holding out gold, that's by the touchstone tried : 
The motto thus. Sic spectanda fides.' 

[The si.nh Knight passes. 

Sim. And what's the sixth and last, v/hich the 
knight himself 
With such a graceful courtesy deliver'd 1 

Thai. He seems a stranger , but his present is 
A wither'd branch, that 's only green at top ; 
The motto, In hue spe vivo. 

Sim. A pretty moral ; 
From the dejected state wherein he is. 
He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish. 

1 Lord. He had need mean better than his outward 
Can any way speak in his just commend : [she^^ 
For, by his rusty outside, he appears 

To have practis'd more the whipstock, than the lance. 

2 Lord. He well may be a stranger, for he comes 
To an honour'd triumph, strangely furnished. 

3 Lord, And on set purpose let his armour rust 
Until this day, to scour it in the dust. 

Sim. Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan 
The outward habit by the inward man. 
But stay, the knights are coming ; we '11 withdraw 
Into the gallery. [Eiennt. 

[Great shouts, and all cry, The mean knight. 

SCENE III. 

The same, A Hall of State. — A Banquet prepared. 

Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, Knights, 
and Attendants. 

Sim. Knights, 
To say you are welcome, were superfluous. 
To place upon the volume of your deeds, 
As in a title-page, your worth in arms. 
Were more than you expect, or more than 's fit, 
Since every worth in show commends itself. 
Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast 
You are my guests. 

Thai. But you, my knight and guest ; 

To whom this wreath of victory I give. 
And crown you king of this day's happiness. 

Per. 'Tis more by fortune, lady, than my merit. 

Sim. Call it by what you will, the day is yours ; 
And here, I hope, is none that envies it. 
In framing artists, art hath thus decreed. 
To make some good, but others to exceed, [feast. 
And you 're her labour'd scholar. Come, queen o' the 
(For, daughter, so you are,) here take your place : 
Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace. 

Knights. We are honour'd much by good Simonides. 

Sim. Yourpresence gladsourdays ; honour we love. 
For who hates honour, hates the gods above. 

Marsh. Sir, yond's your place. 

Per. Some other is more fit. 

1 Knight. Contend not, sir ; for we are gentlemen, 
That neither in our hearts, nor outward eyes. 
Envy the great, nor do the low despise. 

Per. You are right courteous knights. 

Si7n, Sit, sit, sir; sit. 

Per. By Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts. 
These cates resist me, she not thought upon. 

77iai. By .Tuno, that is queen 
Of marriage, all the viands that I eat 
Do seem unsavoury, wishing him my meat ' 
Sure he's a gallant gentleman. 

Sim. He 's but 

A country gentleman ; 

He has done no more than other knights have done , 
Broken a staff, or so ; so let it pass. 

Thai. To me he seems like diamond to glass. 



ACT II.— SCENE IV. 



757 



Per. Yon king's tome, like to my father's picture, 
Which tells me, in that glory once he was ; 
Had princes sit, like stars, about his throne. 
And he the sun, for them to reverence. 
None that beitold him, but like lesser lights, 
Did vail their crowns to his supremacy ; 
Where now his son 's a glow-worm in the night, 
The whiclt hath fire in darkness, none in light ; 
Whereby I see that Time 's the king of men, 
For he 's their parent, and he is tlieir grave, 
And gives them what he will, not what they crave. 

Sbn. What, are you merry, knights? 

1 Knight. Who can be other, in this royal presence 1 

Sim. Here, with a cup that's stor'd unto tlie brim, 
(As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips,) 
We drink this health to you. 

Kitiglits, We thank your grace. 

.Sim. Vet pause a while ; 
Yon knight, methinks, doth sit too melancholy, 
As if the entertainment in our court 
Had not a show might countervail his worth. 
Note it not you, Thaisa 1 

Thai. What is it 

To me, my father 1 

Sim. O, attend, my daughter ; 

Princes, in this, should live like gods above. 
Who freely give to every one that comes 
To honour them ; and princes, not doing so. 
Are like to gnats, wliich make a sound, but kill'd 
Are wonder'd at. 

Therefore to make 's entrance more sweet, here say. 
We drink this standing-bowl of wine to him. 

Thai. Alas, my father, it befits not me 
Unto a stranger knight to be so hold : 
He may my proffer take for an offence. 
Since men take women's gifts for impudence. 

Siiii. How ! 
Do as I bid you, or you 'H move me else. 

Thai. Now, by the gods, he could not please me 
better. \_Aside. 

Sim. And further tell him, we desire to know, 
0{ whence he is, his name and parentage. 

IViai. The king my father, sir, has drunk to you. 

Per. I thank him. 

Thai. Wishing it so much blood unto your life. 

Per. 1 thank both him and you, and pledge him 
freely. 

Thai. And further he desires to know of you. 
Of whence you are, your name and parentage. 

Per. A gentleman of Tyre — (my name, Pericles j 
My education being in arts and arms ;) — 
Who looking for adventures in the world. 
Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men, 
And, after shipwreck, driven upon tliis shore. 

Thai. He thanks your grace; names himself Pericles, 
A gentleman of Tyre, who only by 
Misfortune of the seas has been bereft 
Of ships and men, and cast upon this shore. 

Sim. Now by the gods, I pity his misfortune. 
And will awake him from his melancholy. 
Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles. 
And waste the time, which looks for otiic" revels. 
Even in your armours, as you are address'd, 
Will very well become a soldier's dance. 
I will not have excuse, with saying, this 
Loud music is too harsh for ladies' heads ; 
Since they love men in arms, as well as beds. 

[The Knights dance. 
So, this was well ask'd, 'twas so well perform'd. 
Come, sir ; 

Here is a lady that wants breathing too : 
And I have often heard, you knights of Tyre 



Are excellent in making ladies trip ; 
And that their measures are as excellent. 

Per. In those tliat practise them, they are, my lord. 

Sim. O, that's as much as you would be denied 

[The Knights and Ladies dance. 
Of your fair courtesy. — Unclasp, unclasp; 
Thanks, gentlemen, to all ; all have done well. 
But you the best. [To Peuicles.] Pages and lights, 

conduct 
These knights unto their several lodgings : Yours, sir, 
We have given order to be next our own. 

Per. I am at your grace's pleasure. 

Sim. Princes, it is too late to talk of love. 
For that's the mark I know you level at : 
'i'herefore each one betake him to his rest ; 
To-morrow, all for speeding do their best. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Tyre. A Room in the Governor's //yi«e. 
Enter Hf.licanus and Escanes. 

Hel. No, no, my Escanes ; know this of me, — 
Antiochus from incest liv'd not free ; 
For which, the most high gods not miriding longer 
To withhold the vengeance that they had in store. 
Due to this heinous capital offence ; 
Even in the height and pride of all his glory. 
When he was seated, and his daughter with him, 
In a chariot of inestimable value, 
A fire from heaven came, and shrivell'd up 
Their bodies, even to loathing ; for they so stunk. 
That all those eyes ador'd them ere their fall. 
Scorn now their hand should give them burial. 

Esca. 'Twas very strange. 

Hel. And yet but just ; for though 

This king were great, his greatness was no guard 
To bar heaven's shaft, but sin had his reward. 

Esca. 'Tis very true. 

Ejiter Three Lords. 

1 Lord. See, not a man in private conference. 
Or council, has respect with him but he. 

2 Lord. It shall no longer grieve, without reproof. 

3 Lord. And curs'd be he that will not second it. 
1 Lord. Follow me then: Lord Helicane, a word. 
Hel. With me? and welcome: Happy day, my lords. 
1 Lord. Know, that our griefs are risen to the top. 

And now at length they overflow their banks. 

Hel. Your griefs, for what ? wrong not the prince 
you love. 

1 Lord. Wrong not yourself then, noble Helicane ; 
But if the prince do live, let us salute iiim. 

Or know what ground's made happy by his breath. 

If in the world he live, we'll seek him out ; 

If in his grave he rest, we'll find him there ; 

And be resolv'd, he lives to govern us, 

Or dead, gives cause to mourn his funeral. 

And leaves us to our free election. [censure : 

2 Lord. Whose death's, indeed, the strongest in our 
And knowing this kingdom, if without a head, 
(Like goodly buildings left witiiout a roof,) 

Will soon to ruin fall, your noble self, 

'i'hat best know'st how to rule, and how to reign, 

We thus submit unto, — our sovereign. 
All. Live, noble Helicane ! 
Hel. Try honour's cause ; forbear your suffrages : 

If that you love prince Pericles, forbear. 
I Take I your wish, I leap into the seas, 
i Where's hourly trou'ole, for a minute's ease. 
I A twelvemonth longer, let me then entreat you 

To forbear choice i'the absence of your king ; 

If in which time expir'd, he not return, 
I 1 shall with aged patience bear your yoke. 



758 



PERICLES. 



But if I cannot win you to this love, 

Go search like noblemen, like noble subjects, 

And in your search, spend your adventurous worth ; 

Whom if you find, and win unto return. 

You shall like diamonds sit about his crown. 

1 Lord. To wisdom he's a fool that will not yield , 
And, since lord Helicane enjoineth us. 
We with our travels will endeavour it. 

HeL Then you love us, we you , and we'll clasp hands ; 
When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands. [Eieunf. 

SCENE v. — Pentapolis. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter SnsiosiT>-ES, reading aletter,theKnightsmeethivi. 

1 Knight. Good morrow to the good Simonides. 

Sim. Knights, from my daughter this I let you know, 
That for tliis twelvemonth, she'll not undertake 
A married life. 

Her reason to herself is only known, 
Which from herself by no means can I get. 

ii Knight. May we not get access to her, my lord? 

Sim. 'Faith, by no means; she hath so strictly tied 
To her chamber, that it is impossible. [her 

One twelve moons more she'll wear Diana's livery ; 
This by the eye of Cynthia hath siie vow'd. 
And on her virgin honour will not break it. 

3 Knight. Though loatli to bid farewell, we take 
our leaves. [^Exeunt. 

Sim. So 
They're well despatch'd ; now to my daughter's letter : 
She tells me here, she'll wed the stranger knight. 
Or never more to view nor day nor light. 
Mistress, 'tis well, your choice agrees with mine; 
I like that well : — nay, how absolute she's in't, 
Not minding whether 1 dislike or no ! 
Well, I commend her choice ; 
And will no longer have it be delay'd. 
Soft, here he comes :— I must dissemble it. 

Enter Pericles. 

Per. All fortune to the good Simonides ! 

Sim. To you as much, sir ! I am beholden to you, 
For your sweet music this last night : my ears, 
I do protest, were never better fed 
With such delightful pleasing harmony. 

Per. It is your grace's pleasure to commend ; 
Not my desert. 

Sim. Sir, you are music's master. 

Per. The worst of all her scholars, my good lord. 

Sim. Let me ask one thing. What do you think, 
My daughter ] _ [sir, of 

Per. As of a most virtuous princess. 

Sim.. And she is fair too, is she not? 

Per. As a fair day in summer; wond'rous fair. 

Sim. My daughter, sir, thinks very well of you ; 
Ay, so well, sir, that you must be her master. 
And she'll your scholar be ; therefore look to it. 

Per. Unworthy I to be her schoolmaster. 

Sim. She thinks not so ; peruse this writing else. 

Per. What's here ! 
A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre 1 
'Tis the king's subtilty, to have my life. [Aside. 

O, seek not to entrap, my gracious lord, 
A stranger and distressed gentleman. 
That never aim'd so high, to love your daughter. 
But bent all offices to honour her. 

Sim. Thou hast bewitcli'd iny daughter, and thou art 
A villain. 

Per. By the gods, I have not, sir. 
Never did thought of mine levy offence ; 
Nor never did my actions yet commence 
A deed might gain her love, or your displeasure. 



Sim. Traitor, thou liest. 

Per. Traitor ! 

Sim. Ay, traitor, sir. 

Per. Even in his throat, (unless it be the kmg,) 
That calls me traitor, I return the lie. 

Sim. Now, by the gods, 1 do applaud his courage. 

[Aside. 

Per. My actions are as noble as my thoughts. 
That never relish'd of a base descent. 
I came unto your court, for honour's cause. 
And not to be a rebel to her state ; 
And he that otherwise accounts of me, 
This sword shall prove, he's honour's enemy. 

Sim. No ! — 
Here comes my daughter, she can witness it. 

Enter Thaisa. 

Per. Then, as you are as virtuous as fair. 
Resolve your angry father, if my tongue 
Did e'er solicit, or my hand subscribe 
To any syllable that made love to you ? 

Tliai. Why, sir, say if you had. 
Who takes offence at that would make me gladl 

Sim. Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory ? — 
I am glad of it with all my heart. [Aside.] I'll tame 
I'll bring you in subjection. — [you ; 

Will you, not liaving my consent, bestow 
Your love and your affections on a stranger? 
(Who, for aught I know to the contrary, 
Or think, may be as great in blood as I.) [Aside. 
Hear therefore, mistress ; frame your will to mine, — 
And you, sir, hear you. — Either be rul'd by me. 
Or I will make you — man and wife. — • 
Nay, come ; your hands and lips must seal it too.-^ 
And being join'd, I'll thus your hopes destroy ; — 
And for a further grief, — God give you joy ! 
What, are you both pleas'd ? 

Thai. Yes, if you love me, sir. 

Per. Even as my life, my blood that fosters it. 

Sim. What, are you both agreed 1 

Both. Yes, 'please your majesty. 

Sim. It pleaseth me so well, I'll see you wed ; 
Then, with what haste you can, get you to bed. [Ei. 



ACT HI. 

Enter Goweu. 

Gow. Now sleep yslaked hath the rout; 
No din but snores, the house about, 
Made louder by the o'er-fed breast 
Of this most pompous marriage feast. 
The cat, with eyne of burning coal, 
Now couches fore the mouse's iiole ; 
And crickets sing at th" oven's mouth. 
As the blither for their drouth. 
Hymen hath brought the bride to bed. 
Where, by the loss of maidenhead, 
A babe is moulded ;— Be attent. 
And time that is so briefly spent, 
With your fine fancies quaintly eche ; 
What's dumb in show, I'll plain with speech. 

Dumb show. 
Enter Pericles and SIMO^fIDES at one door, wjifc At- 
tendants ; a INIessenger meets them, kneels, and givei 
Pericles a letter. Pericles shews it to Simonides ; 
the Lords kneel to the former. Then enter Thaisa 
ivith child, and Lychorida. Simonides shews his 
daughter the letter ; she rejoices : she and Pericles 
take leave of her father, and depart. Then Siiiio- 
NiDES, Sfc. retire. 



ACT III.— SCENE II. 



759 



Gcw. By many a dearn and painful perch, 
Of Pericles the careful search 
By the four opposing coignes, 
Which the world together joins, 
Is made, with all due diligence, 
That horse, and sail, and high expense, 
Can stead the quest. At last from Tyre 
(Fame answering the most strong inquire,) 
To the court of king Simonides 
Are letters brought ; the tenour these : 
Antiochus and his daughter's dead ; 
The men of Tyrus, on the head 
Of Helicanus would set on 
The crown of Tyre, but he will none : 
The mutiny there he hastes t'appease ; 
Says to them, if king Pericles 
Come not, in twice six moons, home, 
He obedient to their doom, 
Will take the crown. The sum of this. 
Brought hither to Pentapolis, 
Y-ravished the regions round, 
And every one with claps, 'gan sound. 
Our heir apparent is a king : 
Who dream d, who thought of such a thiiigl 
Brief, he must hence depart to Tyre : 
His queen with child makes her desire 
(Which who shall cross l) along to go ; 
(Omit we all their dole and woe ;) 
Lychorida, her nurse, she takes, 
And so to sea. Their vessel shakes 
On Neptune's billow ; half the flood 
Hath their keel cut ; but fortunes mood 
V^aries again ; the grizzled north 
Disgorges such a tempest forth. 
That, as a duck for life that dives, 
So up and down the poor ship drives, 
The lady shrieks, and, well-a-near 1 
Doth fall in travail with her fear : 
And what ensues in this fell storm. 
Shall, for itself, itself perform. 
I nill relate, action may 
Conveniently the rest convey : 
Which might not what by me is told. 
In your imagination hold 
This stage, the ship, upon whose deck 
The sea-tost prince appears to speak. [Exit. 

SCENE I. 
Enter Pericles, on a ship at sea, 
Per.Thou God of this great vast.rebuke these surges, 
Which wash both heaven and hell ; and thou, that hast 
Upon the winds command, bind them in brass, 
Havingcall'd them from the deep! O still thy deafning. 
Thy dreadful thunders ; gently quench thy nimble. 
Sulphureous flashes ! — O hov/, Lychorida, 
How does my queen] — Thou'storm.thou ! venomously 
Wilt thou spit all thyself 1— The seaman's whistle 
Is as a whisper in the ears of death. 
Unheard. — Lychorida ! — Lucina, O 
Divinest patroness, and midwife, gentle 
To those that cry by night, convey thy deity 
Aboard our dancing boat ; make swift the pangs 
Of my queen's travails! — Now, Lychorida 

Enter Lychorida, with an iuj'ant. 

Lye. Here is a thing 
Too young for such a place, who, if it had 
Conceit, would die as I am like to do. 
Take in your arms this piece of your dead queen. 

Pe". How ! how, Lychorida ! 

Luc. Patience, good sir ; do not assist the storm. 
Here's all that is Itl't living of y&ur queen, — 



A little daughter ; for the sake of it. 
Be manly, and take comfort. 

Per. O you gods ! 

Why do you make us love your goodly gifts. 
And snatch them straight away f We, here below, 
Recall not what we give, and therein may 
Vie honour with yourselves. 

Lye. Patience, good sir, 

Even for this charge. 

Per. Now, mild may be thy life ! 

For a more blust'rous birth had never babe : 
Quiet and gentle thy conditions ! 
For thou'rt the rudeliest welcom'd to this world. 
That e'er was prince's child. Happy what follows ! 
Thou hast as chiding a nativity. 
As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make, 
To herald thee from the womb : even at the first. 
Thy loss is more than can thy portage quit. 
With all thou canst find here. — Now the good gods 
Throw their best eyes upon it ! 

Enter Two Sailors. 

1 Sail. What courage, sir 1 God save you. 

Per. Courage enough : I do not fear the flaw ; 
It hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love 
Of this poor infant, this fresh-new sea-farer, 
I would it would be quiet. 

1 Sail. Slack the bolins there; thou wilt not, wilt 
thou? Blow, and split thyself. 

2 Sail. But sea-room, an the brine and cloudy bil- 
low kiss the moon, I care not. 

1 5ai7. Sir, your queen must overboard ; the sea 
works high, the wind is loud, and will not lie till the 
ship be cleared of the dead. 

Per. That 's your superstition. 

1 Sail. Pardon us, sir ; with us at sea it still hath 
been observed ; and we are strong in earnest. There- 
fore briefly yield her ; for she must overboard straight. 

Per. Be it as you think meet. — JMost wretched 
Lye. Here she lies, sir. [queen ! 

Per. A terrible child-bed hast thou had, my dear ; 
No light, no fire : the unfriendly elements 
Forgot thee utterly; nor have I time 
To give thee hallow'd to thy grave, but straight 
Must cast thee, scarcely coffin'd, in the ooze ; 
Where, for a monument upon thy bones. 
And aye-remaining lamps, the belching whale 
And humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse, 
Lying with simple shells. Lychorida, 
Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper. 
My casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander 
Bring me the satin coffer : lay the babe 
Upon the pillow : hie thee, whiles I say 
A priestly farewell to her : suddenly, woman. 

[Exit Lychorida. 

2 Sail. Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, 
caulk'd and bitumed ready. 

Per. I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this 1 

2 Sail. We are near Tharsus. 

Per. Thither, gentle mariner. 
Alter thy course for Tyre. When can'st thou reach ill 

2 Sail. By break of day, if the wind cease. 

Per. O make for Tharsus. 
There will I visit Cleon, for the babe 
Cannot hold out to Tyrus : there I'll leave it 
At careful nursing. Go thy ways good mariner; 
I'll bring the body presently. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Ephesus. A Room in Cerimon's Hotise. 

Enter Cerimon, a Servant, and some persons who 
have been shipwrecked, 

Cer. Philemon, ho ! 



b=: 



760 



PERICLES. 



Enter Philemon. 

Phi. Doth my lord call ? 

Cer. Get fire and meat for those poor men: 
It has been a turbulent and stormy night. 

Serv. 1 have been in many ; but such a night as this. 
Till now, I ne'er endur'd. 

Cer. Your master will be dead ere you return ; 
There's nothing can be minister'd to nature, 
That can recover him. Give this to the 'pothecary, 
And tell me how it works. [To Philemon. 

[Eieui'i Philemon, Servant, and those who 
had been shipwrecked . 

Enter Two Gentlemen. 

1 Gent. Good morrow, sir. 

2 Gent. Good morrow to your lordship. 

Cer. Gentlemen, 

Why do you stir so early ? 

1 Ge7it. Sir, 

Our I'odgings, standing bleak upon the sea, 
Shook, as the earth did quake ; 
The very principals did seem to rend, 
And all to topple ; pure surprise and fear 
Made me to quit the house. 

2 Gent. That is the cause we trouble you so early ; 
'Tis not our husbandry. 

Cer. O, you say well. 

1 Gent. But I much marvel that your lordship, hav- 
Rich tire about you, should at these early hours [ing 
Shake off the golden slumber of repose. 

It is most strange. 

Nature should be so conversant with pain. 

Being thereto not compell'd. 

Cer. I held it ever. 

Virtue and cunning were endowments greater 
Than nobleness and riches : careless heirs 
May the two latter darken and expend: 
But immortality attends the former. 
Making a man a god. 'Tis known, I ever 
Have studied physic, through which secret art, 
By turning o'er authorities, I have 
(Together with my practice,) made familiar 
To me and to my aid, the blest infusions 
That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones ; 
And I can speak of the disturbances 
That nature works, and of her cures ; which gives me 
A more content in course of true delight 
Than to be thirsty after tottering honour. 
Or tie my treasure up in silken bags, 
To please the fool and death. 

2 Gent. Your honour has through Ephesus pour'd 
Your charity, and hundreds call themselves [forth 
Your creatures, who by you have been restor'd : 
And not your knowledge, personal pain, but even 
Your purse, still open, hath built lord Cerimon 
Such strong renown as time shall never 

Enter Two Servants with a chest. 

Sen). So ; lift there. 

Cer. What is that ? 

Serv. Sir, even now 

Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest ; 
'Tis of some wreck. 

Cer. Set't down, let's look on it. 

2 Gent. 'Tis like a coffin, sir. 

Cer. Whate'er it be, 

'Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight ; 
If the sea's stomach be o'ercharg'd with gold. 
It is a good constraint of fortune, that 
It belches upon us. 

2 Gent. 'Tis so, my lord. 

Cer. How close 'tis caulk'd and bitum'd ! — 



Did the sea cast it up? 

Serv. I never saw so huge a billow, sir. 
As toss'd it upon shore. 

Cer. Come, wrench it open ; 

Soft, soft ! — it smells most sweetly in my sense. 

2 Gent. A delicate odour. 

Cer. As ever hit my nostril ; so, — up with it. 
O you most potent gods ! What's here ? a corse ! 

1 Gent. Most strange! 

Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state ; balm'd and en- 
With bags of spices full ! A passport too ! [treasur'd 
Apollo, perfect me i'the characters ! lUnfolds a scroll. 

Here I give to understand, [^Reads. 

(If e'er this coffin drive a-land,) 

I, king Pericles, have lost 

This queen, worth all our mundane cost. 

Whojinds her, give her burying. 

She was the daughter of a king; 

Besides this treasure for a fee, 

The gods requite his charity! 
If thou liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart 
That even cracks for woe ! — This chanc'd to-night. 

2 Gent. Most likely, sir. 

Cer. Nay, certainly to-night. 

For look, how fresh she looks ! — They were too rough. 
That threw her in the sea. Make fire within ; 
Fetch hither all the boxes in my closet. 
Death may usurp on nature many hours. 
And yet the fire of life kindle again 
The overpres.sed spirits. I have heard 
Of an Egyptian, had nine hours lien dead, 
By good appliance was recovered. 

Enter a Servant, with boxes, napkins, andfire» 
Well said, well said ; the fire and the cloths. — 
The rough and vvoful music that we have, 
Cause it to sound, 'beseech you. 
The vial once more ; — How thou stirr'st, thou block ' 
The music there. — I pray you, give her air : — 
Gentlemen, 

This queen will live : nature awakes ; a warmth 
Breathes out of her ; she hath not been entranc'd 
Above five hours. See, how she 'gins to blow 
Into life's flower again ! 

1 Gent. The heavens, sir. 
Through you, increase our wonder, and set up 
Your fame for ever. 

Cer. She is alive ; behold. 

Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels 
Which Pericles hath lost. 
Begin to part their fringes of bright gold ; 
The diamonds of a most praised water 
Appear, to make the world twice rich. live. 
And make us weep to hear your fate, fair creatuje, 
Rare as you seem to be ! [She moves. 

Thai. O dear Diana, 

Where am I? Where's my lord 1 What world is this' 

2 Gent. Is not this strange? 

1 Gent. Most rare. 

Cer. Hush, gentle neighbours ; 

Lend me your hands: to the next chamber bear her. 
Get linen ; now this matter must be look'd to, 
For her relapse is mortal. Come, come, come ; 
And jEsculapius guide us ! 

[Exeunt carrying Thaisa away. 

SCENE III.— Tharsus. A Room in Cleon's House. 

Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionyza, Lychorida. 

and Marina. 
Per. Most honour'd Cleon, I must needs be gone ; 
My twelve months are expir'd, and Tyrus stands 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



761 



In a litigious peace. You, and your lady, 
Take from my heart all thankfulness ! The gods 
Make up the rest upon you! 

Cie. Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you 
Yet glance full wand'ringly on us. [mortally, 

Dion. O your sweet queen ! 

That the strict fates had pleas'd you had brought her 
To have bless'd mine eyes! [hither. 

Per. We cannot but obey 

The powers above us. Could I rage and roar 
As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end 
Must be as 'tis. My babe Marina (whom 
For she was born at sea, I have nam'd so,) here 
I charge your charity withal, and leave her 
The infant of your care ; beseeching you 
To give her princely training, that she may be 
Manner'd as she is born. 

Cle. Fear not, my lord : 

Your grace, that fed my country with your corn, 
(For which the people's prayers still fall upon you,) 
Must in your child be thought on. If neglection 
Should therein make me vile, the common body, 
By you reliev'd, would force me to my duty : 
But if to that my nature need a spur. 
The gods revenge it upon me and mine, 
To the end of generation I 

Per. I believe you ; 

Your honour and your goodness teach me credit, 
Without your vows. Till she be married, madam, 
By bright Diana, whom we honour all, 
Unscissar'd shall this hair of mine remain, 
Though I shew will in't. So I take my leave. 
Good madam, make me blessed in your care 
In bringing up my child. 

Dion. 1 have one myself, 

Who shall not be more dear to my respect, 
Than yours, my lord. 

Per. Madam, my thanks and prayers. 

Cle. We'll bring your grace even to the edge o'the 
shore 
Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune, and 
The gentlest winds o' heaven. 

Per. I will embrace 

Your offer. Come, dear'st madam. — O, no tears, 
Lychorida, no tears : 

Look to your little mistress, on whose grace 
You may depend hereafter. — Come, my lord. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. 

Ephesus. — A Room in Cerimon's House. 

Enter Cerimon and Thaisa. 

Cer, Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels, 
I^y with you in your coffer : which are now 
At your command. Know you the character ? 

Thai. It is my lord's. 
That I was shipp'd at sea, I well remember. 
Even on mv yearning time ; but whether there 
Delivered or no, by the holy gods, 
I cannot rightly say : But since king Pericles, 
My wedded lord, 1 ne'er shall see again, 
\ vestal livery will I take me to. 
And never more have joy. 

Cer. Aladam, if this you purpose as you speak, 
Diana's temple is not distant far. 
Where you may 'bide until your date expire. 
Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine 
Shall there attend you. 

Tlidi. iMy recompense is thanks, that's all ; 
Yet my good will is great, though the gift small. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 

Enter Gower. 
Gow. Imagine Pericles at Tyre, 
Welcom'd to his own desire. 
His woful queen leave at Ephess, 
To Dian there a votaress. 
Now to Marina bend your mind, 
Whom our fast growing scene must find 
At Tharsus, and by Cleon train 'd 
In music, letters ; who hath gain'd 
Of education all the grace, 
Which makes her both the heart and place 
Of general wonder. But alack ! 
That monster envy, oft the wrack 
Of earned praise, Marina's life 
Seeks to take off by treason's knife. 
And in this kind hath our Cleon 
One daughter, and a wench full grown, 
Even ripe for marriage fight ; this maid 
Hight Philoten ; and it is said 
For certain in our story, she 
Would ever with Marina be : 
Be't when she weav'd the sleided silk 
With fingers, long, small, white as milk ; 
Or when she would with sharp neeld wound 
The cambric, which she made more sound 
By hurting it ; or when to the lute 
she sung, and made the night-bird mute, 
That still records with moan ; or when 
She would with rich and constant pea 
Vail to her mistress Dian ; still 
This Philoten contends in skill 
With absohite JMarina : so 
With the dove of Paphos might the crow 
Vie feathers white. iMarina gets 
All praises, which are paid as debts, 
And not as given. This so darks 
In Philoten all graceful marks, 
That Cleon's wife, with envy rare, 
A present murderer does prepare 
For good Marina, that her daughter 
Might stand peerless by this slaughter. 
The sooner her vile thoughts to stead, 
Lychorida, our nurse, is dead; 
And cursed Dionyza hath 
The pregnant instrument of wrath 
Prest for this blow. The unborn event 
I do commend to your content : 
Only I carry winged time 
Post on the lame feet of my rhyme ; 
Which never could I so convey. 
Unless your thoughts went on my way. — 
Dionyza doth appear. 
With Leonine, a murderer. [Exit, 

SCENE I. 

Tharsus. — An open Place, near the Sea-shore. 

Enter Dionyza and Leonine. 

Dion. Thy oath remember ; thou hast sworn to do it. 
'Tis but a blow, which never shall be known. 
Thou canst not do a thing i'the world so soon. 
To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience, 
Which is but cold, inflame love in thy bosom. 
Inflame too nicely ; nor let pity, which 
Even women have cast oflF, melt thee, but be 
A soldier to thy purpose. 

Leon. I'll do't ; but yet she is a goodly creature. 

Dion. The filter then the gods should have her. 
Here weeping she comes for her old nurse's death. 
Thou art resolv'd 1 

Leon. I am resolv'd. 



762 



PERICLES. 



Enter Mahina, with a basket ofjlowers. 

Mar. No, no, I will rob Tellus of her weed, 
To strew thy green with flowers : the yellows, blues, 
The purple violets, and marigolds, 
Shall, as a chaplet, hang upon thy grave. 
While summer days do last. Ah me I poor maid, 
Born in a tempest, when my mother died, 
This world to me is like a lasting storm. 
Whirring me from my friends. 

Dion. How now, Marina! why do you keep alone? 
How chance my daughter is not with you ? Do not 
Consume your blood with sorrowing : you have 
A nurse of me. Lord ! how your favour's chang'd 
With this unprofitable woe ! Come, come ; 
Give me your wreath of flowers, ere the sea mar it 
Walk forth witli Leonine : the air is quick there, 
Piercing, and sliarpens well the stomach. Come ; — 
Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her. 

Mar. No, I pray you ; 
I'll not bereave you of your servant. 

Dion. Come, come ; 

I love the king your father, and yourself. 
With more than foreign heart. We every day 
Expect him here : when he shall come, and find 
Our paragon to all reports, thus blasted. 
He will repent the breadth of his great voyage ; 
Blame both my lord and me, that we have ta'en 
No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you, 
Walk, and be cheerful once again ; reserve 
That excellent complexion, which did steal 
The eyes of young and old. Care not for me ; 
I can go home alone. 

Mar. Well, I will go ; 

But yet I have no desire to it. 

Dion. Come, come, I know 'tis good for you. 
Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least ; 
Remember what I have said. 

Leon. I warrant you, madam. 

Dion. I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while ; 
Pray you walk softly, do not heat your blood : 
What ! I must have a care of you. 

Mar. I'hanks, sweet madam. — [Exit Dionyza. 
Is this wind westerly that blows ! 

Leon. South-west. 

Mar. When I was born, the wind was north. 

Leon. Was't so ? 

Mar. My father, as nurse said, did never fear, 
But cry'd, good seamen! to the sailors, galling 
His kingly hands with hauling of the ropes; 
And, clasping to the mast, endur'd a sea 
That almost burst the deck, and from the ladder-tackle 
W^ash'd off a canvas-climber : Ha ! says one, 
Wilt out? and, with a dropping industry. 
They skip from stem to stern : the boatswain whistles, 
The master calls, and trebles their confusion. 

Leon. And when was this 1 

Mar. It was when I was born : 

Never was waves nor wind more violent. 

Leon. Come, say your prayers speedily. 

Mar. What mean you? 

Leon. If you require a little space for prayer, 
I grant it : Pray ; but be not tedious. 
For the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn 
To do my work with haste. 

Mar. W^hy will you kill me 1 

Leon. To satisfy my lady. 

Mai-. Why would she have me kill'd? 
Now, as I can remember, by my troth, 
I never did her hurt in all my life ; 
I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn 
To any living creature : believe me, la, 
I never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly 



I trod upon a worm against my will. 
But I wept for it. How have I offended, 
VVherein my death might yield her profit, or 
My life imply her danger ] 

Leon. Bly commission 

Is not to reason of the deed, but do it. 

Mar. You will not do't for all the world, I hope. 
You are well- favour'd, and your looks foreshew 
You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately. 
When you caught hurt in parting two that fought: 
Good sooth, it shew'd well in you ; do so now : 
Your lady seeks my life ; come you between, 
And save poor me, the weaker. 

Leon. I am sworn, 

And will despatch. 

Enter Pirates, rvhilst Marina is struggling. 

1 Pirale. Hold, villain ! [Leonine runs away. 

2 Pirale. A prize ! a prize ! 

3 Pirate. Half-part, mates, half-part. Come, let's 
have her aboard suddenly. [Ex. Pirates with Mar. 

SCENE II — The same. 
Re-enter Leonine. 
Leon. These roving thieves serve the great pirate 
And they have seiz'd Marina. Let her go : [ Valdes ; 
There's no hope she'll return. I'll swear she's dead 
And thrown into the sea. — But I'll see further ; 
Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her, 
Not carry her aboard. If she remain, 
Whom they have ravish'd, must by me be slain. [Exit. 

SCENE III.— Mitylene. A Room in a Brothel. 
Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boult. 

Pand. Boult. 

Boult. Sir. 

Pand. Search the market narrowly ; Mitylene is full 
of gallants. We lost too much money this mart, by 
being too wenchless. 

Baud. We were never so much out of creatures. 
We have but poor three, and they can do no more than 
they can do ; and with continual action are even as 
good as rotten. 

Pand. Therefore let's have fresh ones, whate'er we 
pay for them. If there be not a conscience to be us'd 
in every trade, we shall never prosper. 

Bawd. Thou say'st true; 'tis not the bringing up 
of poor bastards, as I think, I have brought up some 
eleven 

Boult. Ay, to eleven, and brought them down again. 
But shall I search the market 1 

Bawd. What else, man 1 The stuff we have, a 
strong wind will blow it to pieces, they are so piti- 
fully sodden. 

Pand. Thou say'st true ; they are too unwholesome 
o'conscience. The poor Transylvanian is dead, that 
lay with the little baggage. 

Bouit. Ay, she quickly poop'd him ; she made 
him roast meat for worms : — but I '11 go search the 
market. [Ejiit Boult. 

Pand. Three or four thousand chequins were as 
pretty a proportion to live quietly, and so give over. 

Bawd. Why, to give over, I pray you ! is it a 
shame to get when we are old ? 

Fand. O, our credit comes not in like the commo- 
dity ; nor the commodity wages not with the danger; 
therefore, if in our youths we could pick up some 
pretty estate, 'twere not amiss to keep our door 
hatch'd. Besides, the sore terms we stand upon with 
the gods, will be strong with us for giving over. 

Bawd. Come, other sorts offend as well as we. 




vnFf:su\' Sc. 



PERICLES. 



Marina No, no, I will rob Tellus of her weed, 
To strew thy green with, flowers ; the yellows, blues, 
The purple violets, and marigolds, 
Shall, as a chaplet, hang upon thy grave. 
While eummer days do last 

Ja n , Sfcm 1. 



ACT IV.— SCENE IV. 



763 



Pand. As well as we ! ay. and better too ; we offend 
worse. Neither is our prol'ussion any trade ;. it's no 
calling: — but here comes Boult. 

Enter the Pirates atid Boult, dragging in Marina. 

Boult. Come your ways. [To Marina.] — JNIy mas- 
ters, you say she's a virgin 7 

1 Pirate. O, sir, we doubt it not. 

Boult. Master, 1 have gone thorough for this piece, 
you see : if you like her, so ; if not, I have lost my 
earnest. 

Bawd. Boult, has she any qualities ? 

Boult. She has a good face, speaks well, and has 
excellent good clothes ; there's no further necessity 
of qualities can make her be refused. 

Bawd. What's her price, Boult ! [pieces. 

Boult. I cannot be bated one doit of a thousand 

Pand. Well.foUowme, my masters ; you shall have 
your money presently. Wife, take her in ; instruct 
her what she has to do, that she may not be raw in 
her entertainment. \_E\eunt Pander and Pirates. 

Bawd. Boult, take you the marks of her ; the co- 
lour of her hair, complexion, height, age, with warrant 
of her virginity: and cry. He that will give most, shall 
have her Jirst. Such a maidenhead were no cheap 
thing, if men were as they have been. Get tliis done 
as I command you. 

Boult. Performance shall follow. [E.tit Boult. 

Mar. Alack, that Leonine was so slack, so slow ! 
(He should have struck, not spoke ;) or that these 
(Not enough barbarous,) had not overboard [pirates. 
Thrown me, to seek my mother! 

Bawd. Why lament you, pretty one"! 

Alar. That I am pretty. 

Bawd. Come, the gods have done their part in you. 

Mar. I accuse them not. 

Bawd. You are lit into my hands, where you are 
like to live. 

Mar. I'he more my fault. 
To 'scape his hands, where I was like to die. 

Bawd. Ay, and you sliall live in pleasure. 

Mai-. No, 

Bawd. Yes, indeed, shall you, and taste gentlemen 
of all fashions. You shall fare well ; you shall have 
the difference of all complexions. What! do you 
stop your ears ? 

Mar, Are you a woman? [woman? 

Bawd. What would you have me be, an I be not a 

Mar. An honest woman, or not a woman. 

Bawd. iMarry, whip thee, gosling : I think I shall 
have something to do with you. Come, you are a 
young foolish sapling, and must be bowed as I would 
have you. 

Mar. The gods defend me ! 

Bawd. If it please the gods to defend you by men, 
then men must comfort you, men must feed you, men 
must stir you up. — Boult's returned. 

Enter Boult. 
Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market 1 

Boult. I have cried lier almost to the number of 
her hairs ; I have drawn her picture with my voice. 

Bawd. And I pr'ythee tell me, howdost thou find the 
inclination of the people, especially of the younger sort? 

Boult. 'Faith, they listened to me, as they would 
have hearkened to their father's testament. There was 
a Spaniard's mouth so watered, that he went to bed 
to her very description. 

Bawd. We shall have him here to-morrow with his 
best ruff on. 

Boult. To-night, to-night. But, mistress, do you 
know the French knight that cowers i'the hams ? 

Bawd. Who? monsieur Veroles ? 



Biuilt. Ay ; he offered to cut a caper at the pro- 
clamation ; but he made a groan at it, and swore he 
, would see her to-morrow. 

j Bawd. Well, well; as for him, he brought his dis- 
ease hither : here he does but repair it. I know, he will 
come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns in the sun. 
j Boult. Well, if we had of every nation a traveller, 
' we shall lodge them witli this sign. 
I Baivd. Pray you, come hither awhile. You have 
, fortunes coming upon you. Mark me ; you must 
I seem todo that fearfully, which you commit willingly; 
j to despise profit, where you have most gam. To weep 
that you live as you do, makes pity in your lovers: 
Seldom, but that pity begets you a good opinion, and 
that opinion a mere profit. 
Mar. 1 understand you not. 
Boult. O, take her home, mistress, take her home . 
these blushes of hers must be quenched with some 
present practice. 

Bawd. Thou say'st true, i'faith, so they must: for 
your bride goes to that with shame, which is her way 
to go with warrant. 

Boult. 'Faith, some do, and some do not. But, 

mistress, if I have bargain'd for the joint, 

Bawd. Thou inay'st cut a morsel off the spit. 
Boult. I may so. 

Bawd. Who should deny it ? Come, young one, 
I like the manner of your garments well. 

Boult. Ay, by my faith, they shall not be changed yet. 
Bawd. Boult, spend thou that in the town, report 
what a sojourner we have : you '11 lose nothing by 
custom. When nature framed this piece, she meant 
thee a good turn ; therefore say what a paragon she 
is, and thou hast the harvest out of thine own report. 
Boult. I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not so 
awake the beds of eels, as my giving out her beauty stir 
up the lewdly inclined. I'll bring home some to-night. 
Bawd. Come your ways ; follow me. 
Mar. If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep. 
Untied I still my virgin knot will keep, 
Diana, aid my purpose ! 

Bawd. What have we to do with Diana ? Pray you, 
■ will you go with us 1 [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Tharsus. A Room in Cleon's House. 
Enter Cleon and Dio.vyza. 

Dion. Why, are you foolish? Can it be undone 1 

Cle. O Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter 
The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon ! 

Dion. I think 

You'll turn a child again. 

Cle. Were I chief lord of all the spacious world, 
I'd give it to undo the deed. O lady. 
Much less in blood than virtue, yet a princess 
To equal any single crown o'the earth, 
I'the justice of compare ! O villain Leonine, 
Whom thou hast poison'd too ! 
If thou had'st drunk to him, it had been a kindness 
Becoming well thy feat : what canst thou say, 
When noble Pericles shall demand his child? 

Dion. That she is dead. Nurses are not the fates. 
To foster it, nor ever to preserve. 
She died by night ; I'll say so. W'ho can cross it? 
Unless you play the impious innocent. 
And for an honest attribute, cry out, 
She died by foul jilay. 

Cleo. O, go to. Well, well. 

Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods 
Do like this worst. 

Dion. Be one of those, that think 

The pretty wrens of Tharsus will fly hence. 



704 



PERICLES. 



And open this to Pericles. I do shame 
To think of what a noble strain you are. 
And of how cow'd a spirit. 

Cle. To such proceeding 

Who ever but his approbation added, 
Though not his pre-consent, he did not flow 
From honourable courses. 

Dion. Be it so then : 

Yet none does know, but you, how she came dsad, 
Nor none can know. Leonine being gone. 
She did disdain my child, and stood between 
Her and her fortunes : None would look on her. 
But cast their gazes on Marina's face ; 
Whilst ours was blurted at, and held a malkin. 
Not worth the time of day. It pierced me thorcu£-h ; 
And though you call my course unnatural, 
You not your child well loving, yet I find, 
It greets me. as an enterprize of kindness, 
Perform 'd to your sole daughter. 

Cle. Heavens forgive it ! 

Dion. And as for Pericles, 
What should he say 1 We wept after her hearse, 
And even yet we mourn : iier monument 
Is almost finish'd, and her epitaphs 
In glittering golden characters express 
A general praise to her, and care in us 
At whose e-xpense 'tis done. 

Cle. Thou art like the harpy, 

Which, to betray, doth wear an angel's face. 
Seize with an eagle's talons. 

Dion. You are like one, that superstitiously 
Doth swear to the gods, that winter kills the flies ; 
But yet I know you'll do as I advise. [Eieunt. 

Enter GowER, before the monument ii/" Marina 
at Tharsus. 

Goto. Thus time we waste, and longest leagues 
make short ; 
Sail seas in cockles, have, and wish but for't ; 
Making, (to take your imagination,) 
From bourn to bourn, region to region. 
By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime 
To use one language, in each several clime, 
Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you, 
To learn of me, who stand i' the gaps, to teach you 
The stages of our story. Pericles 
Is now again thwarting the wayward seas, 
(Attended on by many a lord and knight,) 
To see his daughter, all his life's delight. 
Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late 
Advanc'd in time to great and high estate, 
Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind, 
Old Helicanus goes along behind. [brought 

Well-sailing ships, and bounteous winds have 
This king to Tharsus, (think his pilot thought ; 
So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow on,) 
To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone. 
Like motes and shadows see them move awhile ; 
Your ears unto your eyes I'll reconcile. 

Dumb show. 

Enter at one door, Pbhici.f.s with his Train; Cleon 
aiid DioNVZA, at the other. Cleon shews Peiucles 
the tomb <)/' Marina ; whereat Pericles makes la- 
mentatiim, puts on sackcloth, and in a mightij pas- 
sion departs. Then Cleon and Dionyza retire. 

Gou\ See how belief may sufl'er by foul show ! 
This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe ; 
And Pericles, in sorrow all devour'd, [show'r'd. 
With sighs shot through, and biggest tears o'er- 
Leaves Tharsu?, and again embarks. He swears 
Never to wash his face, nor cut his hairs ; 



He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears 
A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears, 
And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit 
The epitaph is for Marina writ 
By wicked Dionyza. 
[Reads the inscrijHion on Marina's monument. 
The fairest, sweet'st, and best, lies here, 
Who ivitherd in her spring of year. 
She was of Tyrus, the king's daughter. 
On whom foul death hath made this slaughter ; 
Marina was she caU'd ; and at her birth, 
Thetis, being proud, swallow'd some part o' the earth, 
Therefore the earth, fearing to be o'erflow'd. 
Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens bestow' d : 
Wherefore she does, (^and swears she'll never stint,y 
Make i^ging battery upon shores of flint. 
No vi:;or does become black villany. 
So well as soft and tender flattery. 
Let Pericles believe his daughter's dead, 
And bear his courses to be ordered 
By lady fortune ; while our scenes display 
His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day. 
In her unholy service. Patience then. 
And think you now are all in Mitylen. [Exit. 

SCENE v.— Mitylene. A Street before the Brothel. 
Enter, from the Brothel, Two Gentlemen. 

1 Gent. Did you ever hear the like ? 

'2 Gent. No, nor never shall do in such a place as 
this, she being once gone. 

1 Gent. But to have divinity preached there ! did 
you ever dream of such a thing ? 

"l Gent. No, no. Come, 1 am for no more bawdy- 
houses : Shall we go hear the vestals sing 1 

1 Gent. I '11 do any thing now that is virtuous ; but 
I am out of the road of rutting, for ever. [Eieimt. 

SCENE VI.— T/ie same. A Room in the Brothel. 
Enter Pander, Bav/d, and Boult. 

Pand. Well, I had rather than twice the worth of 
her, she had ne'er come here. 

Bawd. Fye, fye upon her; she is able to freeze 
the god Priapus, and undo a whole generation. We 
must either get her ravished, or be rid of her. When 
she should do for clients her fitment, and do me the 
kindness of our profession, she has me her quirks, her 
reasons, her master- reasons, her prayers, her knees ; 
that she would make a puritan of the devil, if he 
should cheapen a kiss of her. 

Boult 'Faith, I must ravish her, or she '11 disfurnish 
us of all our cavaliers, and make all our swearers 
priests. 

Pand. "Sow, the poxuponher green-sickness forme! 

Bawd. 'Faith, there's no way to be rid on 't, but by 
the way to the pox. Here comes the lord Lysimachus, 
disguised. 

Boult. We should have both lord and lown, if the 
peevish baggage would but give way to customers. 

Enter Lysimachus. 

Lys. How now 1 How a dozen of virginities ■? 

Bawd. Now, the gods to-bless your honour! 

Boult. I am glad to see your honour in good health. 

J.ys. You may so ; 'tis the better for you that 
vour resorters stand upon sound legs. How now, 
wholesome iniquity? Have you that a man may deal 
withal, and defy the surgeon! 

Baud. We have here one, sir, if she would 

but there never came her like in Mitylene. 

Lys. If she'd do the deeds of darkness, thou 
would'st say. [enough. 

Bawd. Your honour knows what 'tis to say, wcl) 



ACT IV.— SCENE V[. 



765 



Lys. Well ; call forth, call forth. 

Roult. For flesh and blood, sir, white and red. 
you shall see a rose ; and she were a rose indeed, if 
she had but 

Lys. What, pr'y thee? 

Botilt. O, sir, I can be modest. 

Liis. That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no less 
than it gives a good report to a number to be chaste. 

Enter Ma kin a. 

Billed. Here comes that which grows to the stalk ; 
^-never plucked yet, I can assure you. Is she not 

fair creature "! 

Lys. 'Faith, she would serve after a long voyage 
at sea. Well, there's for you ; — leave us. 

Bawd. I beseech your honour, give me leave : a 
word, and I'll have done presently. 

Lys. I beseech you, do. 

Bawd. First, 1 would have you note, this is an 
honourable man. [To Marina, u/iom ahe takes aside. 

Mar. I desire to find him so, that I may worthily 
note him. 

Bawd. Next, he 's the governor of this country, and 
a man whom I am bound to. 

Mar. If he govern the country, you are bound to 
him indeed , but how honourable he is in that, I 
know not. 

Bawd. 'Pray you, without any more virginal fenc- 
ing, will you use him kindly"! He will line your apron 
with gold. 

Mar. What he will do graciously, I will thankfully 

Lys. Have you done 1 [receive. 

Bawd. My iord, she's not paced yet; you must 
take some pains to work her to your manage. Come, 
we will leave his honour and her together. 

[E.ieunt Bawd, Pander, and Boult. 

Lt/s. Go thy ways. — Now, pretty one, how long 
have you been at this trade? 

Mar. What trade, sir? 

Lys. What I cannot name but I shall offend. 

Mar. I cannot be offended with my trade. Please 
you to name it. 

Liis. How long have you been of this profession ? 

Mar. Ever since I can remember. 

Li/s. Did you go to it so young? Were you a 
gamester at five, or at seven ? 

Mar. Earlier too, sir, if now I be one. 

Li/s. Why, the house you dwell in, proclaims you 
to be a creature of sale. 

Mar. Do you know this house to be a place of such 
resort, and will come into it? 1 hear say, you are of 
honourable parts, and are the governor of this place. 

Lys. Why, hath your principal made known unto 
you who I am ? 

Mar. Who is my principal ? 

Li/s. Why, your herb-woman ; she that sets seeds 
and roots of shame and iniquity. 0, you have heard 
something of my power, and so stand aloof for more 
serious wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty one, 
my authority shall not see thee, or else, look friendly 
upon thee. Come, bring me to some private place. 
Come, come. 

Mar. If you were born to honour, shew it now ; 
H put upon you, make the judgment good 
That thought you worthy of it. 

Lvs. How's this? how's this?— Some more ;— be 

Mar. For me, [sage. 

That am a maid, though most ungentle fortune 
Hath plac'd me here within this loathsome stie. 
Where, since I came, diseases have been sold 
Bearer than physic,— O that the good gods 
Would set nie free from this unhallow'd place. 



Though they did change me to the meanest bird 
That flies i' the purer air ! 

Lys. I did not think 

Thou could'st have spoke so well ; ne'er dream'd thou 
Had 1 brought hither a corrupted mind, [could'st. 
Thy speech had alter'd it. Hold, here's gold for thee: 
Pers^ver still in that clear way thou goest, 
And the gods strengthen thee ! 

Mar, The gods preserve you ! 

Lys. For me, be you thoughten 

That 1 came with no ill intent : for to me 
The very doors and windows savour vilely 
Farewell. Thou art a piece of virtue, and 
I doubt not but thy training hath been noble — 
Hold; here's more gold for thee. — 
A curse upon him, die he like a thief, 
That robs thee of thy goodness ! If thou hear'st from 
It shall be for thy good. f'np> 

[As Lys. is jiuttiiig up his purse, Boui.t enters. 

Boult. I beseech your honour, one piece for me. 

Lys. Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper ! Your 
But for this virgin tluit doth prop it up, [house, 

Would sink, and overwhelm you all. Away ! 

[ Exit Lysimaciius. 

Boult. How's this? We must take another course 
with yon. If your peevish chastity, which is not 
worth a breakfast in the cheapest country under the 
cope, shall undo a whole household, let me be gelded 
like a spaniel. Come your ways. 

Mar. Whither would you have me? 

Boult. 1 must have your maidenhead taken off, or 
the common hangman shall execute it. Corne your 
way. We '11 have no more gentlemen driven away. 
Come your ways, I say. 

lie-enter Bawd. 

Bawd. How now ! Wiiat's the matter ? 

Boult. Worse and worse, mistress ; She has here 
spoken holy words to the lord Lysimachus. 

Baud. O abominable ! 

Boult. She makes our profession as it were to stink 
afore the face of the gods. 

Bawd. Marry, hang her up for ever ! 

Boult. The nobleman would have dealt with her 
like a nobleman, and slie sent him away as cold as a 
snowball ; saying his prayers too. 

Bawd. Boult, take her away ; use her at thy plea- 
sure : crack the glass of her virginity, and make tlie 
rest malleable. 

Boult. An if she were a thornier piece of ground 
than she is, she shall be ploughed. 

Mar. Hark, hark, you gods ! 

Bawd. She conjures: away with her. Would she 
had never come within my doors ! Marry hang you ! 
She's born to undo us. \Vill you not go the way of 
women-kind ? Marry come up, my dish of chastity 
with rosemary and bays ! [E.tit Bawd. 

Boult. Come, mistress ; come your way with me. 

Mar. Whither would you have me? 

Boult. To take from you the jewel you hold so dear. 

Mar. Pr'ythee, tell me one thing first. 

Boult. Come now, your one thing. 

Mar. What canst thou wish thine enemy to be? 

Boult. Why, I could wish him to be my master, or 
rather, my mistress. 

Mar. Neither of these are yet so bad as thou art, 
Since they do better thee in their command. 
Thou hold'st a place, for which the pained'st fiend 
Of hell would not in reputation change : 
Thou'rt the damn'd door-keeper to every coystrel 
That hither comes inquiring for his tib ; 
To the choleric fisting of each rogue thy ear 



766 



PERICLES. 



Is liable ; thy very food is such 

As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs. 

Bouli. What would you have me 1 go to the wars, 
would you ? where a man may serve seven years for 
the loss of a leg, and have not money enough in the 
end to buy him a wooden one "! 

Mar. Do any thing but this thou doest. Empty 
Old receptacles, common sewers, of filth ; 
Serve by indenture to the common hangman ; 
Any of these ways are better yet than tliis; 
For that whicli thou professest, a baboon. 
Could he but speak, would own a name too dear. 

that the gods would safely from this place 
Deliver me • Here, here is gold for thee. 

If that thy master would gain aught by me. 
Proclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance, 
With other virtues, which I'll keep from boast ; 
And I will undertake all these to teach. 

1 doubt not but this populous city will 
Yield many scholars. 

Boult. But can you teach all this you speak of? 

Mar. Prove that I cannot, take me home again, 
And prostitute me to the basest groom 
That doth frequent your house. 

Boult. Well, I will see wiiat I can do for thee: if 
I can place thee, I will. 

Mar. But, amongst honest women ? 

Boult. 'Faith, my acquaintance lies little amongst 
them. But since my master and mistress have 
bought you, there's no going but by their consent ; 
therefore I will make them acquainted with your pur- 
pose, and I doubt not but I shall find them tractable 
enough. Come, 1 "11 do for thee what 1 can ; come 
your ways. [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

Enter Goweh. 
G<no. Marina thus the brothel scapes, and chances 
Into an honest house, our story says. 
She sings like one immortal, and she dances 
As goddess-like to her admired lays : 
Deep clerks she dumbs : and with her neeld composes 
Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry ; 
That even her art sisters the natural roses ; 
Her inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry : 
That pupils lacks she none of noble race. 
Who pour their bounty on her ; and her gain 
She gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place ; 
And to her father turn our thoughts again. 
Where we left him on the sea. We there him lost; 
Whence, driven before the winds, he is arriv'd 
Here where his daughter dwells ; and on this coast 
Suppose him now at anchor. The city striv'd 
God Neptune's annual feast to keep : from whence 
Lysimactius our Tyrian ship espies, 
His banners sable, trimm'd with rich e.\'pense ; 
And to him in his barge with fervour hies. 
In your supposing once more put your sight ; 
Of heavy Pericles tliink this the bark : 
Where, vvhat is done in action, more, if might. 
Shall bediscover'd ; please you, sit, and hark. [Exit. 

SCENE I.— On board Pericles' Ship, of Mitylene. 
A close Pavilion on deck, v>ith a Curtain before it ; 
Pericles within it, reclined on a Couch. A Barge 
lying beside the Tyrian Vessel. 
Enter Two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian vessel, 
the other to the barge ; to them Hemcanus. 
Tyr. .Sail. Where's the lord Helicanus ? he can re- 
solve you. [To the Sailor o/ Mitylene. 



here he is, 

Sir, there 's a barge put off from Rlitylene, 

And in it is Lysimachus the governor. 

Who craves to come aboard. What is your will? 

Hel. That he have his. Call up some gentlemen. 

Tyr. Sail. Ilo, gentlemen ! my lord calls. 

Enter Two Gentlemen. 

1 Gent. Doth your lordship call 1 
Hel. Gentlemen, 
There is some of worth would come aboard ; I pray 
To greet them fairly. [you, 

[The Gentlemen and the Two Sailors descend, 
and go on hoard the barge. 

Enter, from thence, Lysimachus and Lords; the 
Tyrian Gentlemen, and the Two Sailors. 

Tyr, Sail. Sir, 
This is the man that can, in aught you would, 
Resolve you. 

Lys. Hail, reverend sir ! The gods preserve you! 

Hel. And you, sir, to out-live the age 1 am, 
And die as I would do. 

Lys. You wish me well. 

Being on shore, honouring of Neptune's triumphs. 
Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us, 

1 made to it, to know of whence you are. 

Hel. First, sir, what is your place? 

Lys. I am governor of this place you lie before. 

Hel. Sir, 
Our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king ; 
A man, who for this three months hath not spoken 
To any one, nor taken sustenance, 
But to prorogue his grief. 

Lys. Upon what ground is his distemperature ? 

Hel. Sir, it would be too tedious to repeat ; 
But the main grief of all springs from the loss 
Of a beloved daughter and a wife. 

Lys. May we not see him, then ? 

Hel. You may indeed, sir. 

But bootless is your sight ; he will not speak 
To any. 

Lys. Yet, let me obtain my wish. 

Hel. Behold him, sir: [Pericles discovered,^ this 
was a goodly person, 
Till the disaster, that, one mortal night, 
Drove him to this. 

Lys. Sir, king, all hail ! the gods preserve you ! 
Hail, royal sir ! [Hail \ 

Hel. It is in vain ; he will not speak to you. 
1 Lo?-(f.Sir,we have a maid in Mitylene.I durst wager, 
Would win some words of him. 

Lys. 'Tis well bethought. 

She, questionless, with her sweet harmony 
And other choice attractions, would allure, 
And make a battery through his deafen'd part.s. 
Which now are midway stopp'd : 
She, all as happy as of all the fairest. 
Is, with her fellow maidens, now within 
The leafy shelter that abuts against 
The island's side. 

[He whispers one of the attendant Lords. — 
Exit Lord, in the barge o/' Lysimachus. 

Hel. Sure, all's effectless; yet nothing we II omit 
That bears recovery's name. But, since your kindness 
We have stretch'd thus far, let us beseech you further, 
That for our gold we may provision have. 
Wherein we are not destitute for want. 
But weary for the staleness. 

Lys. O, sir, a courtesy, 

Which if we should deny, the most just God 
For every graff would send a caterpillar, 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



767 



And so inflict out province. — Yet once more 
Let me entreat to know at large the cause 
Of your king's sorrow. 

Hell. Sit, sir, I will recount it; — 

But, see, I am prevented. 

Enter, from the barn;e. Lord, Marina, and 
a young Lady. 

Lys. O, here is 

The lady that I sent for. Welcome, fair one ! 
Is't not a goodly presence 1 

Kel. A gallant lady. 

Lys. She's such, that were 1 well assured she came 
Of gentle kind, and noble stock, I'd wish 
No better choice, and think me rarely wed. 
Fair one, all goodness that consists in bounty 
Expect even here, where is a kingly patient: 
If that thy prosperous-artificial feat 
Can draw him but to answer thee in aught 
Thy sacred physic shall receive such pay 
As thy desires can wish. 

Mar. Sir, I will use 

My utmost skill in his recovery, 
Provided none but 1 and my companion 
Be sufler'd to come near him. 

Lys. Come, let us leave her. 

And the gods make her prosperous ! [Marina sings. 

Lys. Mark'd he your music ? 

Mar. No, nor look'd on us. 

Lys. See, she will speak to him. 

Mar. Hail, sir ! my lord, lend eai : 

Per. Hum ! ha ! 

Mar. I am a maid. 

My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes. 
But have been gaz'd on, comet like : she speaks, 
My lord, that, may be, hath endur'd a grief 
IMight equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd. 
Though wayward fortune did malign my state, 
My derivation was from ancestors 
Who stood equivalent with mighty kings : 
But time hath rooted out my parentage. 
And to the world aud au'icward casualties 
Bound me in servitude. — I will desist ; 
But there is something glows upon my cheek, 
And whispers in mine ear, Go noi till he speaks. 

[Aside. 

Per. My fortunes — parentage — good parentage — 
To equal mine ! — was it not thus 1 what say you t 

Mar. I said,mylord,if you did knowmy parentage, 
You would not do me violence. 

Per. I do think so. 

I pray you, turn your eyes again upon me. — 
You are like something that — What countrywoman ? 
Here of these shores t 

Mar. No, nor of any shores : 

Yet I was mortally brought forth and am 
No other than I appear. 

Per. 1 am great with woe, and shall deliver weeping. 
My dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one 
My daughter might have been : my queen's square 
Her stature to an inch; as wand-like straight; [brows; 
As silver-voic'd ; her eyes as jewel-like, 
And cas'd as riclily : in pace another Juno ; [gry> 
Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hun- 
The more she gives them speech. — Wheredoyou livel 

Mar. Where I am but a stranger : from the deck 
You may discern the place. 

Per. Where were you bred? 

And how achiev'd you these endowments, which 
You make more rich to owe ? 

Mar. Should I tell my history, 

'Twould seem like lies disdain'd in the reporting. 



Per. Pr'ytliee speak ; 
Falseness cannot come from thee, for thou look'st 
Modest as justice, and thou seem'st a palace 
For the crown'd truth to dwell in : I'll believe thee, 
And make my senses credit thy relation, 
To points that seem impossible ; for thou look'st 
Like one I lov'd indeed, what were thy friends'! 
Didst thou not say, when I did push thee back, 
( Which was when I perceiv'd thee,) that thou cam'sl 
From good descending 1 

Mar. So indeed I did. 

Per. Report thy parentage. I think thou said'st 
Thou hadst been toss'd from wrong to injury, 
And that thou thought'st thy griefs might equal mine. 
If both were open'd. 

Mar. Some such thing indeed 

I said, and said no more but what my thoughts 
Did warrant me was likely. 

Per. Tell thy story ; 

If thine consider'd prove the thousandth part 
Of my endurance, thou art a man, and I 
Have sufTer'd like a girl : yet thou dost look 
Like Patience, gazing on kings' graves, and smiling 
Extremity out of act. What were thy friends 1 
How lost thou them"! Thy name, my most kind virgin 1 
Recount, I do beseech thee ; come, sit by me. 
Mar. INIy name, sir, is Marina, 
Per. O, I am mock'd. 

And thou by some incensed god sent hither 
To make the world laugh at me. 

Mar. Patience, good sir. 

Or here I'll cease. 

Per. Nay, I'll be patient ; 

Thou little know'st how thou dost startle me, 
To call thyself Rlarina. 

Mar. The name Marina, 

Was given me by one that had some power j 
My father, and a king. 

Per. How ! a king's daughter 1 

And call'd Marina"! 

Mar. You said you would believe me , 

But, not to be a troubler of your peace, 
I will end here. 

Per. But are you flesh and blood 1 

Have you a working pulse 1 and are no fairy ? 
No motion! Well; speak on. Where were you born? 
And wherefore call'd Marina? 

Mar. Call'd IMarina, 

For I was born at sea. 

Per At sea? thy mother? 

Mar. My mother was the daughter of a king ; 
Who died the very minute I was born. 
As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft 
Deliver'd weeping. 

Per, O, stop there a little ! 

This is the rarest dream that e'er dull sleep 
Did mock sad fools withal : this cannot be. 
My daughter's buried. [Aside.] Well: — where were 

you bred ? 
I'll hear you more, to the bottom of your story, 
And never interrupt you. 

Mar. You '11 scarce believe me ; 'twere best I did 

give o'er. 
Per. I will believe you by the syllable 
] Of what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave : — 
[ How came you in these parts? where were you bred? 
I Mar. The king, my father, did in Tharsus leave nie ; 
Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife, 
j Did seek to murder me : and having woo'd 
! A villain to attempt it, who having drawn, 
A crew of pirates came and rescued me ; 
j Brought me to Mitylenc. But, now good sir. 



■()8 



PERICLES. 



Whither will you have me 1 Why do you weep ? It 

may be, 
You think me aa impostor : no, good faith ; 
I am the daughter to king Pericles, 
If good king Pericles be. 

Per. Ho, Helicanus ! 

Hel. Calls my gracious lord 1 

Per. Thou art a grave and noble counsellor, 
Most wise in general : I'ell me, if thou canst, 
What this maid is, or what is like to be. 
That thus hath made me weep 1 

Hcl. 1 know not ; but 

Here is the regent, sir, of Mitylene, 
Speaks nobly of her. 

Lys, She would never tell 

Her parentage ; being demanded that. 
She would sit still and weep. 

Per. O Helicanus, strike me, honour'd sir ; 
Give me a gash, put me to present pain ; 
Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me, 
O'erbear the shores of my mortality. 
And drown me with their sweetness. O, come hither, 
Thou that beget'st him that did thee beget ; 
Thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tharsus, 
And found at sea again ! — O Helicanus, 
Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods, as loud 
As thunder threatens us : This is Marina. — 
What was thy mother's name 1 tell me but that. 
For truth can never be confirm'd enough, 
Though doubts did ever sleep. 

Mar. First, sir, I pray. 

What is your title 1 

Per. I am Pericles of Tyre : but tell me now 
(As in the rest thou hast been godlike perfect,) 
My drown'd queen's name, thou art the heir of king- 
And another life to Pericles thy father. [doms. 

Mar. Is it no more to be your daughter, than 
To say, my mother's name was Thaisa "! 
Thaisa was my mother, who did end. 
The minute 1 began. 

Per. Now, blessing on thee, rise ; thou art my child. 
Give me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus, 
(Not dead at Tharsus, as she should have been. 
By savage Cleon,) she shall tell thee all ; 
When thou shalt kneel and justify in knowledge, 
She is thy very princess. — Who is this ! 

Hel. Sir, 'tis the governor of Mitylene 
Who, hearing of your melancholy state. 
Did come to see you. 

Per. I embrace you, sir. 

Give me my robes ; I am wild in my beholding. 

heavens bless my girl ! But hark, what music "! — 
Tell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him 

O'er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt. 
How sure you are my daughter. — But what music 1 

Hel. My lord, I hear none. 

Per. Nonel 
The music ot the spheres: list, my Marina. 

Lys. It is not good to cross him ; give him way. 

Per. Rarest sounds ! 
Do ye not hear ] 

Lys. Music 1 My lord, I hear — 

Per. Most heavenly music : 
It nips me unto list'ning, and thick slumber 
Hangs on mine eye-lids ; let me rest. [He sleeps. 

Lys. A pillow for his head ; 
[T/ie curtain before the pavilion of Pericles is closed. 
So leave him all. Well, my companion-friends, 
If this but answer to my just belief, 

1 '11 well remember you. 

[Exeunt Lvsimachus, Helicanus, Marina, 
and atteiidant Lady. 



SCENE IL—The same 

Pericles on the deck asleep ; Diana appearing to 
him as in a vision. 

Dia. My temple stands inE'phesus ; hie thee thither. 
And do upon mine altar sacrifice. 
There, when my maiden priests are met together. 
Before the people all, 

Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife : 
To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter's, call. 
And give them repetition to the life. 
Perform my bidding, or thou liv'st in woe : 
Do 't, and be happy, by my silver bow. 
Awake, and tell thy dream. [Diana disappears. 

Per. Celestial Dian, goddess argentine, 
I will obey thee ! — Helicanus ! 

Enter Lysimachus, Helicanus, and Marina. 

Hel. Sir. 

Per. My purpose was for Tharsus, there to strike 
The inhospitable Cleon ; but I am 
For other service first : toward Ephesus 
Turn our blown sails ; eftsoons I '11 tell thee why. — 

[To Helicanus. 
Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your ibore. 
And give you gold for such provision 
As our intents will need ? 

Lys. With all my heart, sir ; and when you come 
I have another suit. [ashore, 

Per. You shall prevail, 

Were it to woo my daughter ; for it seems 
You have been noble towards her. 

Lys. Sir, lend your arm. 

Per. Come, my Marina. [Exeunt. 

E7iter GowER, before the temple of Diana at Ephesus 
Gow. Now our sands are almost run ; 
More a little, and then done. 
This, as my last boon, give me, 
(For such kindness must relieve me,) 
That you aptly will suppose 
What pageantry, what feats, what shows. 
What minstrelsy, and pretty din. 
The regent made in Mitylin, 
To greet the king. So he has thriv'd. 
That he is promis'd to be wiv'd 
To fair Marina ; but in no wise. 
Till he had done his sacrifice, 
As Dian bade : whereto being bound. 
The interim, pray you, all confound, 
In feather'd briefness sails are fill'd 
And wishes fall out as they 're will'd. 
At Ephesus, the temple see. 
Our king, and all his company. 
That he can hither come so soon. 
Is by your fancy's thankful boon. [E.iit, 

SCENE III.— The Temple of Diana at Epliesus ; 
Thaisa standing near the Altar, as high Priestess ; 
a numl er of Virgins on each side ; Cerimon and 
other inhabitants of Ephesus attending. 

Enter Pericles, with his Train ; Lvsimachus, 
Helicanus, Marina, and a Lady. 

Per. Hail, Dian ! to perform thy just command, 
I here confess myself the king of Tyre ; 
Who, frighted from my country, did wed 
The fair Thaisa, at Pentapolis. 
At sea in childbed died she, but brought forth 
A maid-child call'd Marina ; who, goddess, 
Wears yet thy silver livery. She at Tharsus 
Was nurs'd with Cleon ; whom at fourteen years 
He sought to murder : but her better stars 
Brought her to Mitylene j against whose shore 



ACT v.- SCENE III. 



7ao 



Riding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us, 
Where, by her own most clear remembrance, she 
Made known herself my daughter. 

Thai. Voice and favour ! — 

You are, jx)u are — O royal Pericles ! — [^She faints. 

Per. What means the woman] she dies I help, 

Cer. Noble sir, [geutlemeti ! 

If you have told Diana's altar true, 
This is your wife. 

Per. Reverend appearer, no ; 

I threw her o'erboard with these very arms. 

Cer. Upon this coast, I warrant you. 

Per. "i'is most certain. 

Cer. Look to the lady ; — O, she 's but o'erjoy'd. 
Early, one blust'ring morn, this lady was 
Thrown on this shore. I op'd the coffin, and 
Found there rich jewels ; recover'd her, and plac'd her 
Here in Diana's temple. 

Per. Rlay we see them ? 

Cer. Great sir, they shall be brought you to my 
Whither 1 invite you. Look ! Thaisa is [house, 
Recover'd. 

Thai. O, let me look ! 
If he be none of mine, my sanctity 
Will to my sense bend no licentious ear, 
But curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord, 
Are you not Pericles 1 Like him you speak. 
Like him you are : Did you not name a tempest, 
A birth, and death l 

Per. The voice of dead Thaisa ! 

Thai, That Thaisa am 1, supposed dead, 
And drown'd. 

Per. Immortal Dian ! 

Thai. Now I know you better. — 

When we with tears parted Pentapolis, 
The king, my father, gava you such a ring. 

[.S/iei«s a ring. 

Per, This, this : no more, you gods ' your present 
kindness 
Makes my past miseries sport : You shall do well, 
That on the touchiug of her lips I may 
Welt, and no more be seen. O come, be buried 
A secoiid time within these arms. 

Mar. My heart 

Leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom. 

l^Kneels to Thaisa. 

Per. Look, who kneels here ! Flesh of thy flesh. 
Thy burden at the sea, and call'd Marina, [Thaisa ; 
For she was yielded there. 

Thai. Bless'd, and mine own ! 

Hel. Hail, mamad, and my queen ! 

Thai, I know you not. 

Per. You have heard, me say, when 1 did fly from 
1 left behind an ancient substitute. [lyre, 

Can you remember what I call'd the man 1 
1 have nam'd him oft. 



Thai. 'Twas Helicanus tncn. 

Per, Still confirmation : 
Embrace him, dear Thaisa ; this is he. 
Now do 1 long to hear how you were found ; 
How possibly preserv'd ; and whom to thank, 
Besides the gods, for this great miiacle. 

Thai. Lord Cerimon, my lord ; this man 
Through whom the gods have siievvn their power ; that 
From first to last resolve you. [can 

Per. Reverend sir. 

The gods can have no mortal officer 
More like a god than you. Will you deliver 
How this dead queen re-lives ] 

Cer. I will, my lord. 

Beseech you, first go with me to my house, 
Wheie shall be shewn you all was found with her ; 
How she came placed here within the temple ; 
No needful thing omitted. 

Per. Pure Diana ! 

I bless thee for thy vision, and will offer 
My night oblations to thee. Thaisa, 
This prince, the fair-betrothed of your daughter, 
Shall marry her at Pentapolis. And now, 
'J'his ornament that makes me look so dismal. 
Will 1, my lov'd Marina, clip to form ; 
And what this fourteen years no razor touch'd, 
To grace thy marriage-day, 1 "11 beautify. 

Thai. Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit. 
Sir, that my father's dead. 

Per. Heavens make a star of him! Yet there, my 
We '11 celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves [queen, 
Will in that kingdom spend our following days ; 
Our son and daugliter shall in Tyrus reign. 
Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stay. 
To hear the rest untold. — Sir, lead the way. \_Eieunt. 

Enter Gower. 

Gow. In Antioch ,and his daughter, you have heard 
Of monstrous lust the due and just reward : 
In Pericles, his ([ueen and daughter, seen 
(Although assail'd with fortune fierce and keen,) 
Virtue preserv'd from tell destruction's blast. 
Led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at last. 
In Helicanus may you well descry 
A figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty : 
In reverend Cerimon there well appears 
The worth that learned charity aye wears. 
For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame 
Had spread their cursed deed, and honour'd name 
Of Pericles, to rage the city turn ; 
That him and his they in his palace burn. 
The gods for murder seemed so content 
To punish them ; although not done, but meant. 
So on your patience evermore attending. 
New joy wait on you ! Here our play has ending. 

[Eiit Gower. 



To a former edition of this play were subjoined two Disstr- 
tations : one written by Mr. Steevens, the other by me. In the 
latter 1 urged such arguments as then apijeared to me to have 
weight, lo prove that it was the entire work of hhaiispeare, and 
one of his earliest compositions. Mr. Steevens on the other 
hand maintained, that it was originally the production of some 
elder playwright, and afterwards improved by our poet, whose 
hand was aclinowledged to be visible in many scenes throughout 
the play. On a review of the various arguments which each of 
us produced in favour of his own hypothesis, ! am now con- 
vinced that the theory of Mr. Steevei** was right, and have no 
difficulty in acknowledging my own to be erroneous. 

This play was entered on the Stationers' books, together with 
Aniony and Cleopatra, in the year lOOU, by I'.dward Blount, a 
bookseller of eminence, and one of the pullishers of the first 
folio edition of Shakspeare's woiks. It was printed with his 
name in the title-page, in his life-tinit! : but this circumstance 
proves uutuiMtf , because, by the kaavery of booksellers, other 
ijieces were also ascribed to hiui in his life-time, of which he 
indubitably wrote not a line. Nor is it necessary to urge, in 
fcupport of its genuiueness, that at a subsequent period it wai as- 



cribed to him by several dramatic writers. I wish not to rely 
on any circumstance of that kind; because, in all questions of 
this nature, internal evidence is the best that can be produced, 
and, to every person intimately acquainted with our poet's writ- 
ings, must in the present case be decisive. The congenial sen- 
timents, the numerous expressions bearing a striking similitude 
to passages in his tindisimted plays, some of the incidents, the 
situation of many of the persons, and in various places the colour 
of the style, all these combine to set the seal of Shakspeare on 
the play before us, and furnish us with internal and irresisiilde 
proofs, that a consiiierable portion of this piece, as it now a|>- 
pears, was wrinen by him. 1 he greater part of the last ili;ee 
acts may, I think, on this ground be safely ascribed to him ; 
and his hand may be traced occasionally in the other twodivi- 
I sions. 

lo alter, new-model, and improve the nnsnccessful dramas ot 
preceding writers, was, I believe, much more common in the 
time of .sliaksjieare than is generally supposed. Ibis piece hav- 
ing been thus new-modelled by our |ioet, and enriched with many 
happy strokes from his pen, is unquestionably entitled to that 
place among his works, which it has now obtained. — Malonk. 

3C 



KING LEAR. 



This tragedy was entered in the books of the Stationers Com- 
Ijany, Nov. 26, 1607, and is there mentioned as having been 
pla>ed theprecedins,' Christmas bei'ore his majesty, at White- 
hall It mu: t have been written after 16u3, as Sliakspeaie has 
borrowed several fanstasiic nan.es of spirits, mentioned .11 this 
play, from Harsiiett's Vec/arationof fopis/t hnposfor.r,\vhich 
was published that year, king Lear was not printed till )o08. 

There was an old play on the same subject, which had been in 
possession of the stage for many years before the production 
of Shakspeare's tragedy ; but from which our author has co- 



pied one passage only. The story of King T-ear and bis thret 

Daughters, is found in Holinshed's Chronicle; and was ori- 
ginally told by Cieoffry of IM.onmouth, whosaysthat F.earwas 
the eldist son of iJladud, and " nobly governed his country 
for sixty years." According to that historian, he died about 
800 years before Christ. .Shakspeare has taken the hint lor 
the behaviour of the steward, and the reply of Cordelia to her 
father concerning her future marriage, from ///« Mirror 0/ 
Magistra'es,loa7. According toSteevens.lheepisodeof GI03- 
ter and his sons is borrowed from Sidney's Arcadia, 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Lear, King of Bnta.in. 

King of France. 

Duke of Burgundy. 

Duke of Cornwall. 

Duke of Albany. 

Earl of Kent. 

Earl OF Gloster. 

Edgar, son to Gloster. 

P^DMUND, bastard son to Gloster. 

CuRA V, a courtier. 

Old Man, tenant to Gloster. 

Pliiisician, Fool. 

Oswald, steward to Goneril. 

An Officer emploiied hii Edmund. 

Gentleman, attendant on Cordelia. 

A Herald. Servants to Cornwall. 

Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, daughters to Lear. 

Knights attending on the King, Officers, Messengers, 

Soldiers, and Attendants. 

SCENE,— Britain. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.— A Room of State in King Lear's Palace. 
Enter Kent, Gloster, and Edmund. 
Keyit. I thought, the king had more affected the 
duke of Albany, than Cornwall. 

Gb. It did always seem so to us : but now, in the 
division of the kingdom, it appears not which of the 
dukes he values most ; for equalities are so weigh'd, 
that curiosity in neither can make choice of either's 
moiety. 

Ke7it. Is not this your son, my lordf 
Glo. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge : 
I have so often blush'd to acknowledge him, that now 
I am brazed to it. 

Kent. I cannot conceive you. 
Glo. Sir, this young fellow's mother could : where- 
upon she grew round-wombed ; and had, indeed, sir, 
a son for her cradle, ere she had a husband for her 
bed. Do you smell a fault? 

Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of 
it being so proper. 

Glo. But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some 
year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my ac- 
though this knave came somewhat saucily 



Glo. My lord of Kent : remember him hereafter 
as my honourable friend. 

Edm. i\Iy services to your lordship. 

Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you better. 

Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving. 

Glo. He hath been out nine years, and away he 
shall again : — The king is coming. 

[Trumpets sound within. 

Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, 
Cordelia, and Attendants. 

Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, 
Gloster. 

Glo. I shall, my liege. [Eait Glosteh <?f Edmund. 
Lear. Mean-time we shall express our darker pur- 
pose, [vided. 
Give me the map there. — Know, that we have di- 
In three, our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent 
To shake all cares and business from our age ; 
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we 
Unburden'd crawl toward death. — Our son of Corn- 
And you, our no less loving son of Albany, [wall 
We have tliis hour a constant will to publish 
Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife 
INIay be prevented now. The princes, France and Bur^ 
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, [gundy, 
Long in ourcouit have made their amorous sojourn, 
And here are tobe answer'd.— Tell me, my daughters) 
(Since now we will divest us, both of rule, 
Interest of territory, cares of state,) 
Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most? 
That we our largest bounty may extend 
Where merit doth most challenge it. — Goneril, 
Our eldest-born, speak first. 

Gon. Sir, I 

Do love you more than words can wield the matter, 
Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty ; 
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare ; 
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour; 
As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found. 
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable ; 
Beyond all manner of so much I love you. 

Cor. What shall Cordelia do 1 Love, and be silent. 

[Aside. 
Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line to 
this. 
With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd. 
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads. 
We make thee lady : To thine and Albany's issue 
Be this perpetual. — What says our second daughter, 
Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall! Speak. 
Res. I am made of that self metal as my sister, 

In my true heart 



count: though this .. - ,.'.,"• ^1 .u 

into the world before he was sent for, yet was his And prize me at her worth 
mother fair • there was good sport at his making, and I find, she names my very deed ot love ; 
the whoreson mustbeacknowledged.— Do youknow Only she comes too short.—tliat 1 profess 
this noble gentleman, Edmund 1 
Edm. No, my lord. 



Myself an enemy to all other joys, 
1 Which the most precious square of sense possesses 



ACT I.— SCENE I. 



771 



And find, I am alone felicitate 
In your dear highness' love. 

Cor. Then poor Cordelia ! [Asidt. 

And yet not so ; since, I am sure, ray love's 
More richer than my tongue. 

Lear. To thee, and thine, hereditary ever. 
Remains this ample third of our fair kingdom; 
No less in space, validity, and pleasure. 
Than that confirm'd on Goneril. — Now, our joy, 
Although the last, not least; to whose young love 
The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy, 
Strive to be interess'd ; what can you say, to draw 
A third more opulent than your sisters ? Speak. 

Cor. Nothing, my lord. 

Lear. Nothing ? 

Cor. Nothing. 

Lear. Nothing can come of nothing: speak again. 

Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave 
My heart into my mouth : I love your majesty 
According to ray bond ; nor more, nor lees. 

Lear. How, how, Cordelia ? mend your speech a 

Lest it may mar your fortunes. [little. 

Cor. Good my lord, 

You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me : I 
Return those duties back as are right fit, 
Obey you, love you, and most honour you. 
Why have my sisters husband.s, if ihey say 
They love you, all ? Haply, when I shall wed, 
That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry 
Half my love with him, half my care, and duty! 
Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, 
To love my father all. 

Lear. But goes this with thy heart? 

dor. Ay, good my lord. 

Lear. So young, and so untender ? 

Cor. So young, my lord, and true. 

Lear. Let it be so, — Thy truth then be thy dower: 
For, by the sacred radiance of the sun; 
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night ; 
By all the operations of the orbs, 
From whom we do exist, and cease to be ; 
Here I disclaim all my paternal care, 
Propinquity and property of blood, 
And as a stranger to my heart and me 
Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Scy- 
Or he that makes his generation messes [thian. 

To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom 
Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and rtliev'd. 
As thou my sometime daughter. 

Kent. Good my liege, — 

Lear. Peace, Kent! 
Come not between the dragon and his wrath : 
I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest 
On her kind nursery. — Hence, and avoid my sight ! 
So be mygravemy peace, as here I give [TdCohuklia. 
Her father's heart from her ! — Call France ; — Who 
Call Burgundy. — Cornwall, and Albany, [stirs? 
With my two daughters' dowers digest this third : 
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. 
I do invest you jointly with my power, 
Pre-eminence, and all the large effects 
That troop with majesty. — Ourself,bymonthlycourse, 
With reservation of an hundred knights. 
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode 
Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain 
The name, and all the additions to a king ; 
The sway. 

Revenue, execution of the rest. 
Beloved sons, be yours : which to confinn, 
This coronet part between you. [Giving the crown. 

Kent. Royal I^ar, 

Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, 



Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd. 

As my great patron thought on in my prayers, — 

I^ur. The bow is bent and drawn, make from the 
shiift. 

Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade 
The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly. 
When Lear is mad. What would'et tliou do, old man? 
Think'st thou, that duty slmll have dread to speak, 
When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's 

bound, 
When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom ; 
And, in thy best consideration, check 
This hideous rashness : answer my life my judgment, 
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; 
Nor are those empty-hearted, wliose low sound 
Reverbs no hollowness. 

Lear. Kent, on thy life no more. 

Kent My life I never held hut as a pawn 
To wage against thine enemies ; nor fear to lose it, 
Thy safety being the motive. 

J^^ar. Out of my sight! 

Kent. See better, Lear; and let me still remain 
The true blank of thine eye. 

Lear. Now, by Apollo, — 

Kent. Now, by Apollo, king. 

Thou swear' st thy gods in vain. 

Lear, o, vassal' miscreant! 

[Lat/ing his hand on his sword. 

All). Corn. Dear sir, forbear. 

Kent. Do; 
Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow 
Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift; 
Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, 
I'll tell thee thou dost evil. 

Lear. Hear me, recreant I 

On thine allegiance hear me! — ■ 
Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, 
(Which we durst never yet,) and, with strain'd pride, 
To come betwixt our sentence and our power ; 
(Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,) 
Our potency made good, take thy reward. 
Five days do we allot thee, for provision 
To shield thee from diseases of the world ; 
And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back 
Upon our kingdom : if, on the tenth day following, 
Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, 
The moment is thy death : Away ! by Jupiter, 
I'his shall not be revok'd. [appear, 

Kent. Fare thee well, king ; since thus thou wilt 
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. — 
The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, 

[To Cordelia. 
That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said ! — 
And your large speeches may your deeds approve, 

[ 7'ri Regan and Go.neril. 
That good effects may spring from words of love. — 
Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu ; 
He'll shape his old course in a country new. [Exit. 

Be-enter Gloster : with France, Burcundv, 
and Attendants. 

Glo. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. 

Lear. Rly lord of Burgundy, 
We first address towards you, who with this king 
Hath rivall'd for our daughter ; What, in the least. 
Will you require in present dower with her, 
Or cease your quest of love ? 



Moi,t royal majesty. 



Bu 
I crave no more than hath your highness ofl'er'd. 
Nor will you tender less. 

Lear. Right noble Burgundy, 

When she was dear to us, we did hold her so ; 

3 c a 



772 



KING LEAR, 



But now her price is fall'n : Sir, there she stands ; 
If aug;ht within that little, seeming substance, 
Or ail of it, witii our displeasure p'.ec'd. 
And nothing raore may fitly like your grace. 
She's there, and she is yours. 

Bur, I know no answer. 

Lear. Sir, 
Will you, with those infirmities she owes. 
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, 
Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath. 
Take her, or leave her ? 

Bur. Pardon me, royal sir ; 

Election makes not up on such conditions, [made me, 

Lear. Then leave her, sir ; for, by the power that 
1 tell you all her weallli. — For you, great king, 

[Tu France. 
I would not from your love make such a stray, 
To match you where I hate ; therefore beseech you 
To avert your liking a more worthier way, 
Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd 
Almost to acknowledge her's. 

Fiance. This is most Strange ! 

That she, that even but now was your best object. 
The argument of your praise, balm of your age. 
Most best most dearest, should in this trice of time 
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle 
So many folds of favour ! Sure, her ofi'ence 
Must be of such unnatural degree. 
That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd afTection 
Fall into taint : which to believe of her. 
Must be a faith, that reason without miracle 
Could never plant in me. 

Cor. I yet beseech your majesty, 

(If for I want that glib and oily art. 
To speak, and purpose not ; since what I well intend, 
I'll do't before 1 speak,) that you make known 
It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness. 
No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step. 
That hath deprived me of your grace and favour : 
But even for want of that, for which 1 am richer ; 
A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue 
That I am glad 1 have not, though not to have it. 
Hath lost me in your liking. 

Lear, Better thou [better. 

Ilad'st not been born, than not to have pleas'd me 

France. Is it but thisl a tardiness in nature. 
Which often leaves the history unspoke. 
That it intends to do ? — My lord of ]5urgundy, 
What say you to the lady 1 Love is not love 
When it is mingled with respects, that stand 
Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her? 
She is herself a dowry. 

Bur. Koyal Lear, 

Give but that portion which yourself propos'd, 
And here I take Cordelia by the hand. 
Duchess of Burgundy. 

Lear. Nothing : 1 have sworn ; I am firm. 

Bur. I am sorry then, you have so lost a father. 
That you must lose a husband. 

Cor. Peace be with Burgundy ! 

Since that respects of fortune are his love, 
I shall not be his wife. [poor ; 

France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being 
Most choice, forsaken ; and most lov'd, despis'd! 
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon: 
Be it lawful, I take up what's cast away. [lect 

Gods, gods ! 'tis strange, that from their cold'st neg- 
My love should kindle to inflam'd respect. — 
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance. 
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France : 
Not all the dukes of wat'rish Burgundy 
Shall buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me.— 



Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind ; 
Thou losest here, a better where to find. 

T.rar. Thou hast her, France : let her be thine ; 
Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see [for we 
That face of hers again : — Therefore be gone. 
Without our grace, our love, our benizon. 
Come, noble Burgundy. 

[Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Corn- 
wall, Albany, Gloster, and Attendants. 

France. Bid farewell to your sisters. 

Cor. The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes 
Cordelia leaves you : 1 know you what you are ; 
And, like a sister, am most loath to call 
Your faults as they are nam'd. Use well our father: 
To your profess'd bosoms I commit him : 
But yet, alas ! stood I within his grace, 
I would prefer him to a better place. 
So farewell to you both. 

Gon. Prescribe not us our duties. 

Reg. Let your study 

Be, to content your lord ; who hath receiv'd you 
At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted, 
And well are worth the want that you have wanted. 

Cor. Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides ; 
Who covers faults, at last shame them derides. 
Well may you prosper ! 

France, Come, my fair Cordelia. 

[Exeunt France and Cohdelia. 

Gon. Sister, it is not a little I have to say, of what 
most nearly appertains to us both. I think, our 
father will hence to-night. 

Tteo. That's most certain, and with you ; nexl 
month with us. 

Gon. You see how full of changes his age is ; the 
observation we have made of it hath not been little : 
he always loved our sister most ; and with what pooi 
judgment he hath now cast her off, appears too grossly. 

Reg. ' Tis the infirmity of his age : yet he hath 
ever but slenderly known himself. 

Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath been 
but rash ; then must we look to receive from his 
age, not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted 
condition, but, therewithal, the unruly waywardness 
that infirm and choleric years bring with them. 

Reg. Such unconstant starts we are like to have 
from him, as this of Kent's banishment. 

Gon. There is further compliment of leave-taking 
between France and him. Pray you, let us hit to- 
gether : If our father carry authority with such dis- 
positions as he bears, this last surrender of his will 
but offend us. 

Reg. We shall further think of it. 

Gon. We must do something, and i' the heat. 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE 11.—^ Hall in t/teEarl of Gloster's Castle. 
Enter Edmund, nith a letter, 
Edm. Thou, nature, art my goddess ; to thy law 
My services are bound : Wherefore should I 
Stand in the plague of custom ; and permit 
The curiosity of nations to deprive me, 
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines 
Lag of a brother 1 Why bastard 1 wherefore base 1 
When my dimensions are as well compact. 
My mind as generous, and my shape as true. 
As honest madam's issue 1 Why brand they us 
With base ? with baseness 1 bastardy"! base, base 1 
Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take 
More composition and fierce quality. 
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed. 
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops. 
Got 'tween asleep and wake 1 — Well then. 



ACT I.— SCENE II. 



77.3 



Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land : 
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund, 
As to the tegiiini'dto : Fine word, — legitimate ! 
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed. 
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base 
Shall top the legitimate. 1 grow ; I prosper :- 
Now, gods, stand up for bastards ! 

Enter Gloster. 

G/i).Kentbanish'd thus! and France in choler parted! 
A nd the king gone to-night I subscrib'd his power ! 
Confip'd to exhibition ! All this done 
Upon the gad ! iklmund ! How now ; what news? 

Edm. So please your lordship none. 

[t^Httiiig up the letter. 

Glo. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that let- 

Edm. I know no news, my lord. [ter? 

Glo. What paper were you reading? 

Edm. Nothing, my lord. 

Gin. No ? what needed then that terrible despatch 
of it into your pocket ! the quality of nothing hath 
not such need to hide itself. Let's see : Come, if 
it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles. 

Edm. I beseech you, sir, pardon me : it is a let- 
ter from my brother, that I have not all o'er rend ; 
for so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for 
your o'erlooking. 

Gin. Give me the letter, sir. 

Edm. I shall ort'end, either to detain or give it. The 
contents as in part I understand them, are to blame. 

Glo. Let's see, let's see. 

Edm. I hope, for my brother's justification, he 
wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue. 

Glo. [^Reads] This policii, and reverence of age, 
makes the world bitter to the best of our tiine:> ; keeps 
our fortunes Jrom k>, till our olduess cannot relish 
them. I begin tofind an idle and fond bondage in 
the oppression of aged tijranny ; who swaifs, not as it 
hath power, but as it is suffered. Come to me, that of 
this I muii speak more, if our father would sleep till 
I waked him, you. should enjoif half his revenue for 
ever, and live the beloved of your brother Edgar — 
Humph — Conspiracy! — Sleep till I naked him, — you 
should enjoy half his revenue, — My son Edgar! Had he 
a hand to write this ! a heart and brain to breed it 
in 1 When came this to you 1 Who brought it ! 

Edm. It was not brought me, my lord ; there's the 
cunning of it ; I found it thrown in at the casement 
of my closet. 

Glo. You know the character to be your brother's ? 

Edm. If the matter were good, my lord, I durst 
swear it were his ; but, in respect of that, 1 would 
fain think it were not. 

Glo. It is his. 

Edm. It is his hand, my lord ; but I hope, his 
heart is not in the contents. 

Glo. Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this 
business ? 

Edm. Never, my lord : But I have often heard 
him maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age, 
and fathers declining, the father should be as ward 
to the son, and the son manage his revenue. 

Glo. O villain, villain !~llis very opinion in the 
letter ! — Abhorred villain ! Unnatural, detested, bru- 
tish villain ! worse than brutisii ! — Go, sirrah, seek 
him : I'll apprehend him : — Abominable villain ! — 
Where is he i 

Edm. 1 do not well know, my lord. If it shall 
please you to suspend your indignation against my 
brother, till vou can derive from him better testimony 
of his intent, you shall run a ceitain course ; where, 
if you violently proceed against hi.Ti, mistaking his 



purpose, it would make a great gap in your own 
honour, and shake in pieces the heart of his obe- 
dience. I dare pawn down my life for hirn, that 
he hath writ this to feel my aft'eclion to your honour, 
and to no other pretence of danger. 

Glo. Think you so 1 

Edm. If your honour judge it meet, I will place 
you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by an 
auricular assurance have your satisfaction ; and that 
without any further delay than this very evening. 

Glo. He cannot be such a monster. 

Edm, Nor is not, sure. 

Glo. To his father, that so tenderly and entirely 
loves him. — Heaven and earth ! — Edmund, seek him 
out; wind me into him, I pray you ; frame the busi- 
ness after your own wisdom : 1 would unstate myself, 
to be in a due resolution. 

Edm. I will seek him, sir, presently ; convey the 
business as I shall find means, and acquaint you withal. 

Glo. These late eclipses in the sun and moon por- 
tend no good to us : Though the wisdom of nature 
can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself 
scourged by the sequent effects : love cools, friend- 
ship falls off, brothers divide : in cities, mutinies ; in 
countries, discord ; in palaces, treason ; and the bond 
cracked between son and father. This villain of mine 
comes under the prediction; tlieie's son against 
father : the king falls from bias of nature ; there's fa- 
ther against cliild. We have seen the best of out 
time: Machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all 
ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our graves ! 
— Find out this villain, Edmund ; it shall lose thee 
nothing ; do it carefully :— And the noble and true- 
hearted Kent banished! his offence, honesty! — 
Strange! strange! [E.\it. 

Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the world ! 
that, when we are sick in fortune, (often the surfeit 
of our own behaviour,) we make guilty of our disas- 
ters, the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were 
villains by necessity ; fools, by heavenly compulsion ; 
knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predomi- 
nance ; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an en- 
forced obedience of planetary influence; and all that 
we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on : An admi- 
rable evasion of whore-master man, to lay his goatish 
disposition to the charge of a star! JNIy father com- 
pounded with my mother under the dragon's tail : 
and my nativity was under ursa major; so that it fol- 
lows, I am rough and lecherous. — Tut, I should have 
been that 1 am, had the maidenliest star in the fir- 
mament twinkled on my bastardizing. Edgar— 

Enter Edgar. 

and pat he comes, like the catastrophe of the old 
comedy : My cue is villanous melancholy, with a sigh 
irke Tom o'lJediam. — O, these eclipses do portend 
these divisions ! fa, sol, la, mi. 

Edg. How now, brother Edmund? What serious 
contemplation are you in? 

I:dm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read 
this other day, what should follow these eclipses. 

Edg. Do you busy yourself with that? 

Edm. I promise you, the effects he writes of, suc- 
ceed unhappily : as of unnaturalness between the 
child and the parent; death, dearth, dissolutions of 
ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and ma- 
ledictions against king and nobles ; needless diffi- 
dences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts, 
nuptial breaches, and I know not what. 

Edg. How long have you been a sectary astrono- 
mical ! 

Edm. Come, come ; when saw you my father last ? 



1 



774 



KING LEAR. 



Erf":. Why, the night gone by. 

Edm. Spake you with him 1 

F.iig. Ay, two hours together. 

Edm. Parted you in good terms ? Found you no 
displeasure in him, by word or countenance? 

Edg. None at all. 

Edm. Bethink yourself, wherein you may have of- 
fended him : and at my entreaty, forbear his presence, 
till some little time hath qualified the heat of his dis- 
pleasure ; which at this instant so rageth in him, 
that with the mischief of your person it would 
scarcely allay. 

Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong. 

Edm. Thai's my fear. I pray you, have a continent 
forbearance, till the speed of his rage goes slower ; 
and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from 
whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak: 
Pray you, go ; there's my key : — If you do stir abroad, 
go arni'ed. 

Edg. Armed, brother? 

Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best ; go armed ; 
I am no honest man, if there be any good meaning 
towards you : I have told you what I have seen and 
heard, but faintly ; nothing like the image and hor- 
ror of it: Pray you, away. 

Edg. Shall I hear from you anon ? 

Edm.l doserveyou in thisbusiness. — [Er.EnoAR. 
A credulous father, and a brother noble, 
Whose nature is so far from doing harms, 
That he suspects none ; on whose foolish honesty 
My practices ride easy ! — I see the business. — 
Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit: 
All with me"s meet, that I can fashion fit. [Eait. 

SCENE III. ^ Eoow m f/i« Duke of Albany's Po/ace. 
Enter GoNERiL and Steward. 

Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman for chid- 
ing of his fool ? 

Stew. Ay, madam. 

Gon. By day and night! he wrongs me ; every hour 
He flashes into one gross crime or other. 
That sets us all at odds : I'll not endure it : 
His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us 
On every trifle : — When he returns from hunting, 
I will not S(i8ak with him ; say, I am sick : — 
If you C(ime slack of former services. 
You shall do well ; the fault of it I'll answer. 

Slew. He's coming, madam ; I hear him. 

[Horns within. 

Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please. 
You and your fellows ; I'd have it come to question : 
If he dislike it, let him to my sister. 
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one. 
Not to be over-rul'd. Idle old man. 
That still would manage those authorities. 
That he hath given away ! — Now, by my life, 
Old fools are babes again ; and must be us'd 
With checks, as flatteries, — when they are seen abus'd. 
Remember what I have said. 

Stew, Very well, madam. [you; 

Gun. And let his knights have colder looks among 
What grows of it, no matter ; advise your fellows so : 
I would breed from hence occasions, and 1 shall, 
That I may speak: — I'll write straight to my sister. 
To hold my very course :- — Prepare for dinner. [£.r. 

SCENE IV.— ^ Hall in the same. 

Enter Kent, disguised. 

Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow, 
That can my speech diffuse, my good intent 



May carry through itself to that full issue 
For which I raz'd my likeness. — Now, banish'd Kent, 
If thou can'st serve where thou dost stand condemn'tl, 
(So may it come !) thy master, whom thou lov'st, 
Shall find thee full of labours. 

Horns within. Eyiter Leak, Knights, and Attendants. 

Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go, get it 
ready. [Exit an Attendant.] How now, what art thou 1 

Kent. A man, sir. 

Lear. What dost thou profess? What would'st thou 
with us ? 

Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem ; to 
serve him truly, that will put me in trust ; to love 
him that is honest ; to converse with him that is wise, 
and says little ; to fear judgment ; to fight, when I 
cannot choose ; and to eat no fish. 

Lear. What art thou? 

Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as pooi 
as the king. 

Lear. If thou be as poor for a subject, as he is for 
a king, thou art poor enough. What would'st thou"} 

Kent. Service. 

Lear. Who would'st thou serve? 

Kent. You. 

Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow ? 

Kent. No, sir ; but you have that in your counte- 
nance, which I would fain call master. 

Lear. What's that ? 

Kent. Authority. 

Lear. What services canst thou do ? 

Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a 
curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain mes- 
sage bluntly ; that which ordinary men are fit for, J 
am qualified in : and the best of me is diligence. 

Lear. How old art thou? 

Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for 
singing ; nor so old, to dote on her for any thing: 1 
have years on my back forty-eight. 

Lear. Follow me ; thou shalt serve me ; if I like 
thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee 
yet. — Dinner, ho, dinner. — Where's my knave? my 
fool ? Go you, and call my fool hither ; 

Enter Steward. 

You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter? 

Stew. So please you, — [E.iit. 

Lear. What says the fellow there? Call the clot- 
poll back. — VV here's my fool , ho ? — I think the world's 
asleep. — How now ? where's that mongrel ? 

Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. 

Lear. Why came not the slave back to me, when 
I call'd him ? 

Knight. Sir, he answer'd me in the roundest man- 
ner, he would not. 

Lear. He would not ! 

Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is ; 
but, to my judgment, your highness is notentertain'd 
with that ceremonious affection as you were wont ; 
there's a great abatement of kindness appears, as well 
in the general dependants, as in the duke himself 
also, and your daughter. 

Lear. Ha ! say'st thou so ? 

Knight. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I 
be mistaken : for my duty cannot be silent, when I 
think your highness is wrong'd. 

Lear. Thou but remember'sl me of mine own con- 
ception ; I have perceived a most faint neglect of 
late ; which I have rather blamed as mine own jea- 
lous curiosity, than as a very pretence and purpose 
of unkindness : I will look further into't.— But 
where's my fool ? I have not seen him this two days. 



ACT I.— SCENE IV. 



775 



Knight. Since my young lady's going into France, 
sir, the fool hath much pined away. 

Lenr. No more of that ; I have noted it well. — Go 
you, and tell my daughter I would speak, with her. 
— Go you, call hither my fool. — 

Re-enter Steward. 

0,you sir, you sir, come you hither: Who am I, sir] 

Stew. My lady's father. 

Lear. My lady's father ! my lord's knave : you 
whoreson dog I you slave ! you cur ! 

Stew. I am none of this, my lord ; I beseech you, 
pardon me. 

Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal 1 

[^Striking him. 

Stew. I'll not be struck, my lord. 

Kent. Nor tripped neither ; you base foot-ball 
player. [Tripping up his heels. 

Lear. I thank thee, fellow ; thou servest me, and 
I'll love thee. 

Kent. Come, sir, arise, away ; I'll teach you dif- 
ferences ; away, away : If you will measure your 
lubber's length again, tarry: but away : go to ; Have 
you wisdom 1 so. [Pushes the Steward out. 

Lear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee : 
there's earnest of thy service. [Giviiig Kent money. 

Enter Fool. 

Fool. Let me hire him too ; — Here's my coxcomb. 

[Giving Kent his cap. 
Lear. How now, my pretty knave 1 how dost thou ] 
Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. 
Kent. Wliy, fool ■? 

Fool. Why] For taking one's part that is out of 
favour : Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind 
sits, thou'Jt calch cold shortly : There, take my cox- 
comb : Why, this fellow has banish'd two of his 
daughters, and did the third a blessing against his 
will ; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my 
coxcomb. — How now, nuncle] 'Would I had two 
coxcombs, and two daughters ! 
Lear. Why, my boy 1 

Fool, If I gave them all my living, I'd keep my 
coxcombs myself : There's mine ; beg another of thy 
daughters, 

Lear. Take heed, sirrah ; the whip. 
Fool. Truth's a dog that must to kennel ; he must 
be whipp'd out, when Lady, the brach, may stand by 
the fire and stink. 

Lear. A pestilent gall to me ' 

Fool. Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech. 

Lear. Do. 

Fool, IMark it, nuncle : — 

Have more than thou showest, 
Speak less than thou knowest, 
Lend less than thou owest, 
Ride more than thou goest, 
Learn more than thou trowest, 
Set less than thou throwest; 
Leave thy drink and thy whore, 
And keep in-a-door, 
And thou shall have more 
Than two tens to a score. 
Lear. This is nothing, fool. 
Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd law- 
yer ; you gave me nothing for't: Can you make no 
use of nothing, nuncle 1 

Lear. Why, no boy ; nothing can be made out of 
nothing. 

Fool. Pr'ythee, tell him, so much the rent of his 
land comes to ; he will not believe thee. [To Kekt. 
Letir, A bitttjr fool ! 



Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, be- 
tween a bitter fool and a sweet one. 
Lear. No, lad ; teach me. 
Fool. That lord, that counsell'd thee 
To give away thy land. 
Come place him here by me, — 

Or do thou for him stand : 
The sweet and bitter fool 
Will presently appear ; 
The one in motley here. 
The other found out there. 
Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy? 
Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away ; 
that thou wast born with. 

Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. 
Fool. No, 'faith, lords and great men will not let 
me ; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part 
on 't : and ladies too, they will not let me have all 
fool to myself ; they'll be snatching. — Give me an 
egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns. 
Lear. What two crowns shall they be ? 
Fool. Why, after I have cut the eggi' the middle, 
and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. 
When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle, and gav- 
est away both parts, thou borest thine ass on thy back 
over the dirt : Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown, 
when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak 
like myself in this, let him be whipp'd that first finds 
it so. 

Fools had ne'er less grace in a year ; [Singing. 

For wise men are grown foppish ; 
And know not how their wits to wear, 

Their vmnners are so apish. 

Lenr. When were you wont to be so full of songs, 
sirrah 1 

Fool. I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest 
thy daughters thy mother ; for when thou gavest 
them the rod, and put'st down thine own breeches, 

Tlien they for sudden joy did weep, [Singing. 

And I for sorrow sung, 
That such a king should play bo-peep. 

And go the fools among. 

Pr'ythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach 
thy fool to lie ; I would fain learn to lie. 

Lear. If you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipp'd. 

Fool. I marvel, what kin thou and thy daughters 
are : they'll have me whipp'd for speaking true, 
thou'lt have me whipp'd for lying ; and, sometimes, 
I am whipp'd for holding my peace. I had rather 
be any kind of thing than a fool : and yet I would 
not be thee, nuncle ; thou hast pared thy wit o'both 
sides, and left nothing in the middle : Here comes 
one o' the parings. 

Enter GoNEniL. 

Lear. How now, daughter? what makes that 
frontlet on ] Methinks, you are too much of late 
i' the frown. 

Fool. Thou wast a pretty fellow, when thou hadst 
no need to care for her frowning ; nov/ thou art an 

without a figure : I am belter than thou art now : 

1 am a fool, thou art nothing. — Yes, forsooth, I will 
hold my tongue; so your face [to Gon.] bids me, 
though you say nothing. Mum, mum. 

He that keeps nor crust nor crum, 
Weary of all, shall want some. — 
That's a sheal'd peascod. [i'ointing to Lear. 

Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool. 
But other of your insolent retinue 
Do hourly carp and quarrel ; breaking forth 



776 



KING LEAR. 



In rank and not- to-be-endured riots. Sir, 

I had thought, by making this well known unto you, 

To have found a safe redress ; but now grow fearful, 

By what yourself too late have spoke and done. 

That you protect this course, and put it on 

By your allowance ; which, if you should, the fault 

Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep ; 

Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, 

Might in their working do you that offence. 

Which else were shame, that then necessity 

Will call discreet proceeding. 

Fool. For you trow, nuncle, 
The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long. 
That it had its head bit off by its young. 
So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling. 

Lear. Are you our daughter? 

Gon. Come, sir, I would you would make use of 
that good wisdom whereof I know you are fraught ; 
and put away these dispositions, which of late trans- 
form you from what you rightly are. 

Fool. May not an ass know when the cart draws 
the horse 1 — Whoop, Jug ! I love thee. 

Lear. Does any here know me ? — Why this is not 
Lear: does Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where 
are his eyes ? Either his notion weakens, or his dis- 
cernings are lethargled. — Sleeping or waking ? — Ha ! 
sure 'tis not so. — Who is it that can tell me who I 
am? — Lear's shadow? I would learn that ; for by 
the marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I 
should be false persuaded 1 had daughtCiS. — • 

Fool. Which they will make an obedient father. 

Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman ? 

Gon. Come, sir ; 
This admiration is much o' the favour 
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you 
To understand my purposes aright : 
As you are old and reverend, you should be wise : 
Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires ; 
INlen so disorder'd, so debauch'd and bold. 
That this our court, infected with their manners. 
Shews like a riotous inn : epicurism and lust 
JMake it more like a tavern or a brothel, 
Than a grac'd palace. The shame itself doth speak 
For instant remedy : Be then desir'd 
By her, that else will take tne thing she begs, 
A little to disquantity your train ; 
And the remainder, that shall still depend, 
To be such men as may besort your age. 
And know themselves and you. 

Lear. Darkness and devils ! — 

Saddle my horses ; call my train together, — 
Degenerate bastard ! I'll not trouble thee ; 
Yet have I left a daughter. 

Gon. You strike my people ; and your disorder'd 
Make servants of their betters. [rabble 

Enter Albany. 

Lear. Woe, that too late repents, — 0, sir, are you 
come? [horses. 

Is it your will ? [To Ai.b.] Speak, sir. — Prepare my 
Ingratitude ! thou marble-hearted fiend, 
More hideous, when thou shew'st thee in a child. 
Than the sea-monster ! 

Alb. Pray, sir, be patient. 

Lear. Detested kite ! thou liest : [To Gonebil. 
My train are men of choice and rarest parts. 
That all particulars of duty know ; 
And in the most exact regard support 
The worships of their name. — O most small fault. 
How ugly didst thou in (Cordelia shew ! 
Whici), like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature 
From the iix'd place ; drew from my heart all love, 



And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear ! 
Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, 

[Striking his head. 
And thy dear judgment out ! — Go, go, my people. 

Alb. My lord, 1 am guiltless, as I am ignorant 
Of what hath mov'd you. 

Lear. It may be so, my lord — Hear, nature, hear; 
Dear goddess, hear ! Suspend thy purpose, if 
Thou didst intend to make this creature fruitful ! 
Into her womb convey sterility ! 
Dry up in her the organs of increase ; 
And from her derogate body never spring 
A babe to honour her ! If she must teem, 
Create her child of spleen ; that it may live. 
And be a tlnvart disnatur'd torment to her ! 
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth ; 
With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks ; 
Turn all her mother's pains, and benefits, 
To laughter and contempt ; that she may feel 
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is 
To have a thankless child ! — Away, away ! [Exit. 

Alb. Now, gods, that we adore, whereof comes this? 

Gon. Never afflict yourself to know the cause ; 
But let his disposition have that scope 
That dotage gives it. 

Re-enter Lear. 

Lear. Wiiat, fifty of my followers, at a clap ] 
Within a fortnight? 

Alb. What's the matter, sir? 

Lear. I'll tell thee ; — Life and death ! 1 am asbani'd 
That thou hast power to shake my manhood tlius : 

[2'l) GONKRIL. 

That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, 
Should make thee worth them. — Blasts and fogs upon 
The untented woundings of a father's curse [thee ! 
Pierce every sense about thee ! — Old fond eyes, 
Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck you out ; 
And cast you, with the waters that you lose. 
To tempei clay. — Ha ! is it come to this ? 
Let it be so : — Yet have I left a daughter. 
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable ; 
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails 
She"ll flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shall find. 
That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think 
I have cast off for ever ; thou shalt, 1 warrant thee. 
[Eifnnt Lr.AR, Kent, and Attendants. 
Gon. Do you mark that, my lord ? 
Alb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril, 
To the great love I bear you, — 

Gon. Pray you content. — What, Oswald, ho* 
You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master. 

[To the Fool. 
Fool. Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, and take 
the fool with thee. 

A fox, when one has caught her. 
And such a daughter, 
Should sure to the slaughter, 
If my cap would buy a halter. 
So the fools follow after. [Exit. 

Gon. This man hath had good counsel : — A huQ- 
died knights ! 
'Tis politic, and safe, to let him keep 
At point a hundred knights. Yes, that on every dream. 
Each bu3, each fancy, each complaint, dislike. 
He may enguard his dotage with their powers. 
And hold our lives in mercy. — Oswald, I say ! — 
Alb. Well, you may fear too far. 
Gon. Safer than trust: 

Let me still take away the harms I fear. 
Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart: 
What he hath utter'd, I have writ roy sister ; 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



777 



If she sustain him and his hundred knights, [wald t 
When I have shew'd the unfitness. — How now, Os- 

Eiiter Steward. 
What, have you writ that letter to my sister? 

Stew. Ay, madam. 

Gon. Take you some company, and away to horse : 
Inform her full of my particular fear ; 
And thereto add such reasons of your own, 
As may compact it more. Get you gone ; 
And hasten your return. [£ai( Stew. J No, no, my 
This milky gentleness, and course of yours, [lord, 
Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon, 
You are much more attask'd for want of wisdom. 
Than prais'd for harmful mildness. 

Alb. How far your eyes may pierce, I cannot tell ; 
Striving to better, oft we mar wiiat's well. 

Gon. Nay, then — 

Alb. Well, well ; the event. [Eaeujit. 

SCENE V. — Court before the same. 
Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. 

Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these letters : 
acquaint my daughter no further with any thing you 
know, than comes from her demand out of the letter: 
If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there be- 
fore you. 

Kent. I will not sleep, my lord, till I have deli- 
vered your letter. [E.ut, 

Fool. If a man's brains were in his heels, were't 
not in danger of kibes 1 

Lear. Ay, boy. 

Fool. Then, I pr'ythee, be merry ; thy wit shall 
not go slip-shod. 

Lear. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Fool. Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee 
Kindly : for though she's as like this as a crab is like 
an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell. 

Lear. Why, what canst thou tell, my boy 1 

Fool. She will taste as like this, as a crab does to 
a crab. Thou canst tell, why one's nose stands i'the 
middle of his face ? . 

Lear. No. 

Fool. VViiy, to keep his eyes on either side his nose ; 
that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into. 

Lear. I did her wrong : — 

Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell 1 

Lear. No. 

Fool. Nor I neither ; but I can tell why a snail 
has a house. 

Lear. V\ hy 1 

Fool. Why, to put his head in; not to give it away 
to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case. 

/ ear. I will forget my nature.— So kind a father ! 
— lie my horses ready ? 

Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason 
why the seven stars are no more tlian seven, is a 
pretty reason. 

Lear. Because they are not eight? 

Fool. Yes, indeed: Thou wouldest make a good fool. 

Lear. To take it again perforce !^— iMonster ingra- 
titude ! 

Fool. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'd have thee 
beaten for being old before thy time. 

Lear. How's that ? 

Fo'il. Thou should'st not have been old, before 
thou iiadst been wise. 

Lear. O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven ! 
Keep me in temper ; I would not be mad ! 

Enter Gentleman. 

How now ! are the horses ready J 



Gent. Ready, my lord. 

Lear. Come, boy. [parture, 

Fool. She that is maid now, and laughs at my de- 
Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter. 

I Ejieuiit. 



ACT IL 

SCENE I.— yl Court uithin the Castle of the 
Earl of Gloster. 

Enter Ed.mund and Cvkan, meeting. 

Edm. Save thee, Curan. 

Cur. And you, sir. I have been with your father , 
and given him notice, that the duke of Cornwall, and 
Regan his duchess, will be iiere with him to-night. 

Edm, How comes that ? 

Cur. Nay, I know not : You have heard of the 
news abroad ; I mean, the whispered ones, for they 
are yet but ear-kissing arguments? 

Edm. Not I ; 'Pray you, what are they? 

Cur. Have you heard of no likely wars towaid, 
'twixt the dukes of Cornwall and Albany ? 

Edm. Not a word. 

Cur. Youmay then, intime Fareyou well, sir. [Ej:. 

Edm. The duke be here to night? The better! Best! 
This weaves itself perforce into my business I 
j\Iy father hath set guard to take my brother ; 
And I have one thing, of a queazy question. 
Which I must act : — Briefness, and fortune, work !^ 
Brother, a word ; — descend : — Brother, I say ; 

Enter Edgar. 

My father watchos : — O sir, fly this place ; 
Intelligence is given where you are hid ; 
You liave now the good advantage of the night : — 
Have you not spoken 'gainst the duke of Cornwall ? 
He's coming hither ; now, i' the night, i' the haste. 
And Regan with him ; Have you nothing said 
Upon his party 'gainst the duke of Albany? 
Advise yourself. 

Edg. I am sure on't, not a word. 

Edm. I hear my father comi.ig, — Pardon me: — 
In cunning, I must draw my sword upon you : — 
Draw : Seem to defend yourself : Now quit you well. 
Yield : come before my father ; — Light, ho, here !^ 
Fly, brother; — Torches! torches! — So, farewell. — 

[£jil EuGAR. 

Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion 

[ Wounds his arm. 
Of more fierce endeavour : I have seen drunkards 
Do more than this in sport. — Father ! father ! 
Stop, stop ! No help? 

Enter Gloster and Servants with torches. 

Glo. Now, Edmund, where's the villain? 

Edm. Here stood he inthedark, his sharp sword out, 
Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon 
To stand his auspicious mistress : — 

Glo. But where is he ? 

Edm. Look, sir, I bleed. 

Glo. Where is the villain, Edmund? 

Edm. Fled this way, sir. When by no means he 
could — 

Glo. Pursue him, ho! — Go after. — [Exit Serv.] 
By no means, — what? 

Edm. Persuade me to tiie murder of your lordship; 
But that I told him, tlie revenging gods 
'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend ; 
Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond 
The child was bound to the fallier ; — Sir, in fine. 
Seeing how loathly opposite I stood 



778 



KING LEAR. 



To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion, 

With his prepared sword, he charges home 

My unprovided body, lanc'd mine arm : 

But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits, 

Bold in the quarrel's right, roused to the encounter, 

Or whether gasted by the noise I made. 

Full suddenly he fled. 

Glo. Let him fly far : 

Not in this land shall he remain uncaught ; 
And found — Despatch.— The noble duke my master, 
My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night : 
By his authority I will proclaim it. 
That he, which finds him, shall deserve our thanks. 
Bringing the murderous coward to the stake ; 
He, that conceals him, death. 

Edrn. When I dissuaded him from his intent, 
And found him pight to do it, with curst speech 
I threaten'd to discover him : He replied, 
Thou uiipossessing bustard! dost thou think, 
If I would stand against thee, u-ould the reposal 
Of any trust, virtue, or worth, in thee 
Make' thy words faith'd? No: what I should deny, 
(As this I would; ay, though thou didst produce 
My very character,) I'd turn it all 
To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice: 
And thou must make a dullard of the world, 
If they not thought the prufts of my death 
Were very pregnant and potential spurs 
3'o make thee seek it. 

Glo. Strong and fasten'd villain ! 

Would he deny his letter ? — I never got him. 

[^Trumpets icithin. 
Hark, the duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes: 
All ports I'll bar ; the villain shall not 'scape : 
The duke must grant me that : besides, his picture 
I will send far and near, that all the kingdom 
INIay have due note of him ; and of my land. 
Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means 
To make thee capable. 

Enter Cornwall, Began, and Attendants. 

Corn. How now, my noble friend? since I came hither, 
(Which I can call but now, ) 1 have heard strange news. 

Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short, 
Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord ? 

Glo. O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, is crack'd ! 

Reg. What, did my father's godson seek your life? 
He whom my father nam'd ? your Edgar? 

Glo. O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid! 

Reg. Washenotcompanion withlhe riotousknights 
That tend upon my father? 

Glo. I know not, madam : 

It is too bad, too bad. — 

Edm. Yes, madam, he was. 

Reg. No marvel then, though he were ill affected ; 
'Tis they have put him on the old man's death. 
To have the waste and spoil of his revenues. 
I have this present evening from my sister 
Been well inform d of them ; and with such cautions, 
That, if they come to sojourn at my house, 
I'll not be there. 

Corn. Nor I, assure thee, Regan. — 

Edmund, I hear that you have shewn your father 
A child-like office. 

Edm. 'Twas my duty, sir. 

Glo. He did bewray his practice ; and receiv'd 
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. 

Corn. Is he pursued 1 

Glo. Ay, my good lord, he is. 

Corn. If he be taken, he shall never more 
Be fear'd of doing harm : make your own purpose. 
How in my strength you please. — For you, Edmund, 



Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant 
So much commend itself, you shall be ours ; 
Natures of such deep trust we shall much need ; 
You we first seize on. 

Edm. I shall serve you, sir. 

Truly, however else. 

Glo. For him I thank your grace. 

Corn. You know not why we came to visit you, — 

i?fg-. Thus outof season ; threading dark-eyed night- 
Occasions, noble Gloster, of some poize. 
Wherein we must have use of your advice : — 
Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, 
Of diff'erences, which 1 best thought it fit 
To answer from our home ; the several messengers 
From hence attend despatch. Our good old friend. 
Lay comforts to your bosom ; and bestow 
Your needful counsel to our business, 
Which craves the instant use. 

Glo. I serve you, madam : 

Your graces are right welcome. [Eaeuut. 

SCENE U.— Before Gloster's Castle. 
Enter Kent and Steward, severalty. 

Stew. Good dawning to thee, friend : Art of the 

Kent. Ay. [house? 

Stew. Where may we set our horses ? 

Kent. I'the mire. 

Stew. Pr'ythee, if thou love me, tell me. 

Kent. I love thee not. 

Stew. Why, then I care not for thee. 

Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would 
make thee care for me. 

Stpw. Why dost thou use me thus 1 I know thee not. 

Kent. Fellow, I know thee. 

Stew. What dost thou know me for? 

Kent. A knave; a rascal, an eater of broken meat ; 
a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hun- 
dred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave ; a lily- 
liver'd, action-taking knave ; a whorson, glass-gazing, 
superserviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting 
slave ; one that would'st be a bawd, in way of good 
service, and art nothing but the composition of a 
knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir 
of a mongrel bitch : one whom I will beat into cla- 
morous whining, if thou deny'st tiie least syllable of 
thy addition. 

Stew. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus 
to rail on one, that is neither known of thee, nor 
knows thee ? 

Kent. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou to deny 
thou know'st me? Is it two days ago, since I tripp'd 
up thy heels, and beat thee, before the king? Draw, 
you rogue : for, though it be night, the moon shines ; 
I'll make a sop o'the moonshine of you : Draw, you 
whorson cullionly barber-monger, draw. 

[Drawing his sword. 

Stew. Away ; I have nothing to do with thee. 

Kent. Draw, you rascal : you come with letters 
against the king, and take vanity the puppet's part, 
against the royalty of her father ; Draw, you rogue, 
or I'll so carbonado your shanks : — draw, you rascal : 
come your ways. 

Stew. Help, ho! murder! help! 

KeJit. Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand ; you 
neat slave, strike. ^Beating liim. 

Stew. Help, ho ! murder! murder! 

Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Began, Gioster, 
and Servants. 

Edm. How now ? What's the matter ? Part. 
Kent, With you, goodman boy, if you please ; 



ACT 11.— SCENE III. 



come, I'll flesh you ; come on, young master. 

Glo, Weapons! arms! What's the matter here ? 

Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives ; 
He dies, that strikes again : What is the matter? 

Reg. The messengers from our sister and the king. 

Corn. What is your difference ? speak. 

Stew. I am scarce in breath, my lord. 

Ketit. No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your va- 
lour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee ; 
a tailor made thee. 

Corn. 'J'hou art a strange fellow : a tailor make a 
man 1 

Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir; a stonecutter, or a painter, 
could not have made him so ill, though they had been 
but two hours at the trade. 

Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel ? 

Stew. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have 
At suit of his grey beard, — [spar'd 

Kent. Thou whoreson zed ! thou unnecessary letter ! 
—My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this 
unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a 
Jakes with him. — Spare my grey beard, you wagtail? 

Corn. Peace, sirrah ! 
You beastly knave, know you no reverence ? 

Kent. Yes, sir ; but anger has a privilege. 

Corn. Why art thou angry? 

Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a sword, 
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these. 
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain 
Which are too intrinse t'unloose : smooth every pas- 
That in the natures of their lords rebels ; fsion 

Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods ; 
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks 
With every gale and vary of their masters. 
As knowing nought, like dogs, but following. — 
A plague upon your epileptic visage ! 
Smile you my speeches, as 1 were a fool ? 
Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain, 
I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot. 

Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow? 

Glo, How fell you out? 

Say that. 

Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, 
Than I and such a knave. 

Corn. Why dost thou call him knave? What's his 

Kent. His countenance likes me not. [offence? 

Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, or his, or 

Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain ; [hers. 
I have seen better faces in my time, 
Than stands on any shoulder that 1 see 
Before me at this instant. 

Corn. This is some fellow. 

Who having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect 
A saucy roughness ; and constrains the garb, 
Quite from his nature : He cannot flatter, he ! — 
An honest mind and plain, — he must speak truth : 
An they will take it, so ; if not, he's plain. 
These kind of knaves 1 know, which in this plainness 
Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends, 
Than twenty silly ducking observants, 
Tiiat stretch their duties nicely. 

Kent. Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity, 
Under the allowance of your grand as])6ct. 
Whose influence like the wreath of radiant fire 
On flickering Phoebus front, — 

Corn. What mean'st by this ? 

Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you discom- 
mend so much. 1 know, sir, I am no flatterer: he 
Ihai beguiled you, in a plain accent, w.isaplain knave : 
wliich, for my part, 1 will not be, though 1 should 
win your displeasure to entreat me to it. 

Corn. \\ liat was the offence you gave him ? 



Stew. 



779 

Never anv; 



It pleas'd the king his master, very late. 
To strike at me, u])on his misconstruction ; 
When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure, 
Tripp'd me behind : being down, insulted, rail'd, 
And put upon him such a deal of man. 
That worthy'd him, got praises of the king 
For him attempting who was self-subdu'd ; 
And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit. 
Drew on me here. 

Kent. None of these rogues, and cowards, 

But Ajax is their fool. 

Corn. Fetch forth the stocks, ho ! 

You stubborn ancient knave, you reverent braggart. 
We'll teach you— 

Kent. Sir, T am too old to learn : 

Call not your stocks for me : I serve the king ; 
On whose employment I was sent to you : 
You shall do small respect, shew too bold malice 
Against the grace and person of my master. 
Stocking his messenger. 

Corn. Fetch forth the stocks : 

As I've life and honour, there shall he sit till noon. 

Reg. Till noon ! till night, my lord ; and all night 
too. 

Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog. 
You should not use me so. 

Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will. 

[Stocks brought out. 

Corn, This is a fellow of the self-same colour 
Our sister speaks of :— Come, bring away the stocks. 

Glo. Let me beseech your grace not to do so : 
His fault is much, and the good king his master 
Will check him for't: your purpos'd low correction 
Is such, as basest and contemned'st wretches, 
For pilferings and most common trespasses, 
Are punish'd with : the king must take it ill. 
That he's so slightly valued in his messenger. 
Should have him thus restrain'd. 

Corn. I'll answer that. 

Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse 
To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted. 
For following her affairs — Put in his legs. — 

[Kent is put in the stocks. 
Come, my good lord ; away. 

[Exeunt Regan and Cornw.all. 

Glo. I am sorry for thee, friend ; 'tis the duke's 
pleasure. 
Whose disposition all the world well knows. 
Will not be rubb'd, nor stopp'd : I'll entreat for thee. 

Kent. Pray, do not, sir: 1 have watch'd and tra- 
vell'd hard ; 
Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle. 
A good man's fortune may grow out at heels > 
Give you good morrow ! 

Glo. The duke's to blame in this ; 'twill be ill 
taken. [Kiit. 

Kent. Good king, that must approve the common 
Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st • [saw' 
To the warm sun ! 

Approach, thou beacon, to this under globe, 
That by thy comfortable beams I may 
Peruse this letter ! Nothing almost sees miracles 
But misery : — 1 know, 'tis from Cordelia ; 
Who hath most fortunately been inform'd 
Of my obscured course ; and shall find time 
From this enormous state,— seeking to give 
Losses their remedies: — All weary and o'er-watch'd. 
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold 
This shameful lodging. 

Fortune, good night ; smile once more ; turn thy 
A\ heel ! [He steeps 



780 



KING LEAR. 



SCENE in.— A Part of the Heath. 

Enter Edgar. 

Edg. I heard myself proclaiiu'd ; 
And, by the happy hollow of a tree, 
Escap'd the hunt. No port is free ; no place, 
That guard, and most unusual vigilance, 
Does not attend my taking. While I may scape, 
1 will preserve mjself : and am bethought 
To take the basest and most poorest shape, 
That ever penury, in contempt of man, 
Brought near to beast : my face I '11 grime with filth ; 
Blanket my loins ; elf all my hair in knots; 
And with presented nakedness out-face 
The winds, and persecutions of the sky. 
The country gives me proof and precedent 
Of Bedlam besears, who, with roarina: voices. 
Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms 
Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary ; 
And with this horrible object, from low farms. 
Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills. 
Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers. 
Enforce their charity. — Poor Turlygood ! poor 'i'om ! 
That's something yet; — Edgar I nothing am. [Liit. 

SCENE IV.— Before Gloster's Castle. 
Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman. 

l.ear, 'Tis strange, that they should so depart from 
And not send back my messenger. [home, 

Gent. As 1 learn'd. 

The night before there was no purpose in them 
Of this remove. 

Kent. Hail to thee, noble master ! 

Lear. How ! 
IMak'st thou this shame thy pastime 1 

Kent. No, my lord. 

FitoL Ha, ha; look! he wears cruel garters ! Horses 
aie tied by the heads ; dogs, and bears, by the neck ; 
monkies by the loins, and men by the legs : when a 
man is over lusty at legs, then he wears wooden ne- 
ther-stocks. 

Lear. What's he, that hath so much thy place mis- 
To set thee here ? [took 

Kent. It is both he and she. 

Your son and daughter. 

Lear. No. 

Kent. Yes. 

Lear. No, I say. 

Kent. I say, yea. 

Lear. No, no ; they would not. 

Kent. Yes, they have. 

Lear. By Jupiter, I swear, no. 

Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay. 

Lear. They durst not do't ; 
They could not, would not do't ; 'tis worse than mur- 
To do upon respect such violent outrage : [der. 

Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way 
Thou might'st deserve, or they impose, this usage. 
Coming from us. • 

Kent. My lord, when at their home 

I did commend your highness' letters to them, 
Ere I was risen from the place that shew'd 
My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post, 
Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth 
From Goneril his mistress, salutations ; 
Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission. 
Which presently they read: on whose contents 
They summon'd up their meiny , straight took horse ; 
Commanded me to follow, and attend 
Tlie leisure of their answer ; gave me cold looks : 
And meeting here the other messenger. 



Whose welcome, I perceiv'd, had poison'd mine, 
(Being the very fellow that of late 
Display 'd so saucily against your highness,) 
Having more man than wit about me, drew ; 
He rais'd tiie house with loud and coward cries : 
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth 
The shame wliich here it suffers. 

Fool. Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly 
Fathers, that wear rags, [thai way. 

Do make their children blind ; 
But fathers, that bear bags. 

Shall see their children kind. 
Fortune, that arrant whore. 
Ne'er turns the key to the poor. — 
But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours 
for thy daughters, as thou canst tell in a year. 

Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward my heart! 
Hiisterica -passio! — down, thou climbing sorrow, 
i'hy element's below! — Where is this daughter? 
Kent. \Vith the earl, sir, here within. 
Leur. Follow me not; 

Stay iiere. [Exit. 

Gent. Made you no more offence than what you 
Kent. None. [speak of? 

How chance the king comes with so small a train 1 

Fool. An thou hadst been set i'the stocks for that 
question, thou hadst well deserved it. 
Kent. Why, fool? 

Fool, We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach 
thee there's no labouring in the winter. All that 
follow their noses are led by their eyes, but blind 
men ; and there's not a nose among twenty, but can 
smell him that's stinking. Let go thy hold, when a 
great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck 
with following it ; but the great one that goes up the 
hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives 
thee better counsel, give me mine again : 1 would have 
none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it. 
That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain. 

And follows but for form. 
Will pack, when it begins to rain, 

And leave thee in the storm. 
But 1 will tarry ; the fool will stay. 

And let the wise man fly : 
7"he knave turns fool, that runs away ; 
The fool no knave, pevdy. 
Kent. Where learn'd you this, fool? 
Fool. Not i' the stocks, fool. 

Re-enter Lear, with Glosteu. 

Lear. Deny to speak with me ? They are sick ? they 
are weary ! 
They have travell'd hard to-night? Mere fetches 
The images of revolt and flying off! 
Fetch me a better answer. 

Glo. My dear lord. 

You know the fiery quality of the duke ; 
How unremoveable and fix'd he is 
In his own course. 

Lear. Vengeance ! plague ! death ! confusion ! — 
Fiery? what quality? wiiy, uloster, Gloster, 
I'd speak with the duke of Cornwall, and his wife. 

Glo. Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so. 

Lear. Inform'd them ! Dost thou understand me, 

Glo. Ay, my good lord. [man ! 

Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall ; the 

dear fatlier [vice- 

Would with his daughter speak, commands her sei- 

Are they inform'd of this ? My breath and blood !— 

Fiery ? the fiery duke ?— Tell the hot duke, that— 
No, but not yet :— may be, he is not well : 
Infirmity doth still neglect all ofiice, 



ACT II.— SCENE IV. 



781 



Whereto our health is bound ; we are not ourselves, 
Wlien nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind 
To suffer with the body ; I'll forbear ; 
And am fallen out with my more lieadier will, 
To take the indispos'd and sickly fit 
For tlie sound man. — Death on my state ! wherefore 

[Looking on Kext. 
Should he sit here 1 This act persuades me. 
That this remotion of the duke and her 
Is piactice only. Give me my seivant forth : 
Go, tell the duke and his wife, I'd speak with them. 
Now, presently : bid them come.fortli and hear me. 
Or at their cliamber door I'll beat the drum, 
Till it cry — Sleep to death. 

Glo. I'd have all well betwixt you. [E.i/f. 

Lear. O me, my heart, my rising lieart! — but, down. 

Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the 
eels, when she put them i' the paste alive ; she rapp'd 
'em o' the coxcombs with a stick, and cry'd, Doiin, 
wantons, doivn : ' Twas her brotlier, that, in pure kind- 
ness to his horse, butter'd his hay. 

Filter Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Servants. 

Lear, Good morrow to you both. 

Corn. Hail to your grace ! 

[Kent is set at liberty. 

Beg. I am glad to see your highness. 

Lear. Regan, I think you are ; I know what reason 
I have to think so : if thou should'st not be glad, 
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb, 
Sepulch'ring an adultress. — O, are you free ? 

[To Kent. 
Borne other time for that. — Beloved Regan, 
Thy sister's naught: O Regan, she hath tied 
Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here, — 

[Points to his heart. 
I can scarce speak to thee ; thou'lt not believe, 
Of how deprav'd a quality — Regan ! 

Beg. I pray you, sir, take patience ; I have hope, 
You less know how to value her desert, 
Than she to scant her duty. 

Lear. Say, how is that ? 

Reg. I cannot think, my sister in the least 
Would fail her obligation : If, sir, perchance. 
She have restrain'd the riots of your followers, 
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end. 
As clears her from all blame. 

Lear. My curses on her ! 

Reg. O, sir, you are old ; 

Nature in you stands on the very verge 
Of her confine : you should be rul'd, and led 
By some discretion, that discerns your state 
Better than you yourself: Therefore, I pray you. 
That to our sister you do make return : 
Say, you have wrong'd her, sir. 

Lear. Ask her forgiveness 1 

Do you but mark how this becomes the house 1 
Dear daughter, I confess that I am old; 
Age is unnecessary ■ on mu knees I beg, [Kneeling. 
That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food. 

Reg. Good sir, no more ; these are unsightly tricks : 
Return you to my sister. 

Lear. Never, Regan : 

She hath abated me of half my train ; 
Look'd black upon me ; struck me with her tongue, 
]\lost serpent-like, upon the very heart : — 
All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall 
On her ingrateful top ! Strike her young bones, 
You taking airs, with lameness ! 

Corn. _ Fye, fye, fye ! 

Lear. You nimble liglitnings, dart your blinding 
Into her scornful eyes ! Infect her beauty, [flames 



You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, 
To fall and blast her pride ! 

Reg. O the blest gods . 

So will you wish on me, when the rash mood's on. 

Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse-, 
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give 
Thee o'er to harshness ; her eyes are fierce, but thine 
Do comfort, and not burn : "i'is not in thee 
To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train. 
To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, 
And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt 
Against my coming in : thou better know'st 
The offices of nature, bond of childhood. 
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude ; 
Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot, 
wherein I thee endow'd. 

Reg- Good sir, to the purpose. 

[Tninipels within. 

Lear. Who put my man i' the stocks ] 

Corn. What trumpet's that? 

Enter Steward. 

Reg. I know't, my sister's : this approves her letter, 
That she would soon be here. — Is your lady come? 

Lear. This is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd pride 
Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows : — 
Out, varlet, from my sight ! 

Cor}i. What means your grace? 

Lear. Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have good 

hope [heavens. 

Thou didst not know of 't. — Who comes here ? O, 

Enter Goneril. 
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway 
Allow obedience, if yourselves are old, 
Wake it your cause ; send down, and lake my part ! — 
Art not asham'd to look upon this beard ? — 

[To Goneril. 
0, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand ? 

Gon. Why not by the hand, sir? How have I of- 
All's not offence, that indiscretion finds, [fended 1 
And dotage terms so. 

Lear. O, sides, you are too tough ! 

Will you yet hold ? — IIow came my man i' the stocks ? 

Corn. I set him there, sir : but his own disorders 
Deserv'd much less advancement. 

Lear. You ! did you ? 

Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. 
If, till the expiration of your month, . 
You will return and sojourn with my sister, 
Dismissing half your train, come then to me ; 
I am now from home, and out of that provision 
Which shall be needful for your entertainment. 

Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd? 
No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose 
To wage against the enmity o' the air ; 
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, — 
Necessity's sharp pinch ! — Return with her? 
Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took 
Our youngest born, 1 could as well be brought 
To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg 
I'o keep base life afoot: — Return with her? 
Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter 
To this detested groom. [Looking on the Steward. 

GoTi. At your choice, sir. 

Lear. I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad ; 
I will not trouble thee, my child ; farewell : 
We'll no more meet, no more see one another : — 
But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter; 
Or, rather a disease that's in my flesh,' 
Which I must needs call mine ; thou an a boil, 
A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle. 
In my corrupted blood. But Til not chide thee ; 



782 



KING LEAR. 



Let shame come when it will, I do not call it : 
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, 
Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove : 
Mend, when thou canst; be better, at thy leisure : 
1 can be patient ; I can stay with Regan, 
I, and my hundred knights. 

Reg. Not altogether so, sir ; 

I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided 
For your fit welcome : Give ear, sir, to my sister ; 
For those that mingle reason with your passion. 
Must be content to think you old, and so — 
But she knows what she does. 

Lear. Is this well spoken now ? 

Reg. I dare avouch it, sir : What, fifty followers? 
Is it not well ? What should you need of more 1 
Yea, or so many ? sith that both charge and danger 
Speak 'gainst so great a number 1 How, in one house. 
Should many people, under two commands. 
Hold amity ! 'Tis hard ; almost impossible. 

GoiL. Why mightnotyou, my lord, receive attendance 
From those that she calls servants, or from mine ? 

Reg. Why not, my lord 1 If then they chanc'd to 
slack you, 
We could control them : If you will come to me, 
(For now 1 spy a danger,) 1 entreat you 
I'o bring but five and twenty ; to no more 
Will 1 give place, or notice. 

Lear, I gave you all — 

Reg. And in good time you gave it. 

Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries ; 
But kept a reservation to be foUow'd 
With such a number : \Vhat, must I come to you 
With five and twenty, Regan ] said you so ! 

Reg. And speak it again, my lord ; no more with me. 

Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well fa- 
vour'd. 
When others are more wicked ; not being the worst. 
Stands in some rank of praise : — I'll go with thee ; 

[To GONERIL. 

Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty, 
And thou art twice her love. 

Gon. Hear me, my lord ; 

What need you five and twenty, ten, or five, 
To follow in a house, where twice so many 
Have a command to tend you 1 

Reg. What need one ? 

Lear. O, reason not the need : our basest beggars 
Are in the poorest thing superfluous : 
Allow not nature more than nature needs, 
Man's life is cheap as beast's: thou art a lady ; 
If only to go warm were gorgeous, 
Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st. 
Which scarcely keeps thee warm. — 1 iut, for true need. 
You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need ! 
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, 
As full of grief as age ; wretched in both ! 
If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts 
Against their father, fool me not so much 
To bear it tamely ; touch me with noble anger ! 
O, let not women's weapons, water-drops. 
Stain my man's cheeks ! — No, you unnatural hags, 
I will have such revenges on you both. 
That all the world shall — I will .do such things, — 
What thev are, yet I know not ; but they shall be 
The terrors of the earth. You think, I'll weep , 
No, 1 'U not weep : — 

I have full cause of weeping ; but this heart 
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws, 
O'- ere I'll weep : — O, fool, I shall go mad ! 

[fxeu7{( Lear, Gloster, Kent, and Fool. 

Cijrn. Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm. 

[Storm heard at a distance. 



Reg. This hotise 

Is little ; the old man and his people cannot 
Be well bestow'd. 

Gun. 'Tis his own blame , he hath put 

Himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly. 

Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly, 
But not one follower. 

Gon. So am I puipos'd, 

\Vhere is my lord of Gloster] 

Re-enter Gloster. 

Corn. Follow'd the old man forth : — he is return'd. 

Glo. The king is in high rage. 

Corn. Whither is he going? 

Gl'.). He calls to horse ; but will 1 know not whither. 

Corn. 'Tis best to give him way ; he leads himself. 

Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay. 

Glo Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds 
Do sorely ruflle ; for many miles about 
There 's scarce a bush. 

Reg. O, sir, to wilful men, 

The injuries, jhat tlrey themselves procure, 
JMust be their schoolmasters : Shut up your doors ; 
He is attended with a desperate train ; 
And what they may incense him to, being apt 
To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear. 

Corn . Shut up your doors, my lord ; 'tis a wild night: 
My Regan counsels well : come out o' the storm. 

[Exeiihi. 



ACT IIL 

SCENE 1.—A Heath. 

A storm is heard, with thunder and lightning. Enter 
Kent, and a Gentleman, meeting. 

Kent: Who's here, beside foul weather? 

Gent. One minded like the weather, most unquietly. 

Kent. I know you ; Where's the king ? 

Gent. Contending witli the fretful clement; 
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea. 
Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, [hair, 

That things might change, or cease: tears hia white 
Which tlie impetuous blasts with eyeless rage. 
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of; 
Strives in his little world of man to out scorn 
The to and-fro conflicting wind and rain. 
This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would conch, 
The lion and the belly-pinched wolf 
Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs, 
And bids what will take all. 

Kent. But who is with him ? 

Gent. None but the fool; who labours to out-jest 
His heart-struck injuries. 

Kent. Sir, I do know you ; 

And dare, upon the warrant of my art, 
Commend a dear thing to you. There is division, 
Although as yet the face of i; be cover'd 
With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall; 
Who have (as who have not, that their great stars 
Thron'd and set high !) servants, who seem no less ; 
Which are to France the spies and speculations 
Intelligent of our state ; what hath been seen, 
Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes ; 
Or the hard rein which both of them have borne 
Against the old kind king; or something deeper, 
Wiiereof, perchance, these are but furnishings; 
But, true it is, from France there comes a power 
Into this ecatter'd kingdom ; who already, 
Wise in our negligence, have secret feet 



/ 



ACT III.-SCENE III. 



783 



In some of our best ports, and are at point 

To shew their open banner. — Now to you : 

If on my credit you dure build so far 

To make your speed to Dover, you shall find 

Some that will thank you, making just report 

Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow 

I'he king hath cause to plain. 

I am a gentleman of blood and breeding ; 

And, from some knowledge and assurance, offer 

This office to you. 

Gent. 1 will talk further with you. 

Kent. No, do not. 

For confirmation that I am much more 
Than my out wall, open this purse, and take 
^Vhat it contains: If you shall see Cordelia, 
(As fear not but you shall,) shew her this ring ; 
And she will tell you who your fellow is 
That yet you do not know. Sye on this storm I 
I will go seek the king. [say 1 

Gent. Give me your hand : Have you no more to 

Kent. Few words, but, to effect more than all yet ; 
That, when we have found the king, (in which your pain 
That way ; 1 '11 this:) he that first liglUs on him, 
Holla the other. [Eieunt severally. 

SCENE II. 

Another Part of the Heath. — Storm continues. 
Enter Lear and Fool. 
Lear. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks ! rage 
You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout [blow 

Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks 
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, 
Vaunt couriers to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts. 
Singe my v.hite head! And thou, all-shaking thunder. 
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world ! 
Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once. 
That make ingrateful man ! 

Fool. O nuncle, court holy water in a dry house is 
better than this rain-water out o'door. Good nuncle, 
in, and ask thy daughters' blessing; here's a night 
pities neither wise men nor fools. 

Lear. Kumble thy belly full ! Spit, fire ! spout rain! 
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters; 
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness, 
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children. 
You owe me no subscription ; why then let fall 
Your horrible pleasure ; here I stand, your slave, 
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man: — 
But yet I call you servile ministers. 
That have with two pernicious daughters join'd 
Your high engender'd battles, 'gainst a head 
So old and white as this. O ! ! 'tis foul 1 

Fool He that has a house to put his head in, has a 
good head-piece. 

The cod-piece that will house. 

Before the head has anji, 
The head and he shall louse ; — 

6'o beggars marry many. 
The man that makes his toe 

What he his heart should make. 
Shall of a corn cry woe. 
And turn his sleep to wake, 

— for there was never yet fair woman, but she made 
mouths in a glass. 

Enter Kent. 

Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience, I 
will say nothing. 

Kent. Who's there 1 

Fool. .Marry, here's grace, and a cod-piece; that's 
a wise man, and a fool. 



Kent. Alas sir are you here? things tliat love night. 
Love not such nights as these ; the wrathful skies 
Galiow the very wanderers of the dark. 
And make them keep theii caves : Since I was man 
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder. 
Such groans of roarmg wind and rain, 1 never 
Remember to have heard: man's nature cannot carry 
The affliction, nor the fear. 

Lear. Let the great gods. 

That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads. 
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch, 
That hast within thee undivulged crimes, 
Unwhipp'd of justice ; Hide thee, thou bloody hand; 
Ihou perjur'd, and thou simular man of virtue 
That art incestuous : Caitiff, to pieces shake, 
That under covert and convenient seeming 
Hast practis'd on man's life! — Close pent-up guilts, 
Rive your concealing continents, and cry 
These dreadful summoners grace. — I am a man, 
IMore sinn'd against, than sinning. 

Kent. Alack, bare headed ! 

Gracious mv lord, hard by here is a hovel ; 
Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest ; 
Repose you there : while I to this hard house, 
(More hard than is the stone whereof 'tis rais'd ; 
Which even but now, demanding after you, 
Denied me to come in,} return, and force 
Their scanted courtesy. 

Lear. My wits begin^to turn. — 

Come on, my boy: How dost, my boy? Art cold? 
I am cold myself. — Where is this straw, my fellow? 
The art of our necessities is strange. 
That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel. 
Poor fool and knave, 1 have one part in my heart 
That's sorry yet for thee. 

Fool. He that has a little tiny wit, — 

With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain. — 
Must make content with his fortune Jit ; 
For the rain it raineth every day, 

Lear. True, my good boy. — Come, bring us to this 
hovel. [Exeunt LciR and Kent. 

Fool. This is a brave night to cool a courtezan. — 
I'll speak a prophecy ere I go : 

When priests are more in word than matter ; 

When brewers mar their malt with water ; 

When nobles are their tailors' tutors ; 

No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors ; 

When every case in law is right ; 

No squiie in debt, nor no poor knight ; 

W^hen slanders do not live in tongues : 

Nor cutpuises come not to throngs ; 

When usurers tell their gold i' the field ; 

And bawds and whores do churches build ; — 

Then shall the realm of Albion 

Come to great confusion. 

Then comes the time, who lives to see 't. 

That going shall be us'd with feet. 

This prophecy Merlin shall make ; for I live before 
his time. [Exit. 

SCENE III.— -4 Room in Gloster's Castle. 
Enter Gloster and Edmund. 

Glo. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this un- 
natural dealing: When I desired their leave that I 
might pity him. thev took from me tlie use of mine 
own house : chaiged me on pain of :heir perpetual 
displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him, 
nor any way sustain him. 



784 



KING LEAR. 



FAm. Most savage, and unnatural ! 

Glo. Go to ; say you nothing : There is division 
between tiie dukes ; and a worse matter than that : I 
have received a letter this night ; — 'tis dangerous to 
be spoken ; — 1 have locked the letter in my closet : 
these injuries the king now bears will be revenged 
home ; there is part of a power already footed : we 
must incline to the king. I will seek him, and pri- 
vily relieve him : go you, and maintain talk with the 
duke, that my charity be not of him perceived : If he 
ask for me, I am ill, and gone to bed. If I die for 
it, as no less is threatened me, the king my old mas- 
ter must be relieved. There is some strange thing 
toward, Edmund ; pray you, be careful. [Eiit. 

Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke 
Instantly know ; and of that letter too : — 
This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me 
That which my father loses ; no less than all ; 
The younger rises, when the old doth fall. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.- ^ Part of the Heath, with a Hovel. 
Enter Leau, Kent, and Fool. 

Kent. Here is the place, my lord ; good my lord. 
The tyranny of the open night's too rough [enter : 
For nature to endure. [Storm still. 

Lear. Let me alone. 

Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 

Lear. Wik break my heart? [enter. 

Kent. I'd rather break mine own: Good my lord, 

Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this contentious 
Invades us to the skin : so 'tis to thee ; [storm 

But where the greater malady is fix'd. 
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear : 
But if thy flight lay toward tlie raging sea, 
Thou'dst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the mind's 
The body's delicate: the tempest in my mind Ifiee, 
Doth from my senses take all feeling else, 
Save what beats there. — Filial ingratitude ! 
Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand, 
For lifting food to'f? — But 1 will punish home : — 
No, I will weep no more. — In such a night 
To shut me out ! — Pour on ; I will endure : — 
In such a night as this ! O Regan, Goneril ! — 
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all, — 
O, that way madness lies ; let me shun that ; 
No more of that, — 

Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 

Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyself; seek thine own ease ; 
This tempest will not give me leave to ponder 
On things would hurt me more. — But I'll go in : 
In, boy ; go first. — [To the Fool.] You houseless 

poverty, — 
Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep. — 

[Fool goes in. 
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are. 
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, 
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you 
From seasons such as these 1 O, 1 have ta'en 
Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; 
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel ; 
That thou may'st shake the superflux to them. 
And shew the heavens more just. 

Edg. [ With in] Fathom and half, fathom and half ! 
Poor Tom! [T/ieFool riuis out from tJie liovel. 
Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit. 
Help me, help me ! 

Ke)U. Give me thy hand. — Who's there? 
Foul. A spirit, a spirit ; hesayshisname'spoorTom. 
Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i the 
Come forth. [straw * 



Enter Edgar, dissuised as a madman. 

Edg. Away ! the foul fiend follows me ! — 
Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. — 
Humph! go to thy cold bed and warm thee. 

Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters 1 
And art thou come to this ? 

Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom 1 whoiK 
the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, 
througii ford and whirlpool, over bog and quagmire ; 
that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in 
his pew ; set ratsbane by his porridge ; made him 
proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting horse over 
four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a 
traitor: — Bless thy five wits! Tom's a-cold. — O, do 
de, do de, do de. — Bless thee from whirlwinds, star- 
blasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some charity, 
whom the foul fiend ve'xes : 'J'here could 1 have him 
now, — and there, — and there, — and tiiere again, and 
there. [i'torm continues. 

Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to this 
pass? — ■* 
Could'st thou save nothing ? Did'st thou give them all? 

Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had all 
been shamed. 

Lear. Now, all the plagues thatin the pendulous air 
Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters ! 

Kent. He hath no daughters, sir. [nature 

Lear. Death, traitor! nothing could have subdu'd 
To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters. — 
It is the fashion, that discarded fathers 
Should have this little mercy on their flesh ? 
Judicious punishment ! 'twas this flesh begot 
Those pelican daughters. 

Edg. Pillicock sat on pillicock's hill ; — 
Halloo, halloo, loo, loo ! 

Fdi)/. This cold night will turn us all to fools and 
madmen. 

Edg. Take heed o' the foul fiend : Obey thy pa- 
rents ; keep thy word ju.stly ; swear not ; commit not 
with man's sworn spouse ; set not tliy sweet heart on 
proud array : Tom's a-cold. 

Lear. What hast thou been 1 

Edg. A serving-man, proud in heart and mind ; 
that curled my hair ; wore gloves in my cap, served 
the lust of my mistress' heart, and did the act of dark- 
ness with her ; swore as many oaths as I spake words, 
and broke them in the sweet face of heaven : one, 
that slept in the contriving of lust, and waked to do 
it ; Wine loved I deeply ; dice dearly ; and in woman, 
out-paramour'd the Turk : False of heart, light of ear, 
bloody of hand ; Hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf 
in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let 
not the creaking of shoes, nor the rustling of silks, 
betray thy poor heart to women : Keep thy foot out 
of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from 
lenders' books, and dtfy the foul fiend. — Still tiirough 
the hawthorn blows the cold wind : Says suum, mun, 
ha no nonny, dolphin my boy, my boy, sessa ; let 
him trot by. [Storm still continues. 

Lear. Why, thou wert better in thy grave, than 
to answer with thy uncover'd body this extremity o/ 
the skies. — Is man no more than this? Consider him 
well: Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no 
hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume : — Ha" 
here's three of us are sophisticated ! — Thou art the 
thing itself: unaccommodated man is no more but such 
a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art. — Off, off, 
you lendings : — Come ; unbutton here. — 

[Tearing off' Iiis clothes. 

Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, be contented ; this is a 
naughty night to swim in. — Now a little fire in a wild 




KING LEAR, 



Lkar. Off, cff, you lendings: — Coins ; unbutton here 

//.•r lit . Srcnr 4, 



ACT III.—SCENE VI. 



785 



field were like an old lecher's heart ; a small spark, 
ill the rest of his body cold. — Look, here comes a 
walking fire. 

Edg, This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he be- 
gins at curfew, and walks till the first cock ; he gives 
the web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the 
hare-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the 
poor cieature of earth. 

Saint Withold footed thrice the tvold ; 
He met the night-mare, and her nine •fold ; 

Bid her alight, 

And her troth plight. 
And, aroint thee,xvitch, aroint thee! 

Kent, How fares your grace ? 

Enter Gloster, with a torch. 

Lear. What 's he 1 

Kent. Who's there? What is't you seek? 

do. What are you there ? Your names 1 

Edg. Poor Tom ; that eats the swimming frog, the 
toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and the water ; that 
in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, 
eats cow-dung for sallets ; swallows the old rat, and 
the ditch-dog , drinks the green mantle of the stand- 
ing pool ; who IS whipped from tything to tything, 
and stocked, punished, and imprisoned ; who hath 
had three suits to his back, six shirts to his body, 
horse to ride, and weapon to wear. 

But mice, and rats, and such small deer. 
Have been Tom's food for seven long year. 

Beware my follower : — Peace, Smolkin ; peace, thou 
fiend ! 

Glo. What, hath your grace no better company? 

Edg. Tlie prince of darkness is a gentleman ; 
Modo he 's call'd, and Mahu. 

Glo. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile, 
That it doth hate what gets it. 

jEf/o-. Poor Tom's a-cold. 

o 

Gio. Go in with me ; my duty cannot suffer 
To obey all your daughters' hard commands: 
Tliough their injunction be to bar my doors. 
And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you ; 
Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out. 
And bring you where both fire and wood is ready. 

Lear. First let me talk with this philosopher : — 
What is the cause of thunder ? 

Kent. Good my lord, take his offer ; 
Go into the house 

Lear. I'll talk a word with this same learned The- 
What is your study ? [ban ; — 

Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin. 

Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. 

Kent. Importune him once more to go, my lord. 
His wits begin to unsettle. 

Glo. Can'st thou blame him ? 

Hisdaughtersseekhisdeath : — Ali, that good Kent! — 
He said it would be thus : — Poor banish'd man ! — 
Thou say'st the king grows mad ; I'll tell thee, friend, 
I am almost mad myself: I had a son. 
Now outlaw'd from my blood : he .sought my life. 
But lately, very late ; I lov'd him, friend, — 
No father his son dearer : true to tell thee, 

[5t(lrn^ continues. 
The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this ! 
1 do beseech your grace, 

Lear. O, cry you mercy. 

Noble philosopher, your company. 

Edg. Tom's a-cold. 

Glo. In, fellow, there to the hovel : keep thee warm. 

Lear. Come, let's in all. 



Kent. This way, my lord. 

Lear. With him ; 

I will keep still with my pliilosopher. 

Kent. Good my lord, sooth him; let him take the 

Glo. Take him you on. [fellow, 

Kent. Sirrah, come on ; go along with us. 

Lear. Come, good Athenian. 

Glo. No words, no words ; 

Hush. 

Edg. Child Rowland to the dark toicer came. 
His word ivus still, — Eie,foh, andfam, 

I smell the blood of a British man. [^Exeunt, 

SCENE v.— ^ Room in Gloster's Cait/e. 
Enter Cornwall and Edmund. 

Corn. I will have my revenge.ere I depart his house. 

Edm. How, my lord, I may be censured, that na- 
ture thus gives way to loyalty, something fears me 
to think of. 

Corn. I now perceive, it was not altogether your 
brother's evil disposition made him seek his death ; 
but a provoking merit, set a-work by a reproveable 
badness in himself. 

Edm. How malicious is my fortune, that I must 
repent to be just! This is the letter he spoke of, 
which approves him an intelligent party to the ad- 
vantages of France. O heavens ! that this treason 
were not, or not 1 the detector! 

Corn. Go with me to the duchess. 

Edm. If the matter of this paper be certain, you 
have mighty business in hand. 

Corn. True, or false, it hath made thee earl of 
Gloster. Seek out where thy father is, that he may 
be ready for our apprehension. 

E(un. [Aside.] If I find him comforting the kin<r, 
it will stuff his suspicion more fully. — I will perse- 
vere in my course of loyalty, though the conflict be 
sore between that and my blood. 

Corn. I will lay trust upon thee j and thou shall 
find a dearer father in my love. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VL 

A Chamber in a Farm-House, adjoining the Castle. 

Enter Gioster, Lear, Kent, Fool, and Edgar. 

Glo. Here is better than the open air; take it 

thankfully : I will piece out the comfort with what 

addition I can : I will not be long from you. 

Kent. All the power of his wits has given way to 
his impatience : — The gods reward your kindness' ! 

[Exit Gloster. 
Edg. Frateretto calls me ; and tells me, Nero is 
an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, 
and beware the foul fiend. 

Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, tell me, whether a madman 
be a gentleman, or a yeoman ? 
Lear. A king, a kin?! 

Fool. No ; he's a yeoman, that has a gentleman to 
his son ; for he's a mad yeoman, that sees his sou a 
gentleman before him. 

Lear. To have a thousand with red burning spits 
Come hizzing in upon them : — 
Edg. The foul fiend bites my back. 
Fool. He's mad, that trusts in the tameness of a 
wolf, a horse's iiealth, a boy's love, or a whore's oat!i. 
Leur.Itshall bedone, I will arraign themstraight: — 

Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer ; 

[To Edgar. 
Thou, sapient sir, sit here. [To the Fool.] — Now, 
you she foxes ! — 
Edg. Look, where he stands and glares ! — 
Wantest thou eyes at trial, madam ! 
3V 



786 



KING LEAR. 



Come o'er the bourn, Bessij, to me: — 
Fool. Her boat hath a leak, 
And slie must not speak 
Why she dares not come over to thee. 

Tdg. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice 
of a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's belly for 
two white herring. Croak not, black angel ; I have 
no food for thee. 

Kent. Ho-w do you, sir? Stand you not so amaz'd: 
Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions 1 

Lear. I '11 see their trial first : — Bring in the evi- 
dence. — 
Thou robed man of justice, take thy place ; — 

[To Edgar. 
And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, [To the Fool. 
Bench by his side : — You are of the commission, 
Sit you too. [To Kent. 

Edg. Let us deal justly. 

Sleepest orwakest thmi, jolly shepherd? 

Thy sheep be in the corn ; 
And for one blast of thy minikin mouth, 

Thy sheep shall take no harm. 

Pur ! the cat is grey. 

Lear. Arraign her first : 'tis Goneril. I here take 
my oath before this honourable assembly, she kicked 
the poor king her father. 

Fool. Come hither, mistress; Isyour name Goneril? 

Lear. She cannot deny it. 

Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool. 

Lear. And here's another, whose warp'd looks pro- 
claim 
What store her heart is made of. — Stop her there ! 
Arms, arms, sword, fire! — Corruption in the place ! 
False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape? 

Fdg. Bless thy five wits ! 

Kent. O pity ! — Sir, where is the patience nowr, 
That you so oft have boasted to retain ? 

Edg. My tears begin to take his part so much, 
Tliey'll mar my counterfeiting. [Aside. 

Lear. The little dogs and all, 
Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me. 

Edg. Tom will throw his head at them : — Avaunt, 
you curs ! 

Be thy mouth or black or white, 
Tooth that poisons if it bite ; 
Rlastiff, grey-hound, mongrel grim, 
Hound, or spaniel, brach, or lym ; 
Or bobtail tike, or trundle-tail ; 
Tom will make them weep and wail : 
For, with throwing thus my head: 
Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled. 

Do de, de de. Sessa. Come, march to wakes and 
fairs, and market towns ; — Poor Tom, thy horn is dry. 

Lear. Then let them anatomize Regan, see what 
breeds about her heart: Is there any cause in nature, 
that makes these hard hearts ?— You, sir, I entertain 
you for one of my hundred ; oniv, I do not like the 
fashion of your garments : you will say, they are Per- 
sian attire ; but let them be changed. [To Edgar. 

Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here, and rest awhile. 

Lear. Make no noise, make no noise ; draw the 
curtains : So, so, so : We'll go to supper i'the morn- 
ing : So, so, so. 

Fool. And I'll go to bed at noon. 

Re-enter Gloster. 

Glo. Come hither, friend : Where is the king my 

master ? [gone. 

Kent. Here, sir j but trouble him not, his wits are 



Glo. Good friend, I pr'ythee take him in thy arms ; 
I have o'erheaid a plot of death upon him : 
There is a litter ready ; lay him in 't, [meet 

And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt 
Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master; 
If thou should'st dally half an hour, his life. 
With thine, and all that oflTer to defend him, 
Stand in assured loss : Take up, take up ; 
And follow me, that will to some provision 
Give thee quick conduct. 

Kent. Oppress'd nature sleeps : — 

This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken senses, 
Which, if convenience will not allow. 
Stand in hard cure. — Come, help to bear thy master ; 
Thou must not stay behind. [To the Fool. 

Glo. Come, come, away. 

\_Exeunt Kent, Gloster, and the Fool, 
bearing off the King. 

Edg. When we our betters see bearing our woes, 
W"e scarcely think our miseries our foes. 
Who alone suffers, suffers most i' the mind ; 
Leaving free things, and happy shows, behind : 
But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip, 
When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. 
How light and portable my pain seems now. 
When that, which makes me bend, makes the king 
He childed, as I father'd ! — Tom, away : [bow ; 
Mark the high noises : and thyself bewray. 
When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles thee, 
In thy just proof, repeals, and reconciles thee. 
What will hap more to-night, save 'scape the king ' 
Lutk, lurk. [Eiit. 

SCENE VII.— ^ Room in Gloster's Castle. 

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmunb, 
and Servants. 

Corn. Post speedily to my lord your husband ; 
shew him this letter: — the army of France is landed: 
— Seek out the villain Gloster. 

[Exeunt some of the Servants. 

Reg. Hang him instantly. 

Gon. Pluck out his eyes. 

Corn. Leave him to my displeasure. — Edmund, 
keep you our sister company ; the revenges we are 
bound to take upon your traitorous father, are not 
fit for your beholding. Advise the duke, where you 
are going, to a most festinate preparation ; we are 
bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift, and in- 
telligent betwi.xt us. Farewell, dear sister ; — fare- 
well, my lord of Gloster. 

Enter Steward. 

How now ? W^here's the king ? 

Stew. J\Iy lord of Gloster hath convey'd him hence : 
Some five or si.x and thirty of his knights. 
Hot questrists after him, met him at gate ; 
Who, with some other of the lord's dependants, 
Are gone with him towards Dover ; where they boast 
To have well armed friends. 

Corn, Get horses for your mistress. 

Gon. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister. 

[ Eiemit Goneril and Edmund. 
Corti. Edmund, farewell, — Go, seek the traitor 
Gloster, 
Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us : 

[Exeunt other Servants. 
Though well we may not pass upon his life 
Without the form of justice ; yet our power 
Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men 
May blame, but not control. Who 's there ? The 
traitor ? 



f 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



787 



Corn. 
Glo. 



Re enter Servants, (vith Gloster, 

ngrateful fox ! 'tis he. 
Bind fast his corky arms. 



What mean your 
friends, consider 



graces.: 



Good 



itiy 



You are my guests ; do me no foul p5ay, friends. 

Corn. Bind him, I say. [Servants bind him, 

Reg. Hard, hard : — O filthy traitor ! 

G/o. Unmerciful lady as you are, I am none. 

Cor7i. To this chair bind him : — Villain, thou shall 
find — [Regan plucks his beard. 

Gio, By the kiod gods, 'tis most ignobly done 
To pluck me by the beard. 

Reg. So white, and such a traitor ! 

Glo, Naughty lady, 

These hairs, which thoa dost ravish from my chin, 
Will quicken, and accuse thee : I am your host ; 
With robbers' hands, my hospitable favours 
You should not ruffle tijus. What will you do ! 

Cora. Come, sir, what letters had you late from 
France 1 

Reg. Be simple-answer'd, for we knov»r the truth. 

Corn. And what confederacy have you with the 
Late footed in the kingdom ? [traitors 

Heg. To whose hands have you sent the lunatic king ? 
Speak. 

Gh. I have a letter guessingly set down, 
Which came from one that's of a neutral heart, 
A«d not from one oppos'd. 

Corn. Cunning. 

Keg. And false. 

Corn. Where hast thou seat the king ? 

Gla, To Dover. 

Reg. Wherefore 

To Dover? Wast thou not charg'd at thy peril — 

Corn, Wherefore to Do-ver? Let him first answer 
that. 

Gio. I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the 

Reg. Wherefore to Dover ? [course. 

Glo. Because I would not see thy cruel nails 
Pluck out his poor old eyes ; nor thy fierce sister 
In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs. 
The sea, with such a storm as his bare head 
la hell-black night endur'd, would have buoy'd up 
And quench'd the stelled fires: yet, poor old heart, 
He holp the heavens to rain. 
If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stera time, 
Thou shouWst have said. Good porter, turn the key ; 
All cruels else subscrib'd : — But I shall see 
The winged vengeance overtake such children. 

Corn, See it shalt thou never: — Fellows, hold the 

Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot, [chair: — 

[Glosteu is held doum in his chair, while Cornwall 

plucks out one of his eyes, and fets his foot on it, 

Glo. He, that will think to live till he be old, 
Give me some help : — O cruel ! O ye gods ! 

Reg. One side will mock another ; tlie other too. 

Cej-M. If you see vengeance, — 

Serv. Hold your hand, my lord ; 

I have serv'd you ever since I was a child ; 
But better service have I never done you 
Than now to bid you hold. 

Reg. How now, you dog T 

Serb'. If yovi did wear a beard upon your chin, 
I'd shake it on this quarrel : What do you mean? 

Corn. My villain ! [Draws, and runs at him. 

S?rt).Nay ,then come on , and take the chance of anger. 

\_Draws, Theii fght. Cornwall is wounded. 

Reg. Give me thy sword. — [To another Servant.^ 
A peasant stand up thus ! 
[Snatches a iword, comes behind, and stabs him. 



Serv. O, I am slain! — My lord, you have one eye 

left 
To see some mischief on him : — O ! [Diet. 

Corn. Lest it see more, prevent it: — Out, vile jelly ! 
Where is thy lustre now 1 

[Tears out Gloster's other eye, and throirs 
it on the ground. 
Glo. All dark and comfortless. — Where's my son 
Edmund ? 
Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature, 
To quit this horrid act. 

Reg. Out, treacherous villain ! 

Thou call'st on him that hates thee : it was he 
That made the overture of thy treasons to us ; 
Who is too good to pity thee. 

Glo, O my follies '. 

Then Edgar was abus'd. — 
Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him ! 

Reg. Go, thrust him out at gates, and let him smell 
His way to Dover. — -How'st, my lord ? How look you ? 
Corn, 1 have receiv'd a hurt : — Follow me, lady. — 
Turn out that eyeless villain ; — throw this slave 
Upon the dunghill. — Regan, I bleed apace : 
Untimely comes this liurt : Give me your arm. 

[Exit ConNWALL, led by Regan ; — Servants 
unbind Glosteii, and lead him out, 

1 Serv, I'll never care what wickedness I do, 
If this man come to good. 

2 Serv. If she live long. 
And, in the end, meet the old course of death, 
Women will all turn monsters. [lam 

1 Serv. Let's follow the old earl, and get the Bed- 
To lead him where he would ; his roguish madness 
Allows itself to any thing. 

2 Serv, Go thou ; I'll fetch some flax, and whites 

of eggs, - 
To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help 
him ! [Exeunt severally. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— 77ie Heath. 

Enter Edgar. 

Edg, Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd. 
Than still contemn'd and Hatter'd. To be worst, 
The lowest, and most dejected thing of fortune. 
Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear: 
The lamentable change is from the best ; 
The worst returns to laughter. W^elcome then. 
Thou unsubstantial air, that I embrace ! 
The wretch, that thou hast blown unto the worst, 
Owes nothing to thy blasts. — But who comes here? — 

Enter Gloster, ted by an Old Man. 

My father, poorly led? World, world, O world ! 
But that thy ctrange mutations make us hate thee. 
Life would not yield to age. 

Old Man. O my good lord, I have been your te- 
nant, and your father's tenant, these fourscore years. 

Glo. Away, get thee away ; good friend, be gone : 
Thy comforts can do me no good at all, 
I'hee they may hurt. 

Old Man. Alack, sir, you cannot see your way. 

Glo. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes j 
I stumbled ^vl^cn I saw : Full oft 'tis seen, 
Our mean secures us ; and our mere defects 
Prove our commodities. — Ah, dear son Edgar, 
The food of thy abused father's wrath ! 
Might 1 but live to see thee in my touch, 
I'd say, I had eyes again ! 

:i D S 



788 



KING LEAR. 



Old Man. How now ? Who's there 1 

Edg. [Aside.] O gods ! Who is't can say, / am at 
I am worse than e'er I was. [the worst ? 

Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom. 

Edg. ^Aside.] And worse I may be yet : The worst 
So long as we can say, This is the worst. [is not, 

Old Man. Fellow, where goest 1 

Glo. Is it a beggar-man? 

Old Mu7i. Madman and beggar too. 

Glo. He has some reason, else he could not beg. 
I' the last night's storm I siich a fellow saw ; 
Which made me think a man a worm : Rly son 
Came then into my mind ; aiu.l yet my mind 
Was then scarce friends with him : I have heard more 
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods ; [since : 
They kill us for their sport. 

Edg. How should this be 1 

Bad is the trade must play the fool to sorrow, 
Ang'ring itself and others. [Aside.] — Bless thee, 

Glo. Is that the naked fellow 1 [master ! 

Old Man. Ay, my lord. 

Glo. Then, pr'ythee, get thee gone: If, for my sake, 
Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain, 
I' the way to Dover, do it for ancient love ; 
And bring some covering for this naked soul, 
Whom I'll entreat to lead me. 

Old Man. Alack, sir, he's mad. 

Glo, 'Tis the times' plague when madmen lead the 
Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure ; [blind. 
Above the rest, be gone. 

Old Ma7i. I'll bring him the best 'parrel that I have. 
Come on't what will. [Lxit. 

Glo. Sirrah, naked fellow. 

Edg. Poor Tom's a cold.— I cannot daub it fur- 
ther. 1 /j.saJc. 

Glo. Come hither, fellow. 

Edg. [Aside.] And yet 1 must.— Bless thy sweel 
eyes, they bleed. 

Glo. Know'st thou the way to Dover? 

Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way, and foot- 
path. Poor Tom hath been scared out of iiis good 
wits : Bless the good man from tlie foul fiend ! live 
fiends have been in poor Tom at once ; of lust, as 
Obidicut ; Hobhididance, prince of dumbness ; Malm, 
of stealing ; Modo, of murder ; and Flibbertigibbet, 
of mopping and mowing; who since possesses cham- 
ber-maids and waiting-women. So, bless thee, master! 

Glo. Here, take this purse, thou whom the heaven's 
plagues 
Have humbled to all strokes : that I am wretched, 
Makes thee the happier : — Heavens, deal so still ! 
Let the superfluous, and lust-dieted man, 
That slaves your ordinance, that will not see 
Because he doth not feel, ftel your power quickly ; 
So distribution should undo e.xcess. 
And eacii man have enough. — Dost thou know Dover? 

Edg. Ay, master. 

Glo. There is a cliff, whose high and bending head 
Looks fearfully in the confined deep : 
Bring me but to the very brim of it. 
And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear. 
With something rich about me : from tliat place 
I shall no leading need. 

Eds. 



Poor Tom shall lead thee 



Give me thy arm ; 



[E.ieunt. 



SCE^E 11.— Before the Duke cf Albany's Palace. 

Eriter GoNERlL and Edmund ; Steward meeiing them. 

Con. Welcome, my lord : I marvel, our mild hus- 
band 
Not met us on the way : — Now, where'syour master? 



Stew, Rladam, within ; but never man so chang'd: 
I told him of the army that was landed ; 
He smird at it : I told him, you were coming ; 
His answer was, TTie worse : of Gloster's treachery. 
And of the loyal service of his son, 
When I inform'd Jiim, then he call'd me sot ; 
And told me, I had turn'd the wrong side out : — 
What most he should dislike, seems pleasant to him ; 
What like, offensive. 

Gon. Then shall you go no further. 

[To Edmund. 
It is the cowish terror of his spirit. 
That dares not undertake : he'll not feel wrongs. 
Which tie him to an answer : Our wishes, on the way, 
I\Iay prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother ; 
Hasten his musters and conduct his powers : 
I must change arms at home, and give the distaff 
Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant 
Shall pass between us : ere long you are like to hear. 
If you dare venture in your own behalf, 
A mistress's command. Wear this ; spare speech ; 

[Giving afavoiii\ 
Decline your head : this kiss, if it durst speak, 
W^ould stretch tliy spirits up into the air ; — ■ 
Conceive, and fare thee well. 

Edm. Yours in the ranks of death. 

Gon. My most dear Gloster ! [Eiit Edmund. 

O, the difierence of man, and man ! To thee 
A woman's services are due ; my fool 
Usurps my bed. 

Stew. Madam, here comes my lord. [L'.u'i Steward. 

Enter ^lb-^vny. 

Gon. I have been worth the whistle. 

Alb. O Gonen! ' 

You are not worth the dust which the rude wind 
Blows in your face. — I fear yourdisjjosition : 
That nature, which contemns its origin. 
Cannot be border'd certain in itself; 
She that herself will silver and disbranch 
From her material sap, perforce must wither, 
And come to deadlv use. 

Gon, No more ; the text is foolish. 

Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile : 
Filths savour but themselves. Wiiat have you done? 
Tigers, not daugliters, what have you perform'd ? 
A father, and a gracious aged man, 
Whose reverence the head-lugg'd bear would lick, 
JMost barbarous, most degenerate ! have you madded. 
Could my good brother suffer you to do it? 
A man, a prince, by him so benefited ? 
If that the heavens do not their visible spirits 
.Send quickly down to tame these vile offences, 
'Twill come, 

Humanity must perforce prey on itself. 
Like monsters of the deep. 

Go7i. Milk-liver'd man ! 

That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs ; 
Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning 
Thine honour from thy suffering ; that not know'st. 
Fools do those villains pity, who are punish'd 
Ere they havedone their mischief. Where's thy druml 
France spreads his banners in our noiseless land ; 
With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats ; 
Whilst thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and ciy'st, 
Alack ! why does he so? 

Alb. See thyself, devil ' 

Proper deformity seems not in the fiend 
So horrid, as in woman. 

Gon. O vain fool ! 

i^/6.Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for shamR, 
Be-monster not thy feature. Were it my fitness 



ACT IV.- -SCENE IV. 



789 



To let these hands obey my blood, 
They are apt enough to dislocate and tear 
Thy flesh and bones : — Howe'er thou art a fiend, 
A woman's shape doth shield thee. 
Goii. Marry, your manhood now ! — 

Enter a Jlessenger. 

^^6. What news ? 

Mess. O, my good lord, the duke of Cornwall's 
Slain by his servant, going to put out [dead : 

The otiier eye of Gloster. 

Alb. Gloster's eyes ! 

Mess. A servant that lie bred, thiill'd with remorse, 
Oppos'd against the act, bending his svi'ord 
To his great master; who, thereat enrag'd. 
Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead : 
But not witiiout that harmful stroke, vv'hich since 
Hath pluck'd him after. 

Alb. This shews you are above, 

You justicers, that these our netlier crimes 
So speedily can venge ! — 13ut, O poor Gloster ! 
Lost he his other eye ! 

Mess. Both, both, my lord. — 

This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer ; 
'Tis from your sister. 

Gon. [_Aside.] One way I like this well ; 
But being widow, and my Gloster with her, 
May all the building in my fancy pluck 
Upon my hateful life : Another way. 
The news is not so tart. — I'll read, and answer. [Exit. 

Alb, Where was his son, when they did take his 

Mess, Come with my lady hither. [eyes 1 

Alb. He is not here. 

Mess. No, my good lord ; I met him back again. 

Alb. Knows he the wickedness'! [him; 

Mess. Ay, my good lord ; 'twas he inform'd against 
And qu't the house en purpose, that their punishment 
Wight have the freer course. 

Alb. Gloster, I live 

To thank thee for the love thou shew'dst the kin?, 
And to revenge thine eyes. — Come hither, friend ; 
Tell me what more thou knowest. [Eieunt- 

SCENE III. — The French Camp, near Dover. 
Enter Kent and a Gentleman. 

Kent. Why the king of France is so suddenly gone 
back know you the reason ! 

Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state, 
Which since his coming forth is tliought of ; which 
Imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger, 
That his personal return was most requir'd. 
And necessary. 

Kent. \Vho hath he left behind him general ? 

Gent. The I^lareschal of France, Monsieur le Fer. 

Kent. Did your letters pierce tiie queen to any de- 
monstration of grief ! 

Gent. Ay, sir ; she took them, read them in my 
presence ; 
And now and then an ample tear trill'd down 
Her delicate cheek : it seem'd, she was a queen 
Over her passion ; who, most rebel-like. 
Sought to be the king o'er her. 

Kent. O, then itmov'd her. 

Gent. Not to rage : patience and sorrow strove 
Who should express her goodliest. You have seen 
Sunshine and rain at once : her smiles and tears 
Were like a better day : 'I'hose happy smiles, 
That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know 
What guests were in her eyes ; which parted ihence. 
As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. — In brief, sorrow 
Would be a rarity most belov'd, if all 



Could so become it. 

Kent. Made she no verbal question ? 

Gent. 'Faith, once or twice she heav'd the name of 
Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart ; [father 
Cried, Sisters! sisters! — Shame of ladies ! sisters! 
Kent ! father ! sisters ! What ? i' the storm 1 V the night ? 
Let pitij not be believ'd ! — There she shook 
The holy water from her heavenly eyes. 
And clamour moisten'd: — then away she started 
To deal with grief alone. 

Kent. It is the stars, 

The stars above us, govern our conditions ; 
Else one self mate and mate could not beget 
Such different issues. You spoke not with her since? 

Gent. No. 

Kent. Was this before the king return 'd ? 

Gent. No, since. 

A'e)(t. Well, sir; the poor distress'd Lear is i'the town: 
Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers 
What we are come about, and by no means 
Will yield to see his daughter. 

Gent. Why, good sir? [kindness 

Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own un- 
That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her 
To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights 
To his dog-hearted daugiiters, — these things sting 
His mind so venomously, that burning shame 
Detains him from Cordelia. 

Gent. Alack, poor gentleman ! 

A'e?it. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard 

Gent. 'Tis so ; they are afoot. [not ? 

Kent. Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master, Lear, 
And leave you to attend him : some dear cause 
Will in concealment wrap me up awiiile ; 
When I am known aright, you shall not grieve 
Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go 
Along with me. [Exeunt 

SCENE IV.— The same. A Tent. 
Enter Cordklia, Physician, and Soldiers. 

Cor. Alack, 'tis he ; why, he was met even now 
As mad as the vex'd sea : singing aloud : 
Crown'd with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds, 
With harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, 
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow 
In our sustaining corn. — A century send forth ; 
Search every acre in the high-grown field. 
And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.] — What 

can man's wisdom do. 
In the restoring his bereaved sense ? 
He, that helps him, take ail my outward worth. 

Phif. There is means, madam : 
Our foster-nurse of nature is repose. 
The which he lacks; tiiat to provoke in him, 
Are many simples operative, whose power 
Will close the eye of anguish. 

Cor. All bless'd secrets, 

All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth, 
Spring witii my tears ! be aidant, and remediate, 
In the good man's distress ! — Seek, seek for him ; 
Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life 
That wants the means to lead it. 

Enter a ]\Iessenger. 

Mess. Madam, news 

The British powers are marching hitherward. 

Cor. 'Tis known before ; our prcjiaration stands 
Fn expectation of them. — O dear father, 
It is thy business that I go about ; 
Therefore great France 
My mourning, and important tears, hath pitied. 



790 



KING LEAR. 



No blown ambition doth our arms incite, 

But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right : 

Soon may 1 hear, and see him ! [^Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — A Room in Gloster'j Castle, 
Elite)' Regan and Steward. 

Reg. But are my brother's powers set forth ? 

Stem. Ay, madam. 

Beg. Himself 

In person there 1 

Stew. Madam, with much ado : 

Your sister is the better soldier. 

JJeo'.Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home? 

Stew. No, madam. 

lieg. What might import my sister's letter to him? 

Stew. I know not, lady. 

Reg. 'Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter. 
It was great ignorance, Gloster's eyes being out, 
To let him live ; where he arrives, he moves 
All hearts against us ; Edmund, I think, is gone, 
In pity of his misery, to despatch 
His nighted life ; moreover, to descry 
The strength o'the enemy. 

Stew. I must needs after him, madam, with my letter. 

Reg. Our troops set forth tomorrow; stay with us j 
The ways are dangerous. 

Stew. I may not, madam ; 

My lady charg'd my duty in this business. 

Reg. Why should she write to Edmund? Might not 
Transport her purposes by words ? Belike, [you 
Something — I know not what : — I'll love thee much, 
Let me unseal the letter. 

Stew. Madam, I had rather — 

Reg. I know, your lady does not love her husband ; 
[ am sure of that : and, at her late being here. 
She gave strange ceiliads, and most speaking looks 
To noble Edmund : I know, you are of her bosom. 

Stew. I, madam? 

Reg. I speak in understanding ; you are, I know it : 
Therefore, I do advise you, take this note : 
My lord is dead : Edmund and I have talk'd ; 
And more convenient is he for my hand. 
Than for your lady's : — You may gather more. 
If you do find him, pray you, give him this ; 
And when your mistress hears thus much from you, 
I pray, desire her cail her wisdom to her. 
So, fare you well. 

If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor. 
Preferment falls on h'.m that cuts him off. 

Stew. 'Would I could meet Inm, madam! I would 
What party I do follow. [shew 

Fare thee well. [Exeunt. 



Reg. 



SCENE VI.— T/ie Country near Dover. 
Enter Gloster, and Edgar dressed like a peasant. 

Glo. When shall wecome to the top of that same hill? 

Edg. You do climb up it now : look how we labour. 

Glo. Methinks, the ground is even. 

Edg. Horrible steep : 

Hark, do you hear the sea? 

Glo. No, truly. 

Edg. Why, then your other senses grow imperfect 
By your eyes' anguish. 

Glo. So may it be, indeed -. 

Methinks, thy voice is alter'd ; and thou speak'st 
In better phrase, and matter, than thou didst. 

Edg. You are much deceiv'd ; in nothing am I 
But in my garments. [chang'd, 

Glo. Methinks, you are better spoken. 



Edg. Come on, sir; here's the place ; — stand still, 
— How fearful 
And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low ! 
The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air. 
Shew scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down 
Hangs one that gathers samphire ; dreadful trade! 
Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head : 
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach. 
Appear like mice ; and yon tall anchoring bark, 
Diminish'd to her cock ; her cock, a buoy 
Almost too small for sight : The murmuring surge. 
That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes. 
Cannot be heard so high : — I'll look no more , 
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
Topple down headlong. 

Glo. Set me where you stand. 

Edg. Give me your hand: You are now within a foot 
Of the extreme verge : for all beneath the moon 
Would I not leap upright. 

Glo. Let go my hand. 

Here, friend, is another purse; in it, a jewel 
W^ell worth a poor man's taking : Fairies, and gods. 
Prosper it with tiiee ! Go thou further off; 
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. 

Edg. Now fare you well, good sir. [Seeins to go. 
Glo. With all my heart. 

Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his despair. 
Is done to cure it. 

Glo. O you mighty gods ! 

This world I do renounce; and, in your sights. 
Shake patiently my great affliction off : 
If I could bear it longer, and not fall 
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills. 
My snuff, and loathed part of nature, should 
Burn itself out. If Edgar lives, O, bless him ! — 
Now, fellow, fare thee well. 

[He leaps, and falls along. 
Edg. Gone, sir? farewell. — 

And yet I know not how conceit may rob 
The treasury of life, when life itself 
Yields to the theft : Had he been where he thought, 
By this, had thought been past. — Alive, or dead ? 
Ho, you sir ! friend ! — Hear you, sir ? — speak ! 
Thus might he pass indeed : — Yet he revives « 
What are you, sir? 

Glo. Away, and let ine die. 

Edg. Had'st thou been aught but gossomer, feathers. 
So many fathom down precipitating, [air. 

Thou had'st shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost 
breathe ; [sound. 

Hast heavy substance ; bleed'st not ; speak'st ; art 
Ten masts at each make not the altitude. 
Which thou hast perpendicularly fell ; 
Thy life 's a miracle : Speak yet again. 
Glo. But have I fallen, or no ? 
Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky bourn . 
Look up a-height ; — the shrill-gorg'd lark so far 
Cannot be seen or heard : do but look up. 

Glo. Alack, 1 have no eyes. — 
Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit. 
To end itself by death ? 'Twas yet some comfort. 
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage, 
And frustrate his proud will. 

Edg. Give me your arm : 

Up: — So; — Howis't? Feel you your legs? You 
Glo. Too well, too well. [stand. 

Edg. This is above all strangeness. 

Upon the crown o' the cliff, what thing was that 
Which parted from you? 

Glo. A poor unfortunate beggar. 

Edg, As I stood here below, methought, his eyes 
W^ere two full moons ; he had a thousand noses. 



ACT IV.— SCENE VI. 



791 



Horns whelk'd, and wav'd like tlie eniidged sea ; 
It was some fiend : Therefore, thou happy father, 
Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours 
Of men's impossibilities, have preserv'd thee. 

GIv. I do remember now: henceforth I'll bear 
Affliction, till it do cry out itself. 
Enough, etiough, and, die. That thing you speak of, 
I took it for a man ; often 'twould say. 
The fiend, thejiend : he led me to that place. 

Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts. — But who 
comes here 1 

Enter L>e ah, fantastically dressed up ivith Jlowers. 

The safer sense will ne'er accommodate 
His master thus. 

Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining • 
I am the king himself. 

Edg. O thou side- piercing sight ! 

Lear. Nature's above art in that respect. — There's 
your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like 
a crow-keeper : draw me a clothier's yard. — Look, 
look, a mouse ! Peace, peace ; — this piece of toasted 
cheese will do't. — There's my gauntlet ; I'll prove 
it on a giant. — Bring up the brown bills. — 0, well 
flown, bird ? — i' the clout, i' the clout : hewgh 1 — 
Give the word. 

Edg. Sweet marjoram. 

Lear. Pass. 

Glo. I know that voice. 

Lear. Ha ! Goneril ! — with a white beard ! — They 
flatter'd me like a dog ; and told me, I had white 
hairs in my beard, ere the black ones were there. 
To say au, and no, to every thing I said ! — Ay and 
no too was no good divinity. When the rain came 
to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter ; 
when the thunder would not peace at my bidding ; 
there I found them, there I smelt them out. Go to, 
they are not men o'their words : they told me I was 
every thing ; 'tis a lie ; I am not ague-proof. 

Glo. The trick of that voice I do well remember : 
Is't not the king 1 

Lear. Ay, every inch a king : 

When I do stare, see, how the subject quakes. 
I pardon that man's life : What was thy cause! — 
Adultery, — 

Thou shall not die : Die for adultery ! No : 
The wren goes to 't, and the small gilded fly 
Does lecher in my sight. 

Let copulation thrive, for Gloster's bastard son 
Was kinder to his father, than my daughters 
Got 'tween the lawful sheets. 
To 't, luxury, pell-mell, for I lack soldiers. — 
Behold yon' simpering dame. 
Whose face between her forks presageth snow ; 
That minces virtue, and does shake the head 
To hear of pleasure's name ; 
The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to't 
With a more riotous appetite. 
Down from the waist they are centaurs. 
Though women all above : 
But to the girdle do the gods inherit. 
Beneath is all the fiends* ; there's hell, there's dark- 
ness, there is the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding, 
stench, consumption: — Fye, fye, fye ! pah; pah! 
Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to 
sweeten my imagination : there's money for thee. 

Glo. O, let me kiss that hand ! 

Lear. Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality. 

Glo. ruin'd piece of nature ! This great world 
Shall so wear out to nought. — Dost thou know me? 

Leur. I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost 
thou squiny at me ? No, do "thy worst, blind Cupid; 



I '11 not love. — Read thou this challenge ; mark but 
the penning of it. 

Glo. Were all the letters suns, I could not see one. 

Edg. I would not take this from report; — it is, 
And my heart breaks at it. 

Lear. Kead. 

Glo. What, with the case of eyes'! 

Lear. 0, ho, are you there with me? No eyes in 
your head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes 
are in a heavy case, your purse in a light : Yet you 
see how this world i;oes. 

Glo. I see it feelingly. 

Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how this 
world goes, with no eyes. Look with thine ears : see 
how yon' justice rails upon yon' simple thief. Hark, 
in thine ear: Change places; and, handy-dandy, 
which is the justice, which is the thief? — Thou hast 
seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar? 

Glo. Ay, sir? 

Lear, And the creature run from the cur? 
There thou might'st behold the great image of autho- 
rity : a dog 's obeyed in office. — 
Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand : 
Whydostthou lash that whore? Strip thine own back; 
Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind [cozener. 
For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs the 
Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear ; 
Robes, and furr'd gowns, hide all. Plate sin with gold. 
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks : 
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it. 
None does offend, none, I say, none ; I'll able 'em : 
Take that of me, my friend, who have the power 
To seal the accuser's lips Get thee glass eyes ; 
And, like a scurvy politician, seem 
To see the things thou dost not. — Now, now, now, now • 
Pull off my boots : — harder, harder ; so. 

Edg. O, matter and impertinency mix'd ! 
Reason in madness ! 

Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. 
I know thee well enough ; thy name is Gloster : 
Thou must be patient ; we came crying hither. 
Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air. 
We wawl, and cry : — I will preach to thee ; mark me. 

Glo. Alack, alack, the day ! 

Lear. When we are born, we cry, that we are come 

To this great stage of fools ; This a good block ? — • 

It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe 
A troop of horses with felt : I '11 put it in proof ; 
And when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law. 
Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. 

Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants. 

Gent. 0, here he is ; lay hand upon him. — Sir, 
Your most dear daughter 

Lear. No rescue ? What, a prisoner? I am even 
The natural fool of foitune. — Use me well ; 
You shall have ransome. Let me have a surgeon, 
I am cut to the brains. 

Gent. You shall have any thing. 

Lear. No seconds ? all myself ? 
Why, this would make a man, a man of salt. 
To use his eyes for garden water-pots, 
Ay, and for laying autumn's dust. 

Gent, Good su,- 

Lear. I will die bravely, like a bridegroom ; What? 
I will be jovial ; come, come ; 1 am a king, 
My masters, know you that? 

Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you. 

Lear. Then there 's life in it. Nay, an you get it, 
you shall gel it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa. 

[Exit running: Attendants /o//i'ir. 

Gent. A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch ; 



792 



KING LEAR. 



Past speaking of in a king ! — Tliou hast one daughter, j There is nothivg dcme, if he return the conqueror ; Then 



Wlio redeems nature from the general curse 
Which twain have brought her to. 

Edg. Hail, gentle sir. 

Gent. Sir, speed you: What's your will? 

Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward 1 

Gent. Most sure, and vulgar: every one hears that, 
Which can distinguish sound. 

Edn-. But, by your favour, 

How near 's the other army? 

Gent. Near, and on speedy foot ; the main descry 
Stands on the hourly thought. 

Edg. I thank you, sir : that's all. 

Gent. Though that the queen on special cause is 
Her army is mov'd on. [here, 

Edg, I thank you, sir. [Eiit Gent. 

Glo. You ever gentle gods, take my breath from me j 
Let not my worser spirits tempt me again 
To die before you please ! 

Edg. Well pray you, father. 

Glo: Now, good sir, what are you ? [blows ; 

Edg. A most poor man, made tame by fortune's 
Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows. 
Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, 
1 '11 lead you to some biding. 

Glo. Hearty thanks : 

The bounty and the benizon of heaven 
To boot, and boot ! 

Enter Steward. 
Stew. A proclaim'd prize ! Most happy ! 

That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh 
To raise my fortunes. — Thou old unhappy traitor. 
Briefly thyself remember : — The sword is out 
That must destroy thee. 

Glo. Now let thy friendly hand 

Put strength enough to it. [Edgar opposes. 

Stew. Wherefore, bold peasant, 

Dar'st tliou support a publish'd traitor? Hence j 
Lest that the infection of his fortune take 
Like hold on thee. Let go his arm. 

Edg. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion. 

Stew, Let go, slave, or thou diest. 

Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor 
volk pass. And ch'ud ha' been zwagger'd out of my 
life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vort- 
night. Nay, come not near the old man; keep out, 
che vor'ye, or ise try whether your costard or my bat 
be the harder : Ch'ill be plain with you. 

Stew. Out, dunghill ! 

Edg. Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir: Come; no matter 
vor your foins. 

[They Jight ; and Edgar hnnrhs him dowrt. 

Stew. Slave, thou hast slain me : — Villain, take my 
If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body ; [purse ; 
And give the letters, which thou find'st about me, 
To Edmund earl of Gloster; seek him out 
Upon the British party : — O, untimely death ! [Dies. 

Edg. I know thee well : A serviceable villain ; 
As duteous to the vices of thy mistress. 
As badness would desire. 

Glo. What, is he dead ? 

Edg. Sit you down, father ; rest you. — 
Let's see his pockets : these letters that he speaks of, 
May be my friends. — He is dead ; I am only sorry 
He had no other death's-man. — Let us see : — 
Leave, gentle wax : and, manners, blame us not: 
To know our enemies' minds, we 'd rip their hearts ; 
Their papers, is more lawful. 

[Reads.'\ Let our reciprocal vows be remembered, 
i'on have inany opporturdties to cut him off : if your 
will leant not, time and place will be f-uitfullij offered. 



am I the prisoner, a)td his bed my gaol ; from the 
loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place 
for your labour. Your wife, (io 1 would say,) and 
your affectionate servant, Goneril. 

undistinguish'd space of woman's will ! — 

A plot upon her virtuous husband's life ; 

And the exchange, my brother ! — Here, in the sands, 

Thee I '11 rake up, the post unsanctified 

Of murderous lechers : and, in the mature time. 

With this ungracious paper strike the sight 

Of the death-practis'd duke: For him 'tis well. 

That of thy death and business I can tell. 

[Exit Edgar, dragging out the body. 
Glo. The king is mad : How stiff is my vile sense. 
That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling 
Of my huge sorrows ! Better I were distract : 
So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs ; 
And woes, by wrong imaginations lose 
The knowledge of themselves. 



Re-enter Edgar. 



Eds 



Give me your hand : 
Far off, methinks, I hear the beating drum. 
Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend. [Exeunt. 

SCENE vn. 

A Tent in the French Camp. — Lear on a Bed, asleep; 
Physicians, Gentlemen, and others, attending. 

Enter CoRDELrA and Kent. 

Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live, and work, 
To match thy goodness ? My life will be too short. 
And every measure fail me. 

Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'er-paid. 
All my reports go with the modest truth ; 
Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so. 

Cor. Be better suited : 

These weeds are memories of those worser hours ; 
I pr'ythee, put them off. 

Kent. Pardon me, dear madam; 

Yet to be known, shortens my made intent: 
My boon I make it, that you know me not. 
Till time and I think meet. 

Cor. Then be it so, my good lord. — How does the 
king ? [Til the Physician. 

Phys. Madam, sleeps still. 

Cor. O you kind gods. 
Cure this great breach in his abused nature ! 
The untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up. 
Of this child- changed father ! 

Phys. So please your majesty. 

That we may wake the king ? he hath slept long. 

Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed 
I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd '. 

Gent. Ay, madam ; in the heaviness of his sleep, 
We put fresh garments on him. 

Phys. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him ; 
I doubt not of his temperance. 

Cor. Very well. [there. 

Phys. Please you, draw near. — Louder the music 

Cor. O my dear father! Restoration, hang 
Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss 
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters 
Have in thy reverence made ! 

Kent. Kind and dear princess .' 

Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakes 
Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face 
To be expos'd against the warring winds ? 
To stand against the deep dread bolted thunder? 
In the most terrible and nimble stroke 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



7.03 



Of quick, cross-lightning? to watch (poor perdu !) 

With this tiiin helm ? JNlinc enemy's do", 

Though he had bit me, should have stood that night 

Against my fire ; And wast thou fain, poor father, 

To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn. 

In shorty and musty straw 1 Alack, alack ! 

'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once 

Had not concluded all. — lie wakes; speak to him. 

Phys. INIadam, do you ; 'tis fittest. [majesty? 

Cor. How does my royal lord ? How fares your 

Lear.You do me wrong, to take me out o'the grave : — 
Thou art a soul in bliss ; but I am bound 
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears 
Do scald like molten lead. 

Cor. Sir, do you know me ? 

Lear. You are a spirit, I know ; When did you die ? 

Cor. Still, still, far wide ! 

Pln/s. He's scarce awake ; let him alone awhile. 

Lear. Where have I been? Where am I? — Fair 
dav-light ? — 
I am mightily abus'd. — T shoiild even die with pity, 
To see another thus. — 1 know not what to say. — 
I will not swear, these are my hands : — let's see ; 
I feel this pin prick. 'Would 1 were assur'd 
Of my condition. 

Cor. 0, look upon me, sir, 

And hold your hands in benediction o'er me : — 
No, sir, you must not kneel. 

Lear. Pray, do not mock me : 

I am a very foolish fond old man. 
Fourscore and upward ; and, to deal plainly, 
I fear, I am not in my perfect mind. 
IMethinks, I should know you, and know this man ; 
Yet I am doubtful : for I am mainly ignorant 
What place this is : and all the skill I have 
^Remembers not these garments ; nor I know not 
Where I did lodge last night : Do not laugh at me ; 
For, as I am a man, I think this lady 
To be my child Cordelia. 

Cor. And so I am, I am. 

Lear. Be your tears wet? Yes, 'faith. I pray, weep 
If you have poison for me, I will drink it. [not : 
I know, you do not love me ; for your sisters 
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong ; 
You have some cause, they have not. 

Cor. No cause, no cause. 

Lear. Am I in France ! 

Kent. In your own kingdom, sir. 

Lear. Do not abuse me. 

Phys. Be comforted, good madam: the great rage, 
You see, is cur'd in him : and yet it is danger 
To make him even o'er the time he has lost. 
Desire him to go in ; trouble him no more. 
Till further settling. 

Cor. VVill't please your highness walk ? 

Lear. You must bear with me : 

Pray now, forget and forgive: 1 am old, and foolish. 

[Exeunt Lear, Coitni t.ia. Physician, and Attend. 

Gent. Holds it true, sir. 
That the duke of Cornwall was so slain ? 

Kent. Most certain, sir. 

Cent. Who is conductor of his people ? 

Kent. As 'tis said. 

The bastard son of Gloster. 

Gent. They say, Fdgar, 

Mis banish 'd son, is with the earl of Kent 
In Germany. 

Kent. Beport is changeable. 

'Tis time to look about ; the powers o'the kingdom 
Approach apace. 

Gent. The arbitrement is like to be a bloody. 
Fare you well, sir. [E.itt. 



Kent. My point and period will be throughly 
wrought. 
Or well, or ill, as this day's battle's fought. [E.v/f. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I.— The Camp of the British Forces, 
near Dover. 

Enter, ^l^ilh draws and colours, Edmund, Regan, 
Officers, Soldiers, and others. 

Edw. Know of the duke, if his last purpose hold ; 
Or, whether since he is advis'd by aught 
To change the course : He's full of alteration, 
And self-reproving : — bring his constant pleasure. 
[I'o an Officer, who goes out. 

Peg. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried. 

Edm, 'Tis to be doubted, madam. 

Peg. Now, sweet lord, 

You know the goodness I intend upon you : 
Tell me, — but truly, — but then speak the truth, 
Do you not love my sister ? 

F.dni. In honour'd love. 

Peg. But have you never found my brother's way 
To the forefended place ? 

Edm. That thought abuses you. 

Peg. I am doubtful that you have been conjunct 
And bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers. 

Edm. No, by mine honour, madam. 

Peg. I never shall endure her : Dear my lord. 
Be not familiar with her. 

Edm. Fear me not : — 
She, and the duke her husband, • 

Enter Albany, Gonehii,, and Soldiers. 

Gon. 1 had rather lose the battle, than that sister 
Should loosen him and me. [Aside. 

Alb. Our very loving sister, well be met. — 
Sir, this I hear, — The king is come to his daughter. 
With others, whom the rigour of our state 
Forc'd to cry out. Where I could not be honest, 
I never yet was valiant : for this business, 
It toucheth us as France invades our land, 
Not holds the king ; with others, whom, I fear, 
INIost just and heavy causes make oppose. 

Edm. Sir, you speak nobly. 

Peg. Why is this reasou'd ? 

Gon. Combine together 'gainst the enemy ; 
For these domestic and particular broils 
Are not to question here. 

Alb. Let us then determine 

With the ancient of war on our proceedings. 

Edm. I shall attend you presently at your tent. 

Peg. Sister, you'll go with us I 

Gon. No. 

Reg. 'Tis most convenient ; pray you, go with us. 

Gon. O, ho, I know the riddle: [/lsi</e.J 1 will go. 

As they are going out, enter Edgar, disguised. 
Eifu-. If e'er your grace had speech with man so poor. 
Hear me one word. 

Alb. I'll overtake you. — Speak. 

[Exeunt Edmund, Regan, Goneril, Officers, 
Soldiers, and Attendants. 
Edg. Before you fight the battle, ope this letter. 
If you have victory, let the trumpet sound 
For him that brought it; wretched though I seem, 
I can produce a champion, that will prove 
^\'hat is avouched there : If you miscarry, 
Your business of the world hath so an end. 
And machination ceases. Fortune love you ! 
Alb. Stay till 1 have read the letter. 



794 



KING LEAR. 



Edg. I was forbid it. 

When time shall serve, let but the herald cry, 
And I'll appear again. [Eiit. 

Alb. Why, fare thee well ; I will o'erlook thy paper. 

He-enter Edbiund. 

Edm. The enemy's in view, draw up your powers. 
Here is the guess of their true strenglli and forces 
By diligent discovery ; — but your haste 
Is now urg'd on you. 

Alb. We will greet the time. [Exit. 

Edm. To both these sisters have I sworn my love ; 
Each jealous of the other, as the stung 
Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take ? 
Both 1 one'! or neither? Neither can be enjoy 'd, 
If both remain alive : To take the widow. 
Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril ; 
And hardly shall I carry out my side, 
Her husband being alive. Now then, we'll use 
His countenance for the battle ; which being done. 
Let her, who would be rid of hiin, devise 
His speedy taking oft'. As for the mercy 
Which he intends to Lear, and to Cordelia, — 
The battle done, and they within our power, 
Shall never see his pardon : for my state 
Stands on me to defend, not to debati;. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — A Field between the lico Camps. 

Alarum within. Enter, vjilii drums and colours, Leaii, 
CouDELiA, and their Forces; and exeunt. 

Enter Edgau and Glosteh. 

Edg. Here, father, take the shadow of this tree 
For your good host ; pray tiiat the right may thrive : 
If ever 1 return to you again, 
I'll bring you comfort. 

Glo. Grace go with you, sir ! [Exit Edgar. 

Alarums ; afterwards a Retreat. Re-enter Edgar. 

Edg. Away, old man, give me thy hand, away ; 
King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'ea : 
Give me thy hand, come on. 

Glo. No further, sir ; a man may rot even here. 

Edg. W^hat, in ill thoughts again 1 Men must endure 
Their going hence, even as their coming hither : 
Ripeness is all : Come on. 

Glo. And that's true too. [Eieunt. 

SCENE 111.— The British Camp 7iear Dover. 

E»i(er, in conquest, with drum and colours, Edsiund; 
Lear and Cordelia, as prisoners ; OfHcers, Sol- 
diers, <5)C. 

Edm. Some officers take them away : good guard ; 
Until their greater pleasures first be known 
That are to censure them. 

Cor. We are not the first, 

Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst. 
For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down ; 
Myself could else out frown false fortune's frown. — 
Shall we not see these daughters, and these sisters? 

Lear. No, no, no, no ! Come, let's away to prison : 
We two alone will sing like birds i'the cage : 
When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down. 
And ask of tiiee forgiveness : So we'll live. 
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh 
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues 
Talk of coavt news; and we'll talk with them too, — 
Who loses, and who wins ; who's in, who's out : — 
And take upon us the mystery of things. 
As if we were God's spies : And we'll wear out, 
la a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones. 



That ebb and flow by the moon. 

Edm. Take them away. 

Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, [then? 
The gods tliemselves throw incense. Have I caught 
He that parts us, shall bring a brand from heaven, 
And fire us hence, like foxes. Wipe thine eyes •, 
The goujeers shall devour them, flesh and fell, 
Ere they shall make us weep: we'll see them starve first. 
Come. [Exeunt Lear and Cordelia, guarded. 

Edm. Come hither, captain ; hark. [to prison ; 
Take thou this note ; [giving a paper.] go, follow them 
One step I have advanc'd thee : if thou dost 
As this intructs thee, thou dost make thy way 
To noble fortunes : Know thou this, — that men 
Are as the time is : to be tender-minded 
Does not become a sword : — Thy great employment 
Will not bear question ; — either say, thou'lt do't, 
Or thrive by other means. 

Off. I'll do't, my lord. 

Edm. About it ; and write happy, when thou hast 
Mark, — I say, instantly ; and cany it so, [done. 
As I have set it down. 

Off. I cannot draw a cart, noi^eat dried oats ; 
If it be man's work, I will do it. [Exit Officer. 

Flourish. Enter Albany, Goneril, Regan, 
Officers, and Attendants. 

Alb. Sir, you have shewn to-day your valiant strain 
And fortune led you well : You have the captives 
Who were the opposites of this day's strife ; 
We do require them of you ; so to use them, 
As we shall find their merits and our safety 
May equally determine. 

Edm. Sir I thought it fit 

To send the old and miserable king 
To some retention and appointed guard ; 
Whose age has charms in it, whose title more, 
To pluck the common bosom on his side, 
And turn our impress'd lances in our eyes 
Which do command them. With him I sent the queen, 
My reason all the same ; and they are ready 
To-morrow, or at further space, to appear 
Where you shall hold your session. At this time 
We sweat, and bleed : the friend hath lost his friend ; 
And the best quarrels, in the heat, are curs'd 
By those that feel their sharpness : — 
The question of Cordelia, and her father, 
Requires a fitter place. 

Alb. Sir, by your patience, 

I hold you but a subject of this war, 
Not as a brotiier. 

Reg. That 's as we list to grace him. 

INIethinks, our pleasure might have been demanded, 
Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers ; 
Bore the commission of my place and person ; 
The which immediacy may well stand up. 
And call itself your brother. 

Gon. Not so hot : 

In ids own grace he doth exalt himself. 
More than in your advancement. 

Reg. In my rights. 

By me invested, he compeers the best. 

Go«. That were the most, if he should husband you. 

Reg. Jesters do oft prove prophets. 

Gon. Holla, holla ' 

That eye, that told you so, look'd but a-squint. 

Reg. Lady, 1 am not well ; else I should answer 
From a fuU-Howiug stomach. — General, 
Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony ; 
Dispose of them, of me ; the walls are thine : 
Witness the world, that I create thee here 
My lord and master. 



ACT V.—SCENE III, 



795 



Gon. Mean you to enjoy him'! 

Alb. The let-alone lies not in your good will. 

Edm. Nor in thine, lord. 

Alb. llalf-blooded fellow, yes. 

lieg. Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine. 

ITo Edmund. 

Alb. Stay yet; hear reason : — Edmund, I arrest 
On capital treason ; and, in thy arrest, [thee 

This gilded serpent : [Pointing to GoN.] — for your 

claim, fair sister, 
I bar it in the interest of my wife ; 
'Tis she is subcontracted to this lord. 
And I, her husband, contradict your bans. 
If you will marry, make your love to me, 
My lady is bespoke. 

Gon. An interlude ! 

Alb. Thou art arm'd, Gloster : — Let the trumpet 
If none appear to prove upon thy person, [sound: 
Tliy heinous, manifest, and many treasons, 
There is my pledge; [Throwing down a glove.'} I'll 

prove it on thy heart, 
Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less 
Than I have here proclaim'd thee. 

Beg. Sick, 0, sick ! 

Gon. If not, I'll ne'er trust poison. [Aside. 

Edm, There's my exchange; [Throwing down a 
glove.] what in the world he is 
That names me traitor, villain like he lies; 
Call by thy trumpet : he that dares approach. 
On him, on you, (who nof!) I will maintain 
My truth and honour firmly. 

Alb. A herald, ho 1 

Edm. A herald, ho, a herald ! 

Alb. Trust to thy single virtue ; for thy soldiers, 
All levied in my name, have in my name 
Took their discharge. 

Reg. This sickness grows upon me. 

Enter a Herald, 

Alb. She is not well ; convey her to my tent. 

[Eiit Regan, led. 
Come hither, herald, — Let the trumpet sound, — 
And read out this. 

Off. Sound, trumpet. [^A trumpet sounds. 

Herald reads. 
If any man of quality, or degree, tvithin the lists of 
the army, will maintain upon Edmund, supposed earl 
of Gloster, that he is a manifold traitor, let him appear 
at the third sound of the trumpet : He is bold in his 
defence. 

~ Sound. [1 Trumpet. 

Again. [2 Trumpet. 

Again. [3 Trumpet. 

[Trumpet answers within. 

Enter Edgar, armed, preceded by a trumpet. 

Alb. Ask him his purposes, why he appears 
Upon this call o'the trumpet. 

Her. What are you 1 

V'our name, your quality? and why you answer 
This present summons 1 

Edg, Know, my name is lost ; 

By treason's tooth bare gnawn, and canker-bit : 
Vet am I noble, as the adversary 
[ come to cope witlial. 

All). Which is tiiat adversary 1 [Gloster? 

Edg. What's he that speaks for Edmund eail of 

I'Alm. Himself; — Wliat say'st thou to him? 

Edg. Draw thy sword ; 

Tliat, if my speech offend a noble heart, 
Thy arm may do thee justice : iiere is mine. 
Behold, It is the privilege of mine honours, 



Edm. 

Her. 

Her. 



My oath, and my profession ; I protest, — 
Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence, 
Despite thy victor sword, and fire-new fortune. 
Thy valour, and thy heart,— thou art a traitor : 
False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy fatiier ; 
Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious prince ; 
And, from the extremest upward of thy head, 
To the descent and dust beneath thy feet, 
A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou, No, 
This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent 
To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak. 
Thou liest. 

Edm. In wisdom, I should ask thy name ; 

But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike, 
And that thy tongue some 'say of breeding breathes. 
What safe and nicely I might well delay 
By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn: 
Back do I toss these treasons to thy head ; 
With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart ; 
Which, (for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise,) 
This sword of mine shall give them instant way, 
Where they shall rest for ever. — Trumpets, speak. 
[Alarums. They fight. Edmund_/((//s. 

Alb. O save him, save him ! 

Gon. This is mere practice, Gloster : 

By the law of arms, thou wast not bound to answer 
An unknown opposite ; thou art not vanquish'd. 
But cozen'd and beguil'd. 

Alb. Shut your mouth, dame. 

Or with this paper shall I stop it : — Hold, sir : — 
Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil : — 
No tearing, lady ; I perceive you know it. 

[Gives the letter to Edmund. 

Gon. Say, if I do : the laws are mine, not thine : 
Who shall arraig-n me for't? 

o 

Alb. Most monstrous ! 

Know'st thou this paper ? 

Gon. Ask me not what I know, [Exit Goneril. 

Alb. Go after her ; she's desperate ; govern her, 
[To an Officer, who goes out. 

Edm. What you have charg'd me with, that have 
I done ; 
And more, much more : the time will bring it out ; 
'Tis past, and so am I : But what art thou. 
That iiast this fortune on me 1 If thou art noble, 
I do forgive thee. 

Edg. Let's exchange charity. 

I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund; 
If more, the more thou hast wrong'd me. 
My name is Edgar, and thy father's son. 
The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices 
Make instruments to scourge us : 
The dark and vicious place where thee he got. 
Cost him his eyes. 

Edm. Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true ; 

The wheel is come full circle ; 1 am here. 

Alb. RIethought thy very gait did prophesy 
A royal nobleness : I must embrace thee ; 
Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I 
Did hate thee, or thy father ! 

Edg. Worthy prince, 

I know it well. 

Alb. Wiiere have you hid yourself? 

How have you known the miseries of your father? 

Edg. By nursing them, my lord. — List a brief 
tale ; — 
And, when 'tis told, O, that my heart would burst ! — 
The bloody proclamation to escape. 
That follow'd me so near, (O our lives' sweetness J 
That with the pain of death we'd hourly die. 
Rather than die at once !) taught me to shift 
Into a mad man's rajrs ; to assume a semblance 



796 



KING LEAR. 



Tliat very dogs disdain'd : and in this habit 
Met I my father with his bleeding rings, 
Their precious stones new lost ; became his guide, 
Led him, begg'd for him, sav'd him from despair ; 
Never (0 fault!) reveal'd myself unto him, 
Until some half hour past, when I was arm'd. 
Not sure, though hoping, of this good success, 
I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last 
Told him my pilgiimage : But his flaw'd heart, 
(Alack, too weak the conflict to support !) 
'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, 
Burst smilingly. 

Edm. This speech of yours hath mov'd me. 

And snail, perchance, do good : but speak you on ; 
You look as you had something more to say. 

Alb. If there be more, more woful, hold it in ; 
For I am almost ready to dissolve. 
Hearing of this. 

i-iig. This would have seem'd a period 

To such as love not sorrow ; but another, 
To amplify too-much, would make much more. 
And top extremity. 

Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man. 
Who having seen me in my worst estate, 
Siiunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding 
Who 'twas that so endur'd, witli his strong arms 
He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out 
As he'd burst heaven ; threw him on my father : 
Told the most piteous tale of l.ear and him. 
That ever ear receiv'd : which in recounting 
His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life 
Began to crack : Twice then the trumpet sounded. 
And there I left him tranc'd. 

Alb. But who was this ? 

Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent ; who in disguise 
Follow'd his enemy king, and did him service 
Improper for a slave. 

Enter a Gentleman hastily, with a bloody knife, 

Gent. Help ! help ! O help ! 

Edg. What kind of help ? 

Alb. Speak, man. 

Edg. What means that bloody knife 1 

Gent. 'Tis hot, it smokes ; 

It came even from the heart of — 

Alb. Who, man? speak. 

Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady : and her sister 
By her is poison'd ; she confesses it. 

Edm. I was contracted to them both ; all three 
Now marry in an instant. 

Alb. Produce tiieir bodies, be they alive or dead ! — 
This judgment of the heavens, that makes us tremble. 
Touches us not with pity. [Exit Gentleman. 

Enter Kent. 

Edg. flere comes Kent, sir. 

Alb. O ! it is he. 
The time will not allow the compliment. 
Which very manners urges. 

Kt'nt. I am come 

To bid my king and master aye good night ; 
Is he not here ? 

Alb. Great thing of us forgot! — 

Speak, Edmund, where's the king ; and where's Cor- 
See'st tiiou this object, Kent ? [delia ] — 

[The bodies of Gos. and Reg. are brought in. 

Kent. Alack, why thus 1 

Edm. Yet Edmund was beloved : 

The one the other poison'd for my sake. 
And after slew herself. 

Alb. Even so. — Cover their faces. 

Edm. I pant for life : — Some good I mean to do. 



Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send, — 
Be brief in it, — to the castle ; for my writ 
Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia: — 
Nay, send in time. 

Alb. E-un, run, O, run — 

Edg. To -who, my lord? — Who has the office? send 
Thy token of reprieve. 

Edm. Well thought on ; take my sword. 
Give it the captain. 

Alb. Haste thee, for thy life. [Exit Edgau. 

Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and me 
To hang Cordelia in the prison, and 
To lay the blame upon her own despair, 
That she fordid herself. 

Alb. The gods defend her! Bear him hence awhile. 

[EnsiUND is borne off. 

Enter Lear, tvilh Cohdelia dead in his arms ; 

Edgar, Officer, and others. 
Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl ! — O, you are men 
of stones ; 
Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so 
That heaven's vault should crack : — O, she is gone 

for ever I — 
I know when one is dead, and when one lives ; 
She's dead as earth ; — Lend me a looking-glass ; 
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone. 
Why, then she lives. 

Kent. Is this the promis'd end ? 

Edg. Or image of that horror 1 

Alb. Fall, and cease ! 

Lear. This feather stirs ; she lives ! if it be so, 
It is a chance that does redeem all sorrows 
That ever 1 have felt. 

Kent. O my good master ! [Kneeling, 

Lear, Pr'ythee, away. 

Edg. 'Tis noble Kent, your friend. 

Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all ! 
I might have sav'd her; now she's gone for ever! — 
Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha! 
What is't thou say'st? — Her voice was ever soft. 
Gentle, and low : an excellent thing in woman • — 
I kill'd the slave that was a hanging thee. 

Off. 'Tis true, my lords, he did. 

Lear. Did I not, fellow? 

I have seen the day, with my good biting faulchion 
I would have made them skip : I am old now. 
And these same crosses spoil me. — Who are you ? 
Mine eyes are none o'thebest: — I'll tell you straight. 

Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated. 
One of them we behold 

Lear. This is a dull sight : Are you not Kent ? 

Kent. The same. 

Your servant Kent : Where is your servant Caius ? 

Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that ; 
He'll strike, and quickly too : He's dead and rotten. 

Kent. No, my good lord ; I am the very man ;— 

Lear, I'll see that straight. 

Kent. That, from your first of difference and decay, 
Have follow'd your sad steps. 

Lear. You are welcome hither. [deadly. — 

Kent. Nor no man else ; all's cheerless, dark, and 
Your eldest daughters have fore-doom'd themselves, 
And desperately are dead. 

Lear. Ay, so I think. 

Alb. He knows not what he says ; and vain it is 
That we present us to him. 

Edg. 'Very bootless. 

Enter an Officer. 
Off. Edmund is dead, my lord. 
Alb. That's but a trifle here. — 

You lords, and noble friends, know our intent. 



ACT V.-SCENE III. 



797 



What comfort to this great decay may come, 
Shall be applied : For us, we will resign, 
During the life of this old majesty, 
To him our absolute power : — You, to your rights ; 

[To Edgak unci Klnt. 
With boot, and such addition as your honours 
Have more than merited. — All friends shall taste 
The wages of their virtue, and all foes 
The cup of their deservings. — O, see, see ! 

Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd ! No, no, no life : 
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life. 
And thou no breath at all ! O, thou wilt come no more. 
Never, never, never, never, never ! — 
Pray you, undo this button : Thank you, sir. — 
Do you see thisl Look on her, — look, — her lips, — 
Look there, look there ! — [He dies. 

Edg. He faints! — My lord, my lord, — 

Kent. Break, heart ; 1 pr'ythee, break ! 



Edg. Look up, my lord. 

Kent. Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass! he hates 
That would upon the rack of this tough world [liim. 
Stretch him out lonyer. 

Edg. O, he is gone, indeed. 

Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long : 
He but usurp'd his life. 

Alb. Bear them from hence.- -Our present business 
Is general woe. Friends of my soul, you twain 

[ /'() Kent and Edgar, 
Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sustain. 

Kent. 1 have a journey, sir, shortly to go ; 
My master calls, and 1 must not say, no. 

Alh. The weight of this sad time we must obey ; 
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. 
The oldest hath borne most : we, that are young, 
Shall never see so much, nor live so long. 

[Exeunt, with a dead march. 



The tragedy of Lear is deservedly celebrated among the dra- 
mas of Shakspearc. There is perhaps no play which lieejis the 
attention so strongly fixed ; which so much agitates our passions, 
and interests our curiosity, the artful involutions ot distinct 
interests, the striking oppositions of contrary characters, the 
sudden chanjje.'s of fortune, and the quick succession of events, 
fill the mind with a perpetual tumult of indignation, pity, and 
hope. There is no scene which does not contribute to the ag- 
cravation of the distress or conduct of the action, and scarce a 
line which does not conduce to the progress of the scene. So 
powerful is the current of the poet's imagination, that the mind 
which once ventures within it, is hurriea irresistibly along. 

On the seeming improbability of Lear's conduct, it may be 
observed, that he is represented according to histories at that 
time vulgarly received as true. And, perhaps, if we turu our 
thoughts upon the barbarity and ignorance ot the age to which 
this story is referred, it will appear not so unlikely as while we 
estimate Lear's manners by our own. Such preference of one 
daughter to another, or resignation of dominion on such condi- 
tions, would be yet credible, if told of a petty prince of (juinea 
or IMadagascar. Shakspeare, indeed, by the mention of his earls 
and dukes, has given us the idea of limes more civilized, and of 
life regulated by softer manners ; and the truth is, that though 
he so nicely discriminates, and so minutely describes the cha- 
racters of men, he commonly neglects and confounds the charac- 
ters of ages, by mingling customs aucient and modern, English 
and foreign. 

My learned friend, Mr. Warton, [afterwards Dr. Toseph War- 
ton,] who has in 'lUe Adventurer very minutely criticised this 
play, remarks, that the instances of cruelty are too savage and 
shocking, and that the intervention of Edmund destroys the 
simplicity of the story. These objections may, I think, be an- 
swered, by repeating, that the cruelty of the daughters is an 
historical fact, to which the poet has added little, having only 
drawn it into a series of dialogue and action. But I am not able 
to apologise with equal plausibility for the extrusion of Gloster's 
eyes, wliich seems an act too horrid to be endured in dramatic 
exhibition, and such as must always compel the mind to relieve 
its distresses by incredulity. Yet let it be remembered that our 
author well knew what would please the audience for which 
he wrote. 

The injury done by Edmund to the simplicity of the action is 
abundantly recompensed by the addition of variety, by the art 
with which he is made to co-operate with the chiet design, and 
the opportunity which he gives the poet of combming perfidy 
with perfidy, and connecting the wicked son with the, wicked 
daughters, to impress this important moral, thatvillany is never 
at a stop, that crimes lead to crimes, and at last terminate in ruin. 

Uut though this moral be incidentally enforced, Shakspeare 



has suffered the virtue of Cordelia to perish in a just cause, 
coiitrary to tfie natural ideas of justice, to the hope of the reader, 
and, what is yet more strai>ge, to the faith of chronicles. Vet 
tliis conduct is justified by The Spectator, who blames late for 
giving Cordelia success and happiness in his alteration, and de- 
clares, that in his opinion, the Tragedy lias hit half its heauty. 
Uennis has remarked, whether justly or not, that, to secure the 
favourable reception of Cato, the tomi :i:as poisoned with much 
false and ahominubk criticism, and that endeavours had been 
used to discredit and decry poetical justice. A play in which 
the wicked prosjier, anu the virtuous miscarry, may doubtless 
be good, because it is a just representation of the common events 
of human lite; but since all reasonable beings naturally love 
justice, I cannot easily be persuaded, that the observation of 
justice makes a play worse; or, that if other excellencies are 
equal, the audience will not always rise better pleased from the 
final triumph of persecuted virtue. 

in the present case the public has decided. Cordelia, from 
th? time of Tate, has always retired with victory and felicity. 
And, if my sensations could add any thing to the general suffrage, 
I might relate. 1 was many years ago so shocked by Cordelia's 
death, that I know not whether 1 ever endured to read again 
the last scenes of the play till I undertook to revise them as an 
editor. 

There is another controversy among the critics concerning 
this play. It is disputed whether the predominant image in 
Lear's disordered mind be the loss of his kingdom or the cru- 
elty of his daughters. Mr. Murphy, a very judicious critic, 
has evinced by induction of particular passages, that the cru- 
elty of his daughters is the primary source of his distress, and 
that the loss of royalty affects him only as a secondary and 
subordinate evil, lie observes, with great justness, that Lear 
would move our compassion but little, did we not rather con- 
sider the injured father than the degraded king. 

The story of this play, except the episode of Edmund, which 
is derived, 1 think, from Sidney, is taken originally from Geof- 
fry of .Monmouth, whom Holiushed generally copied; but per- 
haps immediately from an old historical ballad. My reason 
for believing that the play was posterior to the ballad, rather 
than the ballad to the play, is, that the ballad has nothing of 
Shakspeare's nocturnal temnest, which is too striking to have 
been omitted, and that it follows the chronicle ; it has the rudi- 
ments of the play, but none of its amplUications: it first hinted 
Lear's madness, but did not array it in ciroumstances. J he 
writer of the ballad added something to the history, which is a 
proof that he would have added more, if more had occurred to 
his mind, and more must have occurred if he had sf«n Shak- 
speare.— J OUN SON. 



-'.T/.taii^vv6'oa'» 



tl^^ 



.. r..**....*-.-*...-.^ 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



Of this play tnere were four quarto editions published during 
the life of the author ; the first of which was publislied in ISy?. 

The original author of the story was Luigi da I'orto, a gentle- 
man of Vicenza, who died in 15'.'9. His novel did not appear 
till some years after his death, being first printed at Venice in 
1535, under the title of La Giulietia. 

The story had been dramatized in this country, before 156C, for 
in that year Arthur Brooke published his poem, called Tlie 
Tragical Hystory of Romeus and Jidiet, and in his advertise- 
ment to the reader says, that he had seen" the same argument 



lately set forth ov the stage with more commendation th<ui I can 
look for." lo this obsolete play, and I'lrnoke's poem, Shalt- 
speme was most probably indebted for those rude njaterials 
which he has rendered so valuable by his exquisite skill and 
management in the tragedy before us. 
Breval says in the 1 rav els, that on a strict inquiry into the his- 
tories of Verona, he found that Shakspeare had varied very 
little from the truth, either in the names, characters, or other 
circumstances. Malone hupposes this play to have been writ- 
ten in 1596. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

EscALijs, Prince o/" Verona. 

Paris, a young nobleman, kinsman to the Prince. 

Montague, ^ heads of two houses, at variance 

Capulet, ^ luith each other. 

An old Man, uncle to Capulet. 

Romeo, son to Montague. 

Mr.RCVTio, kinsman to ihePnnce, and friend toTiomeo. 

Benvolio, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo. 

Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet. 

Friar Laurence, afranciscan. 

Friar John, of the same order. 

Balthazar, servant to Romeo. 

Sampson, Gregory, servants to Capulet. 

Abram, servant to Montague. 

An Apothecary. Three Musicians. 

Chorus. Boy. Page to Paris. 

Peter. An Officer. 

Lady Montague, wife to Montague. 
Lady Capulet, wife to Capulet. 
Juliet, daughter to Capulet. 
Nurse to Juliet. 

Citizens of Verona ; several Men and Women, relations 
to both houses; Maskers, Guards, Watchmen, and 
Attendants, 

SCENE, — during the greater part of the Play, in 
Verona: once, in the Fifth Act, at Mantua. 



PROLOGUE. 



Two households, both alike in dignity. 

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene. 
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny. 

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. 
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes 

A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life ; 
Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows 

Do, with their death, bury their parents' strife. 
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love. 

And the continuance of their parents' rage, 
Which, but their children'send, noughtcould remove. 

Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage ; 
The which if you with patient ears attend. 
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.— ^ public Place. 

Enter Sampson and Gregory, armed with 
swords and bucklers. 

Sam. Gregory, o'my word, we'll not carry coals. 
Gre. No, for then we should be colliers. 



Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. 

Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of 
the collar. 

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. 

Gi-e. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. 

Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves me. 

Gre. To move is — to stir ; and to be valiant, is — 
to stand to it : therefore, if thou art mov'd, thou 
run'&t away. 

Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand : 
I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. 

Gre. That shews thee a weak slave ; for the weakest 
goes to the wall. 

Sam. True ; and therefore women, being the weaker 
vessels, are ever thrust to the wall : — therefore I will 
push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his 
maids to the wall. 

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us 
their men. 

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will shew myself a tyrant: 
when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with 
the maids ; I will cut off their heads. 

Crre. The heads of the maids 1 

Sam, Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maiden ■ 
heads ; take it in what sense thou wilt. 

Gre. They must take it in sense, that feel it. 

Sam. iMe they shall feel, while I am able to stand : 
and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. 

Gre. 'Tis well, thou art not fish ; if thou hadst, 
thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool ; here 
comes two of the house of the Montagues. 

Enter Abram and Baltiiasar. 

Sam. My naked weapon is out ; quarrel, I will 
back thee. 

Gre. How? turn thy back, and runl 

Sam. Fear me not. 

Gre. No, marry: I fear thee! 

Sam. Let us take the law of our sides ; let them 
begin. 

Gre. I will frown, as I pass by ; and let them take 
it as they list. 

5am. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at 
them ; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. 

Ahr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? 

Sum. I do bite my thumb, sir. 

Ahr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? 

Sam. Is the law on our side, if I say — ay ? 

Gre. No. 

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, 
but I bite my thumb, sir. 

Gre. Do you quarrel, sir? 

Abr. Quarrel, sir? no, sir. 

Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you ; I serve as good 
a man as you. 

Ahr. No better. 

Sam. Well, sir. 



ACT r.--SCENE I. 



79.9 



Enter Benvolio, at a distance. 

Gre. Say — better ; here comes one of my master's 
kinsmen. 

S<nn. Yes, better, sir. 

Abr. You lie. 

Satn. Draw, if you be men. — Gregory, remember 
thy swashing blow. [TItcii ^fight. 

Ben, Part, fools ; put up your swords ; you know 
not what you do. [Beats down their swords. 

Enter Tybalt. 

Ttib. What, art thou drawn among these hartless 
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death, [hinds! 

Ben. I do but keep the peace ; put up thy sword, 
Or manage it to part these men with me. 

Ti/li. What, drawn, and talk of peace'? I hate the 
As 1 hate hell, all Montagues, and thee ; [wold, 

Have at thee, coward. [Theq Jigiit. 

Enter several partizans of both houses, who join the 

fray ; then enter Citizens, ivith chibs. 
1 Cit. Clubs, bills, and partizans ! strike ! beat 
them down ! 
Down with the Capulets ! down with the Montagues ! 

E)iter Capulf.t, in his gmvn ; and Ladi) Capulet. 

Cap. What noise is this ? — Give me my long 

sword, ho ! [a sword i 

La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch ! — ^Vhy call you for 

Cap. ftly sword, I say ! — Old JNIontague is come. 

And flourishes his blade in spite of me. 

Enter Montague and Lady IMontaoi'E. 
Mon. Thou villain Capulet, — Hold me not, let 

me go. 
La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe. 

Enter Prince, irith Attendants. 

Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, 
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel, — 
Will they not hear? — what ho ! you men, you beasts, — 
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage 
With purple fountains issuing from your veins, 
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands 
Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground, 
And hear the sentence of your moved prince. — 
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, 
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, 
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets ; 
And made Verona's ancient citizens 
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments. 
To wield our partizans, in hands as old, 
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate : 
If ever you disturb our streets again. 
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. 
For this time, all the rest depart away: 
You, Capulet, shall go along with me ; 
And, Montague, come you this afternoon, 
To know our further pleasure in this case. 
To old Free-town, our common judgment- place. 
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. 

[Eiennt Prince and Attendants ; Capulet, Lady 
Capulet, Tybalt, Citizens, and Servants. 

Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach 1 — 
Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began 1 

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary, 
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach : 
I drew to part them ; in the instant came 
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd ; 
^Vhich, as lie breath'd defiance to my ears. 
He swung about his head, and cut the winds. 
Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn : 
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows. 
Came more and more, and fought on part and part, 



Till the prince came, who parted either part. 

La. Mon. O, where is Romeo ! — saw you him to- 
Right glad I am, he was not at this fray. [day? 

Ben. Rladam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun 
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, 
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad ; 
Where, — underneath the grove of sycamore, 
That westward rooteth from the city's side, — 
So early walking did I see your son : 
Towards him I made ; but he was 'ware of me, 
And stole into the covert of the wood ; 
I, measuring his affections by my own, — 
That most are busied when they are most alone,— 
Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his. 
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. 

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen. 
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew. 
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs* 
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun 
Should in the further east begin to draw 
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed. 
Away from light steals home my heavy son. 
And private in his chamber pens himself ; 
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out. 
And makes himself an artificial night : 
Black and portentous must this humour prove, 
Unless good counsel may the cause remove. 

Ben. ftly noble uncle, do you know the cause? 

Man. I neither know it, nor can learn of him. ' 

Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means? 

Mon. Both by myself, and many other friends : 
But he, his own afl''ections' counsellor. 
Is to himself — 1 will not say, how true — 
But to himself so secret and so close. 
So far from sounding and discovery. 
As is the bud bit with an envious worm, 
p]re he can spread his sweet leaves to the air. 
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. 
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. 
We would as willingly give cure, as know. 

Enter Romeo, at a distance, 

Ben. See, where he comes : So please you, step 
I '11 know his grievance, or be much denied, [aside ; 

Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay. 
To hear true shrift.— Come, madam, let 's away. 

[Ereunt Montague and Lady. 

Ben. Good morrow, cousin. 

Ronu Is the day so young ? 

Ben. But new struck nine. 

Rom. Ah me! sad hours seem long. 

Was that my father that went hence so fast? 

Ben. It was : — What sadness lengthens Romeo's 
hours? 

Bom. Not having that, which, having, makes them 

Ben. In love * [short. 

Rom. Out.— 

Ben. Of love? 

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. 

Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view. 
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof ! 

/fom^Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, 
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will ! 
Where shall we dine ? — O me ! — What fray was here? 
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. 
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love: — 
Why then, O brawling love 1 O loving hate ! 
O any thing, of nothing first create ! 
heavy lightness ! serious vanity ! 
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms ! 
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! 
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is ' — 



800 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



This love feel I, that feel no love in this. 
Dost thou not laugh ? 

Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. 

Horn. Good heart, at what 1 

Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. 

Bom. Why, such is love's transgression. — 
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast ; 
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest 
With more of thine: this love, that thou hast shewn. 
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. 
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs ; 
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers" eyes ; 
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears : 
What is it else 1 a madness most discreet, 
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. 
Farewell, my coz. [Going. 

Ben. Soft, I will go along ; 

An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. 

Rom. Tut, I have lost myself ; I am not here ; 
This is not Romeo, he 's some other where. 

Ben. Tell me in sadness, wiio she is you love. 

Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee ? 

Ben. Groan 1 why, no ; 

But sadly tell me, who. 

Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness makes his will : — 
Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill I — 
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. 

Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd. 

Rom. A right good marks-man ! — And she 's fair 
I love. 

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. 

Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss : she'll not be hit 
With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit ; 
And, in strong proof of chastity wtdi ariuM, 
From love's weak childish bow she lives unliarm'd. 
She will not stay the siege of loving terms, 
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, 
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold : 
O, she is rich in beauty, only poor, 
That when she dies, with beauty dies her store. 

Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live 
chaste 1 [waste ; 

Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge 
For beauty, starv'd with her severity, 
Cuts beauty off from all posterity. 
She is too fair, too wise ; wisely too fair. 
To merit bliss by making me despair : 
She hath forsworn to love ; and, in that vow, 
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now. 

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. 

Rom. O teach me how I should forget to think. 

Ben, By giving liberty unto thine eyes ; 
Examine other beauties. 

Rom. 'Tis the way 

To call hers, exquisite, in question more : 
These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows, 
Being black, put us in mind they liide the fair ; 
He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget 
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost : 
Shew me a mistress that is passing fair. 
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note 
Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair 1 
Farewell ; thou canst not teach me to forget. 

Ben. I '11 pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— -4 Street. 
Enter Capulet, Pahis, and Servant. 
Cap. And Rlontague is boimd as well as I, 
In penalty alike ; and 'tis not hard, I think. 
For men so old as we to keep the peace. 

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both ; 



And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long. 
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? 

Cap. But saying o'er what 1 have said before : 
My child is yet a stranger in the world. 
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years ; 
Let two more summers wither in their pride. 
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. 

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made 

Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made. 
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she. 
She is the hopeful lady of my earth : 
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, 
jMy will to her consent is but a part ; 
An she agree, within her scope of choice 
Lies my consent and fair according voice. 
This night 1 hold an old accustomed feast. 
Whereto I have invited many a guest. 
Such as I love ; and you, among the store. 
One more, most welcome, makes my number more. 
At my poor house, look to behold this night 
Earth treading stars, that make dark heaven light : 
Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel 
When well apparell'd April on the heel 
Of limping winter treads, even such delight 
Among fresh female buds shall you this night 
Inherit at my house ; heai all, all see. 
And like her most, whose me: it most shall be . 
Such, amongst view of many, mine, being one. 
May stand in number, though in reckoning none. 
Come, go with me ; — Go, sirrah, trudge about 
Through fair Verona ; find those persons out. 
Whose names are written there, [gives a paper.] and 

to them say. 
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. 

[Exeunt Capulet and Paris. 

Serv. Find them out, whose names are written 
here 1 It is written — that the shoemaker should mcd- 
die with his yard, and the taylor with his last, the 
fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets ; 
but I am sent to find those persons, whose names are 
heie writ, and can never find what names the writing 
person hath here writ. I must to the learned : — In 
good time. 

Enter Benvolio and Romeo. 

Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burn- 
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ! [ing, 
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning ; 

One desperate grief cures with another's languish : 
Take thou some new infection to thy eye. 
And the rank poison of the old will die. 

Rom. Your plaintain leaf is excellent for that. 

Ben. For what, I pray thee t 

Rom. For your broken shin. 

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad 1 

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is : 
Shut up in prison, kept without my food, [low. 

Whipp'd, and tormented, and — Good-e'en, good fel- 

Serv. God gi' good e'en. — I pray, sir, can you read? 

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. 

Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book : 
But I pray, can you read any thing you see 1 

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language. 

Serv. Ye say honestly ; Rest you merry ! 

Rom. Stay, fellow : 1 can read. [Reads. 

Signior INIartino, and his wife and davgluers ; 
Countii Anselme, and liis beauteous sisters ; the lady 
tcidow of \'itruvio ; SigJiior Placentio, and his lovely 
nieces ; Alercutio, and his brother Valentine ; Mine 
uncle Capulet, hiswife and daughters ; My fair niece 
Rosaline; Livia ; Signior Valentio, and his cousin 
Tybalt ; Lucio, and the lively Helena. 



ACT I.— SCENE III. 



801 



A fair assembly; [git'es back the iwie.] WKither 

Serv. Up. [should they come ? 

Rom. Whither' 

Serv. To supper ; to our house 1 

Horn, Whose house ! 

Serv. My master's 

Rom. Indeed, 1 should have asked von that before. 

Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking: My mas- 
ter is the great rich Capulet ; and if you be not of 
the house of JMontagues, I pray, come and crush a 
cup of wine. J<est you merry. [Ejiit. 

Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capujet's 
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st ; 
With all the admired beauties of Verona : 
Go thither; and, with unattainted eye, 
Compare her face with some tliat 1 shall shew. 
And I will make tiiee think thy swan a crow. 

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye 

Maintains such falseiiood, then turn tears to fires ! 
And these, — who, often drown'd, could never die, — 

Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars ! 
One fairer than my love ! the all -seeing sun 
Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. 

Ben. Tut ! you saw her fair, none else being by, 
Herself pois'd with herself in either eye : 
But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd 
Your lady's love against some other maid 
That 1 will shew you, shining at this feast. 
And she shall scant shew well, that now shews best. 

Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shewn. 
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. \_Eieunt. 

SCENE III. — A Room in Capulet's Hmae. 
Enter Ladii Capulet aiirf Nurse. 
La. Cup. Nurse, where's my daughter ? call her 
forth to lae. [old, — 

Nurse. Now, by my maiden-head, — at twelve year 
I bade her come. — Whit, lamb ! what, lady-bird ! 
God forbid ! where's this girl t — what, Juliet I 

Enter Juliet. 

Jul. How now, who calls t 

Nurse. Your mother. 

Jul. Madam, I am here. 

What is your will 1 [awhile. 

La. Cap. This is the matter : — Nurse, give leave 
We must talk in secret. — Nurse, come back again ; 
I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel. 
Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age. 

Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. 

La. Cap. She's not fourteen. 

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth. 

And yet, to my teen be it spoken, 1 have but four, — 
She is not fourteen — How long is it now 
To Lammas-tide 1 

La. Cap. A fortnight, and odd days. 

Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, 
Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen. 
Susan and she, — God rest all Christian souls ! — 
Were of an age. — Well, Susan is with God ; 
She was too good for me : But, as I said, 
On Lammas-eve at night shall siie be fourteen ; 
That sliall she, marry ; I remember it well. 
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years ; 
And she was wean'd, — I never shall forget it, — 
Of all the days of the year, iipon that day : 
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug. 
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall, 
My lord and you were then at IMantua : — 
Nay, I do bear a brain : — but, as 1 said, 
When it did taste tlie wormwood on tlie nipple 
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool ! 



To see it tetchy, and fall out witii the dug. 
Shake, quoth the dove-house : 'twas no need, 1 trow, 
To bid me trudtje. 

And since that time it is eleven years : 
P'or then she could stand alone ; nay, by the rood, 
She could have run and waddled all about. 
For even the day before, she broke her brow ; 
And then my iiusband — God be with his soul ! 
'A was a merry man ; — took up the child : 
Yea, quoth he, dost ihoufall upon thijj'uce? 
Thou viUfuLi backward, wlien ihou liast more rvit ," 
Wilt thou not, Jule ? and, by my holy dam. 
The pretty wretch left crying, and said — Ay : 
To see now, how a jest shall come about ! 
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, 
I never should forget it; Wilt thou ?iot,Ji(<e? quoth he: 
And, pretty foul, it stinted, and said — Aif. [peace. 
La. Cup. Enough of this ; I pray thee, hold thy 
Nurse. Yes, madam ; yet Icannotchoosebutlaugh, 
To think it should leave crying, and say — -Ay : 
And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow 
A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone ; 
A parlous knock ; and it cried bitterly. 
Yea, quoth my husband, _/t(/rsf upon thy face? 
Tluiir, wilt fall backward, when thou com'st to age ; 
Wilt thou not, Jule ? it stinted, and said — Ay, 
Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. 
Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to 
his grace ! 
Thou wast the prettiest babe that ere I nurs'd 
An I might live to see thee married once, 
I have my wi>h. 

La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme 
I came to talk of: — Tell me, daughter Juliet, 
How stands your disposition to be married 1 
Jul. It is an honour that 1 dream not of. 
Nurse. An honour ! were not I thine only nurse, 
I'd say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. 

La, Cap, W'ell, think of marriage now ; younger 
Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, [than you, 

Are made already mothers : by my count, 
I was your mother much upon these years 
That you are now a maid. Thus then, in brief ; — 
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. 

Nicrse. A man, young lady ! lady, such a man, 
As all the world — Why, he's a man of wax. 

La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. 
Nu7-se, Nay, he's a flower ; in faith, a very flower. 
La, Cap, What say you ] can you love the gentle- 
This night you shall behold him at our feast : [man I 
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, 
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen ; 
Examine every married lineament. 
And see how one another lends content ; 
And .what obscur'd in this fair volume lies. 
Find written in the margin of his eyes. 
This precious book of love, this unbound lover, 
'J'o beautify him, only lacks a cover : 
The fish lives in the sea ; and 'tis much pride, 
For fair without the fair, within to hide : 
Tiiat book in many's eyes doth siiare the glory 
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story ; 
So shall you share all tliat he doth possess. 
By having him, making yourself no less. 

Nurse. No less] nay, bigger; women grow by men 
La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love ? 
Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move : 
But no more deep will I endart mine eye. 
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. 

Enter a Servant. 
Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper st>fveii 
3 E 



802 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse 

cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. 

1 must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. 

La. Cap. We follow thee. — .Tuliet, the county stays. 

Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. 

{^Exeunt. 
SCENE IV.— ^ Street. 

Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with Five or 
Six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others. 

Ro7?7. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? 
Or shall we on without apology ? 

Ben. The date is out of such prolixity: 
We '11 have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf, 
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, 
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper ; 
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke 
After the prompter, for our entrance : 
But let them measure us by what they will, 
We '11 measure them a measure, and be gone. 

Rom. Give me a torch, — I am not for this amblino- ; 
Being but heavy, I will bear the light. 

Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. 

Bom. Not 1, believe me : you have dancing shoes, 
With nimble soles : I have a soul of lead. 
So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move. 

Mer. You are a lover ; borrow Cupid's wings, 
And soar with them above a common bound. 

Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft. 
To soar with his light feathers ; and so bound, 
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe : 
Under love's heavy burden do I sink. 

Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love ; 
Too great oppression for a tender thing. 

Rom. Is love a tender thing 1 it is too rough, 
Too rude, too boist'rous ; and it pricks like thorn. 

Mer. lflove.be rough with you, be rough with love ; 
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. — 
Givemeacasetoputmyvisagein: [Putting on a mask. 
A visor for a visor I — what care I, 
What curious eye doth quote deformities? 
Here are the beetle-brows, shall blush for me. 

Be]i. Come, knock, and enter ; and no sooner in. 
But every man betake him to his legs. 

Rom. A torch for me : let wantons, light of heart, 
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels ; 
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase, — 
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on, — 
The game was ne'er so fair, and 1 am done, [word : 

Me?-. Tut ! dun's the mouse, the constable's own 
If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire 
Of this (save reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st 
Up to the ears. — Come, we burn day-light, ho. 

Rom. Nay, that's not so. 

Mer, I mean, sir, in delay 

We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. 
Take our good meaning ; for our judgment sits 
Five times in that, ere once in our five wits. 

Rom. And we mean well, in going to this mask ; 
But 'tis no wit to go. 

Mer. Why, may one ask 1 

Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night. 

Mer. And so did I. 

Rom. Well, what was yours ? 

Mer. That dreamers often lie. 

Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things true. 

Mer. O, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with you. 
She is the fairies' midwife ; and she comes 
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 
On the fore-finger of an alderman. 
Drawn with a team of little atomies 
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep : 



Her waggon-spokes made'of long spinners' lesrs , 
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; 
The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; 
The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams : 
Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film ; 
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, 
Not half so big as a round little worm 
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid : 
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut. 
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, 
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. 
And in this state she gallops night by night 
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love* 
On courtiers' knees, that dream on courl'sies straight 
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees : 
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream ; 
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, 
Because their breaths with sweet meats tainted are. 
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, 
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; 
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail. 
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep. 
Then dreams he of another benefice : 
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck. 
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, 
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, 
Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon 
Drums in his ear ; at which he starts, and wakes ; 
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two. 
And sleeps again. This is that very j\Iab, 
That plats the manes of horses in the night ; 
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, 
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes. 
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs. 
That presses them, and learns them first to bear. 
Making them women of good carriage. 
This, this is she — 

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace ; 

Thou talk'st of nothing. 

Mer. True, I talk of dreams ; 

Which are the children of an idle brain. 
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy ; 
\\'hicii is as thin of substance as the air; 
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes 
Even now the frozen bosom of the north, 
And, being anger'd, pufl^s away from thence. 
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. 

Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves; 
Supper is done, and we shall come too late. 

Rom. I fear, too early : for my mind misgives, 
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars. 
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date 
With this night's revels ; and expire the term 
Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast. 
By some vile forfeit of untimely death : 
But He, that hath the steerage of my course, 
Direct my sail ! — On, lusty gentlemen. 

Ben. Strike, drum. [Exe^mt. 

SCENE v.— ^ Hall in Capulet's Honse. 
Musicians ^vaiting. Enter Servants. 

1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take 
away ! he shift a trencher ! he scrape a trencher ! 

2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or 
two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul 
thing. 

1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the 
court-cupboard, look to the plate : — good thou, save 
me a piece of marchpane ; and, as thou lovest me, 
let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell.— 
Antony ! and Potpan ! 



ACT I.— SCENE V. 



803 



t Sen. Ay, boy ; ready. 

1 Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked 
for, and sought for, in the great chamber. 

'iServ. We cannot be here and there too. — Cheerly, 
boys J be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all. 

[They retire behind. 

Enter Caput.et, &;c. with the Guests, and the Maskers. 

Cap.Gentleiaen, welcome! ladies,that have their toes 
Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you; — 
Ah ha, my mistresses ! which of you all 
Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, she, 
I'll swear, iiaih corns ; Am I come near you now ! 
You are welcome, gentlemen 1 I have seen the day, 
'I'hat I have worn a visor ; and could tell 
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, 
Such as v/ould please ; — 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone : 
You are welcome, gentlemen! — Come, musicians, 
A hall ! a hall ! give room, and foot it, girls, [play. 
IMiisic plaiis, and they dance. 
More light, ye knaves ; and turn the tables up. 
And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. — 
Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. 
Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet ; 
For you and I are past our dancing days : 
How long is't now, since last yourself and I 
Were in a mask ? 

2 Cap. By'r lady, thirty years. 

1 Cap. What, man I 'tis not so much, 'tis not so 
'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, [much : 

Come pentecost as quickly as it will, 
Some five and twenty years ; and then we mask'd. 

'2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more : his son is elder, sir ; 
His son is thirty. • 

1 Cap. Will you tell me that? 

His son was but a ward two years ago. 

Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand 
Of yonder knight I 

Serv. I know not, sir. 

Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright ! 
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night 
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear : 
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear ! 
So shews a snowy dove trooping with crows. 
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shews. 
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, 
And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand. 
Did ray heart love till nowl forswear it, sight I 
For I n-e'er saw true beauty till this night. 

Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague : — 
Fetch me my rapier, boy : — What ! dares the slave 
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face. 
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity ? 
Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, 
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. [you sol 

1 Cap. Why, how now kinsman ] wherefore storm 

Tyh. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe ; 
A villain, that is hither come in spite. 
To scorn at our solemnity this night. 

1 Cap. Young Romeo is't? 

Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. 

1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, 
He bears him like a portly gentleman ; 
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him, 
To be a virtuous and well-govcrn'd youth : 
I would not for the wealth of all this town, 
Here in my house do him disparagement : 
Therefore be patient, take no note of him. 
It is my will ; the which if thou respect, 
Shpw a fair presence, and put off these frowns.. 
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. 

Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest ; 



I'll not endure him. 

1 Cup. He shall be endur'd ; 

What, goodman boy !— 1 say, he shall ; — (jo to ; — 
Am 1 the master here, or you ? go to. 
You'll not endure him ! — God shall mend mysoul — ■ 
You'll make a mutiny among my guests ! 
You will set cock-a-hoop ! you'll be the man ! 

Tyb, Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. 
^ 1 Cap. Go to, go to, 

You are a saucy boy : — Is't so, indeed ? — 
This trick may chance to scath you ; — I know what. 
You must contrary me ! marry, 'tis time — 
Well said, my hearts : — You are a princox ; go : — 
Be quiet, or — More light, more light, for shame ! — ■ 
I'll make you quiet; What! — Cheerly, my hearts. 

Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting 
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. 
I will withdraw . but this intrusion shall. 
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Eiif. 

Ron. If 1 profane with my unworthy hand 

[To Juliet, 
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,— 
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand 

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. 

/((/.Good pilgrim, you do wrongyour hand too much, 
Which mannerly devotion shews in this ; 
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, 
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. 

Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? 

Jul- Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. 

Rom. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do ; 
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. 

Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' 
sake. [take. 

Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect I 
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd. 

IKiasitig her. 

JuL Then have my lips the sin that they have took. 

Rom. Sin from my lips ? O trespass sweetly urg'd ! 
Give me my sin again. 

Jul. You kiss by the book. 

Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you 

Rom. What is her mother ? 

Nurse. Marry, bachelor. 

Her mother is the lady of the house. 
And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous : 
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal ; 
I tell you, — he, that can lay hold of her, 
Shall have the chinks, 

Rom. Is she a Capulet ? 

dear account! my life is my foe's debt. 

Ben. Away, begone ; the sport is at the best. 

Rom. Ay, so I fear ; the more is my unrest. 

1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone ; 
We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. 
Is it e'en so ? Why, then I thank you all ; 

1 thank you, honest gentlemen ; good night : — 
More torches here I — Come on, then let's to bed. 
Ah, sirrah, [Tu 'J Cap.] by my fay, it waxes late ; 
I'll to my rest. [Eieitnt all but Juliet and Nurse. 

Jul. Come hither, nurse ; What is yon gentleman? 

Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. 

Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door? 

Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio. 

Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would not 

Nurse. I know not. [dance ? 

Jul. Go, ask his name : — if he be married. 
My grave is like to be my wedding bed. 

Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague ; 
The only son of your great enemy. 

JuL RIy only love sprung from my only hate ' 
Too early seen unknown, and known too late ! 



804 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



Prodigious birth of love it is to me, 
That 1 mu^tlovea loathed enemv. 

Nurse- What's this? What's this? 

Jul. A rhvme I learn 'd even now 

Of one 1 danc'd withal. [One calls within, JuLitr. 

]\urse. Anon, anon : — 

Come, let's away ; the strangers all are gone. [Ea'ewnf. 

Enter Cuonus. 

Now old desire doth in liis death-bed lie, 

And youno; afi'ectioii gapes to be his heir : 
That fair, whitlilove groaii'd for, and would die. 

With tender Juliet inatch'd, is now not fair. 
Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again, 

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks ; 
But to his foe suppos'd he must complain. 

And slie steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks-, 
Being held a foe, he may not liave access 

To 1 1' ithe such vows as lovers use to swear ; 
A .id she as much in love, her means much less 

To meet her new-beloved any where : 
But passion lends them power, time means to meet, 
Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. [Exit. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. 
A71 open Place, adjiuning Capulet's Garden. 
Enter Romeo. 
Rom. Can T go forward, when my heart is here? 
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out. 

[He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it. 

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. 

Ben. Romeo! my cousui Uoiiieo ! 

Mer. ' He is wise ; 

And, on mv life, hath stolen him home to bed. 

Ben. He ran tliisvvuy, and Itap'd this orchard wall: 
Call, good Mercutio. 

Mer. Nay, I '11 conjure too. 

Romeo ! humours ! madman ! passion ! lover ! 
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh. 
Speak but one rhyme, and 1 am satisfied. 
Cry but — All me ! couple but — love and dove ; 
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word. 
One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, 
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, 
When king Corphetua lov'd the beggar-maid. — 
He hearetii not, he stirreth not, he moveth not ; 
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. — 
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes. 
By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip, 
By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh. 
And the demesnes lliat there adjacent lie. 
That in thy likeness thou appear to us. 

Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. 

Me'-. This cannot anger him : 'twould anger him 
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle 
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand 
'i'ill she had laid it, and conjur'd it down ; 
That were some spite : my invocation 
Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name, 
I conjure only but to raise up him. 

lien. Come, he hath hid himself among those trees, 
To be consorted with the humorous night: 
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark. 

Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. 
Now will he sit under a medlar tree. 
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit, 



As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. - 
Ro"ieo, good night ; 1 '11 to my truckle-bed ; 
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep : 
Come, shall we go? 

Ben. Go, then ; for 'tis in vain 

To seek hira here, that means not to be found. [£ieu«t 

SCENE II.— Capulet'3 Garden. 
Enter Romeo. 

Rom, He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. — 
[Juliet appears above, at a tvindow. 
But, soft! what light tluough yonder window breaks! 
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! — 
Arise, fair sun, and kill tlie envious moon. 
Who is already sick and pale with grief, 
That thoii her maid art far more fair than she : 
Be not her maid, since she is envious ; 
Her vestal livery is but sick and green, 
And none but fools do wear it ; cast it oflf. — 
It is my lady ; O, it is my love; 
O, that she knew she were ! — 
She speaks, yet she says nothing ; What of thai ? 
Her eye discourses, I will answer it. — 
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks : 
i'wo of the fairest stars in all the heaven. 
Having some business, do entreat her eyes 
To twinkle in their spheres till they return. 
What if her eyes were there, they in her bead? 
The brightness of lier cheek would shame those stars, 
As daylight doth a lamp ; her eye in heaven 
Would through the airy region stream so bright, 
That birds would sing, and think it were not night. 
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! 
O, that I were a glove upori that hand. 
That I might touch that cheek ! 

Jul. Ah me ! 

Rom. She speaks: 

O, speak again, bright angel ! for thou art 
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head. 
As is a winged messenger of heaven 
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes 
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, 
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds. 
And sails upon the bosom of the air. 

Jul. R,omeo, Romeo ! wherefore art thou Romeo ? 
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name : 
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love. 
And I'll no longer be a Capulet. 

Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this ? 

[Aside. 

Jul, 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy j — 
Thou art thyself though, not a Montague. 
What's Rlontague? it is nor hand, nor foot, 
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part 
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name ! 
What 's in a name? that which we call a rose. 
By any other name would smell as sweet ; 
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, 
Retain that dear perfection which he owes. 
Without that title: — Romeo, doff thy name; 
And for that name, which is no part of thee. 
Take all myself. 

Rom. I take thee at thy word ; 

Call me but love, and I '11 be new baptiz'd ; 
Henceforth I never will be Romeo. 

Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescrecn'd in 
So stumblest on my counsel ? [night. 

Rom. By a name 

I know not how to tell thee who I am : 
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, 
Because it is an enemy to thee j 



ACT II.— SCENE n. 



805 



Had I it written, I would tear the word. 

Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred woixis 
Of that tongue's utterance, yet 1 know the sound ; 
Art thou not Romeo, and a iMontague"! 

Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. 
Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me'! and where- 
The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb ; [ fore? 
And the place death, considering who thou art, 
If any of my kinsmen find thee here. 

Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these 
For stony limits cannot hold love out ; [walls; ' 

And what love can do, that dares love attempt ; 
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. 

JiU. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. 
Rom. Alack ! there lies more peril in thine eye. 
Than twenty of their swords ; look thou but sweet, 
And I am proof against their enmity. 

Jul. I would not for the world, they saw thee here. 
Rom. I have night'scloak to hide me from their sight ; 
And, but thou love me, let them find me here : 
My life were better ended by their hate, 
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. 

Jh/. By whose direction found'st thou out this place! 
Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to inquire; 
He lent me counsel, and 1 lent him eyes. 
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far 
As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea, 
I would adventure for such merchandise. 

Jul. Thou know'st, the mask of night is on my face ; 
Else would a maiden blush bcpaint my cheek. 
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. 
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny 
What I have spoke ; But farewell compliment! 
Dost thou love me ? I know, thou wilt say — Ay ; 
And I will take thy word : yet, if thou swear'st, 
Thou may'st prove false ; at lovers' perjuries, 
They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo, 
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully : 
Or if thou thiak'st I am too quickly won, 
I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay. 
So thou wilt woo ; but, else, not for the world. 
In truth, fair ftlontague, I am too fond ; 
And therefore thou may'st think my haviour light: 
But trust me, gentleman, 1 '11 prove more true 
Than those that have more cunning to be strange. 
I should have been more strange, 1 must confess. 
But that thou over-heard'st, ere I was ware, 
My true love's passion : therefore pardon me; 
And not impute this yielding to light love. 
Which the dark night hath so discovered. 

Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear. 
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops, — 

Jul O, swear not by the moon, the inconstantmoon 
That monthly changes in her circled orb. 
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. 
Rom. What shall I swear by ? 
Jul. Do not swear at all ; 

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self. 
Which is the god of my idolatry. 
And I '11 believe thee. 

Rom. If my heart's dear love — 

Jul. Well, do not swear: although 1 joy in thee, 
I have no joy of this contrict to-night : 
It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden ; 
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be. 
Ere one can say — It lightens. Sweet, good night ! 
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath. 
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. 
Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest 
Come to thy heart, as that within my breast ! 
Rom. t), wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ? 
Jut. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? 



Rom. The exchange of tliy love's faithful vow for 
mine. 

Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: 
And yet I would it were to give again. [love? 

Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it ! for what purpose, 

Jul. But to be frank, and give it tiiee again. 
And yet I wish but for the thing I have: 
My bounty is as boundless as the sea. 
My love as deep ; the more I give to thee, 
The more I have, for both are infinite. 

[Nurse calls within. 
I hear some noise within ; Dear love, adieu ! 
Anon, good nurse? — Sweet JMontague, be true. 
Stay but a little, I will come again. [Fiit. 

Rom. O blessed blessed night ! I am afeard. 
Being in night, all this is but a dream, 
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. 

Re-enter Juliet, above. 
Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, iii- 
If that thy bent of love be honourable, [deed. 

Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow. 
By one that 1 '11 procure to come to thee, 
M'here, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite ; 
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay, 
And follow tliee my lord throughout the world. 
Nurae. ^Within.] .Madam. 

Jul. I come, anon : — But if thou niean'st not well, 
I do beseech thee, — 

Nune. \_]Vithiu.] Madam. 

Jul. By and by, T come; — 

To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: 
To-morrow will I send. 

Rom. So thrive my soul, — 

Jul. A thousand times goodnight! [Eih. 

R^/n. A thousand times tiie worse, to want thy light, — 

Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their books; 

But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. 

l^Retiring slowly. 
Re-enter Juliet, above. 
Jul. Hist ! Romeo, hist ! — O, for a falconer's voice. 
To lure this tassel-gentle back again ! 
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud ; 
Else would I tear the cave where echo lies. 
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine 
With repetition of my Romeo's name. 

Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon my name : 
How silver-sweet sound lover's tongues by night. 
Like softest music to attending ears ! 
Jul. Romeo ! 
Horn. My sweet! 

Jul. At what o'clock to-inorrow 

Shall I send to thee? 

Rom. At the hour of nine. 

Jul. 1 will not fail , 'tis twenty years till then. 
I have forgot why I did call thee back. 

Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. 
I Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand theie, 
I Rememb'ring how 1 love thy company. 
I Rom And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, 
: Forgetting any other home but this. 
[ Jul. 'lis almost morning, I would have thee gone ; 
'■ And yet no further than a wanton's bird ; 
\ Who lets it hop a little frovn her hand, 
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves. 
And wiih a silk thread plucks it back again 
So loving-jealous of his liberty. 
I Rom. I would, I were thy bird. 
' Jul. Sweet, so would I : 

' Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. 
Good night, good night ! parting is such sweet sorrow. 
Thai I shall say — good night, till it be morrow. \_Ej:U. 



800 



ROIMEO AND JULIET. 



llAim- Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy 
breast ! — 
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest I 
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell ; 
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Eiit. 

SCENE III.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 

Enter Friar Laurence, with a basket. 

Fri.The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, 
Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light ; 
And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels 
From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's wheels: 
Now ere the sun advance his burning eye. 
The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, 
I must up-fill this osier cage of ours. 
With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. 
The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb; 
What is her burying grave, that is her womb : 
And from her womb children of divers kind 
^Ve sucking on her natural bosom find ; 
Many for many virtues excellent. 
None but for some, and yet all different. 
O, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies 
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities : 
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live. 
But to the earth some special good doth give ; 
Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use, 
Revolts from true l)irth, stumbling on abuse : 
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied ; 
And vice sometime's by action dignllied. 
Within the infant rind of this small flower 
Poison hath residence, and med'cine power : 
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; 
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. 
Two such opposed foes encamp them still 
In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will ; 
And, where the worser is predominant. 
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. 

Enter Romeo. 

Rom. Good morrow, father ! 

Fri. Benedicite! 

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me 1 — 
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head, 
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed : 
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, 
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie ; 
But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain 
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign : 
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure. 
That thou art uprous'd by some distemp'rature, 
Or if not so, then here I hit it right — 
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. 

Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine. 

Fri. God pardon sin ! wast thou with Rosaline 1 

Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father 1 no ; 
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. 

Fri. That's my good son : But where hast thou 
been then 7 

Rom. I '11 tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. 
I have been feasting with mine enemy ; 
Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded me, 
That's by me wounded ; both our remedies 
AVithm thy help and holy physic lies: 
1 bear no hatred, blessed man ; for, lo, 
My intercession likewise steads my foe. 

Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; 
Riddling confession finds but riddling >hrift. 

Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set 
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet : 
As mine on her's, so her's is set on mine ; 



And all combin'd, save what thou must combine 
By holy marriage; When, and where, and how, 
We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vov7, 
I '11 tell thee as we pass ; but this I pray. 
That thou consent to marry us this day. 

Fri. Holy Saint Francis ! what a change is here ' 
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear. 
So soon forsaken 1 young men's love then lies 
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. 
Jesu Maria ! what a deal of brine 
Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! 
How much salt water thrown away in waste. 
To season love that of it doth not taste! 
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears. 
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears ; 
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit 
Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet : 
If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine, 
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline ; 
And art thou chang'd ? pronounce this sentence then^ 
Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. 

Rom. 'J'hou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. 

Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. 

Rom. And bad'st me bury love. 

Fri. Not in a grave, 

To lay one in, another out to have. 

Rom. I pray thee, chide not : she, whom 1 love now, 
Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow ; 
The other did not so. 

Fri. O, she knew well. 

Thy love did read by rote, and could nois])ell. 
But come, young waverer, come go with me. 
In one respect I'll thy assistant be ; 
For this alliance may so happy prove, 
To turn your households' rancour to pure love. 

Rom. O, let us hence ; I stand on sudden haste. 

Fri. Wisely, and slow ; They stumble, that run fast. 

[^Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.--^ Street. 

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. 

Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be? — 
Came he not home to-night ? 

Ben. Not to his father's ; I spoke with his man. 

Mer. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that 
Rosaline, 
Tonnents him so, that he will sure run mad. 

Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, 
Hath sent a letter to his father's house. 

Mer. A challenge, on my life. 

Ben. Romeo will answer it. 

Mer. Any man that can write, may answer a letter. 

Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how 
he dares, being dared. 

Aier. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead ! stabbed 
with a white wench's black eye ; shot thorough the 
ear with a love-song ; the very pin of his heart cleft 
with the blind bow- boy's butt-shaft ; And is he a man 
to encounter Tybalt ? 

Ben, Why, what is Tybaltl 

Mer. Moie than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, 
he is the courageous captain of compliments. He 
fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, 
1 and proportion ; rests me his minim rest, one, two, 
j and the third in your bosom ; the very butcher of a 
silk button, a duellist, a gentleman of the very first 
house, — of the first and second cause: Ah, the im- 
mortal passado ! the punto reverso ! the hay ' 

Ben. The what ] 

Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fan- 
i taslicoes ; these new tuners of accents ! — By Jesu, a 
i '»fi'ij good blade ! — a very tall man ! — o very good 



ACT II.— SCENE IV. 



807 



tokore ! — Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grand- 
sire, that we should be thus afflicted with these 
strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardow 
nez-moy's, who stand so much on the new form, that 
they cannot sit at ease on the old bench ? O, their 
boris, their bous. 

Enter Romeo. 

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. 

Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring : — O, 
flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified ! — Now is he for the 
numbers that Petrarch flowed in : Laura to his lady, 
was but a kitchen-wench ; — marry, she had a better 
love to be-rhyme her : Dido, a dowdy ; Cleopatra, 
^ g'psy ; Helen and Hero, hildings and harlots ; 
Thisbe, a gray eye or so, but not to the purpose. — 
Signior Romeo, boujourl there's a French salutation 
to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit 
fairly last night. 

Rom. Good morrow to you both. What counter- 
feit did I give you 1 

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip ; Can you not receive 1 

Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was 
great ; and, in such case as mine, a man may strain 
courtesy. 

Mer. That's as much as to say — such a case as 
yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. 

Rom. Cleaning — to court' sy, 

Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it. 

Rom. A most courteous exposition. 

Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. 

Rom. Pink for flower. 

Mer. Right. 

Ro7)i. Why, then is my pump well flowered. 

Mer. Well said : Follow me this jest now, till thou 
hast worn out thy pump ; that, when the single sole 
of it is worn, the jest may remain, after the wearing, 
solely singular. 

Rom. O single-soled jest, solely singular for the 
singleness ! 

Mer. Come betweenus, good Benvolio ; my wits fail. 

Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs ; or I'll 
cry a match. 

Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I 
have done ; for thou hast more of the wild-goose in 
one of thy wits, than, I am sure, I have in my whole 
five : Was 1 with you there for the goose 1 

Rom. Thou wast never with me for any thing, when 
thou wast not there for the geose. 

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. 

Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not. 

Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting ; it is a 
most sharp sauce. 

Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet goose ? 

Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel, that stretches 
from an inch narrow to an ell broad ! 

Rom. I stretch it out for tliat word — broad : which 
added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad 
goose. 

Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning 
for love 1 now art thou sociable, now art thou Mo- 
meo ; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as 
by nature : for this drivelling love is like a great na- 
tural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble 
in a hole. 

Ben. Stop there, stop there. 

Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against 
the hair. 

Ben. Thou would'st else have made thy tale large. 

Mer. O, thou art deceived, 1 would have made it 
short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale: 
aadm.ediit, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer. 



Rom. Here's goodly geer ! 

Enter Nurse and Peter. 



Mer. A sail, a sail, a sail ! 

Ben. Two, two ; a shirt, and a smock. 

Nurse. Peter ! 

Peter. Anon 1 

Nurse. My fan, Peter. 

Mer. Pr'ythee, do, good Peter, to hide her face ; 
for her fan's the fairer of the two. 

Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen. 

Mer. God ye good den, fair gentlewoman. 

Nurse. Is it good den ? 

Mer. 'Tis no less, 1 tell you ; for the bawdy hand 
of the dial is now upon the prick of noon. 

Nurse. Out upon you ! what a man are you 1 

Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made him- 
self to mar. 

Nurse. By my troth, it is well said ; — For himself 
to mar, quoth'a? — Gentlemen, can any of you tell 
me where I may find the young Romeo ] 

Rom. I can tell you ; but young Romeo will be 
older when you have found him, than he was when 
you sought him : 1 am the youngest of that name, 
for 'fault of a worse. 

Nurse. You say well. 

Mer. Yea, is the worst well 1 very well took, 
i'faith ; wisely, wisely. 

Nurse. If you be lie, sir, I desire some confidence 
with you. 

Ben. She will indite him to some supper. 

Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd ! So ho ! 

Rom. What hast thou found 1 

Mer. No hare, sir ; unless ahare,sir,in alenten pie, 
that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. 

An old hare hoar, 

And an old hare hoar. 
Is very good meat in lent : 

But a hare that is hoar, 

Is too much for a score. 
When it lioars ere it be spent- — 

Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to din- 
ner thither. 

Rom. I will follow you. 

Mer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, 
lady. [Ereunt Mercutio ami Benvolio. 

Nurse. Marry, farewell ! — I pray you, sir, what 
saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery ? 

Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear him- 
self talk ; and will speak more in a minute, than he 
will stand to in a month. 

Nurse. An 'a speak any thing against me, I'll take 
him down an 'a were lustier than he is, and twenty 
such Jacks ; and if I cannot, I'll find those that 
shall. Scurvy knave ! I am none of his fliit-gills ; 
I am none of his skains-mates : — And thou must 
stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his 
pleasure ? 

Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure ; if I 
had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I 
wairant you : I dare draw as soon as another man, 
if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on 
my side. 

Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every 
part about me quivers. Scurvy knave ! — Pray you, 
sir, a word : and as I told you, my young lady bade 
me inquire you out ; v/hat she bade me say, I will 
keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should 
lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a 
very gross kind of behaviour, as they say : for the 
gentlewoman is young ; and, therefore, if you should 



808 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



deal double with her, truly, it were an ill thing to be 
offered to any gentleworaan, and very weak dealing. 

Ro'n. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mis- 
tress. I protest unto thee, — 

Nurse. Good heart! and, i' faith, I will tell her 
as much: Lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman. 

Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse ? thou dost 
not mark me. 

Nurse. I will tell her, sir, — that you do protest; 
which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. 

Bom. Bid her devise some means to come to shrift 
This afternoon ; 

And there she shall at friar Laurence' cell 
Be shriv'd, and married. Here is for thy pains. 

Nurse. No, truly, sir ; not a penny. 

Bom, Go to ; I say, you shall. 

Nurse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there. 

Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey-wall : 
Within this hour my man shall be with thee ; 
And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair: 
Which to the high top-gallant of my joy 
IMust be my convoy in the secret night. 
Farewell! — Be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains. 
Farewell I — Commend me to thy mistress. 

A^wrse. Now God in heaven bless thee! — Hark you, 

Rom. What say'st thou, my dear nurse ? [sir. 

Nurse, Is your man secret ? Uid you ne'er hear 
Two may keep counsel, putting one away"! [say — 

Bom. I warrant thee , my man's as true as steel. 

Nurse. Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady 
— Lord, lord! — when 'twas a little prating thing, — 
O, there's a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would 
fain lay knife aboard ; but she, good soul, had as 
lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger 
her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer 
man ; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks 
as pale as any clout in the varsal world. Doth not 
rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter ? 

Rnin. Ay, nurse ; What of that t both with an R. 

Nurse. Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name. R. 
is for the dog. No ; I know it begins with some 
other letter : and she hath the prettiest sententious 
of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good 
to hear it. 

Rom. Commend me to thy lady. [Earit. 

Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. — Peter I 

Pet. Anon ? 

Nurse. Peter, Take my fan, and go before. [Eieu7it, 

SCENE v.— Capulet's Garden. 

Enter .Tuliet. 

Ji/Z. The clock struck nine, when I did send themirse ; 
In half an hour she promis'd to return. 
Perchance, she canrw)t meet him : — that's not so. — 
O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts. 
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams. 
Driving back shadows over low'ring hills : 
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love. 
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. 
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill 
Of this day's journey ; and from nine till twelve 
Is three long hours, — yet she is not come. 
Had she affections, and warm youthful blood, 
She'd be as swift in motion as a ball ; 
My words would bandy her to my sweet love. 
And his to me : 

But old folks, may feign as they were dead ; 
Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. 

Enter Nurse and Peter. 
O God, she comes ! — honey nurse, what news? 



Hast thou met with him ? Send thy man away. 

Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit "Pf.teh. 

Jul. Now, good sweet nurse, — lord! why jook'st 
thou sad ? 
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily ; 
If good, thou shani'st the music of sweet news 
By playing it to me with so sour a face. 

Nurse. I am aweary, give me leave a while ; — 
Fye, how my bones ache ! What a jaunt have 1 had ! 

Jut. I would, thou hadst my bones, and I thy news : 
Nay, come, I pray thee, speak ; — good, good nurse, 
speak. 

Nurse. Jesu, What haste? can you not stay awhile? 
Do you not see, that I am out of breath? 

Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast 
To say to me — that thou art out of breath ? [breath 
The excuse, that thou dost make in this delay, 
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. 
Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that ; 
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance: 
Let me be satisfied, Is't good or bad ? 

Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice ; you 
know not how to choose a man : Romeo ! no, not 
he ; though his face be better than any man's, yet his 
leg excels all men's ; and for a hand, and a foot, and 
a body, — though they be not to be talked on, yet they 
are past compare: He is not the flower of courtesy, 
— but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb — Go thy 
ways, wench ; serve God. — What, have you dined 
at home ? 

Jul. No, no : But all this did I know before ; 
What says he of our marriage? what of that ? 

Nurse. Lord, how my headaches! what a head have 
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces, f I ? 

JMy back o' t' other side, — 0, my back, my back! — 
Beshrew your heart, for sending me aboiit. 
To catch my death with jaunting up and down ? 

Jul. I'faith, I am sorry that thou art not well : 
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, whatsays my love? 

Nurse. Your love says like an honest gentleman, 
And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, 
And, I warrant, a virtuous :— Where is your mother! 

Jul. Where is my mother? — why, she is within ; 
Where should she be? How oddly thou reply'st? 
} our love says like an honest gentleman, — 
Where is your mother ? 

Nurse. 0, God's lady dear ! 

Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow ; 
Is this the poultice for my aking bones ? 
Henceforward do your messages yourself. 

Jul. Here's such acoil, — Come, what says Romeo? 

Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day ? 

Jtil. I have. 

Njirse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell. 
There stays a husband to make you a wife : 
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, 
They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. 
Hie you to church ; I must another way. 
To fetch a ladder, by the which your love 
Must climb a bird's nest soon, when it is dark : 
I am the drudge, and toil in your delight ; 
But you shall bear the burden soon at night. 
Go, I'll to dinner ; hie you to the cell. 

Jul. Hie to high fortune ! — honest nurse, fare- 
well. [Exeunt, 

SCENE VI.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 

Enter Friar Laure."jce and Romeo. 

Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act. 
That after-hours with sorrow chide us not ! 
Rom, Amen, amen ! but come what sorrow can, 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 



00.9 



It cannot countervail the exchange of joy 
1 hat one short minute gives me in her sight : 
Do thou but close our hands with holy words, 
Then love-devouring death do what he dare, 
It is enough 1 may but call her mine. 

Fri. These violent delights have violent ends, 
And in their triumph die; like fire and powder, 
^Vhich, as they kiss, consume: The sweetest honey 
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness. 
And in the taste confounds the appetite : 
Therefore, love moderately ; long love doth so ; 
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. 

Enter J u lift. 
Here comes the lady; — 0, so light a foot 
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint : 
A lover may bestride the gossomers 
That idle in the wanton summer air, 
And yet not fall ; so light is vanity. 

Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor. 

Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. 

Jul. As much to him, else are his thanks too much. 

Rem. Ah, .luliet, if the measure of thy joy 
Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more 
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath 
This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue 
Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both 
Receive in either by tliis dear encounter. 

Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, 
Brags of his substance, not of ornament : 
They are but beggars that can count their worth ; 
But my true love is grown to such excess, 
I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth. 

Fri. Come, come, with me, and we will make short 
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone, [work ; 
Till holy church incorporate two in one. lExeiuU. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I.— A public Place. 
Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page, and Servants. 

Be?!. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire ; 
The day is hot, the Capulets abroad. 
And, if we meet, we shall not 'scape a bravvl ; 
For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. 

Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows, that, when 
he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword 
upon the table, and says, Gi'd send me yio need of 
thee! and, by the operation of the second cup, draws 
it on the drawer, when, indeed, there is no need. 

Ben. Am I like such a fellow ] 

Mer. Come, come, thou art as liot a Jack in thy 
mood as any in Italy ; and as soon moved to be 
moody, and as soon moody to be moved. 

Ben. And what to t 

Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should have 
none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou ! 
why thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair 
more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast. 
Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, 
having no other reason but because thou hast hazel 
eyes ; What eye, but such an eye, would spy out 
such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels, as 
an egg is full of meat ; and yet thy head hath been 
beaten as addle as an egg, for quarrelling. Thou 
hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, 
because he hath wakened thy dog that hatii lain 
asleep in the sun. Uidst thou not fall out with a 
tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? 
with another, for tying his new shoes with old rib- 



band? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling! 

Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any 
man should buy the fee simple of my life for an hour 
and a quarter. 

Mer. The fee-simple ? O simple ! 

Enter Tybalt, and others. 

Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. 

Mer. liy my heel, I care not. 

Tyh. Follow me close, for I will speak to them. 
Gentlemen, good den : a word with one of you. 

Mer. And but one word with one of us ? Couple 
it with something ; make it a word and a blow. 

Tijh. Vou will find me apt enough to that, sir, if 
you will give me occasion. 

Mer. Could you not take some occasion without 
giving ? 

Tyb. JNIercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo, — 

Mer. Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels 
an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothins^ 
but discords : here's my fiddlestick ; here's that shaU 
make you dance. 'Zounds, consort ! 

Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men : 
Either withdraw into some private place. 
Or reason coldly of your grievances. 
Or else' depart ; here all eyes gaze on us. 

Mer. Rlen's eyes were made to look, and let them 
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. [gaze ; 

Enter Romeo. 

Tifb. Well, peace be with you, sir ! here comes my 
man. 

Mer. But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery. 
Marry, go before to field, he 'II be your follower 
Your worship in that sense, may call him — man. 

Tyb. Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford 
No better term than this — Thou art a villain. 

Rirm. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee 
Doth much excuse the appertaining race 
To such a greeting: — Villain am I none; 
Therefore, farewell ; I see, thou know'st me not. 

Tub. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries 
That thou hast done me ; therefore turn, and draw- 
Bom. I do protest, I never injur'd thee; 
But love thee better than thou canst devise, 
Till thou shall know the reason of my love: 
And so, good Capulet,— which name I tender 
As dearly as mine own, — be satisfied. 

Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission ! 
A la stoccata carries it away. [Dratt'S. 

Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk ? 

Tifb. What would'st thou have with me ? 

Mer. Good king of cats, nothing, but one of your 
nine lives ; that I mean to make bold withal, and, as 
you shall use me hereafter, diy-beat the rest of the 
eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher 
by the ears ? make haste, lest mine be about your 
ears ere it be out. 

Tyh. I am for you. [Drawing. 

Bom. Gentle ^lercutio, put thy rapier up. 

Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [Then fi^ht. 

Bom. Draw, Benvolio ; 
Beat down their weapons : — Gentlemen, for shame. 
Forbear this outrage ; — Tybalt — iMercutio — 
The prince expressly hath forbid this bandying 
In Verona streets : — hold, Tybalt ;— good iNlercutio, 
[Eieimt TvB.ALT and his Parti:,ans, 

Mer. I am hurt; — 
A plague o' both the houses! — I am sped: 
[s he gone, and hath nothing? 

Ben. What, art thou hurt ? [enoujh.- 

Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch ; marry, 'lis 



810 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



Where is my page"! go, villain, fetch a surgeon. 

[£i(f Page. 

Rom. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. 

Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as 
a church-door ; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve : ask for 
me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. 
I am peppered, I warrant, for tiiis world: — A plague 
o'both your houses ! — 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, 
a cat, to scratch a man to death ! a braggart, a rogue, 
a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic ! — 
Why, the devil, came you between us ? 1 was hurt 
under your arm. 

Rom. I thought all for the best. 

Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, 
Or 1 shall faint. — A plague o'both your houses. 
They have made worm's meat of me : 
I have it, and soundly too : — Your houses. 

[Eieunt MF.nruTio and Benvolio. 

Rom. This gentleman, the prince's near ally, 
My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt 
In my behalf; my reputation stain'd 
With Tybalt's slander, Tybalt, that an hour 
Hath been my kinsman : — O sweet Juliet, 
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate. 
And in my temper soften'd valour's steel. 

Re-enter Benvolio. 

Ben. Uomeo, Romeo, brave Mercutlo's dead ; 
That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds, 
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. 

Rom. This day's black fate on more days doth de- 
This but begins the woe, others must end. [pend ; 

Re-enter Tybalt. 

Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. 

Rom. Alive ! in triumph ! and Mercutio slaiu ! 
Away to heaven, respective lenity, 
And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now ! — 
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, 
That late thou gav'st me ; for Mercutio's soul 
Is but a little way above our heads. 
Staying for thine to keep him company ; 
Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him. 

Ti/t. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him 
Shait with him hence. [here, 

Ro)n. This shall determine that. 

[Theii fight ; Ty B AhT falls. 

Ben. Romeo, away, be gone ! 
The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain : — 
Stand not amaz'd: — the prince will doom thee death, 
If thou art taken : — hence! — be gone! — away! 

Hum. O ! I am fortune's fool ! 

Ben. Why dost thou stay 1 ^Eiii Romeo. 

Enter Citizens, S^c. 

1 Cit. Which way ran he, that kill'd Mercutio ? 
Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he 1 

Ben. There lies that Tybalt. 

1 Cit. Up, sir, go with me ; 

I charge thee in the prince's name obey. 

Enter Prince, attended; Montague, Capdlet, 
their Wives, and others. 

Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this fray? 

Ben. O noble prince, I can discover all 
The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl : 
There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, 
That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. 

La. Cap. Tybalt; my cousin ! — O my brother's 
Unhappy sight! ah me, the blood is spill'd [child! 
Of my dear kinsman. — Prince, as thou art true, 
For blood of ours, shed blood of JNIontague. — 
O cousin, cousin ! 



Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloodv frny ? 

Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did 
Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink [slay ; 
How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal 
Your high displeasure : — All this — uttered 
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, — 
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen 
Of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts 
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast ; 
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, 
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats 
Cold death aside, and with the other sends 
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity 
Retorts it : Romeo he cries aloud, 
Huld, friends ! friends, part ! and swifter than his 
His agile arm beats down their fatal points, [tongue, 
And 'twixt them rushes ; underneath whose arm 
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life 
Of stout IMercutio, and then Tybalt fled : 
But by and by comes back to Romeo, 
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge. 
And to't they go like lightning ; for, ere I 
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain; 
And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly ; 
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. 

La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague, 
Affection makes him false, he speaks not true , 
Some twenty of them fought in tliis black strife, 
And all those twenty could but kill one life: 
I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give ; 
Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. 

Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew lAlercutio ; 
V/ho now the price of his dear blood doth owe? 

Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was ^Mercutio's friend ; 
His fault concludes but, what the law should end, 
The life of Tybalt. 

Prin. And, for that oflTence, 

Immediately we do exile him hence : 
I have an interest in your hate's proceeding. 
My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a bleeding, 
But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine, 
That you siiall all repent the loss of mine : 
I will be deaf to pleading and excuses ; 
Nor tears, nor prayers, shall purchase out abuses, 
Therefore use none : let Romeo hence in haste. 
Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. 
Bear hence his body, and attend our will : 
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. 

[Eieunl, 

SCENE 11.—^ Room in Capulet's House. 

Enter Juliet. 

Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, 
Toward's Phoebus' mansion ; such a waggoner 
As Phaeton would whip you to the west, 
And bring in cloudy night immediately. — 
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night ! 
That runaway's eyes may wink ; and Romeo 
Leap to these arms, unlalk'd of, and unseen! — 
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites 
By their own beauties : or, if love be blind. 
It best agrees with night. — Come, civil night. 
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black. 
And learn me how to lose a winning match, 
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods : 
Hood my unmann'd blood bating in my cheeks. 
With thy black mantle ; till strange love, grown bold. 
Think true love acted, simple modesty. 
Come, night! — Come, Romeo! come, thou day in 
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night [night*. 
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. — 



ACT III.— SCENE III. 



811 



Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd night, 

Give me my Romeo: and, when he shall die, 

Take him and cut him out in little stars, 

And he will make the face of heaven so fine, 

'I'hat all the world will be in love with niffht, 

And pay no worship to the garish sun. 

O, I have bought the mansion of a love, 

But not possess'd it; and, though 1 am sold, 

Not yet enjoyed : So tedious is this day, 

As is the night before some festival 

To an impatient child, that hath new robes. 

And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, 

Enter Nurse, with cords. 

And she brings news ; and every tongue that speaks 
But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence. — 
Now, nurse, what newsl What hast thou there '. tiie 
Tiiat Romeo bade thee fetch 1 cords, 

Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords. [Throus them dmcn, 

Jul. Ah me ! what news ! why dost thou wring 
thy hands 1 

Nurse. Ah well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's 
We are undone, lady, we are undone ! — [dead! 
Alack the day ! — he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead ! 

Jul. Can heaven be so envious ] 

Nurse. Romeo can. 

Though heaven cannot: — O Romeo, Romeo ! — 
Who ever would have thought it ? — Romeo ! 

Jul. Whatdevil art thou, that dost torment me thus? 
This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. 
Hath Romeo slain himself? say tiiou but /, 
And that bare vowel / shall poison more 
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice : 
I am not I, if there be such an I ; 
Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer, I. 
If he be slain, say — I ; or if not, no : 
Brief sounds determine of my weal, or woe. 

Nurse. I saw the wound, 1 saw it with mine eyes, — 
God save the mark ! — here on his manly breast: 
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse ; 
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood. 
All in gore blood ; — I swooned at the sight. 

Jul. break, my heart ! — poor bankrupt, break at 
To prison, eyes ! ne'er look on liberty! [once I 

Vile eaith, to earth resign ; end motion here ; 
And tliou, and Romeo, press one heavy bier! 

Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend 1 had ! 
O courteous Tybalt '. honest gentleman ! 
I'hat ever I should live to see thee dead ! 

Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary? 
Is Romeo slaughter'd ; and is Tybalt dead 1 
My dearlov'd cousin, and my dearer lord? — 
Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! 
For who is living, if those two are gone ? 

Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished ; 
Ilomeo, that kill'd him, he is banished. [blood? 

Jul. O God ' — did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's 

Nurse. It did, it did ; alas the day ! it did. 

Jul. serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face ! 
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave ? 
Beautiful tyrant I fiend angelical ! 
Dove-feather'd raven ! wolvish-ravening lamb ! 
Despised substance of divinest show ! 
Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, 
A damned saint, an honourable villain ! — 
O, nature ! what hadst thou to do in hell, 
When thou did'st bovver the spirit of a fiend 
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh ? — 
Was ever book, containing such vile matter, 
So fairly bound'! O, that deceit should dwell 
In such a gorgeous palace ! 

Nurse. There's no trust, 



No faith, no honesty in men ; all perjur'd, 
All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. — 
Ah, where's my man ! give me some nijua vitis : — 
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old 
Shame come to Romeo ! 

Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue. 

For such a wish ! he was not born to shame ! 
Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit ; 
For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd 
Sole monarch of the universal earth. 
O, what a beast was I to chide at him ! [cousin? 

Nurse Will you speak well of him that kill'd your 

Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my hu.,band ? 
Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, 
^V'hen I, thy three-hours' wife, have mangled it? — 
But, wjierefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? 
That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband : 
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring ; 
Your tributary drops belong to woe, 
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. 
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain 
And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband : 
All this is comfort ; Wherefore weep I then? 
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, 
ihat murder'd me : I would forget it fain ; 
But, O ! it presses to my memory. 
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds : 
Tijhalt is dead, and Romeo — banished. 
That — banished, that one word — banished, 
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death 
Was woe enough, if it had ended there : 
Or, — if sour woe delights in fellowship, 
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, — 
Why foUow'd not, when she said — Tybalt's dead. 
Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both. 
Which modern lamentation might have mov'd ? 
But, with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, 
Borneo is banished, — to speak that word. 
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, 
All slain, all dead : — Romeo is banislied, — 
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound. 
In that word's death ; no words can that woe sound. — • 
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse ? 

Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse : 
Will you go to them ? I will bring you thither. 

Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears, mine shall 
be spent. 
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. 
Take up those cords: — Poor ropes, you are beguil'd, 
Both you and I ; for Romeo is exil'd : 
He made you for a highway to my bed ; 
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed ; 
Come, cords ; come, nurse ; I'll to my wedding bed ; 
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead ! 

Nurse. Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo 
To comfort vou : — I wot well where he is.. 
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night; 
I'll to him ; he is hid at Laurence' cell. 

Jul. O find him! give this ring to my true knight. 
And bid him come to take his last farewell. [Exeunt. 

SCF:NE III.— rciar Laurence's Cell. 
Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo. 

Fri. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful 
Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, [man ; 

And thou art wedded to calamity. [doom T 

Rom. Father, what news? what is the prince's 
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand. 
That 1 yet know not ? 

Fri. Too familiar 

Is my 4car son with such sour company j 



812 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. 

Rom. What less than dooms-day is the prince's 
doom 1 

Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, 
Not body's death, but body's banishment. 

Horn. Ha! banishment? be merciful, say — death: 
For exile hath more terror in his look, 
Much more than death : do not say — banishment. 

Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished : 
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. 

Rom. There is no world without Verona walls, 
But purgatory, torture, hell itself. 
Hence-banished is banish'd from the world. 
And ■v\ Grid's exile is death : — then banishment 
Is death mis-term'd: calling death — banishment, 
Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe. 
And smil'st \ipon the stroke that murders me. 

Fri. O deadly sin ! O rude unthankfulness ! 
Thy fault our law calls death : but the kind prince. 
Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law. 
And turn'd that black word death to banishment: 
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. 

Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy ; heaven is here, 
Where Juliet lives ; and every cat, and dog. 
And little mouse, every unworthy thing, 
Live here in heaven, and may look on her, 
But Romeo may not. — Wore validity. 
More honourable state, more courtship lives 
In carrion flies, than Komeo : they may seize 
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand. 
And steal immortal blessing from her lips ; 
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty. 
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin ; 
But Romeo may not ; he is banished : 
Flies may do this, when 1 from this must fly ; 
They are free men, but I am banished. 
And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death ? 
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, 
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, 
But — banished — to kill me ; banished] 
O friar, the damned use that word in hell ; 
Rowlings attend it : How hast thou the heart, 
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, 
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, 
To mangle me with that word — banishment? 

Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear mebutspeakaword. 

Rum. (), thou wilt speak again of banishment. 

Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word ; 
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy. 
To comfort thee, though thou art banished. 

Rom. Yet banished ! — Hang up philosophy ! 
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, 
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom ; 
It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more. 

Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears. 

Rom. How should they, when that wise men have 
no eyes 1 

Fri, Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. 

Eom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not 
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, [feel : 
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered. 
Doting like me, and like me banished. 
Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear thy 
And fall upon the ground, as I do now, [hair. 

Taking the measure of an unmade grave. 

Fri. Arise ; one knocks ; good Romeo, hide thy- 
self. [Kiinckiiig within. 

Rom, Not I; unless the breath of heart-sick groans, 
Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. 

l^Knocking. 

Fri, Hark, how they knock ! — Who 's there ? — 
Romeo, arise ; 



Thou wilt be taken : — Stay awhile : — stand up ; 

' [Knocking. 

Run to my study : — By and by : — God's will ! 
What wilfulness is this 1 — I come, I come. 

[Knocking. 
Who knocks so hard 1 whence come you ! what 's 
your will 1 
Nurse. [JVithin.] Let me come in, and you shall 
know my errand ; 
I come from lady Juliet. 

Fri. Welcome then. 

Enter Nurse. 

Nurse, O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar. 
Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo ? [drunk. 

Fri. There on the ground, with his own tears made 

Nurse. O, he is even in my fnistress' case, 
Just in her case ! 

Fri. O woeful sympathy ! 

Piteous predicament ! 

Nurse. Even so lies she. 

Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering : — 
Stand up, stand up ; stand, an you be a man : 
For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand ; 
Why should you fall into so deep an 1 

Rom. Nurse ! [all. 

Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir! — Well, death's the end of 

Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her? 
Doth she not think me an old murderer. 
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy 
With blood remov'd but little from her own ! 
Where is she? and how doth she ? and what says 
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love? [weeps ; 

Nurser O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and 
And now falls on her bed ; and then starts up. 
And Tybalt calls ; and then on Romeo cries, 
And then down falls again. 

Ro7n. As if that name. 

Shot from the deadly level of a gun, 
Did murder her ; as that name's cursed hand 
Murder'd her kinsman. — O tell me, friar, tell me. 
In what vile part of this anatomy 
Doth my name lodge ? tell me, that I may sack 
The hateful mansion. [Drows his sioord. 

Fri. Hold thy desperate hand : 

Art thou a man ? thy form cries out thou art ; 
Thy tears are womanish ; thy wild acts denote 
The unreasonable fury of a beast : 
Unseemly woman, in a seeming man I 
Or ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both 1 
Thou hast amaz'd me : by my holy order, 
I thought thy disposition better temper'd. 
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? 
And slay thy lady too that lives in thee, 
15y doing damned hate upon thjself ? 
Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth 1 
Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet 
In thee at once ; which thou at once would'st lose. 
Fye, fye ! thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit ; 
Which, like an usurer, abound'st in all. 
And usest none in that true use indeed 
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit. 
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, 
Digressing from the valour of a man : 
Thy dear love, sworn, but hollow perjury, 
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish 
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love. 
Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both, 
Like powder in a skill-less soldier's flask, 
Is set on fire by thine own ignorance. 
And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. 
What, rouse thee, man ! thy Juliet is alive. 



ACT III. -SCENE V. 



013 



For whose dear sake thou v/ast but lately dead ; 
There art lliou happy : 'Jybalt would kill thee, 
But thou slew'st J'ybalt ; there art thou happy too ; 
The law, that threaten'd death, becomes thy friend, 
And turns it to exile ; there art thou happy : 
A pack of blessings lights upon thv back ; 
Happiness courts thee in her best arr?y; 
But, like a misbehav'd and sullen wench, 
Tliou pout'st >ipon thy fortune and thy love : 
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. 
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, 
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her ; 
But, look, tliou stay not till the watch be set. 
For then thou canst not pass to JMantua ; 
Where thou slialt live, till we can find a time 
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, 
Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back 
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy 
Than thouwent'st forth in lamentation. — 
Go, before, nurse : commend me to thy lady ; 
And bid her hasten all the house to bed, 
AVhich heavy sorrow makes them apt unto: 
Romeo is coming. 

Nurse. O Lord, I could have staid here all the night. 
To hear good counsel : O, what learning is ! — 
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. 

Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. 

Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: 
Elie you, make haste, for it grows very late. 

[Exit Nurse. 

Bom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this 1 

Fri. Go hence : Goodnight; and here stands all 
your state ; 
Either begone before the watch be set. 
Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence : 
Sojourn in Mantua ; I'll find out your man, 
And he shall signify from time to time 
Every good hap to you, that ciiances here : 
Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell ; good night. 

Rawi. But that a joy past joy calls out on me. 
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee : 
Farewell. [Eaeu«f. 

SCENE IV. — A Room in Capulet's House. 
£/i(e»' Capulet, Lady Capulet, uiul Paris. 

Cnp. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily, 
That we have had no time to move our daughter: 
Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly. 
And so did 1 ; — Well ; we were born to die. — 
'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night: 
I promiye you, but for your company, 
I would have been a-bed an hour ago. 

Par. These times of woe afford no time to woo ; 
Madam, good night : commend me to your daughter. 

La. Cap. 1 will, and know her mind early to nior- 
To night she's mew'd up to her heaviness. [row ; 

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender 
Of my child's love : I think she will be rul'd 
In all respects by me ; nay more, I doubt it not. 
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed ; 
Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love ; 
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next — 
But, soft ; What day is this ! 

Par. iNIonday, my lord. 

Cap. Monday? ha! ha! Well, Wednesday is too 
0' Thursday let it be ; — o' Thursday, tell her, [soon. 
She shall be married to this noble earl ; — 
Will you be ready? do you like ttiis haste 1 
We'll keep no great ado ; — a friend, or two : — 
For hark you, I'ybalt being slain so late. 
It may be thought we held him carelessly, 



Being our kinsman, if we revel much : 
Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, 
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday ? 

Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to- 
morrow. 

Cap Well, get you gone . — 0' Thursday be it 
Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, [then : — 

Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. — 
Farewell, my lord. — Light to my chamber, ho ! 
Afore me, it is so very late, that we 
IMay call it early by and by : — Good night, [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— .Tuliet's Chamber. 
Enter Romeo and Juliet. 

Jul. Wilt thou be gone 1 it is not yet near day : 
It was the nisjjilingale, and not the lark. 
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear ; 
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree : 
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn. 
No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks 
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : 
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day 
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops ; 
I must be gone and live, or stay and die. 

Jul. \'on light is not day light, 1 know it, I : 
It is some meteor that tlie sun exhales, 
i'o be to thee this night a torch-bearer, 
And light thee on tliy way to Mantua : 
Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone. 

Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death ; 
I am content, so thou will have it so. 
I'll say, yon gray is not tho morning's eye, 
'lis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow ; 
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat 
The vanity heaven so high above our heads: 
I have more care to stay than will to go ; — • 
Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet wills it so. — 
How is't, my soul ? let's talk, it is not day. 

Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away ; 
It is the lark that sings so out of tune. 
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps. 
Some say, the lark makes sweet division ; 
This doth not so, for she divideth us : 
Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes , 
O, now I would they had chang'd voices too.' 
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray. 
Hunting thee hence with hunts-up to the day. 
O, now be gone ; more light and light it grows. 

Rom. Wore light and light? — more dark and dark 
our woes. 

Enter Nurse. 

Nurse. Madam ! 

Jul. Nurse ? fber : 

Nurse. Vour lady mother's coming to your cham- 
The day is broke ; be wary, look about. [Ex. Nurse 

Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. 

Rom. Farewell, farewell ! one kiss, and I'll de- 
scend. [Romeo descends. 

Jul. Art thou gone so? my love! my lord! my 
I must hear from thee every day i' the hour, [friend ! 
For in a minute there are many days' 
I by this count I shall be much in years. 
Ere I again behold my Romeo. 

Rom. Farewell I 1 will omit no opportunity 
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. 

Jul. 0,^hink'st thou, we shall ever meet again? 

Rom. 1 doubt it not ; and all tiiese woes shall serve 
For sweet discourses in our time to come. 

Jul. O God ! 1 have an ill-divining soul ; 
IMethinks, I see thee, now thou art below, . 



81 i 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



As ont dead m the bottom of a tomb ; 
Either niy eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. 

Horn And trust me, love, in my eye so do you : 
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu ! adieu ! 

[Eiit RoMF.o. 

Jnl. O fortune, fortune: all men call thee fickle : 
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him 
That is renown'd for faith ? Be fickle, fortune ; 
For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long. 
But send him back. 

La. Cap. [IFit/i/n.] Ho, daughter ! are you up? 

Jul. Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? 
Is she not down so late, or up so early ? 
What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? 

Enter Lady Capui.et, 

La, Cap. Why, how now, Juliet? 
Jul. Madam, I am not well. 

La. Cap. Evermore weeping for yourcousin's death! 
What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? 
An if thou could'st, thou could'st not make him live ; 
Therefore, have done: Some grief shews much of love; 
But much of grief shews still some want of wit. 
Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. 
La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the 
Which you weep for. [fiiend 

Jul. Feeling so the loss, 

I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. 

La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for 
his death, 
As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. 
Jul. What villain, madam? 

La, Cap. That same villain, Romeo. 

Jul. Villain and he are many miles asunder. 
God pardon him ! I do, with all my heart ; 
And yet no man, like he, doth grieve my heart. 
La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer lives. 
Jul, Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands. 
'W^ould, none but I might venge my cousin's death ! 
La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou 
not : 
Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, — 
Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, — 
That shall bestow on him so sure a draught. 
That he shall soon keep Tybalt company : 
And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied. 

Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied 
With Romeo, till I behold him — dead- 
Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd :— 
Madam, if you could find out but a man 
To bear a poison, I would temper it ; 
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof. 
Soon sleep in quiet. — O, how my heart abhors 
To hear him nam'd, — and cannot come to him, — 
To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt 
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him ! 

La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find such a 
But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. [man. 
Jul, And joy comes well in such a needful time : 
What are they, I beseech your ladyship ? 

La. Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful father. 
One, who, to put thee from thy heaviness, [child ; 
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy. 
That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for. 
Jul, Madam, in happy time, what day is that? 
La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thursday 
The gallant, young, and noble gentleman, [morn, 
The county Paris, at St. Peter's church. 
Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. 

Jul. Now, by St. Peter's church, and Peter too, 
He shall not make me there a joyful bride. 
I wonder at this haste ; that 1 must wed 



Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. 
I pray you tell my lord and father, madam, 
I will not marry yet ; and, when I do, I swear, 
It shall be Romeo, whom you know 1 hate. 
Rather than Paris: — These are news indeed! 

La. Cap. Here comes your father ; tell him so yoiit- 
And see how he will take it at your hands. [self, 

Enter Capulet and Nurse. 

Cap, When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew ; 
But for the sunset of my brother's son. 
It rains downright. — 

How now? a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? 
Evermore showering ? In one little body 
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind : 
For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea. 
Do ebb and flow with tears ; the bark thy body is, 
Sailing in this salt flood ; the winds, thy sighs ; 
Who, — raging with thy tears, and they with them, — 
Without a sudden calm, will overset 
Thy tempest-tossed body. — How now, wife? 
Have you deliver'd to her our decree ? 

La. Cap. Ay, sir ; but she will none, she gives you 
I would the fool were married to her grave ! [thanks. 

Cap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you, 
wife. 
How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks'' 
Is she not proud ? doth she not count her bless'd. 
Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought 
So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom ? 

Jul. Not proud, you have ; but thankful, that you 
Proud can I never be of what I hate ; [have : 

But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. 

Cap. How now I how now, chop-logic! What is this? 
Proud, — and, I thank you, — and, 1 thank you not ;— 
And yet not proud ; — Mistress minion, you. 
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, 
But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, 
To go with Paris to St. Peter's cnurch. 
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. 
Out, you green-sickness carrion I out, you baggage ! 
You tallow face ! 

La. Cap, Fye, fye ! what are you mad ? 

Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees, 
Hear me with patience but to speak a word. 

Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! disobedientwretch! 
I tell thee what, — get thee to church o'Thursday, 
Or never after look me in the face : 
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me ; 
I\Iy fingers itch. — Wife, we scarce thought us bless'd, 
That God had sent us but this only child ; 
But now I see this one is one too much. 
And that we have a curse in having her; 
Out on her, hilding ! 

Nurse. God in heaven bless her! — 

You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. 

Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue, 
Good prudence; smaller with your gossips, go. 

Nurse. I speak no treason. 

Cap. O, God ye good den ! 

Nurse. May not one speak ? 

Cap. Peace, you mumbling fool ! 

Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl, 
For here we need it not. 

La. Cap, You are too hot. 

Cap. God's bread ! it makes me mad : Day, night. 
At home, abroad, alone, in company, [late, early, 
Waking, or sleeping, still my care hath been 
To have her match'd : and having now provided 
A gentleman of princely parentage. 
Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, 
Stuff'd (as they say) with honourable parts, 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



8: 



Proportion'd as one's heart could wish a man, — 

And then to have a wretched puling fool, 

A whining mamniet, in hor fortune's tender, 

To answer — /'// not ived, — I cannot love, 

I am too youne;, — I praii you, pardon me ; — 

But, an you will not wed, I '11 pardon you : 

Graze where you will, you shall not house with me: 

Look to 't, think on 't, I do not use to jest. 

Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise* 

An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend ; 

An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets, 

For, by my soul, 1 '11 ne'er acknowledge thee. 

Nor what is mine shall never do thee good : 

Trust to 't, bethink you, I'll not be forsworn. [Ei;(. 

Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, 
That sees into the bottom of my grief ! 
O, sweet my mother, cast me not away ! 
Delay this marriage for a month, a week ; 
Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed 
III that dim monument where Tybalt lies. 

/,(x. Cap. Talk not to me, for I '11 not speak a word ; 
Do as thou wilt, for 1 iiave done with thee. [Ej/f. 

Ji(/.OGod! — O nurse! how shall this be prevented? 
My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven ; 
How shall that faith return again to earth, 
Unless that husband send it me from heaven 
By leaving earth 1 — comfort me, counsel me. — 
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems 
Upon so soft a subject as myself! — 
What say'st thou 1 hast thou not a word of joy 1 
Some comfort, nurse. 

Nurse. 'Faith, here 'tis : Romeo 

Is banished ; and all the world to nothing. 
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you ; 
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. 
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, 
I think it best you married witii the county. 
O, he 's a lovely gentleman ! 
Romeo's a dishclout to him ; an eagle, madam. 
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye, 
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, 
I think you are happy in this second match, 
For it excels your first : or if it did not. 
Your first is dead ; or 'twere as good he were, 
As living here and you no use of him. 

Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart? 

Nurae. From my soul too ; 

Or else beshrew them both. 

Jul. Amen ! 

Nurse. To what? 

Jul. Well , thou hastcomforted me marvellous much . 
Go in ; and tell my lady 1 am gone. 
Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell, 
To make confession, and to be absolv'd. 

Nurse. INIarry, 1 will ; and this is wisely done. 

[£ift. 

/'(/. Ancient damnation ! O most wicked fiend ! 
Is It more sin — to wish me thus forsworn. 
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue 
Which she hath prais'd him with above compare 
So many thousand times ? — Go, counsellor ; 
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. — 
I '11 to the friar, to know his remedy ; 
If all else fail, myself have power to die [Eut. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 

Enter Friar Laurence and Paris. 
Fri. On Thursday, sir ? the time is very short. 
Par. ]My father Capulet will have it so ; 



And I am nothing slow, to slack his haste. 

Fri. You say, you do not know the lady's mind ; 
Uneven is the course, I like it not. 

Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death. 
And therefore have 1 little talk'd of love ; 
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. 
Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous, 
That she doth give her sorrow so much sway ; 
And, in his wisdom, hastes our marriage. 
To stop the inundation of her tears ; 
Which, too much minded by herself alone, 
JNIay be put from her by society : 
Now do you know the reason of this haste. 

Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd. 

[Aside. 
Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. 

Enter Juliet. 

Par, Happily met, my lady, and my wife ! 

Jul. That may be, sir, when 1 may be a wife. 

Par That may be, must be, love, on Thursday next. 

Jul. Wiiat must be, shall be. 

Fri. That's a certain text. 

Par. Come you to make confession to this father'' 

Jul. To answer that, were to confess to you. 

Par. Do not deny to him, that you love me. 

Jul. I will confess to you, iliat I love liim. 

Par, So will you, I am sure, that you love me. 

Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price, 
Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. 

Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd wiili tears. 

Jul. The tears have got small victory by that ; 
For it was bad enough, before their spite. [port. 

Par. Thou w rong'st it, more than tears, with that re- 

Jul. That is no slander, sir, that is a truth ; 
And what I spake, 1 spake it to my face. 

Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd iU 

/(//. It may be so, for it is not mine own. — 
Are you at leisure, holy father, now ; 
Or shall I come to you at evening mass ? 

Fri. My leisure servesme, pensivedaughter,now :— 
My lord, we must entreat the time alone. 

Par. God siiieid, I should disturb devotion! — 
Juliet, on Thursday early will 1 rouse you : 
Till then, adieu ! and keep this holy kiss. [Exit Paris. 

Jul. O, shut the door! and when thou hastdoneso, 
Come weep with me : Past hope, past cure, past help ! 

Fri. Ah, Juliet, I already know thv grief; 
It strains me past the compass of my wits : 
I hear thou must, and nothing must prorogue it. 
On Thursday next be married to this county. 

Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, 
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it : 
If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help. 
Do thou but call my resolution wise, 
And with this knife I '11 help it presently. 
God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands , 
And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd. 
Shall be the label to another deed, 
Or my true heart with treacherous revolt 
Turn to another, this shall slay them both : 
Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time. 
Give me some present counsel ; or, behold, 
'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife 
Siiall play the umpire ; arbitrating that 
Which the commission of thy years and art 
CouIq to no issue of true honour bring. 
Be not so long to speak ; I long to die, 
If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. 

Fri. Hold, daughter ; I do spy a kind of hope, 
Which craves as desperate an execution 
As that is desperate which we would prevent. 



016 



ROxMEO AND JULIET. 



If, rather than to marry county Paris, 

Thou hast the strenoth of will to slay thyself; 

Then is it likely, thou wilt undertake 

A thing like death to chide away this shame, 

That cop'st with death himself to scape from it ; 

And, if thou dar'st, 1 "11 give thee remedy. 

Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than many Paris, 
From off the battlements of yonder tower ; 
Or walk in thievish ways ; or bid me lurk 
Where serpents are ; chain me with roaring bears ; 
Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, 
O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones ; 
With reeky shanks, and yellow chapless sculls; 
Or bid me go into a new-made grave. 
And hide me with a dead man in his shroud ; 
Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble ; 
And I will do it without fear or doubt. 
To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. 

Fri, Hold, then ; go home, be merry, give consent 
To marry Paris : Wednesday is to-morrow ; 
To-morrow night look that thou lie alone. 
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber : 
Take thou this phial, being then in bed, 
And this distilled liquor drink thou off: 
When, presently, through all thy veins shall run 
A cold and drowsy humour, which shall seize 
Each vital spirit ; for no pulse shall keep 
His natural progress, but surcease to beat-. 
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st ; 
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade 
To paly ashes ; thy eyes' windows fall, 
Like death, when he shuts up the day of life ; 
Each part, depriv'd of supple government, 
Shall stiff, and stark, and cold, appear like death : 
And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death 
Thou shall remain full two and forty hours, 
And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. 
Now when the bridegroom in the morning comes 
To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead : 
Then (as the manner of our country is,) 
In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier, 
Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault, 
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. 
In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, 
Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift ; 
And hither shall he come ; and he and I 
Will watch thy waking, and that very night 
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. 
And this shall free thee from this present shame ; 
If no unconstant toy, nor womanish fear, 
Abate thy valour in the acting it. 

Jul. Give me, O give me! tell me not of fear. 

Fi-i. Hold ; get you gone, be strong and prosperous 
In this resolve : I '11 send a friar with speed 
To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. 

Jul. Love, give me strength ! andstrength shall help 
afford, 
farewell, dear father! [Eieunt. 

SCENE II — A Room in Capulet's House. 
Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, Nurse, and Servants. 

Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ. — 

[Exit Servant. 
Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. 

2 Serv. You shall have none ill, sir ; for I '11 try if 
they can lick their fingers 

Cap. How canst thou try them so ? 

2 Serv. IMarry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick 
his own fingers : therefore he, that cannot lick his 
fingers, goes not with me. 

Cap. Go, begone. — [Exit Servant. 



We shall be much unfumlsh'd for this time. — 
What, is my daughter gone to friar Laurence T 

Nurse. Ay, forsooth. 

Cap. Well, he mav chance to do some good on her: 
A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. 

Enter Juliet. 

Nurse. See, where she comes from shrift with merrj' 
look. [been gadding? 

Cap. How now, my headstrong? where have you 

Jul. \\'here I have learn'd me to repent the sin 
Of disobedient opposition 
To you, and your behests ; and am enjoin'd 
By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here. 
And beg your pardon: — Pardon, I beseech you! 
Henceforward 1 am ever rul'd by you. 

Cap. Send for the county ; go tell him of this ; 
I '11 have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. 

Jul. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell ; 
And gave him what becomed love I might. 
Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty. 

Cap. Why, lam glad on't; this is well, — stand up; 
This is as't should be; — Let me see the county : 
Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. — ■ 
Now, afore God, this reverend holy friar. 
All our whole city is much bound to him. 

Jul. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet, 
To help me sort such needful ornaments 
As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? 

La. Cap. No. nottillThursday; there is time enough. 

Cap. Go, nurse, go with her: — we'll to church to- 
morrow. [Exetmt J vLmT and Nurse. 

La. Cap. We shall be short in our provision ; 
'Tis now near night. 

Cap. Tush ! I will stir about. 

And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife : 
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her ; 
I '11 not to bed to-night ; — let me alone ; 
1 '11 play the housewife for this once. — What, ho ! — 
They are all forth : Well, I will walk myself 
To county Paris, to prepare him up 
Against to-morrow : my heart is wond'rous light, 
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Juliet's Chamber. 

Enter Juliet and Nurse. 

Jul. Aj', those attires are best : — But, gentle nurse, 
I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night ; 
For I have need of many orisons 
To move the heavens to smile upon my state, 
Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of sin. 

Enter Lady Capulet. 

La. Cap. What, are you busy? do you need my help? 

Jul. No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries 
As are behoveful for our state to-morrow : 
So please you, let me now be left alone. 
And let the nurse this night sit up with you ; 
For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, 
In this so sudden business. 

La. Cap. Good night ! 

Get thee to bed, and rest ; for thou hast need. 

l^Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse. 

Jul. Farewell ! — God knows, when we shall meet 
again. 
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, 
That almost freezes up the heat of life : 
I '11 call them back again to comfort me ; — 
Nurse ! — What should she do here? 
My dismal scene I needs must act alone. ~ 
Come, phial. — 
What if this mixture do not work at all I 



ACT IV.— SCENE V. 



B17 



Must I of force be married io the county 1 — 
No, no ; — this shall forbid it: — lie thou there. — 

[^Laying down a dagger. 
What if it be a poison, which the friar 
Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead ; 
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd. 
Because he married me before to Romeo 1 
I fear, it is : and yet, methinks, it should not, 
For he hath still been tried a holy man : 
I will not entertain so bad a thought.— 
How if, when I am laid into the tomb, 
I wake before the time that Romeo 
Come to redeem me ? there 's a fearful point ! 
Shall 1 not then be stifled in the vault. 
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, 
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes 1 
Or, if I live, is it not very like. 
The horrible conceit of death and night, 
Together with the terror of the place. 
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, 
Where, for these many hundred years, the bones 
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd ; 
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, 
Lies fest'ring in his shroud ; where, as they say, 
At some hours in the night spirits resort ; — 
Alack, alack ! is it not like, that I, 
So early waking, — what with loathsome smells ; 
And shrieks like mandrakes, torn out of the earth, 
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad ; — 
O ! if I wake, shall I not be distraught. 
Environed with all these hideous fears ■? 
And madly play with my forefathers' joints? 
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud ? 
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, 
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains I 
O, look ! methinks, I see my cousin's ghost 
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body 
Upon a rapier's point : — Stay, Tybalt, stay ! — 
Romeo, I come ! this do 1 drink to thee- 

\_She throws herself on the bed. 

SCENE IV.— Capulet's Hail. 

Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
La. Cap. Hold, take these keys, and fetch more 

spices, nurse. 
Nune. Theycall fordates and quinces in the pastry. 

Enter Capulet. 

Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir ! the second cock hath 
crow'd. 
The curfeu bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock : — 
Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica : 
Spare not for cost. 

Nurse. Go, go, you cot-quean, go, 

Get you to bed ; 'faith, you '11 be sick to-morrow 
For this night's watching. 

Cajj. No, not a whit ; What! Ihave watch'dere now 
All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. 

La. Cap. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your 
time ; 
But I will watch you from such watching now. 

[Exeunt Lady Capulet arid Nurse. 

Cap. A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood ! — Now, fel- 
What's there? [low. 

Enter Servants, ivith spits, togs, and baskets. 

1 5eri'. Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what. 
Cap, INlake haste, make haste. [^Exit 1 Serv.] — 

Sirrah, fetch drier logs ; 
Call Peter, he will shew thee where they are. 

2 Serv. 1 have a head, sir, that will find out logs. 
And never t'oublc Peter for the matter. [Eaii. 



Cap. 'Mass, and well said ; A merry whoreson! ha, 
Thou shalt be logger-head. — Good faith, 'tis day: 
The county will be here with music straight, 

[Music iviihin. 
For so he said he would. I hear him near : — 
Nurse ! — Wife I — what, ho ! — what, nurse, 1 say ! 

Enter Nurse. 
Go, waken Juliet, go, and trim her up ; 
I '11 go and chat with Paris : — Hie, make haste, 
Make haste ! the bridegroom he is come already : 
Make haste, I say'. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— Juliet's Chamber ; Juliet on the bed. 
Enter Nurse. 

Nurse. Mistress! — what, mistress! — Juliet! - fast, 

I warrant her, she : — 
Why, lamb ! — why, lady I — fye, you slug a-bed I — 
Why, love, I say! — madam! sweet-heart! — why, 

bride ! — 
What, not a word? — you take your pennyworths now; 
Sleep for a week ; for the next night, 1 warrant. 
The county Paris hath set up his rest, 
That you shall rest but little. — God forgive me, 
(iNIarry, and amen !) how sound is she asleep ! 
I needs must wake her : — ftladam, madam, madam ! 
Ay, let the county take you in your bed ; 
He '11 fright you up, i' faith. — Will it not be ? 
What, drest ! and in your clothes ! and down again! 
I must needs wake you : Lady ! lady ! lady ! 
Alas! alas! — Help! help! my lady's dead ! — • 
O, well a-day, that ever I was born ! — 
Some aqua-vitae, ho ! — my lord ! my lady ! 

Enter Lady Capulet. 

La. Cap. AVhat noise is here ? 

Nurse. O lamentable day ! 

La. Cap. What is the matter? 

Nurse. Look, look! O heavy day ! 

La. Cap. O me, O me I — my child, my only life, 
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee ! — 
Help, help I — call help. 

Enter Capulet. 

Cap. For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come. 

Nurse. She 's dead, deceas'd, she 's dead ; alack the 
day ! [she 's dead. 

La. Cap. Alack the day ! she 's dead, she 's dead. 

Cap. Ha ! let me see her : — Out, alas ! she's cold ; 
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; 
Life and these lips have long been separated : 
Death lies on her, like an untimely frost 
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. 
Accursed time ! unfortunate old man ! 

Nurse. O lamentable day ! 

La. Cap. O woful time ! 

Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me 
Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak, [wail, 

Enter Friar Laurence and Paris, with musicians, 
Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church 1 
Cap. Ready to go, but never to return : 

O son, the night before thy wedding-day 

Hath death lain with thy bride : — See, there she lies, 

Flower as she was, deflowered by him. 

Death is my son-inlaw, death is my heir ; 

My daughter he hath wedded ! I will die, 

And leave him all ; life leaving, all is death's. 
Far. I lave I thought long to see this morning's face, 

And doth it give me such a sight as this ? 

La. Cap. Accurs'd, unhappy , wretched, hateful day 

Most miserable hour, that ere time saw 
3F 



818 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



In lasting labour of his pilgrimage ! 

But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, 

But one thing to rejoice and solace in. 

And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight. 

Nurse. O woe ! O woful, woful, woful day 1 
Most lamentable day ! most woful day, 
I'hat ever, ever, I did yet behold ! 
O day ' O day ! day ! O hateful day ! 
Never was seen so black a day as this : 
O woful day, woful day ! 

Par. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain ! 
Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd. 
By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown ! — 
O love ! O life ! — not life, but love in death ! 

Cap. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd! — 
Uncomfortable time! why cam'st tliou now 
'J'o mtirder murder our solemnity ? 
O child ! O child ! — my soul, and not my child ! — 
Dead art thou, dead ! — alack ! my child is dead ! 
And, with my child, my joys are buried ! 

Fri. Peace, ho, for sliarae ! confusion's cure lives 
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself [not 
Had part in this fair maid ; now heaven hath all. 
And all the better is it for the maid : 
Your part in her you could not keep from death ! 
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. 
Tlie most you sought was — her promotion ; 
For 'twas your heaven, she should be advanc'd : 
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd, 
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? 
O, in this love, you love your child so ill. 
That you run mad, seeing that she is well : 
She 's not well married, that lives married long ; 
But she 's best married, that dies married young. 
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary 
On this fair corse ; and, as the custom is. 
In all her best array bear her to church : 
For though fond nature bids us all lament, 
Vet nature's tears are reason's merriment. 

Cap. All things, that we ordained festival. 
Turn from their office to black funeral : 
Our instruments, to melancholy bells ; 
Our wedding cheer, to a sad burial feast ; 
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change ; 
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, 
And all things change them to the contrary. 

Fri. Sir, go you in, — and, madam, go with him ; — 
And go, sir Paris ; — every one prepare 
To follow this fair corse unto her grave : 
The heavens do low'r upon you, for some ill ; 
Move them no more, by crossing their high will. 
[^Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar. 

1 Mits. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes, and begone. 

Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up. 
For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. \_Eiit Nurse. 

1 Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. 

Enter Peter. 

Pet. Musicians, O, musicians. Heart's ease, heart's 
ease ; O, an you will have me live, play — heart's ease. 

1 Mus. Why heart's ease ? 

Pet. O musicians, because my heart itself plays — 
My heart is full of woe: O, play me some merry dump, 
to comfort me. 

2 Mus. Not a dump we ; 'tis no time to play now. 
Pet. You will not, then ? 

Mus. No. 

Pet, I will then give it you soundly. 
1 Mus. What will you give us"! 
Pet. No money, on my faith ; but the gleek : I 
will give you the minstrel. 

1 Mui. Then will I give you the serving-creature. 



Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagge? 
on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you, 
I'll fa you ; Do you note me 1 

1 Miis, An you re us, and /a us, you note us. 

a Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and pnt 
out your wit. 

Pet. Then have at you with my wit ; I will dry- 
beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dag- 
ger : — Answer me like men : 

When griping grief the heart doth ivaund, 
And doleful dumps the mind oppress, 
Then music, with her silver sound ; 

Why, s'llver sound ? why, music with her silver sound? 
What say you, Simon Catling 1 

1 Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet 
sound. 

Pet. Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? 

"2 Mus. I say — silver sound, because musicians 
sound for silver. 

Pet. Pretty, too! What say you, James Soundpost? 

3 Mus. 'Faith, I know not what to say. 

Pet. O, I cry you mercy ! you are the singer .• I 
will say for you. It is — music with her silver sound.. 
because such fellows as you have seldom gold for 
sounding : — 

Then music with her silver sound, 
With speedy help doth lend redress, 

[Exit, singing. 

1 Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same ? 
t Mus. Hang him, .Tack! Come, we'll in here j 
tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [F.ieuut. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I.— Mantua. A Street. 
Enter Romeo. 

jRcim. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, 
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand : 
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne ; 
And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit 
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. 
I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead ; 
(Strange dream ! that gives a dead man leave to think, ) 
And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips. 
That I reviv'd, and was an emperor. 
Ah me ! how sweet is love itself possess'd. 
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy? 

Enter Balthasar. 

News from Verona ! — How now, Balthasar ? 
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar 1 
How doth my lady ? Is my father well ? 
How fares my Juliet? That I ask again ; 
For nothing can be ill, if she be well. 

Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill ; 
Her body sleeps in Capels' monument. 
And her immortal part with angels lives. 
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, 
And presently took post to tell it you : 
O pardon me for bringing these ill news. 
Since you did leave it for my office, sir. 

Rom. Is it even so ? then I defy you, stars ! — 
Thou know'st my lodging : get me ink and paper. 
And hire post horses : I will hence to- night. 

Bal. Pardon me, sir, I will not leave you thus : 
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import 
Some misadventure. 

Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv'd ; 



ACT V.~SCENE III. 



810 



r«eave me, and do the thing I bid thee do . 
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar ! 

Bui. No, my good lord, 

Reim. No matter : get thee gone, 

And hire those horses ; I'll be with thee straight. 

[Exit Balthasar. 
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. 
Let's see for means : — O, mischief! thou art swift 
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men ! 
I do remember a.n apothecary, — 
And hereabouts he dwells, — v/hom late I noted 
In tattei'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, 
Culling of simples ; meager were his looks, 
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones ; 
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung. 
An alligator stuff'd, and other skins 
Of ill-shap'd fishes ; and about his shelves 
A beggarly account of empty boxes. 
Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, 
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses. 
Were thinly scattered, to make up a show. 
Noting his penury, to myself I said— 
An if a man did need a poison now. 
Whose sale is present death in Rlantua, 
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him. 
O, this same thought did but fore-run my need ; 
And this same needy man must sell it me. 
As I remember, this should be the house : 
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. — 
What, ho ! apothecary ! 

Enter Apothecary. 

Ap, Who calls so loud 1 

Rom. Come hither, man. — I see, that thou art poor : 
Hold, there is forty ducats : let me have 
A. dram of poison ; such soon-speeding gear 
As will disperse itself through all the veins. 
That the life-weary taker may fall dead ; 
And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath 
As violently, as hasty powder fir'd 
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb, 

Ap. Such mortal drugs I have ; but Mantua's law 
Is death, to any he that utters them. 

Rom. Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness. 
And fear'st to die 1 famine is in thy cheeks. 
Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes, 
Upon thy back hangs ragged misery. 
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law ; 
The world affords no law to make thee rich ; 
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. 

Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents. 

Rom,, I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. 

Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will. 
And drink it off; and, if you had the strength 
Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight. 

Rom. There is thy gold ; worse poison to men's souls. 
Doing more murders in this loathsome world. 
Than these poor compounds that thou may'st not sel 1 : 
I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none. 
Farewell : buy food, and get thyself in flesh. — • 
Come, cordial, and not poison ; go with me 
To Juliet's grave, for there must 1 use thee. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 

Enter Friar John. 

Johnm Holy Franciscan friar ! brother, ho I 

Enter Friar Laurence. 

Latt. This same should be the voice of friar John. — 
Welcome from Mantua : What says Romeo ] 
Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. 



John. Going to find a bare-foot brother out, 
One of our order, to associate me, 
Here in this city visiting the sick, 
And finding him, the searchers of the town, 
Suspecting, that we both were in a house 
Where the infectious pestilence did reign, 
Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us fortij ; 
So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. 

Lau. Who bare my letter then to Romeo 1 

John, I could not send it, — here it is again, 
Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, 
So fearful were they of infection. 

Lau, Unhappy fortune ! by my brotherhood. 
The letter was not nice, but full of charge. 
Of dear import ; and the neglecting it 
May do much danger : Friar John, go hence j 
Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight 
Unto my cell. 

Joh7i, Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. [Eiit. 

Lau. Now must I to the monument alone ; 
Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake ; 
She will beshi-ew me much, that Romeo 
Hath had no notice of these accidents ; 
But I win write again to Mantua, 
And keep her at my cell till Romeo come ; 
Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb ! [Eiit. 

SCENE III. — A Church-Yard ; in it, a Momimenl 
belonging to the Capulets. 

Enter Paris, a7id his Page, hearing flowers and a torch. 

Par. Give me thy torch, boy : Hence, and stand 
Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. [aloof; — 
Under yon yew-trees lay thee all along. 
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground ; 
So shall no foot upon the church-yard tread, 
(Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,) 
But thou shalt hear it :. whistle then to me 
As signal that thou hear'st something approach. 
Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. 

Page. I am almost afraid to stand alone 
Here in the church-yard; yet I will adventure [7?ft(Ves. 

Par. Sweet flower, with flowers I strew thy bridal 
Sweet tomb, that in thy circuit dost contain [bed : 
The perfect model of eternity ; 
Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain, 
Accept this latest favour at my hands ; 
That living honour'd thee, and, being dead, 
With funeral praises do adorn thy tomb ! 

[The Boy whistles. 
The boy gives warning, something doth approach. 
What cursed, foot wanders this way to-night, 
To cross my obsequies, and true love's rites 1 
What, with a torch ! — muffle me, night, a while. 

[Retires, 
Enter RoMEO and Balthasar with a torch, 
mattock, &ic. 

Rom. Give me that mattock, and the wrenching iron. 
Hold, take this letter ; early in the morning 
See thou deliver it to my lord and father. 
Give me the light : Upon thy life I charge thee, 
Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof. 
And do not interrupt me in my course. 
Why I descend into this bed of death, 
Is, partly, to behold my lady's face : 
But, chiefly, to take thence from her dead finger 
A precious ring ; a ring, that I must use 
In dear employment : therefore hence, be gone : — 
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry 
In what I further shall intend to do. 
By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint, 
And strew this hungry churcli-yard with thy limbs : 
3 F 3 



820 



ROiMEO AND JULIET. 



The time and my intents are savage-wild ; 
IMore fierce, and more inexorable far, 
Tlian empty tigers, or the roaring sea. 

Bal. 1 will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 

Rom, So shalt thou shew me friendship. — Take 
tliou that : 
Live, and be prosperous : and farewell, good fellow. 

Bal. For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout ; 
His looks I fear, and his intents 1 doubt. [Retires. 

Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, 
Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth. 
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open. 

[Breaking open the door of the momiment. 
And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food ! 

Par. This is that banish'd haughty Montague, 
That murder'd my love's cousin ;— with which grief, 
It is supposed, the fair creature died, — 
And iiere is come to do some villanous shame 
To the dead bodies : 1 will apprehend him. — 

[Advances. 
Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Blontague ; 
Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death 1 
Condemn'd villain, I do apprehend thee : 
Obey, and go with me ; for thou must die. 

Rom. I must, indeed ; and therefore came I hither. — 
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man, 
Fly hence and leave me ; — think upon these gone ; 
Let them affriglit thee : — 1 beseech thee, youth, 
Heap not another sin upon my head, 
By urging me to fury ; — O, be gone ! 
By heaven, I love thee better than myself ; 
For I come hither arm'd against myself: 
Stay not, be gone ; — live, and hereafter say — 
A madman's mercy bade thee run away. 

Par. I do defy thy conjurations. 
And do attach thee as a felon here. 

Rom. Wilt thou provoke me ! thenhaveat thee, boy. 

[They Jight. 

Page, lord 1 they fight : I will go call tlie watch. 

[y.xit Page. 

Par. O, I am slain I [Fo//s.] — If thou be merciful. 
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies. 

Rom. In faith, 1 will : — Let me peruse this face ; — 
Mcrcutio's kinsman, noble county Paris : — 
What said m_y man, when my betossed soul 
Did not attend him as we rode ?.l think. 
He told me, Paris should have married Juliet: 
Said he not so ? or did 1 dream it so 1 
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, 
To think it was so"! — 0, give me thy iiand. 
One writ with me in sour misfortune's book ! 
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave. — ■ 
A grave"! O, no ; a lantern, slaughter'd youth. 
For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes 
This vault a feasting presence full of light. 
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. 

[having Paris in the monument. 
How oft when men are at the point of death. 
Have they been merry ? which their keepers call 
A lightning before death : O, how may 1 
Call this a lightning ? — O, my love ! my wife ! 
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath. 
Hath had no power yet upon thy bsauty: 
Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet 
Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks. 
And death's pale flag is not advanced there — 
Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet 1 
O, what more favour can 1 do to thee, 
Than willi that hand that cut tliy youth in twain. 
To sunder his that was thine enemy '. 
Forgive me, cousin ! — Ah, dear Juliet, 
AVhy art thou yet so fair? Shall 1 believe 



That unsubstantial death is amorous; 

And that the lean abhorred monster keeps 

Thee here in dark to be his paramour? 

For fear of that, I will still stay with theej 

And never from this palace of dim night 

Depart again ; here, here will I remain 

With worms that are thy chamber-maids ; O, heie 

Will I set up my everlasting rest ; 

And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars 

From this world-wearied flesh. — Eyes, look your last ! 

Arms, take your last embrace ! and lips, O you 

The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss 

A dateless bargain to engrossing death ! — 

Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide ! 

Tliou desperate pilot, now at once run on 

'J'he dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark ! 

Here's to my love ! — [Dnn/cs.] O, true apothecary ! 

Thy drugs are quick. — Thus with a kiss 1 die. [Dies. 

Enter, at the other end of the church-yard. Friar 
Laurence, with a lantei'n, crow, and spade. 

Fri. Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night 
Have my old feet stumbled at graves'! — Who's there"! 
Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead"! [well. 

Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you 

Fri. Bliss be upon you ! Tell me, good my friend, 
W'hat torch is yond', that vainly lends his light 
To grubs and eyeless sculls ; as I discern. 
It burneth in the Capel's monument. 

Bal. It doth so, holy sir ; and there's my master. 
One that you love. 

Fri, Who is it? 

Bal. Romeo, 

Fri. How long hath he been there ? 

Bal, Full half an hour. 

Fri. Go with me to the vault. 

Bal. I dare not, sir : 

My master knows not, but I am gone hence ; 
And fearfully did menace me with death, 
If I did stay to look on his intents. 

Fri. Stay then, I'll go alone : — Fear comes upon 
O, much 1 fear some ill unlucky thing. [me , 

Bal. As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, 
I dreamt my master and another fought. 
And that my master slew him. 

Fri. Romeo! — [Advances. 

Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains 
The stony entrance of this sepulchre ? — 
\\ hat mean these masterless and gory swords 
To lie discolour'd by this place of peace ? 

[Enters the monument. 
Romeo ! O, pale ! — Who else? what, Paris too? 
And steep'd in blood ? — Ah, what an unkind hour 
Is guilty of this lamentable chance ! — 
The lady stirs. [Juliet wakes and stirs. 

Jul. 0, comfortable friar ! where is my lord? 
I do remember well where I should be, 
And there I am : — W'here is my Romeo? 

[Noise within. 

Fri. I hear some noise. — Lady, come from that nest 
Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep ; 
A greater Power than we can contradict 
Hath thwarted our intents ; come, come away : 
Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead ; 
And Paris too ; come, I'll dispose of thee 
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns : 
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming; 
Come, go, good Juliet,— [JVoise again.] 1 dare stay 
no longer. [Exit. 

Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. — 
W'hat's here! a cup, clos'd in my true love's handl 
Poison, 1 see, hath been his timeless end: — 







ROMEO AND JULIET. 

RoMiLO Beauty's ensign yet 

Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks, 
And death's pale flag is not advanced there 



ytrl I'., .V.riif 3 



ACT v.— SCENE III, 



021 



O churl! drink ail ; and leave no friendly drop, 

To help me after? — I will kiss thy lips ; 

Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them. 

To make me die with a restorative. [Kisses him. 

Thy lips are warm ! 

1 Watch. [Within.] Lead, boy :— Which way "! 
Jul, Yea, noise 1 — then I'll be brief. — O happy 
dage^er ! [Snatching Rojiko's dagger. 

This is thy sheath ; [Stabs herself] there rust, and let 
me die. [Fails on Romeo's body, and dies- 
Enter Watch, iviih ihe Page o/' Paris. 

Page. This is the place ; there, where the torch 
doth burn. 

1 Watcli. The ground is bloody ; Search about the 

church-yard : 
Go, some of' you, whoe'er -you find, attach. [Ex. some. 
Pitiful sight ! here lies the county slain ; — 
And Juliet bleeding ; warm, and newly dead, 
AVho here hath lain these two days buried. — 
Go, tell the prince, — run to the Capulets, — 
Raise up the Montagues, — some others search ; — 

[Eteunt other Watchmen. 
We see the ground whereon these woes do lie ; 
But the true ground of all these piteous woes, 
We cannot without circumstance descry. 

Enter some of the Watch, with Balthasar. 

2 Wa.tck. Here's Romeo's man, we found him in 

the church-yard. [hither. 

1 Watch, Hold him in safety, till the prince come 

Enter another Watchman, with Friar Laurence. 

3 Watch. Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs, and 

weeps : 
We took this mattock and this spade from him. 
As he was coming from this church-yard side. 
1 Watcli. A great suspicion ; Stay the friar too. 

Enter the Prince, and Attendants. 

Prince. What misadventure is so early up. 
That calls our person from our morning's rest 1 

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and others. 

Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek abroad ? 

La. Cap. The people in the street cry — Romeo, 
Some — Juliet, and some Paris ; and all run. 
With open outcry, toward our monument. 

PcJxce.Whatfear is this, whicli startles in bur ears? 

1 IFatc/i. Sovereign, here lies tlie county Paris slain ; 
And Romeo dead ; and Juliet, dead before, 
Warm and new kill'd. 

Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul mur- 
der comes. 

1 Watch. Here is a fiiar, and slaughter'd Romeo's 
With instruments upon them, fit to open [man; 

These dead men's tombs. 

Cap. O, heavens! — O, wife ! look how our daugh- 
ter bleeds ! 
This dagger hath mista'en, — for, lo ! his house 
Is empty on the back of Montague,— 
And it mis-sheathod in my daughter's bosom. 

La. Cap. O me ! this sight of death is as a bell, 
That warns my old age to a sepulchre. 

Enter MoNTAOUE and otJiers. 

Prince. Come, Montague ; for thou art early up, 
To see thy son and heir more early down. 

Mon. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night ; 
Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath : 
What further woe conspires against mine ao^e ? 

P>ince. Look, and thou shait see. 



Mon. O thou untaught ! what manners is in this, 
To press before tliy father to a grave 1 

Prince. Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, 
Till we can clear these ambiguities, 
And know their spring, their head, their true descent ; 
And then will I be general of your woes. 
And lead you even to death : Meantime forbear, 
And let mischance be slave to patience. — 
Bring forth the parties of suspicion. 

Fri. I am the greatest, able to do least. 
Yet most suspected, as the time and place 
Doth make against me, of this direful murder ; 
And here 1 stand, both to impeach and purge 
Myself condemned and myself excus'd. 

Pri»(cc.Then say at once what thou dost know in this. 

Fri. I will be brief, for my short date of breath 
Is not so long as is a tedious tale. 
Romeo there dead, was liusband to that Juliet, 
And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife : 
I married them ; and their stolen marriage-day 
Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death 
Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this city ; 
For whom and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin'd. 
You — to remove that siege of grief from her, — 
Betroth'd, and would have married her perforce, 
To county Paris : — Then comes she io me ; 
And, with wild looks, bid me devise some means 
To rid her from this second marriage. 
Or, in my cell there would she kill herself. 
Then gave 1 her, so tutor'd by my art, 
A sleeping potion ; which so took effect 
As I intended, for it wrought on her 
The form of death : meantime I writ to Romeo, 
That he should hither come as this dire night. 
To help to take her from her borrow'd grave. 
Being the time the potion's force should cease. 
But he which bore my letter, friar John, 
Was staid by accident ; and yesternight 
Return'd my letter back : Then all alone. 
At the prefixed hour of her waking, 
Came I to take her from her kindred's vault ; 
Meaning to keep her closely at my cell. 
Till I conveniently could send to Romeo : 
But when I came, (some minute ere the time 
Of her awaking,) here untimely lay 
The noble Paris, and true Romeo, dead. 
She wakes ; and I entreated her come forth. 
And bear this work of heaven with patience : 
But then a noise did scare me from the tomb ; 
And she, too desperate, would not go with me, 
But (as it seems) did violence on herself. 
All this I know ; and to the marriage 
Her nurse ts privy : And, if aught in this 
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life 
Be sacrific'd, some hour before iiis time, 
Unto the rigour of severest law. 

Prince. VVe still have known thee for a holy man. — 
Where's Romeo's man 1 what can he say in this ! 

Bal, I brought my master news of Juliet's deaili ; 
And then in post he came from Mantua, 
To this same place, lo this same monument. 
This letter he early bid me give his father ; 
And threaten'd me witli death, going in the vault, 
If I departed not, and left him there. 

Prince. Give me tlie letter, I will look on it. — 
Where is the county's page, that rais'd tlie watch ! — 
Sirrah, what made your master in tiiis place? 

Page. He came witii flowers to strew his lady's 
And bid me stand aloof, and so 1 did : [grave; 

Anon, comes one with light to ope the tomb ; 
And, by and by, my master drew on him ; 
And then 1 ran away to call the watch. 



822 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



Prince. This lelterdoth make good the friar's words. 
Their course of love, tlie tidings of her death : 
And here he writes — that he did buy a poison 
Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal 
Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. — 
Where be these enemies ? Capulet ! Montague ! — 
See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate. 
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love ! 
And 1, for winking at your discords too, 
Have lost a brace of kinsmen : — all are punish'd. 

Cap. O, brother Montague, give me thy hand : 
This is my daughter's jointure, for no more 
Can I demand. 



Mull. But I can give thee more : 

For I will raise her statue in pure gold ; 
That, while Verona by that name is known. 
There shall no figure at such rate be set. 
As that of true and faithful .Juliet. 

Cap. As rich shall Romeo by his lady lie , 
Poor sacrifices of our enmity ! [brings ; 

Prince. A glooming peace this morning with it 
The sun for sorrow will not shew his head : 
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things ; 
Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: 
For never wa's a story of more woe 
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. [Exeunt. 



This play is one of the most pleasing of our aathor's perform- 
ances. Ihe scenes are tiusy and various, the incidents are nu- 
merous and important, the catastrophe irresistibly affecting, 
and the process of the action carried on with such probability, 
at least with such cougruity to popular opinions, as tragedy 
requires. 

Here is one of the few attempts of Shakspeare to exhibit the 
conversation of gentlemen, to represent the airy spris;hlliness of 
juvenile elegance. Mr. Dryden mentions a tradition, which 
might easily reach his time, of a declaration made by Shaks- 
peare, that he -jjus obliged to kill AUrculio in the third act. If si he 
should have been killed by him. Yet he thinks him no such for- 
midable person, but that he might have lived through the ploy, 
nnd died in his bed, without danger to the poet. Uryden well 
knew, had he been in quest of truth, in a pointed seatence, that 
more regard is commonly had to the words than the thought, 
and that it is very seldom to be rigorously understood, Mer- 



cutio's wit, gaiety, and conrage, will always procure him friends 
that wish him a longer life ; but his death is not precipitated, he 
has lived out the time allotted him in the construction of the 
play ; nor do 1 doubt the ability of Shakspeare to have conti- 
nued his extsteuce, though some of his sallies are perhaps oat 
of the reach of fJryden ; whose genius was not very fertile of 
merriment, nor ductile to humour, but acute, argumentative, 
comprehensive, and sublime. 

The Nurse is one of the characters in which the author delight- 
ed ; hehas, with great subtlety of distinction, drawn her at once 
loquacious and secret, obsequious and insolent, trusty and dis- 
honest. 

His comic scenes are happily wrought, but his pathetic strains 
are always polluted with some unexpected depravations, llis 
l)ersons, however distressed, /laie a coticeit left them in their 
misery, a miserable conceit. — JOHNSON. 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 



Th e first edition of this splendid tragedy, which has been re- 
cently discovered, was printed in 1603. It was among the ear- 
liest of our Author's works; and Steevens saw a copy of 
iSpeght's edition of Chaucer, which formerly belonged to Dr. 
Gabriel Harvey ithe antagonist of Mash), who, iu his own 
handwriting, has set down Hamlet, as a perlbrmance with 
which he was well acquainted, in 15'J8. His words are these : 
"Ihe younger sort lake much deliglit in shaksware's i''enu3 
andAdojtis; but haLucrecs, and his tragedy, of iJamlet.Prince 



of Denmark, have it in them to please the wiser sort, 1598." 
In the books of the Stationers' Company, this play was entered 
by James Roberts, July C6, 1602, under the title of "A booke 
called !//(« Revenge of tiamlett. Prince of Uenmarke, as it was 
lately acted by the Lord Chamberlain his servantes." 
The story on which the play is bmlt, may be found ia Saxo 
Grammaticus, the I3anish historian. From thence I'clleforest 
adopted it iu his collection of novels; and from this latter 
work, the Hislorie of liamblelt, tinaiio.bl. 1. was translated. 



courtiers. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Ci.AUDirs, Kiiig o/" Denmark. 

Hamlet, son to the former, and nephew to the 

present King. 
Poi.ONurs, Lord Chamberlain. 
Worm: in, friend to Hamlet. 
Laertes, sonto Polonius. 

VOLTIMAND, ConNELTUS, 1 

ROSENCRANTZ, GuiLDENSI LRN, ) 

Osnic, a courtier. 

Another Courtier. 

A Priest. 

RIarceli.us, > .r 
r, ; officers. 

Bernardo, S 

Francisco, a soldier. 

Reynaldo, servant to Polonius. 

A Captain. 

An Ambussitdor. 

(ihflst o/' Hamlet's father. 

FoRTiNURAS, Prince <^' Norway. 

Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, and mother oj Hamlet. 
Ophelia, daughter ii/ Polonius. 

Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soliliers, PUiijers,Gravediggers, 
Sailors, Messengers, and other Attendants. 

SCENE, — Elsinohe. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — Elsiaore. A Platform before the Castle. 
FEANcrsco mi his post. Enter to him Bernardo. 

Ber. Who's there ? 

Fran. Nay, answer me : stand, and unfold 

Yourself. 

Ber. Long live the king ! 

Fran. Bernardo? 

Ber. He. 

Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour. 

Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve ; get thee to bed, 
Francisco. 

Fran. For this relief, much thanks : 'tis bitter cold. 
And I am sick at heart. 

Ber. Have you had quiet guard ? 

Fran. Not a mouse stirring. 

Ber. Well, good night. 
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, 
The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. 

Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 

Fran. I think, I hear them. — Stand, ho • Wiio is 
Hor. Friends to this ground. [there! 

Mar. And liegemen to the Dane. 

Fran. Give you good night. 



ACT I— SCENE I. 



1)23 



Mar, O, farewell, honest soldier : 

Who hath reliev'd you 1 

Fran. Bernardo hath my place. 

Give you good night. [ Exit Francisco. 

Mar. Holla, Bernardo ! 

Ber. Say. 

What, is Horatio there 1 

Hor, A piece of hi\n. 

Her. Welcome, Horatio ; welcome, soodMarcellus. 

Hor. What, has this thingappear'd again to-night 1 

Ber. 1 have seen nothing. 

Mar. Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy ; 
And will not let belief take hold of him, 
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us : 
Therefore I have entreated him, along 
With us to watch the minutes of this night ; 
That, if again this apparition come, 
He may approve our eyes, and speak to it. 

Hor. Tush! tush! 'twill not appear. 

Ber. Sit down awhile ; 

And let us once again assail your ears, 
That are so fortified against our story, 
What we two nights have seen. 

Hor. Well, sit we down. 

And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. 

Ber. Last night of all. 
When yon same star, that's westward from the pole, 
Had made his course to illume that part of heaven 
Where now it burns, Marcelius, and myself. 
The bell then beating one, — [again ! 

Mar. Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes 

Enter Ghost. 

Ber, In the same figure, like the king that's dead. 

Mac. Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio. 

Ber. Looks it not like the kingl mark it, Horatio. 

Hor. Most like : — it harrows me with fear, and 

Ber. It would be spoke to. [wonder. 

Mar. Speak to it, Horatio. 

Hor. What art thou , that usurp'st this time of night. 
Together with that fair and warlike form 
In which the majesty of buried Denmark 
Did sometimes march ■? by heaven I charge thee, speak. 

Jl/ac. It is offended. 

Ber. See ! it stalks av»ray. 

Hor. Stay ; speak : speak I charge thee, speak. 

lExit Ghost. 

Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer. 

Ber, How now, Horatio? you tremble, and look 
Is not this something more than fantasy 1 [pale : 
What think you of it? 

Hor, Before my God, I might not this believe, 
Without the sensible and true avouch 
Of mine own eyes. 

Mar. Is it not like the king 1 

Hor. As thou art to thyself : 
Such was the very armour he had on, 
When he the ambitious Xorway combated ; 
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle, 
lie smote the sledded Polack on the ice. 
'Tis strange. 

M(n-. Thus, twice before , and j ump at thisdead hour, 
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. 

Hor, In what particular thought to work, I know 
But, in tiie gross and scope of mine opinion, [not; 
This bodes some strange eruption to our state. 

Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that 
knows, 
W^hy this same strict and most observant watch 
So nightly toils the subject of the land ? 
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon, 
Aad foreign mart for implemeats of war • 



Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task 
Does not divide the Sunday from the week : 
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste 
Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day ; 
Who is 't, that can inform me 1 

Hor, That can I ; 

At least, the whisper goes so. 0<ir last king. 
Whose image even but now appear'd to us, 
W'as, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, 
Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride, 
Dar'd to the combat ; in which our valiant Hamlet 
(For so this side of our known world esteem'd him,) 
Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd compact, 
Well ratified by law, and heraldry. 
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands, 
Which he stood seiz'd of, to the conqueror : 
Against the which, a moiety competent 
Was gaged by our king ; which had return 'd 
To the inheritance of Fortinbras, 
Had he been vancjuisher ; as, by the same co-mait. 
And carriage of the article design'd. 
His fell to Hamlet : Now, sir, young Fortinbras, 
Of unimproved mettle hot and full. 
Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there, 
Shark'd up a list of landless resolutes, 
For food and diet, to some enterprize. 
That hath a stomach in 't : which is no other 
(As it doth well appear unto our state,) 
But to recover of us by strong hand. 
And terms compulsatory, those 'foresaid lands 
So by his father lost : And this,1 take it, 
Is the main motive of our preparations ; 
The source of tliis our watch ; and the chief head 
Of this post-haste and romage in the land. 

Ber. I think, it be no other, but even so : 
Well may it sort, that this portentous figure 
Comes armed through our watch ; so like tiie king 
That was, and is, the question of these wars. 

Hor. A mote it is, to trouble the mind's eye. 
In the most high and palmy state of Rome, 
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, 
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead 
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets. 

As, stars with trains of fire shed dews of blood. 
Disasters dimm'd the sun ; and the moist star. 
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands. 
Was sick almost to dooms-day with eclipse. 
And even the like precurse of fierce events, — 
As harbingers preceding still the fates. 
And prologue to the omen coming on, — 
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated 
Uuto our climatures and countrymen. — 

Re-enter Ghost. 

But, soft ; behold ! lo, where it comes again ! 

I'll cross it, though it blast me. — Stay, illusion ! 

If thou hast any sound, or use of voice. 

Speak to me : 

If there be any good thing to be done. 

That may to thee do ease, and grace to me. 

Speak to me : 

If thou art privy to thy country's fate, 

Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, 

O, speak I 

Or, if thou hast uphoarded in thy life 

Extorted treasure in the womb of earth. 

For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death, 

[Cock cro:rs. 
Speak of it : — stay, and speak. — Stop it, IMarcellus. 

Mar. Shall 1 strike at it with my partizan 1 

Hor. Do, if it will not stand. 



824 



HAMLET. 



Ber. 'I'is heie ! 

Hor. 'Tis here ! 

3/ar. 'Tis gone..' [Exit Ghost. 

We do it wiong, being so majestical, 
To offer it the show of violence ; 
For it is, as the air, invulnerable. 
And our vain blows malicious mockery. 

Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew. 

Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing 
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard. 
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn. 
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat 
Awake the god of day ; and, at his warning. 
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, 
The extravagant and erring spirit hies 
To his confine : and of the truth herein 
This present object made probation. 

Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. 
Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes 
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated. 
This bird of dawning singeth all night long : 
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad ; 
The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike, 
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, 
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. 

Hor. So have I heard, and do in part believe it. 
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad. 
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill : 
Break we our watch up ; and, by my advice. 
Let us impart what we have seen to-night 
Unto young Hamlet : for, upon my life. 
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him : 
Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, 
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty? 

Mar. Let's do't, I pray ; and I this morning know 
Where we shall find him most convenient. [Eieuiit. 

SCENE II. — The same. A Room of State in the same. 

EntertheKisG, Queen, Hamlet,Polonius, Laertes, 
VoLTiMAND, Cornelius, Lords, &; Attendants. 

King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's 
death 
The memory be green ; and that it us befitted 
"To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom 
To be contracted in one brow of woe ; 
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature, 
That we with wisest sorrow think on him. 
Together with remembrance of ourselves. 
1 herefore our sometime sister, now our queen, 
The impeiial jointress of this warlike state. 
Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy, — 
With one auspicious, and one dropping eye ; 
With mirth and funeral, and with dirge in marrjao-e. 
In equal scale, weighing delight and dole,— 
Taken to wife : nor have we herein barr'd 
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone 
With this affair along :— For all, our thanks. 

Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras, — 
Holding a weak supposal of our worth ; 
Or thinking, by our late dear brother's death. 
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, 
Colleagued with this dream of his advantage. 
He hath not fail'd to pester us with message. 
Importing the surrender of those lands 
Lost by his father, with all bands of law. 
To our moat valiant brother. — So much for him. 
Mow for ourself, and for this time of meetino-. 
Thus much the business is : We have here writ 
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, — 
Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears 
Of this his nephew's purpose, — to suppress 



His further gait herein ; in that the levies. 
The lists, and full proportions, are all made 
Out of his subject :— and we here despatch 
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, 
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway ; 
Giving to you no further personal power 
To business with the king, more than the scope 
Of these dilated articles allow. 
Farewell ; and let your haste commend your duty. 
Cor. Vol. In that, and all things, will we shew oar 

duty. 
Ki7ig. We doubt it nothing ; heartily farewell. 

[Eieunt Voltimand und Cornelius. 
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you ? 
You told us of some suit? What is't, Laertes? 
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, 
And lose your voice: What would'st thou beg, Laer- 
That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? [tes. 
The head is not more native to the heart. 
The hand more instrumental to the mouth. 
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. 
What would'st thou have, Laertes '! 

La^r. My dread lord. 

Your leave and favour to return to France ; 
From whence though willingly I came to Denmark, 
To shew my duty in your coronation ; 
Yet now, 1 must confess, that duty done, 
My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France, 
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. 
King. Have you your father's leave? What says 

Polonius ? 
Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow 
By laboursome petition ; and, at last, [leave. 

Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent: 
I do beseech you, give him leave to go. 

King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes ; time be thine, 
And thy best graces : spend it at thy will. — 

But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, 

Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind. 

[A sill e. 
King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you 1 
Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i' the sun. 
Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off. 
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. 
Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids 
Seek for thy noble father in the dust : 
Thou know'st, 'tis common ; all that live, must die. 
Passing through nature to eternity. 
Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. 
Queen. If it be, 

Why seems it so particular with thee ? 

Ham. Seems, madam ! nay, it is ; I know not seems. 
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother. 
Nor customary suits of solemn black. 
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath. 
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye. 
Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage, 
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief. 
That can denote me truly : These, indeed," seem. 
For they are actions that a man might play : 
But I have that within, wiiich passeth show ; 
These, but the trappings and the suits of woe. 
King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, 
Hamlet, 
To give these mourning duties to your father : 
But, you must know, your father lost a father ; 
That father lost, lost his ; and the survivor bound^ 
In filial obligation, for some term 
To do obsequious sorrow : But to pers^ver 
In obstinate condolement, is a course 
Of impious stubbornness ; 'tis unmanly grief: 
It shews a will most incorrect to heaveis ; 



ACT I.— SCENE II. 



825 



A heart unfortified, or mind impatient : 
An understanding simple and unschool'd : 
For what, we know, must be, and is as common 
As any of tlie most vulgar thing to sense, 
Why should we, in our peevish opposition, 
Take it to heart? Fye ! 'tis a fault to heaven, 
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, 
To reason most absurd ; whose common theme 
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried. 
From the first corse, till he that died to-day. 
This viust be so. We pray you, throw to earth 
This unprevailing woe ; and think of us 
As of a father: for let the world take note. 
You are the most immediate to our throne ; 
And, with no less nobility of love. 
Than that which dearest father bears his son, 
Do I impart toward you. For your intent 
[n going back to school in Wittenberg, 
[t is most retrograde to our desire : 
And, we beseech you, bend you to remain 
Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye, 
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. 

Q!iee«. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, TTamlet ; 
I pray thee, stay with us ; go not to Wittenberg. 

Ham. 1 shall in all my best obey you, madam. 

King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply ; 
Be as ourself in Denmark. — INIadam, come ; 
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet 
Sits smiling to my heart : in grace whereof, 
No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day. 
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell ; 
And the king's rouse the heaven shall bruit again, 
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. 

[^Eieunt King, Queen, Lords, H^c. Polonius, 
and Laertes. 

Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, 
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew ! 
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd 
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! 
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable 
Seem to me all the uses of this world ! 
Fye on'tl O fye I 'tis an unweeded garden. 
That grows to seed ; things rank, and gross in nature. 
Possess it merely. That it should conve to this I 
But two months dead! — nay, not so much, not two; 
So excellent a king ; that was, to this, 
Hyperion to a satyr : so loving to my mother, 
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven 
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! 
Must I remember 1 why, she would hang on him. 
As if increase of appetite had grown 
By what it fed on : And yet, within a month, — 
Letmenotthinkon't;— Frailty, thy name is woman! — 
A little month ; or ere those shoes were old. 
With which she follow'd my poor father's body, 
Like Niobe, all tears ; — why she, even she, — 
O heaven ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, 
Would have mourn'd longer, — married with my uncle. 
My father's brother ; but no more like my father. 
Than I to Hercules : Within a month ; 
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears 
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes. 
She married : — O most wicked speed, to post 
W'ith such dexterity to incestuous slieets ! 
Tt is not, nor it cannot come to, good ; 
But break, my heart ; for I must hold my tongue ! 

Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Marcellus. 

Hor. Hail to your lordship! 
Hum. I am glad to see you well : 

Horatio, — or I do forget myself. 

Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. 



Ham. Sir, my good friend ; I'll change that name 
with you. 
And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio ? — 
Marcellus ? 

Mur. My good lord, 

Ham. I am very glad to see you ; good even, sir, — 
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg! 

Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. 

Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so ; 
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, 
To make it truster of your own report 
Against yourself : I know, you are no truant. 
But what is your afiair in Elsinore 1 
We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart. 

Hor. ]My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. 

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student ; 
I think, it was to see my mother's wedding. 

Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. 

//am. Thrift, thrift, Horatio ! the funeral bak'd meats 
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 
'Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven 
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio ? — 
My father, — Methinks, I see my father. 

Hor. Where, 

My lord 1 

Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 

Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king. 

Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, 
I shall not look upon his like again. 

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. 

Ham. Saw ! who 1 

Hor. My lord, the king your father. 

Ham. The king my father! 

Hor. Season your admiration for a while 
With an attent ear ; till I may deliver, 
Upon the witness of these gentlemen. 
This marvel to you. 

Ham, For God's love, let me hear. 

Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, 
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch. 
In the dead waist and middle of the night. 
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father. 
Armed at point, exactly, cap-a-pe. 
Appears before them, and, with solemn march. 
Goes slow and stately by them : thrice he walk'd. 
By their oppress'd and fear-surprized eyes. 
Within his truncheon's length ; whilst they, distill 'd 
Almost to jelly with the act of fear. 
Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me 
In dreadful secrecy impart they did ; 
And I with them, the third night kept the watch: 
Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time. 
Form of the thing, each word made true and good. 
The apparition comes : I knew your father ; 
These hands are not more like. 

Ham. But where was this"! 

Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd. 

Ham. Did you not speak to it ] 

Hor. ]My lord, I did : 

But answer made it none : yet once, methought, 
It lifted up its head, and did address 
Itself to motion, like as it would speak : 
But, even then, the morning cock crew loud ; 
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, 
And vanish'd from our sight. 

Ham. 'Tis very strange. 

Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true : 
And we did think it writ down in our duty. 
To let you know of it. 

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. 
Hold you the watch to-night? 

AH. We do, my lord. 



826 



HAMLET. 



Hitm. Arni'd say you ? 

All. Arm'd, my lord. 

Ham. From top to toel 

All. My lord, from head to foot. 

Ham. Then saw you not 

His face. 

Hor. O, yes, my lord ; he wore his beaver up. 

Ham. What, look'd he frowningly 1 

Hor. A countenance more 

In sorrow tiian in anger. 

Ham. Pale, or red " 

Hor. Nay, very pale. 

Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you t 

Hor. Most constantly. 

Ham. I would, I had been there. 

Hor. It would have much amaz'd you. 

Ham. Very like. 

Very like : Stay'd it long? 

Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a 

Mar. Ber. Longer, longer. [hundred. 

Hor. Not when I saw it. 

Ham. His beard was grizzl'd? no 1 

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 
A sable silver'd. 

Ham. I will watch to-night ; 

Percliance, 'twill walk again. 

Hor. I warrant, it will. 

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, 
I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape, 
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, 
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight. 
Let it be tenable in your silence still ; 
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night, 
Give it an understanding, but no tongue ; 
I will requite your loves : So, fare you well : 
Upon tlie platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
I'll visit you. 

AIL Our duty to your honour. 

Ham. Your loves, as mine to you : Farewell. 
[Exeunt Horatio, Marcei.lus, and Bi;rnardo. 
My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well ; 
I doubt some foul play : 'would, the night were come ! 
Till then sit still, my soul : Foul deeds will rise. 
Though all the earth o'erwhelms them, to men's eyes. 

[Exit. 

SCENE III.— yl Room in Polonius' House. 
Enter Laektes and Oi-hei.ia. 

Laer. My necessaries are embark'd ; farewell : 
And, sister, as the winds give benefit, 
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep. 
But let me hear from you. 

Opii. Do you doubt that ? 

Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour. 
Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood ; 
A violet in the youth of primy nature. 
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, 
The perfume and suppliance of a minute ; 
No more. 

O/)/;'. No more but so 1 

Laer. Think it no more : 

For nature, crescent, does not grow alone 
In thews, and bulk ; but, as this temple waxes, 
The inward service of the mind and soul 
Grows wide withal. Perhaps, he loves you now; 
And now no soil, nor cautel, doth besmirch 
The virtue of his will : but, you must fear. 
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own ; 
For he himself is subject to his birth : 
He may not, as unvalued persons do. 
Carve for himself ; for on his choice depends 



The safety and the health of the whole state , 

And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd 

Unto the voice and yielding of that body. 

Whereof he is the head : Then if he says, he loves you, 

It wits your wisdom so far to believe it, 

As he in his particular act and place 

May give his saying deed ; which is no further. 

Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. 

Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain. 

If with too credent ear you list his songs ; 

Or lose your heart ; or your chaste treasure opea 

To his unmaster'd importunity. 

Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister ; 

And keep you in the rear of your affection, 

Out of the shot and danger of desire. 

Tlie chariest maid is prodigal enough. 

If she unmask her beauty to the moon : 

Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes : 

The canker galls the infants of the spring. 

Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd ; 

And in the morn and liquid dew of youth 

Contagious blastments are most imminent. 

Be wary then : best safety lies in fear ; 

Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. 

Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson keep, 
As watchmen to my heart : But, good my brother, 
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, 
Shew me the steep and thorny way to heaven ; 
Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine. 
Himself tlie primrose path of dalliance treads. 
And recks not his own read. 

Laer. O foar me not. 

I stay too long ; — But here my father comes. 

Enter Polonius. 

A double blessing is a double grace ; 
Occasion smiles upon a second leave. 

I'ol. Yet here, Laertes ! aboard, aboard, for shame ; 
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, 
And you are staid for : There, my blessing with you ! 
[Laiiing his hand on Laertes' head. 
And these few precepts in thy memory 
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue. 
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. 
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried. 
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel ; 
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware 
Of entrance to a quarrel : but, being in, 
Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee. 
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice : 
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. 
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy. 
But not express'd in fancy: rich, not gaudy: 
For the apparel oft proclaims the man ; 
And they in France, of the best rank and station, 
Are most select and generous, chief in that. 
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be: 
For loan oft loses both itself and friend ; 
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
This above all, — 'I'o thine ownself be true ; 
And it must follow, as tlie night the day, 
Thou canst not then be false to any man. 
Farewell ; my blessing season this in thee ! 

Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord. 

Pol. The time invites you ; go, your servants tend. 

Laer. Farewell, Ophelia : and remember well 
What I have said to you. 

Oph. 'Tis in my memory lock'd. 

And you yourself shall keep the key of it. 

Laer. Farewell. [Exit Lakrtes. 



ACT I.— SCENE IV. 



827 



Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he said to you ? 

Oph. So please you, something touching the lord 

Pol. Marry, well bethought: . [Hamlet. 

*Tis told me, he hath very oft of late 
Given private time to you : and you yourself 
Have of your audience been most free and bounteous : 
If it be so, (as so 'tis put on me. 
And that in way of caution,) I must tell you, 
You do not understand yourself so clearly, 
As it behoves my daughter, and your honour : 
What is between you ! give me up the truth. 

Oph. He hath, my lord, of late, made many tenders 
Of his affection to me. 

Pel. Affection? puTi ! you speak like a green girl, 
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. 
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them ? 

Oph. 1 do not know, my lord, what I should think. 

Pol. Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a baby ; 
That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay, 
Which are ^otsterling. Tender yourself more dearly ; 
Or, (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase. 
Wronging it thus,) you'll tender me a i'ool 

Oph. My lord, he hath importun'd me with love. 
In honourable fashion. 

Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it ; go to, go to. 

Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech, 
With almost all the holy vows of heaven, [my lord, 

Pol. Ay, springes, to catch woodcocks. I do know, 
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul 
Lends the tongue vows : these blazes, daughter. 
Giving more light than heat,— extinct in both. 
Even in their promise, as it is a making, — 
You must not take for fire. J'rom this time. 
Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence ; 
Set your entreatments at a higher rate, 
Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet, 
Believe so much in him. That he is young j 
And with a larger tether may he walk, 
Than may be given you : In few, Ophelia, 
Do not believe his vows : for they are brokers 
Not of that die which their investments shew, 
But mere implorators of unholy suits. 
Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds. 
The better to beguile. This is for all, — 
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth. 
Have you so slander any moment's leisure, 
As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet. 
Look to't, I charge you ; come your ways. 

Oph. I shall obey, my lord. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Platform. 
Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcei.lus, 

Ham. The air bites shrewdly ; it is very cold. 

Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air. 

Ham. What hour now? 

Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve. 

Mar. No, it is struck. 

Hor. Indeed 1 I heard it not ; then it draws near the 

Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk, [season, 

[A Jiourish of truwpeti, and ordnance shot off, uithiyi. 

What does this mean, my lord 1 [rouse, 

Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and takes his 
Keeps wassel, and the swaggering up spring reels ; 
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down. 
The kettle-druni and trumpet thus bray out 
The triumph of his pledge. 

Hor. Is it a custom 1 

Ha)n. Ay, marry, is't : 
But to my mind,— though I am native here. 
And to the manner born, — it is a custom 
More honour'd in the breach, than the observance. 



This heavy-headed revel, east and west, 

Makes us traduc'd, and tax'd of other nations: 

They clepe us, drunkards, and with swinish phrivse 

Soil our addition ; and, indeed, it takes 

From our achievements, though perform'd at height 

The pith and marrow of our attribute. 

So, oft it chances in particular men. 

That for some vicious mole of nature in them 

As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty, 

Since nature cannot choose his origin,) 

By the o'ergrowth of some complexion, 

Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason; 

Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens 

The form of plausive manners ; — that these men, — 

Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect ; 

Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, — 

Their virtues else (be they as pure as grace. 

As infinite as man may undergo,) 

Shall in the general censure take corruption 

From that particular fault : The dram of base 

Doth all the noble substance often dout, 

To his own scandal. 

Enter Ghost. 

Hor. Look, my lord, it comes '. 

Hum. Angels and ministers of grace defend us !— 
Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd. 
Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, 
Be thy intents wicked, or charitable. 
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape. 
That I will speak to thee ; I'll call thee Hamlet, 
King, father, royal Dane : O, answer me : 
Let me not burst in ignorance ! but tell. 
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death, 
Have burst their cerements ! why the sepulchre, 
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd. 
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws. 
To cast thee up again ! What may this mean. 
That thou, dead corse, again, incomplete steel, 
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon. 
Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature, 
So horribly to shake our disposition. 
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls'! 
Say, why is this • wherefore? what should we dol 

Hor. It beckons you to go away with it, 
As if it some impartment did desire 
To you alone. 

Mar. Look, with what courteous action 

It waves you to a more removed ground : 
But do not go with it. 

Hor, No, by no means. 

Ham. It will not speak ; then I will follow it. 

Hor. Do not, my lord. 

Ham. Why, what should be the feai 1 

I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; 
And, for my soul, what can it do to that. 
Being a thing immortal as itself ? 
It waves me forth again ; — I'll follow it. 

Hor. What, if it tempt you toward the flood, my 
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff, [lord. 

That beetles o'er his base into the sea ? 
And there assume some other horrible form, 
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason, 
And draw you into madness? think of it : 
The very place puis tovs of desperation. 
Without more motive, ^inlo every brain. 
That looks so many fathoms to the sea. 
And hears it roar beneath. 

Ham. It waves me still : — 

Go on, I'll follow thee. 

Mar. You shall not go, my lord. 

Ham. Hold off your hands. 



828 



HAMLET. 



Hor. Be rul'd, you shall not go. 

Ham. My fate cries out, 

And makes each petty artery in this body 
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. — • 

[Ghost beckons. 
Still am I call'd ; — unhand me, gentlemen : — 

[Brealdiig from them. 
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me: — 
I say, away: — Go on, I'll follow thee. 

l^Eieiint Ghost and Hamlet. 

Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. 

Mar. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him. 

Har. Have after: — To what issue will this come? 

Mar. Something is rotten in the stale of Denmark. 

Hor. Heaven will direct it. 

Mar, Nay, let's follow him. [Eieunt. 

SCENE V. — A more remote Part of the Platform, 
Re-enter Ghost and Hamlet. 

Ham. Whither wilt thou lead met speak, I'll go no 

Ghost. Mark me. [further. 

Ham. I will. 

Ghost. My hour is almost come. 

When I to sulphurous and tormenting tiames 
Must render up myself. 



Han 



Alas, poor ghost ! 



Ghost, Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing 
To wliat I shall unfold. 

Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear. 

Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. 

Ham. What? 

Ghost. I am thy father's spirit ; 
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night, 
And, for the day confin'd to fast in fires. 
Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature. 
Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid 
To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 
Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ; 
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres; 
Thy knotted and combined locks to part. 
And each particular hair to stand on end. 
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : 
But this eternal blazon must not be 
To ears of flesh and blood : — List, list, list! — 
If thou didst ever thy dear father love, 

Ham. heaven ! 

Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural mur- 

Ham, Murder? [der. 

Ghost. JMurder most foul, as in the best it is ; 
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. 

Ham. Haste me to know it ; that I, with wings as 
As meditation, or the thoughts of love, [swift 

May sweep to my revenge. 

Ghost. I find thee apt ; 

And duller should'st thou be than tlie fat weed 
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wiiarf, 
Would'st thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear : 
'Tis given out, that sleeping in mine orchard, 
A serpent stung me ; so tbe whole ear of Denmark 
Is by a forged process of my death 
Rankly abus'd : but know, thou noble youth. 
The serpent tliat did sting thy fatlier's life, 
Now wears his crown. 

H.im. O, my prophetic soul ! my uncle! 
Ghost. Ay, tliat incestuous, tliat adulterate beast, 
With witclicraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts, 
(0 wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power 
So to seduce !) won to his shameful lust 
The will of my most seeming virtuous queen : 
O, Hamlet, what a falling-off was there ! 



From me, whose love was of that dignity. 

That it went hand in hand even with the vow • 

I made to her in marriage ; and to decline 

Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor 

To those of mine ! 

But virtue, as it never will be mov'd. 

Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven ; 

So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd, 

Will sate itself in a celestial bed. 

And prey on garbage. 

But, soft ! methinks, I scent the morning air ; 

Brief let me be : — Sleeping within mine orchard. 

My custom always of the afternoon, 

Upon my secure hour thy uncf^ stole, 

With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, 

And in the porches of mine ears did pour 

The leperous distilment ; whose effect 

Holds such an enmity with blood of man. 

That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through 

The natural gates and alleys of the body ; 

And, with a sudden vigour, it doth posset 

And curd, like eager droppings into milk, 

The thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine ; 

And a most instant tetter bark'd about, 

Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust. 

All my smooth body. 

Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand. 

Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatch'd . 

Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, 

Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd ; 

No reckoning made, but sent to my account 

With all my imperfections on my head. 

Haw. O, horrible ! O, horrible ! most horrible ! 

Ghost. If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not ; 
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be 
A couch for luxury and damned incest. 
But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act, 
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive 
Against tliy mother aught ; leave her to heaven. 
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, 
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once! 
The glow worm shews the matin to be near, 
And 'gins to pale his ineft'ectual fire : 
Adieu, adieu, adieu ! remember me. [E.iif. 

Ham. () all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? 
And shall 1 couple hell ? — O fye ! — Hold, hold, my 
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, [heart; 
But bear me stiffly up ! — Remember thee ? 
Ay, thou jioor ghost, while memory holds a seat 
In this distiacted globe. Remember thee '> 
Yea, from the table of my memory 
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records. 
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past 
That youth an<l observation copied there ; 
And thy commandment all alone shall live 
Within the book and volume of my brain, 
Unmix'd with baser matter : yes, by heaven. 
O most pernicious woman ! 

villain, villain, smiling, damned villain! 
I\Iy tables, — meet it is, I set it down. 

That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain ; 
At least, I am sure, it may be so in Denmark: 

[ IVriting, 
So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word; 
It is. Adieu, adieu ! remember me, 

1 have sworn't. 

Hor. [Within.] My lord, my lord, 

Mar. [Within.] Lord Hamlet, 

Hor. [Within.] Heaven secure him' 

Ham. So be It. 

Mar. [Within.] Illo, ho, ho, my lord ! 
Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy ! come, bird, come. 



ACT II.— SCENE I 



829 



Enter HoiiATH) and Marceli.us. 

Mai . How is't, my noble lord "! 

Hor, What news, my lord ? 

Ham. O, wonderful ! 

Hor. Good my lord, tell it. 

77a m. No ; 

You will reveal it. 

Hot: Not I, my lord, by heaven. 

Mar, Nor I, my lord. 

Ham. How say you then ; would heart of man once 
think it ? — 
But you'll be secret, 

Hor. Mar. Ay, by heaven, my lord. 

77am. There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all Den- 
But he's an arrant knave. [mark, 

Hor. Tlieie needs no ghost, my lord, come from the 
To tell us this. [grave, 

77am. Why, right ; you are in the right : 

And so, without more circumstance at all, 
I hold it fit that we shake hands, and part : 
You, as your business, and desire, sliall point you ; — 
For every man hath business, and desire. 
Such as it is, — and for my own poor part, 
Look you, I will go pray. 

77or. These are but wild and whirling words, my lord. 

77am. I am sorry they oftend you, heartily; yes, 
'faith, heartily. 

77or. There's no offence, my lord. 

/7«m. Yes, by St. Patrick, but there is, Horatio, 
And much offence too. Touching this vision here, — 
It is an honest ghost, then let me tell you ; 
For your desire to know what is between us, 
O'er-master it as you may. And now, good friends, 
As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, 
Give me one poor request. 

77or. What is't, my lord •? 

We will. [night. 

77aw. Never make known what you have seen to- 

Hor. Mar. ]\Iy lord, we will not. 

Ham. Nay, but swear't. 

77()r. In faith. 

My lord, not I. 

Mar. Nor I, my lord, in faith. 

77aH!. Upon my sword. 

Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already. 

77ara. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. 

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 

Ham. Ha, ha, boy ! say'st thou so ''. art thou there, 
true-penny 1 
Come on,— you hear this fellow in the cellarage, — 
Consent to swear. 

Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. 

77am. Never to speak of this that you have seen. 
Swear by my sword. 

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 

i7am. 77ic et uh'ique ? then we'll shift our ground ; — 
Come, hither, gentlemen. 
And lay your hands again upon my sword : 
Swear by my sword. 
Never to speak of this that you have heard. 

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear by his sword. 

77am. Well said, old mole ! can'st work i' the earth 
so fast"! 
A worthy pioneer ! — Once more remove, good friends. 

77or. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange ! 

77(im. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. 
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. 

But come ; 

Here, as before, never, so help you mercy ! 
How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself. 
As I, perchance, hereafter, shall think meet 



To put an antic disposition on. — • 

That you, at such times seeing me, never shall 

With arms encumber'd thus, or tliis head-shake, 

Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, 

As, ]VeU, well, we know ; — or. We could, and if we 

would; — or, If we list to speak; — or. There be, an if 

they might ; — 

Or such ambiguous giving out, to note 

That you know aught of me : — This do you swear, 

So grace and mercy at your most need help you ! 

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 

7fn)/;. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! So, gentlemen, 
With all my love I do commend me to you : 
And wliat so poor a man as Hamlet is 
INIay do, to express his love and friending to you, 
God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together ; 
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. 
The time is out of joint ; — O cursed spite ! 
That ever I was born to set it right! 
Nay, come, let's go together. [Exeunt, 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — A Room in Polonius' Himse. 
Enter Polonius and Reynaldo. 

Pol. Give him this money, and these notes, Rey- 

Bey. I will, my lord. [naldo. 

Pol. You sliall do marvellous wisely, good Rey- 
Before you visit him, to make inquiry [naldo. 

Of his behaviour. 

Rey. INIy lord, I did intend it. 

Pol. Marry, well said : very well said. Look you. 
Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris ; [sir. 
And how, and who, what means, and where they keep. 
What company, at what expense ; and finding, 
]5y this encompassment and drift of question, 
That they do know my son, come you more nearer 
Than your particular demands will touch it : 
Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him; 
As thus, — 1 know his father, and his friends. 
And, in part, him ; — Do you mark this, Reynaldo'! 

Rey. Ay, very well, my lord. 

Pol, And, inpart, him; — but, you may say, not well: 
But, if't be he ] mean, he's very wild ; 
Addicted so and so ; — and there put on him 
What forgeries you please ; marry, none so rank 
As may dishonour him ; take heed of that ; 
But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips, 
As are companions noted and most known 
To youth and liberty. 

Reu. As gaming, my lord. 

Pot. Ay ,or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling, 
Drabbing : — You may go so far. 

Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him. 

Pol. 'Faith, no ; as you may season it in the charge. 
You must not put another scandal on him. 
That he is open to incontinency ; 
Tliat's not my meaning : but breathe his faults so 
That they may seem the taints of liberty : [quaintly, 
The flash and out-break of a fiery mind ; 
A savageness in unreclaimed blood. 
Of general assault. 

Rey. But, my good lord, 

Pol. Wherefore should you do this? 

Rey, Ay, my lord, 

I would know that. 

Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift ; 

And, I believe, it is a fetch of warrant ; 
You laying these slight sullies on my son, 



8,30 



HAMLET. 



As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the working, 

Mark you 

Your party in converse, him you would sound, 
Having ever seen, in the prenominate crimes, 
The youth you breath of, guilty, be assur'd, 
He closes with you in this consequence ; 
Good sir, or so ; or friend, or gentleman, — 
According to the phrase, or the addition, 
Of man, and country. 

Re\i. Very good, my lord. 

Pol. And tlien.sir, do'js he this, — He does — 
What was I about to say 7 By the mass, I was about 
to say some something: — Where did I leave'! 

Beii. At, closes in the consequence. 

Pvl. At, closes in the consequence, — Au, marrii , 
He closes with you thus ; — / know the gentleman ; 
I saw him yesterday, or toother day, 
Or then, or then ; with such, or such ; and, as ynu say. 
There was he gaming ; there e'ertook in his rouse : 
There falling out at tenuis ; or, perchance, 
I sow him enter such a house of sale, 
(Videlicet, a brothel,^ or sofoi-th. — 
See you now ; 

Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth : 
And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, 
With windlaces, and with assays of bias, 
By indirections find directions out ; 
So, by my former lecture and advice, 
Shall you my son : You have me, have you not? 

Rey. jMy lord, I have. 

Pol. God be wi' you ; fare you well. 

Rey. Good my lord, 

Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself. 

Rey. I shall, my lord. 

Pol. And let him ply his music. 

Rey. Well, my lord. [Exit. 

Enter Ophelia. 

Pol. Farewell ! — How now, Ophelia 1 what's the 
matter ? 

Oph. O, my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted ! 

Pol. With what, in the name of heaven 1 

Oph. IMy lord, as I was sewing in my closet. 
Lord Hamlet, — with his doublet all unbrac'd ; 
No hat upon his head ; his stockings foul'd, 
Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle ; 
Pale as his shirt ; his knees knocking each other ; 
And with a look so piteous in purport, 
As if he had been loosed out of hell. 
To speak of horrors, — he comes before me. 

Pol. Mad for thy love 1 

Oph. My lord, I do not know ; 

But, truly, I do fear it. 

Pol. What said he 1 

Oph. He took me by the wrist, and held me hard ; 
Then goes he to the length of all his arm ; 
And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow, 
He falls to such perusal of my face. 
As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so ; 
At last, — A little shaking of mine arm. 
And thrice his head thus waving up and down, — 
He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound. 
As it did seem to shatter all his bulk. 
And end his being : That done, he lets me go : 
And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd, 
He seem'd to find his way without his eyes ; 
For out o'doors he went without their helps. 
And, to the last, bended thejr light on me. 

Pol. Come, go with me ; I will go seek the king. 
This is the very ecstacy of love ; 
Whose violent property foredoes itself, 
And leads the will to desperate undertakings. 



As oft as any ])assion under heaven, 

That does afflict our natures. I am sorry, — 

What, have you given him any hard words of late ? 

Oph. No, my good lord ; but, as you did command, 
I did repel his letters, and denied 
His access to me. 

Pol. That hath made him mad. 

I am sorry, that with better heed, and judgment, 
I had not quoted him : I fear'd, he did but trifle. 
And meant to wreck thee ; but, beshrew my jealousv ! 
It seems, it is as proper to our age 
To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions. 
As it is common for the younger sort 
l"o lack discretion. Come, go we to the king : 
This must be known ; which, being kept close, might 
More grief to hide, than hate to utter love. (move 
Come. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II A Room in the Castle. 

Enter King, Queen, Kosencrantz, Guildenstern, 
and Attendants. 

King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz, and Guilden- 
Moreover that we much did long to see you, [stern i 
The need, we have to use you, did provoke 
Our hasty sending. Something have you heard 
Of Hamlet's transformation ; so I call it. 
Since not the exterior nor the inward man 
Resembles that it was : What it should be, 
More tiian his father's death, that thus hath put him 
So much from the understanding of himself, 
I cannot dream of: I entreat you both. 
That, — being of so young days brought up with him ; 
And, since, so neighbour'd to hisyouth and humour, — 
That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court 
Some little time : so by your companies 
To draw him on to pleasures ; and to gather. 
So much as from occasion you may glean. 
Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus, 
That, open'd, lies within our remedy. 

Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you; 
And, sure I am, two men there are not living, 
To whom he more adheres. If it will please you 
To shew us so much gentry, and good will. 
As to expend your time with us a whili , 
For the supply and profit of our hope. 
Your visitation shall receive such thank.-. 
As fits a king's remembrance. 

Ros. Both your majesties 

Might, by the sovereign power you have of us, 
Put your dread pleasures more into command 
Than to entreaty. 

Guil. But we both obey ; 

And here give up ourselves, in the full bent, 
To lay our service freely at your feet. 
To be commanded. [stern. 

King. Thanks, Rosencrantz, and gentle Guilden- 

Quee?i. Thanks, Guildenstern, and gentle Rosen- 
And I beseech you instantly to visit [crantz : 

My too much changed son. — Go, some of you. 
And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. 

Guil. Heavensmake our presence, and our practices, 
Pleasant and helpful to him ! 

Queen. Ay, amen ! 

lEieunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstern. 
and some Attendants. 

Enter Polonius. 

Pol. The embassadors from Norway, my good lord. 
Are joyfully return'd. 

King. Thou still hast been the father of good news. 
Pol. Have I, my lord 1 Assure you, my good liege, 



ACT II.--SCENE ir. 



831 



I hold my duty, as I hold my soul. 
Both to ray God, and to my gracious king : 
And I do think, (or else this brain of mine 
Hunts not the trail of policy so sure 
As it hath us'd to do,) that I have found 
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. 

A'(')/^. O, speak of that ; that do I long to hear. 

Pid. Give first admittance to the embassadors ; 
My news shall be the fiuit to that great feast. 

King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in. 

[Ellt FOLONIUS. 

He tells ine, my dear Gertrude, he hath found 
The head and source of all your son's distemper. 

Queen. 1 doubt, it is no other but the main ; 
His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage. 

Re-enter Polonius, with Voltimand and Cornelius. 

King. Well, we shall sift him. — Welcome, my good 
friends ! 
Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway? 

Vult. JNIost fair return of greetings, and desires. 
Upon our first, he sent out to suppress 
His nephew's levies ; which to him appear'd 
To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack ; 
But, better look'd into, he truly found 
It was against your highness : Whereat griev'd, — 
That so his sickness, age, and impotence. 
Was falsely borne in hand, — sends out arrests 
On Fortinbras ; which he, in brief, obeys ; 
Receives rebuke from Norway ; and, in fine, 
Makes vow before his uncle, nevermore 
To give the assay of arms against your majesty. 
Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy. 
Gives him tliree thousand crowns in annual fee ; 
And his commission, to employ those soldiers. 
So levied as before, against the Polack : 
With an entreaty , herein further shewn, \^Givesa paper. 
That it might please you to give quiet pass 
Through your dominions for this enterprize ; 
On such regards of safety, and allowance, 
As therein are set down. 

King. It likes us well ; 

And, at our more consider'd time, we'll read, 
Answer, and think upon this business. 
Mean time, we thank you for your well-took labour: 
Go to your rest ; at night we'll feast together : 
Most welcome home ! 

\^Eieunt Voltimand and Cornelius. 

Pnl, This business is well ended. 

My liege, and madam, to expostulate 
What majesty should be, what duty is. 
Why day is day, night, night, and time is time. 
Were nothing but to wsiste night, day, and time. 
Therefore, — since brevity is the soul of wit. 
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, — 
I will be biief : Your noble son is mad : 
Mad call I it : for, to define true madness. 
What is't, but to be nothing else but mad : 
But let that go. 

Queen. More matter, with less art. 

Pol. Madam, I swear, 1 use no art at all. 
That he is mad, 'tis true : 'tis true, 'tis pity ; 
And pity 'tis, 'tis true : a foolish figure * 
But farewell it, for I will use no art. 
Mad let us grant him then : and now remains. 
That we find out the cause of this effect ; 
Or, rather say, the cause of this defect ; 
For this effect, defective, comes by cause 
Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. 
Perpend. 

I have a daughter ; have, while she is mine ; 
Who. in her duty and obedience, mark, 



Hath given me this : Now gather, and surmise. 
— To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beauti- 
fied Ophelia, 

That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase ; beautified is a vile 
phrase ; but you shall hear. — Thus : — 

In her excellent white bosom, these, 6iC. — 

Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her' 

Pol. Good madam, stay awhile ; I will be faithful. — 
Doubt thou, the stars are fire ; [^Iteads. 

Doubt, that the sun doth move ; 
Doubt trutli to be a liar ; 
But never doubt, I love. 

dear Ophelia, I am ill at these nnmbers ; I have 
not art to recko)i my groans : but that I love thee best, 
most best, believe it. Adieu. 

Thine evermore, most dear lady, wliilst 

this machine is to him, Hamlet, 
This, in obedience, hath my daughter shewn me : 
And more above, hath his solicitings, 
As they fell out by time, by means, and place, 
All given to mine ear. 

King. But how hath she 

Receiv'd his love? 

Pol. What do you think of me? 

King. As of a man faithful and honourable. 

Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might you 
When I had seen this hot love on the wing, [think, 
(As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that. 
Before my daughter told me,) what might you. 
Or my dear majesty your queen here, think. 
If I had play'd the desk, or table-book ; 
Or given my heart a working, mute and dumb , 
Or look'd upon this love with idle sight ; 
What might you think ? no, I went round to work, 
And my young mistress thus did I bespeak ; 
Lord Hamlet is a prince out of thy sphere ; 
This must not be: and then 1 precepts gave her, 
rhat she should lock herself from his resort, 
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. 
Which done, she took the fruits of my advice , 
And he, repulsed, (a short tale to make,) 
Fell into a sadness ; then into a fast ; 
Thence to a watch ; thence into a weakness ; 
Thence to a lightness ; and, by this declension, 
Into the madness wherein now he raves. 
And all we mourn for. 

King. Do you think, 'tis this ? 

Queen. It may be, very likely. 

Pol. Hath there been such a time, (I'd fain know 
That I have positively said, 'Tis so, [that,) 

When it prov'd otherwise? 

King. Not that I know. 

Pol. Take this from this, if this be otherwise : 

[^Pointing to his head and shoulder. 
If circumstances lead me, 1 will find 
Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed 
Within the centre. 

King. How may we try it further ? 

Pol. You know, sometimes he walks four hours to- 
Here in the lobby. [gether. 

Queen. So he does, indeed. 

Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him : 
Be you and I behind an arras then ; 
Mark the encounter : if he love her not, 
And be not from his reason fallen thereon, 
Let me be no assistant for a state, 
But keep a farm, and carters. 

King. We will try it. 

Enter Hamlet, reading. 
Queen. But, look, where sadly the poor wretch comes 
reading. 



832 



HAMLET. 



Pel, Away, I do beseech you, both away ; 
I'll board him presently: — O, give me leave. — 

[Exeunt King, Quken, and Attendants. 
How does my good lord Hamlet ? 

Ham. Well, god-'a-mercy. 

Pol. Do you know me, my lord 1 

Ham. Excellent well ; you are a fishmonger. 

Pol. Not I, my lord. 

Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man. 

Pol. Honest, my lord i 

Ham. Ay, sir ; to be honest, as this world goes, is 
to be one man picked out of ten thousand. 

Pol. That's very true, my lord. 

Ham. f'or if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, 
being a god , kissing carrion, Have you a daughter I 

Pol. 1 have, my lord. 

Ham. Let her not walk i' the sun : conception is a 
blessing; but as yourdaughtermay conceive, — friend, 
look to't. 

Pol. How say you by that 1 [Aside.'] Still harping 
on my daughter : — yet he knew me not at first ; he 
said 1 was a fishmonger : He is far gone, far gone : 
and truly in my youtli I suffered much extremity for 
love ; very near this. I'll speak to him again. — 
What do you read, my lord 1 

Ham. Words, words, words ! 

Pol. What is the matter, my lord? 

Ham. Between who ! 

Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. 

Ha7n. Slanders, sir : for the satirical rogue says 
here, that old men have grey beards ; that their faces 
are wrinkled ; their eyes purging thick amber, and 
plum-tree gum ; and that they have a plentiful lack 
of wit, together with most weak hams : All of which, 
sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, 
yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down ; 
for yourself, sir, shall be as old as I am, if, like a 
crab, you could go backward. 

Pol. Though this be madness, yet there's method 
in it. [Aside.] Will you walk out of the air, my 
lord? 

Ham. Into my gravel 

Pol. Indeed, that is out o' the air. — How pregnant 
sometimes his replies are ! a happiness that often 
madness hits on, which reason and sanity could not 
so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave him, 
and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between 
him and my daughter. —My honourable lord, I will 
most humbly take my leave of you. 

Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that 
I will more willingly part withal; except my life, ex- 
cept my life, except my life. 

Pol. Fare you well, my lord. 

Ham. These tedious old fools ! 

Enter Rosenciiantz and Guildenstern. 

Pol. You go to seek the lord Hamlet ; there he is. 

lies. God save you, sir ! [To Polonius. 

[Exit Polonius. 

Guil. My honour'd lord ! — 

Ros. My most dear lord ! — 

Ham. IVly excellent good friends! How dost thou, 
Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do 
ye both ? 

llos. As the indifferent children of the earth. 

Guil. Happy, in that we are not overhappy ; 
On fortune's cap we are not the very button. 

Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe 1 

Pos. Neither, my lord. 

Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in the 
middle of her favours ? 

Guil. 'Faith, her privates we. 



Ham. In the secret part-; of fortune? O, most true ; 
she is a strumpet. \V'liat news ? 

Ros. None, my lord ; but that the world's grown 
honest. 

Ham. I'hen is dooms-day near : But your news is 
not true. Let me question more in particular: What 
have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of 
fortune, that she sends you to prison hither ? 

Guil. Prison, my lord ? 

Ham. Denmark's a prison. 

Ros. Tiien is the world one. 

Ham. A goodly one ; in which there are many con- 
fines, wards, and dungeons ; Denmark being one of 
the worst. 

Ros. We think not so, my lord 

Ham. Why, then 'tis none to you : for there is no- 
thing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so : 
to me it is a prison. 

Ros. Why, then your ambition makes it one ; 'tis 
too narrow for your mind. 

Ham. O God I I could be bounded in a nut-shell, 
and count myself a king of infinite space ; were it 
not that I have bad dreams. 

Guil. Which dreams, indeed, are ambition ; for the 
very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow 
of a dream. 

Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow. 

Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light 
a quality, that it is but a shadow's shadow. 

Ham. Then are our beggars, bodies ; and our mo- 
narchs, and outstretch'd heroes, the beggars' sha- 
dows : Shall we to the court ! for, by my fay, I can- 
not reason. 

Ros. Guil. We'll wait upon you. 

Ham. No such matter : I will not sort you with the 
rest of my servants ; for, to speak to you like an 
honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. But in 
the beaten way of friendship, what make you at 
Elsinore ? 

Ros. To visit you, my lord ; no other occasion. 

Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks ; 
but I thank you : and sure, dear friends, my thanks 
are too dear, a half-penny. Were you not sent for? 
Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation ? 
Come, come ; deal justly with me : come, come ; nay, 
speak. 

Guil. What should we say, my lord? 

Ham. Any thing — but to the purpose. Y^ou were 
sent for ; and there is a kind of confession in your 
looks, which your modesties have notcral't enough to 
colour: I know, the good king and queen have sent 
for you. 

Ros. To what end, my lord ? 

Ham. That you must teach me. But let me con- 
jure you, by the rights of our fellowship, by the con- 
sonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever- 
preserved love, and by what more dear a better pro- 
poser could charge you withal, be even and direct 
with me, whether you were sent for, or no ? 

Ros. What say you ? [To Guildenstehn. 

Ham. Nay, then 1 have an eye of you; [Aside.] — 
if you love me, hold not off. 

Guil. My lord, we were sent for. 

Hum. I will tell you why ; so shall my anticipa- 
tion prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the 
king and queen moult no feather. I have of late, 
(but, wherefore, I know not,) lost all my miith, for- 
gone all custom of exercises : and, indeed, it goes so 
heavily with my disposition, that this goodly frame, 
the earth, seems to me a steril promontory ; this most 
excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'er- 
hanging firmament, this niajestical roof fretted v\ith 



ACT II.— SCENE II. 



833 



ien fire, why, it appears no other thing to me, 
than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. 
What a piece of work is a man ! How noble in rea- 
son ! how infinite in faculties ! in form, and moving, 
how express and admirable! in action, how like an 
angel I in apprehension, how like a god ! the beauty 
of the world! the paragon of animals ! And yet, to 
me, what is this quintessence of dusf? man delights 
not me, nor woman neither ; though, by your smiling, 
you seem to say so. 

Hos. My lord, there is no such SrtufFin my thoughts. 

Ham, Why did you laugh then, when I said, Man 
delights not me? 

Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, 
what lenten entertainment the players shall receive 
from you : we coted them on the way ; and hither are 
they coming, to offer you service 

Ham. He that plays the king shall be welcome ; 
his majesty shall have tribute of me : the adventurous 
knight shall use his foil and target : the lover shall 
not sigh gratis ; the humorous man shall end his part 
in peace: tlie clown shall make those kiugh, whose 
lungs are tickled o' the sere ; and the lady shall say 
her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt for 't. — 
What players are they 1 

Ros. Even those you were wont to take such de- 
light in, the tragedians of the city. 

Ham. How chances it, they travel ? their residence, 
both in reputation and profit, was better both ways. 

Ros. I think, their inhibition comes by the means 
of the late innovation. 

Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they did 
when I was in the city? Are they so followed] 

Ros. No, indeed, they are not. 

Ham. How comes it ! Do they grow rusty ? 

Ros. Nay, their endeavourkeeps in the wonted pace : 
But there is, sir, an aiery of children, little eyases, 
lliat cry out on the top of question, and are most 
tyrannically clapped for't : these are now the fashion ; 
and so berattle the common stages, (so they call 
them) that many wearing rapiers, are afraid of goose 
quills, and dare scarce come thither. 

Ham. What, are they children 1 who maintains 
them 1 how are they escoted ! Will they pursue the 
quality no longer than they can sing"! will they not 
say afterwards, if they should grow themselves to 
common players, (as it is most like, if their means are 
no better,) their writers do them wrong, to make them 
exclaim against their own succession ! 

Ros, 'Faith there has been much to do on both 
sides ; and the nation holds it no sin, to tarre them 
on to controversy: there was, for a while, no money 
bid for argument, unless the poet and the player went 
to cuffs in the question. 

Ham. Is it possible 1 

Guii. O, there has been much throwing about of 
brains. 

Ha7n, Do the boys carry it away 1 

Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord ; Hercules and his 
load too. 

Ham, It is not very strange : for my uncle is king 
of Denmark ; and those, that would make mouths at 
him while my father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, 
an hundred ducats a-piece, for his picture in little. 
'Sblood, there is something in this more than natural, 
if philosophy could find it out. 

[FUmrish of trumpets within. 

Gui. There are the players. 

Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. 
Your hands. Come then: tlie appurtenance of wel- 
come is fashion and ceremony : let me comply with 
you in this garb ; lest ray extent to the players, 



I which, I tell you, must shew fairly outward, should 
' more appear like entertainment than yours. You are 
welcome : but my uncle-father, and aunt-mother, are 
deceived. 

Guil. In what, my dear lord? 
Ham. 1 am but mad nortii-north-west : when the 
wind is southerly, 1 know a hawk from a hand-saw. 

! Enter Polonius. 

Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen ! 

Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern, — and you too ; — 
at each ear a heater ; that great baby, you see there, 
is not yet out of his swaddling clouts. 

Ros. Happily, he 's the second time come to them ; 
I for, they say, an old man is twice a child. 

Ham. I will prophecy, he comes to tell me of the 
players ; mark it. — You say right, sir : o' iMonday 
morning ; 'twas then, indeed. 

Pol. My lord, 1 have news to tell you. 

Ham. My lord, 1 have news to tell you. When 
Roscius was an actor in Rome, 

Po/. The actors are come hither, my lord. 

Ham. Buz, buz! 

Pol. Upon my honour, 

Ham. Then came each actor on his ass, 

Pol. The best actors in the world, either for tra- 
gedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, 
historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comi- 
cal, historical-pastoral, scene individable, or poem 
unlimited: Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus 
too light. For the law of writ, and the lioerty, these 
are the only men. 

Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, — what a trea- 
sure hadst thou ! 

Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord? 

Ham. Why — One fair daughter, and no more, 
The which he loved passing well. 

Pol. Still on my daughter. [Aside. 

Ham. Am not I i' the right, old Jephthah ? 

Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a 
daughter, that I love passing well. 

Ham. Nay, that follows not. 

Pol. What follows then, my lord ? 

Ham. Why, As by lot, God ivot, and then, you know, 
It came to pass. As most like it teas, — The first row of 
the pious chanson will shew you more : for look, my 
abridgment comes. 

Enter Four or Five Players. 

You are welcome, masters ; welcome, all : — I am 
glad to see thee well : — welcome, good friends. — O, 
old friend ! Why, thy face is valanced since I saw 
thee last ; Com'st thou to beard me in Denmark ? — 
What! my young lady and mistress! By-'r-lady, 
your ladyship is nearer to heaven, than when I saw 
you last, by the altitude of a chopine. Pray God, 
your voice, like a piece of uncurrent gold, be not 
cracked within the ring. — Masters, you are all wel- 
come. We'll e'en to't like French falconers, fly at 
any thing we see: We'll have a speech straight: 
Come, give us a taste of your quality; come, a pas- 
sionate speech. 

1 Play. What speech, my lord? 

Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once, — but 
it was never acted ; or, if it was, not above once ; 
for the play, I remember, pleased not the million ; 
'twas caviare to the general : but it was (as I received 
it, and others, whose judgments, in such matters, 
cried in the top of mine,) an excellent play ; well 
digested in the scenes, set down with as much mo- 
desty as cunning. I remember, one said, there were 
no sallets in the lines, to make the matter savoury ; 
o G 



834 



HAMLET. 



nor no matter in the phrase, that might indite the au- 
tlior of affection ; but called it, an honest method, as 
wholesome as sweet, and by very much more hand- 
some than fine. One speech in it I chiefly loved : 
'twas yEneas' tale to Dido ; and thereabout of it, es- 
pecially, where he speaks of Priam's slaughter : If it 
live in your memory, begin at this line ; let me see, 
let me see ; — 

The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast, — 
'tis not so ; it begins with Pyrrhus. 

The rugged Pyrrlius, — he, whose sable arms, 
Black as his purpose, did the night resemble 
When he lay couched in the ominous horse. 
Hath now this dread and black complexion smear'6 
With heraldry more dismal; head to foot 
Now is he total gules; horridly trick' d 
With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons; 
Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets, 
That lend a tyrannous and a damned light 
To their lord's murder: Roasted in wrath, and Jire, 
And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore, 
With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus 
Old grandsire Priam seeks ;~ So proceed you. 
Pol. 'Fore God, my lord, well spoken; with good 
accent, and good discretion. 
1 Play. Anon he finds him 
Striking too short at Greeks; his antique steord, 
Bebellious to his arm, lies where it falls. 
Repugnant to command : Unequal match'd, 
Pyrrhns at Priam drives; in rage, strikes wide; 
But with the lohiff and ivind of his fell sword 
The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, 
Seeming to feel this blow, with faming top 
Stoops to his base; and with a hideous crash 
Takes prisoner Pynhiis' ear : for, lo ! his sword 
Which was declining on the milky head 
Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' the air to stick ; 
So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood ; 
And, like a neutral to his will and matter. 
Did nothing. 

But, as we often see, against some storm, 
A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still. 
The bold winds speechless, and the orb below 
As hush as death ; anon the dreadful thunder 
Doth rend the region : So, after Pyrrhus' pause, 
A roused vengeance sets him new a work ; 
And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall 
On Mars's armour , f org' d for proof eterne. 
With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword 
Noiv falls on Priam. — 

Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune! All you gods, 
In general synod, take away her power ; 
Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel, 
And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven, 
As low as to the feuds! 
Pol. This is too long. 

Ham. It shall to the barber's, with your beard. — 
Pr'ythee, say on : — He's for a jig, or a tale of bawdry, 
or he sleeps: — say on : come to Hecuba. 

1 Play. But who, ah u>oe ! had seen the mohled 

Ham. The mobled queen 1 iqueen 

Pol. That's good ; mobled queen is good. 

1 Play. Run barefoot up and down, thieat'ning the 

With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head, [fames 

Where late the diadem stood ; and, for a robe. 

About her lank and all o'er-teemed loins, 

A blanket in the alarm of fear caught up; 

Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd, 

'Gainst fortune's state would treason have pro- 

But if the gods themselves did see her then, [nounc'd: 

When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport 

In mincing with his sword her husband's liinbs ; 



The instant burst of clamour that she made, 

(Unless things mortal move them net, at all,) 

Would have made milch the burniii^i- eye of heaven, 

And passion in the gods. 

Pol. Look, whether he has not turn'd his colour, 
and has tears in his eyes. — Pr'ythee, no more. 

Ham. 'Tis well ; I'll have thee speak out the rest 
of this soon. — Good my lord, will you see the players 
well bestowed ] Do you hear, let them be well used j 
for they are the abstract, and brief chronicles, of the 
time : After your death you were better have a bad 
epitaph, than their ill report while you live. 

Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their 
desert. 

Ham. Odd's bodikin, man, much better: Use 
every man after his desert, and who shall 'scape 
whipping ! Use them after your own honour ar.d 
dignity : The less they deserve the more merit is in 
your bounty. Take them in. 

Pol. Come, sirs. 

[Exit PoLONius rvith some of the Players. 

Ham. Follow him, friends : we'll hear a play to- 
morrow. — Dost thou hear me, old friend ; can you 
play the murder of Gonzagol 

1 Play. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. We'll have it to-morrow night. You could, 
for a need, study a speech of some dozen or sixteen 
lines, which I would set down, and insert in'tl could 
you not 1 

1. Play. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. Very well. — follow that lord ; and look you 
mock him not. [Exit Player] My good friends, [To 
Ros. and GuiL.] I'll leave you till night : you are 
welcome to Elsinore. 

Ros. Good my lord ! 

[Exeunt RosENCKANTZ and Guildenstern. 

Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' you : — Now I am alone. 
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am 1 ! 
Is it not monstrous, that this player here. 
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, 
Could force his soul so to his own conceit. 
That from her working all his visage wann'd ; 
Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, 
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
With forms to his conceit] and all for nothing! 
For Hecuba ! 

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
That he should weep for her? What would he do. 
Had he the motive and the cue for passion. 
That I have 1 He would drown the stage with tears. 
And cleave the general ear, with horrid speech} 
IMake mad the guilty, and appal the free, 
Confound the ignorant ; and amaze, indeed. 
The very faculties of eyes and ears. 
Yet I, 

A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak. 
Like John a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause. 
And can say nothing ; no, not for a king, 
Upon whose property, and most dear life, 
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward ? 
Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across 2 
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face ? 
Tweaks me by the nose 1 gives nie the lie i'the throat, 
As deep as to the lungs 1 Who does me thisl 
Ha! 

Why, I should take it : for it cannot be, 
But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall. 
To make oppression bitter ; or, ere this, 
I should have fatted all the region kites 
With this slave's offal : Bloody, bawdy villain I 
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! 
Why, what an ass am 1 1 This is most brave ; 



ACT III.— SCENE I. 



835 



That I, the sou of a dear father murder'd, 

Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, 

Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words. 

And fall a cursing like a very drab, 

A scullion! [heard, 

Fye upon't! fob ! About my brains ! Humph ! I have 

That guilty creatures sitting at a i>lay, 

Have by the very cunning of the scene 

Been struck to the soul, that presently 

They have proclaim'd their malefactions ; 

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak 

With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players 

Play something like the murder of my father, 

Before mine uncle : I'll observe his looks ; 

I'll tent him to the quick ; if he do blench, 

I know my course. The spirit that I have seen, 

IMay be a devil : and the devil hath power 

To assume a pleasing shape ; yea, and, perhaps, 

Out of my weakness, and my melancholy, 

(As he is very potent with such spirits,) 

Abuses me to damn me : I'll have grounds 

More relative than this : the play's the thing. 

Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king. [Eiit. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I.— A Room in the Castle. 

Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosen- 

CRANTZ, and Guildenstern. 

King. And can you, by no drift of conference 
Get from him, why he puts on this confusion ; 
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet 
With turbulent and dang-erous lunacy 1 

Ros. He does confess, he feels himself distracted; 
But from what cause he will by no means speak. 

Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded ; 
But, with a crafty madness keeps aloof. 
When we would bring him on to some confession 
Of his true state. 

Queen. Did he receive you well 1 

Ros. Most like a gentleman. 

Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition. 

Ros. Niggard of question ; but, of our demands. 
Most free in his reply. 

Queen. Did you assay him 

To any pastime ■? 

Res. Madam, it so fell out, that certain players 
We o'er-raught on the way : of these we told him ; 
And there did seem in hira a kind of joy 
To hear of it : They are about the court ; 
And, as I think, they have already order 
This night to play before him. 

Pot. 'Tis most true : 

And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties, 
To hear and see the matter. 

King. AVith all my heart ; and it doth much con- 
To hear him so inclin'd, [tent me 
Good gentlemen, give him a further edge. 
And drive his purpose on to these delights. 

Ros. We shall, my lord. 

[_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too : 

For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither ; 
That he, as 'twere by accident, may here 
Affront Ophelia : 

Her father, and myself (lawful espials,) 
Will so bestow ourselves, that, seeing, unseen, 
We may of their encounter frankly judge : 
And gather by him, as he is behaved, 



If't be the affliction of his love or no. 
That thus he suffers for. 

Queen. I shall obey you : 

And, for your part, Ophelia, I do wish. 
That your good beauties be the happy cause 
Of Hamlet's vvildness ; so shall 1 hope your virtues 
Will bring him to his wonted way again. 
To both your honours. 

Oph. Madam, I wish it may. [Exit Queen. 

Pol. Ophelia, walk you here : — Gracious, so please 
you. 
We will bestow ourselves : — Read on this book ; 

[To Ophelia. 
That show of such an exercise may colour 
Your loneliness. — We are oft to blame in this, — 
"I'is too much prov'd, that, with devotion's visage, 
And pious action, we do sugar o'er 
The devil himself. 

King. O, 'tis too true ! how smart 

A lash that speech doth give my conscience ! 
The harlot's cheek, beautied with plast'ring art, 
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it. 
Than is my deed to my most painted word : 

heavy burden ! [Aside. 
Pol. I hear him coming ; lets withdraw, my lord. 

[Eieunt King and Polonius. 

Enter Hamlet. 

Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the question :— 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
The sling and arrows of outrageous fortune ; 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. 
And, by opposing, end them 1 — To die, — to sleep,— 
No more ; — and, by a sleep, to say we end 
The heart-ach, and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die ; — to sleep; — 
To sleep ! perchance to dream ; — ay, there's the rub , 
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil. 
Must give us pause : there's the respect. 
That makes calamity of so long life : 
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time. 
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely 
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay. 
The insolence of office, and tlie spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes. 
When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear, 
To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; 
But that the dread of something after death, — 
The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn 
No traveller returns,— puzzles the will ; 
And makes us rather bear those ills we have. 
Than fly to others that we know not of? 
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 
And enterprizes of great pith and moment, 
With this regard, tlieir currents turn awry, 
And lose the name of action. — Soft you, now ' 
The fair Ophelia :— Nymph, in thy orisons 
Be all my sins remember'd. 

Oph. Good my lord, 

How does your honour for this many a day? 

Hani. I humbly thank you ; well. 
^ Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours 
That I have longed long to re-deliver ; 

1 pray you, now receive them. 

^'"'«- No, not I ; 

I never gave you aught. [did , 

Oph. My honour'dlord, you knowrigiit well, you 
3 G 2 



836 



HAMLET. 



And, with them, words of so sweet breath compos'd 
As made the things more rich : their perfume lost, 
Take these again ; for to the noble mind, 
Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind. 
There, my lord. 

Ham. Ha, ha ! are you honest ? 

Oph. My lord ? 

Ham. Are you fair? 

Oph. What means your lordship ? 

Ham. That if you be honest and fair, your honesty 
should admit no discourse to your beauty. 

Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have belter com- 
merce than with honesty ? 

Ham. Ay, truly ; for the power of beauty will 
sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd, 
than the force of honesty can translate beauty into 
his likeness ; this was some time a paradox, but now 
the time gives it proof. I did love you once. 

Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so. 

Ham. You should not have believed me : for vir- 
tue cannot so inoculate our old stock, but we shall 
relish of it : I lov'd you not. 

Oph. I was the more deceived. 

Ham. Get thee to a nunnery; Why would'st thou 
be a breeder of sinners ? I am myself indifferent 
honest ; but yet I could accuse me of such things, 
that it were better, my mother had not born me : 
I im very proud, revengeful, ambitious ; with more 
offences at my beck, than I have thoughts to put them 
in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act 
them in : What should such fellows as I do crawling 
between earth and heaven ? We are arrant knaves, 
all ; believe none of us : Go thy ways to a nunnery. 
Where's your father 1 

Oph. At home, my lord. 

Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him ; that he 
may play the fool no where but in 's own house. 
Farewell. 

Oph. O, help him, you sweet heavens ! 

Ham. If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague 
for thy dowry ; Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as 
snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to 
a nunnery ; farewell : Or, if thou wilt needs marry, 
marry a fool ; for wise men know well enough, what 
monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go ; 
and quickly too. Farewell. 

Oph. Heavenly powers, restore him ! 

Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, well 
enough ; God hath given you one face, and you 
make yourselves another ; you jig, you amble, and 
you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make 
your wantonness your ignorance: Go to, I'll no more 
oft ; it hath made me mad. I say, we will have no 
more marriages : those that are married already, all 
but one, shall live ; the rest shall keep as they are. 
To a nunnery, go. [Erit Hami.et. 

Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! 
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword: 
The expectancy and rose of the fair state. 
The glass of fashion, and the mould of form, 
1'he observ'd of all observers ! quite, quite down ! 
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched. 
That suck'd the honey of his music vows. 
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, 
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh ; 
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth. 
Blasted with ecstasy : 0, woe is me ! 
To have seen what I have seen, see what I see ! 

Re-enter King and Polonius. 

King. Love ! his affections do not that way lend ; 
Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little. 



Was not like madness. There's something m his soul, 

O'er which his melancholy sits on brood ; 

And, I do doubt, the hatch, and the disclose, 

Will be some danger : Which for to prevent, 

I have, in quick determination. 

Thus set it down ; He shall with speed to England 

For the demand of our neglected tribute : 

Haply, the seas, and countries different, 

With variable objects, shall expel 

This something-settled matter in his heart ; 

Whereon his brains still beating, puts him thus 

From fashion of himself. What think you on't T 

Pol. It shall do well ; but yet I do believe, 
The origin and commencement of his grief 
Sprung from neglected love. — How now, Ophelia? 
You need not tell us what lord Hamlet said ; 
We heard it all. — My lord, do as you please ; 
But, if you hold it fit, aftei the play. 
Let his queen mother all alone entreat him 
To shew his grief ; let her be round with him ; 
And I'll be plac'd, so please you, in the ear 
Of all their conference : If she find him not. 
To England send him : or confine bim, where 
Your wisdom best shall think. 

King. It shall be so: 

Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. 

\Exennt. 

SCENE II.— i4 Hall in the same. 

Enter Hamlet, and certain Players. 

Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pro- 
nounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue : but if 
you mouth it, as many of our players do, 1 had as lief 
the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the 
air too much with your hand, thus; but use all gent- 
ly: for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may 
say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire 
and beget a temperance, that may give it smoothness. 
O, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious 
periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very 
rags, to split the ears of the groundlings ; who, for 
the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable 
dumb shows, and noise : 1 would have such a fellow 
whipped for o'erdoing Termagant ; it out-herods He- 
rod : pray you, avoid it. 

1 PLay. I warrant your honour. 

Ham. Be not too tame neither, but let your own 
discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, 
the word to the action ; with this special observance, 
that you o'er-step not the modesty of nature; for any 
thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, 
whose end, both at the first, and now, was, and is, 
to hold, as 'twere, the mirrour up to nature ; to shew 
virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the 
very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. 
Now this, overdone, or come tardy off, though it 
make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judi- 
cious grieve ; the censure of which one, must, in 
your allowance, o'er-weigh a whole theatre of others. 
O, there be players, that I have seen play, — and 
heard others praise, and that highly, — not to speak 
it profanely, that, neither having the accent of chris- 
tians, nor the gait of christian, pagan, nor man, have 
so strutted, and bellowed, that 1 have thought some 
of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made 
them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. 

1 Play. I hope, we have reformed that indifferently 
with us. 

Ham. O, reform it altogether. And let those, that 
play your clowns, speak no more than is set down 
for them : for there be of them, that will themselves 
laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators 



ACT III.— SCENE II. 



837 



to laugii too ; though, in the mean time, some neces- 
sary question of the play be then to be considered : 
titat's villanous ; and shews a most pitiful ambition 
in che fool that uses it. Go, make you ready. 

[Eieujit Players. 

Enter Polonius, Rosenxrantz, ^'Guildenstern. 
How now, my lord ] will the king hear this piece of 
work 1 

PoL And the queen too, and that presently. 

Ham. Bid the players make haste. — [Exit Pol. 
Will you two help to hasten them 1 

Both, Ay, my lord. [Exeunt Rosen. ^* Guild. 

Ham.. What, ho ; Horatio ! 

Enter Horatio, 

Hor, Here, sweet lord, at your service. 

Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man 
As e'er my conversation cop'd withal. 

Hor. O, my dear lord, — 

Ham, Na}', do not think I flatter: 

For what advancement may I hope from thee, 
That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits. 
To feed, and clothe thee 1 Why should the poor be flat- 
No, let the candied tonjr ■; i jc'z absurd pomp ; [ter'd ! 
And crook the pTegnz:i. . ^J'g!-" of the knee. 
Where thrift may follow fc.v^ciLg. Dost thou hear? 
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice. 
And could of men distinguish her election. 
She hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou iiast been 
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing ; 
A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards 
Hath ta'en with equal thanks : and bless'd are those. 
Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingied, 
That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger 
To sound what stop she please : Give me that man 
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, 
As I do thee — Something too much of this. — 
There is a play to-night before the king ; 
One scene of it comes near the circumstance. 
Which I have told thee of my father's death. 
I pr'ythee, when thou seest that act a-foot, 
Even with the very comment of thy soul 
Observe my uncle : if his occulted guilt 
Do not itself unkennel in one speech. 
It is a damned ghost that we have seen ; 
And my imaginations are as foul 
As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note: 
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face ; 
And, after, we will both our judgments join 
In censure of his seeming. 

Hor. Well, my lord: 

If he steal aught, the while this play is playing, 
And scape detecting, I will pay the theft. 

Ham. They are coming to the play ; I must be idle : 
Get you a place. 
Danish march. A Jiourish. Enter King, Queen, 

PoLOMUs, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guilden- 

STERN, and othen. 

Kitig. How fares our cousin Hamlet ? 

Ham. Excellent, i'faith ; of the camelion's dish : 
I eat the air, promise-crammed : Yo\i cannot feed 
capons so. 

King. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet ; 
these words are not mine. 

Ham. No, nor mine now. My lord, — you played 
once in ihe university, you say 1 [To Polonius. 

Pol. That did I, my lord ; and was accounted a 
good actor. 

Ham. And what did you enact? 

PoL I did enact Julius Caisar : I was killed i'the 
Capitol ; Brutus killed me. 



Oph. 
Ham. 
Oph. 



Ham. It was a brute part of him, to kill so capital 
a calf there. — Be the players ready] 

Ros. Ay, my lord ; they stay upon your patience. 

Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. 

Ha7n. No, good mother, here's metal more attractive. 

Pol. O ho ! do you mark that! [To the King. 

Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap? 

[Lying down at Opuevia's feet. 
No, my lord. 

I mean, my head upon your lapl 
Ay, my lord. 

Ham. Do you think, I meant country matters ? 

Oph. I think nothing, my lord. 

i/<im.That's a fair thou(i[ht to lie between maid's legs. 

Oph. What is, my lord? 

Ham. Nothing. 

Oplu You aie merry, my lord. 

Ham. Who, I ? 

Oph. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. O ! your only jig-maker. What should a 
man do, but be merry ? for, look you, how cheer- 
fully my mother looks, and my father died within 
these two hours. 

Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord. 

Ham. So long ? Nay, then let the devil wear black, 
for I'll have a suit of sables. O heavens ! die two 
months ago, and not forgotten yet ! Then there's 
hope, a great man's memory may outlive his life half 
a year : But, by'rlady, he must build churches then : 
or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby- 
horse ; whose epitaph is, For, 0, for, O, tlie hobby- 
horse is forgot. 

Trumpets sound. The dumb show follows. 

Enter a King and a Queen, very lovingly ; the Queen 
embracing him, and he Iter. She kneels, and makes 
show of protestation unto him. He takes her up, and 
declines his head upon her neck : laifs him down upon 
a bank of flowers ; she, seeing him asleep, leaves him. 
Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his crown, kisses it, 
and pours poison in the King's ears, and ait. The 
Queen returns -.finds the King dead, and tnakes pas- 
sionate action. The poisoner, with some two or three 
mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament xvith her. 
The dead bodif is carried awaif. The poisoner wooes 
the Queen with gifts ; she seems loath and unwillintr 
awhile, but, in the end, accepts his love. [Exeunt, 

Oph. What means this, my lord ? 

Ham. Marry, this is miching mallecho ; it means 
mischief. 

Oph. Belike, this show imports the argument of 
the play. 

Enter Prologue. 

Ham. We shall know by this fellow : the players 
cannot keep counsel ; they'll tell all. 

Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant? 

Ham. Ay, or any show that you '11 shew liim : Be 
not you ashamed to shew, he '11 not shame to tell 
you what it means. 

Oph. You are naught, you are naught; I'll mark 
the ]ilay. 

Pro. For us, mid. for our tragedy. 

Here stooping to your clemency. 
We beg your hearing patieiitlii. 

Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? 

Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord. 

Ham. As woman's love. 

Enter a King and a Queen. 

P. A'iii^. Full thirty times hath Phoebus' east gone 
round 



838 



HAMLET. 



Neptune's salt wash, and Tellus' orbed ground ; 
And thirty dozen moons, with borrow'd sheen, 
About the world have times twelve thirties been ; 
Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands. 
Unite commutual in most sacred bands. 

y. Queen. So many journeys may the sun and moon 
Make us again count o'er, ere love be done ! 
But, woe is me, you are so sick of late. 
So far from cheer, and from your former state. 
That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust. 
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must : 
For women fear too much, even as they love ; 
And women's fear and love hold quantity ; 
In neither aught, or in extremity. 
Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know; 
And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so. 
Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear ; 
Where little fear grows great, great love grows there. 

P. King. 'Faith, 1 must leave thee, love, and shortly 
My operant powers their functions leave to do : [too ; 
And thou shalt live in this fair world behind, 
Honour'd, belov'd ; and, haply, one as kind 
For husband shalt thou 

P. Queen. O, confound the rest ! 

Such love must needs be treason in my breast : 
Tn second husband let me be accurst ! 
None wed the second, but who kill'd the first 

Ham. That's wormwood. 

P. Queen.The instances, that second marriage move. 
Are base respects of thrift, but none of love ; 
A second time I kill my husband dead, 
When second husband kisses me in bed. 

P. King, I do believe, you think what now you 
But, what we do determine, oft we break, [speak ; 
Purpose is but the slave to memory ; 
Of violent birth, but poor validity : 
Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree ; 
But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be. 
Most necessary 'tis, that we forget 
To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt : 
What to ourselves in passion we propose. 
The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. 
The violence of either grief or joy 
Their own enactures with themselves destroy : 
Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament j 
Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. 
This world is not for aye ; nor 'tis not strange, 
That even our loves stiould with our fortunes change ; 
For 'tis a question left us yet to prove. 
Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love. 
The great man down, you mark, his favourite flies ; 
The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies. 
And hitherto doth love on fortune tend : 
For who not needs, shall never lack a friend ; 
And who in want a hollow friend doth try. 
Directly seasons him his enemy. 
But, orderly to end where I begun, — 
Our wills, and fates, do so contrary run. 
That our devices still are overthrown ; 
Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own : 
So think thou wilt no second husband wed ; 
But die thy thoughts, when tiiy first lord is dead. 

P. Queen. Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven 
light! 
Sport and repose lock from me, day, and night'. 
To desperation turn my trust and hope ! 
An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope ! 
Each opposite, that blanks the face of joy. 
Meet what I would have well, and it destroy ! 
Both here, and hence, pursue me lasting strife. 
If, once a widow, ever I be wife ! 

Ham. If she should break it now, [To Ophelia 



P. King. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here 
a while ; 
My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile 
The tedious day with sleep. [Sleeps. 

P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain 

And never come mischance between us twain ! [Eiit. 

Ham. Madam, how like you this play 1 

Queen. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. 

Ham. O, but she'll keep her word. 

King. Have you heard the argumentl Is there no 
offence in't ? 

Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest ; no 
offence i'the world. 

King. What do you call the play ? 

i/am. The mouse-trap. Marry, howl Tropically. 
This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna : 
Gonzago is the duke's name ; his wife, Baptista : 
you shall see anon ; 'tis a knavish piece of work : 
But what of that? your majesty, and we that have 
free souls, it touches us not: Let the galled jade 
wince, our withers are unwrung. — 

Enter Lucianus. 

This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. 
Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my lord. 
Ham. I could interpret between you and your love, 
if I could see the puppets dallying. 

Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen. 
Ham. It would cost you a groaning, to take off my 
edge. 

Oph. Still better, and worse. 
Ham. So you mistake your husbands. — Begin, 
murderer ; — leave thy damnable faces, and begin. 

Come ; 

The croaking raven 

Doth bellow for revenge. [agreeing ; 

Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time 
Confederate season, else no creature seeing ; 
Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected, 
With Hecat's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, 
Thy natural magic and dire property, 
On wholesome life usurp immediately. 

[Pours the poison into the sleepers ears. 
Ham. He poisons him i' the garden for his estate. 
His name's Gonzago ; the story is extant, and written 
in very choice Italian: You shall see anon, how the 
murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife. 
Oph. The king rises. 
Ham. What ! frighted with false fire ! 
Queen. How fares my lord ? 
Pol. Give o'er the play. 
King. Give me some light : — away ! 
Pol. Lights, lights, lights ! 

[Eieunt all hut Hamlet and Hf>RATio. 
Ham, Why, lei the strucken deer go weep, 
The hart ungalled play : 
For some must watch, while some must sleep ; 
Thus runs the world away. — 
Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers, (if the 
rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me,) with two 
Provencial roses on my razed shoes, get me a fellow- 
ship in a cry of players, sir? 
Hor. Half a share. 
Ham. A whole one, I. 

For thou dost know, Damon dear, 

This realm dismantled was 
Of Jove himself ; and now reigns here 
A very, very — peacock. 
Hor. You might have rliymed. 
Ham. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word 
for a thousand pound. Did'st perceive I 
Hor. Very well, my lord. 



ACT III.— SCENE III. 



839 



Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning, ■ 

Hor. I did ver) well note him. 

Ham. Ah, ha! — Come, some music; come, the 
recorders. — 

For if the king like not the comedy, 
Why then, belike, — he likes it not, perdy. 

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Come, some music. 

Gtdl. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you. 

Ham. Sir, a whole history. 

Guil. The king, sir, 

Ham. Ay, sir, what of him 1 

Guil. Is, in his retirement, mai"vellous distempered. 

Ham. With drink, sir? 

Guil. No, my lord, with choler. 

Ham. Your wisdom should shew itself more 
richer, to signify this to the doctor ; for, for me to put 
him to his purgation, would, perhaps, plunge him 
into more choler. 

Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some 
fiame, and start not so wildly from my affiiir. 

Ham. 1 am tame, sir : — pronounce. 

Guil. The queen, your mother, in most great afflic- 
tion of spirit, hath sent me to you. 

Ham. You are welcome. 

Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of 
the right breed. If it shall please you to make me 
a wholesome answer, I will do your mother's com- 
mandment : if not, your pardon, and my return, shall 
be the end of my business. 

Ham. Sir, I cannot. 

Guil. What, my lord ? 

Ham. INIake you a wholesome answer ; my wit's 
diseased : But, sir, such answer as I can make, you 
shall command ; or, rather, as you say, my mother : 
therefore, no more, but to the matter ; My mother, 
you say, 

Ros. Then thus she says; Your behaviour hath 
struck her into amazement and admiration. 

Ham. O wonderful son, that can so astonish a mo- 
ther! — But is there no sequel at the heels of this 
mother's admiration ; impart. 

Ros. She desires to speak with you in her closet, 
ere you go to bed. 

Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our mo- 
ther. Have you any further trade with us 1 

Ros. My lord, you once did love me. 

Ham. And do still, by these pickers and stealers. 

Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of distem- 

fierl you do, surely, but bar the door upon your own 
iberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend. 
Ham. Sir, I lack advancement. 
Ros. How can that be, when you have the voice of 
the king himself for your succession in Denmark? 

Ham. Ay, sir, but While the grass grows, — the 
proverb is something musty. 

Enter the Players, with recorders. 

O, the recorders : — let me see one.— To withdraw 
wj'h you : — Why do you go about to recover the 
wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil ? 

Guil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love 
is too unmannerly. 

Ham. 1 do not well understand that. Will you 
play upon this pipe ? 

Guil, My lord, I cannot. 

Ham. I pray you. 

Guil. Believe me, I cannot. 

Ham. I do beseech you. 

Guil. I know no touch of it, my lord. 

Ham. 'Tis as easy as lying : govern these ventages 



with your fingers and thumb, give it breath with your 
mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music. 
Look you, these are the stops. 

Guil. But these cannot 1 command to any utter- 
ance of iiarmony ; I have not the skill. 

Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing 
you make of me. You would play upon me ; you 
would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out 
the heart of my mystery ; you would sound me from 
my lowest note to the top of my compass : and there 
is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ; 
yet cannot you make it speak. S'blood, do you think, 
I am easier to be played on than a pipef Call me 
what instrument you will, though you can fret me,' 
you cannot play upon me. 

Enter Polonius. 

God bless you, sir ! 

Fol. My lord, the queen would speak with you, 
and presently. 

Ham. Do you see yonder cloud, that's almost in 
shape of a camel 1 

Pol. By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed 

Ham. Methinks, it is like a weasel. 

Pol. It is backed like a weasel. 

Ham. Or, like a whale ? 

Pol. Very like a whale. 

Ham. Then will I come to my mother by and by. 
— They fool me to the top of my bent. — I will come 
by and by. 

Pol. I will say so. [Exit Polonius. 

Ham. By and by iseasilysaid. — Leaveme, friends. 
[Eieunt Ros., Guil., Hor., <5fe. 
'Tis now the very wiiching time of night ; 
When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out 
Contagion to this world: Nowcould I drink hot blood, 
And do such business as the bitter day 
Would quake to look on. Soft ; now to my mother. — 
O, heart, lose not thy nature ; let not ever 
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom : 
Let me be cruel, not unnatural : 
I will speak daggers to her, but use none ; 
My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites : 
How in my words soever she be shent. 
To give them seals never, my soul, consent ! \_Exit. 

SCENE III. — A Room in the same. 
Enter King, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. 

King. I like him not ; nor stands it safe with us, 
To let his madness range. Therefore, prepare you 5 
I your commission will forthwith despatch. 
And he to England shall along with you : 
The terms of our estate may not endure 
Hazard so near us, as doth hourly grow 
Out of his lunes. 

Guil. We will ourselves provide : 

Most holy and religious fear it is. 
To keep those many many bodies safe. 
That live, and feed upon your majesty. 

Ros. The single and peculiar life is bound. 
With all the strength and armour of the mind. 
To keep itself from 'noyance ; but much more 
That spirit, upon whose weal depend and rest 
The lives of many. The cease of majesty 
Dies not alone ; but, like a gulf, doth draw 
What 's near it, with it : it is a massy wheel, 
Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount, 
To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things 
Are mortis'd and adjoin'd ; which, when it falls, 
Each small annexment, petty consequence. 
Attends the boist'rous ruin. Never alone 



840 



HAMLET. 



Did the king s?gh, but with a general groau. 

King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage j 
For we will fetters put upon this fear, 
AVliich now goes too free-footed. 

llos. Guil. We will haste us. 

l^Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Enter Polonius. 

Pol. My lord, he 's going to his mother's closet : 
Behind the arras T '11 convey myself, 
To hear the process ; I'll warrant, she'll tax him home. 
And, as you said, and wisely was it said, 
'Tis meet, that some more audience than a mother, 
Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear 
The speech of vantage. Fare you well, my liege : 
I '11 call upon you ere you go to bed, 
And tell you what T know. 

King. Thanks, dear my lord. [Exit Polonius. 
O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven ; 
It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't, 
A brother's murder ! — Pray can 1 not. 
Though inclination be as sharp as will ; 
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent ; 
And, like a man to double business bound, 
I stand in pause where I shall first begin. 
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand 
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood 1 
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens, 
To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy, 
But to confront the visage of offence ? 
And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force, — 
To be forestalled, ere we come to fall. 
Or pardon'd, being down 7 Then 1 '11 look up ; 
My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer 
Can serve my turn ? Forgive me my foul murder ' — 
That cannot be ; since I am still possess'd 
Of those effects for which I did the murder, 
]\Iy crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. 
May one be pardon'd, and retain the ofTenne? 
In the corrupted currents of this world, 
Ofience's gilded hand may shove by justice ; 
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself 
Buys out the law : But 'tis not so above : 
There is no shuffling, there the action lies 
In his true nature ; and we ourselves compell'd, 
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults. 
To give in evidence. What then? what rests? 
Try what repentance can : What can it not] 
Yet what can it, when one can not repent? 
O wretched state ! O bosom, black as death ! 
O limed soul ; that struggling to be free. 
Art more engag'd ! Help, angels, make assay ! 
Bow, stubborn knees ! and, heart, with strings of steel. 
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe ; 
All may be well ! [Retires, and kneels. 

Enter Hamlet. 

Hinn. Now might I do it, pat, now he is praying ; 
Aiid now 1 '11 do "t •,— and so he goes to heaven : 
And so am I reveng'd ? That would be scann'd : 
A villain kills my father ; and, for that, 
I, his sole son, do this same villain send 
To heaven. 

Why, this is hire and salary, not revenge. 
He took my father grossly, full of bread ; 
With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May; 
And, how his audit stands, who knows, save heaven? 
But, in our circumstance and course of thought, 
'Tis iieavy with him : And am I then reveng'd, 
To take h'-n in the purging of his soul. 
When he is fit and season'd for his passage 1 
No. 



Up, sword ; and know thou a more horrid hent j 

When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage ; 

Or in the incestuous pleasures of his bed ; 

At gaming, swearing ; or about some act 

That has no relish of salvation in 't : 

Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven : 

And that his soul may be as damn'd, and black. 

As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays : 

This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. [Eiit. 

The King rises and advances. 

Ki)ig. My wo.i-ds fly up, my thoughts remain below ; 
Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go. \_Eiii- 

SCENE IV. — Another Boom in the same. 

Enter Queen and Polonius. 

Pol. He will come straight. Look, you lay home 
to him : 
Tell him, his pranks have been too broad to bear with ; 
And that your grace hath screen'd and stood between 
Much heat and him. I '11 silence me e'en here. 
Pray you, be round with him. 

Queen. I '11 warrant you ; 

Fear me not : — withdraw, I hear him coining. 

[Polonius hides himself. 

Enter Hamlet. 

Hum. Now, mother; what 's the matter ? 

Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy fathermuch offended. 

Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended. 

QweeH. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. 

Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. 

Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet ? 

Ham. What 's the matter now 1 

Queen. Have you forgot me ? 

Ham. No, by the rood, not so : 

You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife ; 
And, — 'would it were not so! — you are my mother. 

Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak. 

Ham. Come, come, and sit you down ; you shall 
not budge ; 
You go not, till 1 set you up a glass 
Where you may see the inmost part of you. 

Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder 
Help, help, ho! [me? 

Pol. [Behind.;\ What, ho ! help ! 

Ham. How now! a rat? [Dcaus. 

Dead, for a ducat, dead. 

[Hamlet makes a pass through the arras. 

Pol. [Behind.'] O, I am slain. [Falls, and dies. 

Queen. O me. what hast thou done ? 

Ham. Nay, I know not : 

Is it the king? 

[Lifts up the arras, and draws forth Polonius. 

Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this ' 

Hutn. A bloody deed ; — almost as bad, good mother, 
As kill a king, and marry with his brother. 

Queen. As kill a king ! 

Ham. Ay, lady, 'twas my word. — 

Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell ! 

[To Polonius. 
I took thee for thy better ; take thy fortune : 
Thou find'st, to be too busy, is some danger. — 
Leave wringing of your hands : Peace, sit you down. 
And let me wring your heart : for so I shall. 
If it be made of penetrable stuff; 
If damned custom ha^^e not braz'd it so. 
That it be proof and bulwark against sense. 

Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'st wag thy 
In noise so rude against me ? [tongue 

Ham. Such an act. 

That blurs the giace and blush of modesty ; 



^■:V:l|iiliiiiiiil..'::!^^^ ! 



\i i! ^i .mmw&mmm^ 







HAMLET. 



Hamlkt Do not look upon me 

Lest, with this piteous action, you convert 
My stern eflfecta 

4rl III. .<!r„r i. 



ACT III.— SCENE IV. 



841 



Calls virtue, hypocrite ; takes off the rose 

From the fair forehead of an innocent love, 

And sets a blister there ; makes marriage vows 

As false as dicers' oaths : O, such a deed 

As from the body of coutraction plucks 

The very soul ; and sweet religion makes 

A rhapsody of words : Heaven's face doth glow ; 

Yea, this solidity and compound mass. 

With tristful visage, as against the doom, 

Is thought-sick at the act. 

Queen. Ah me, what act. 

That roars so loud, and thunders in the index 1 

Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on tliis ; 
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
See, what a grace was seated on this brow : 
Hyperion's curls ; the front of Jove himself; 
An eye like JMars, to threaten and command ; 
A station like the herald Mercury, 
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 
A combination, and a form, indeed. 
Where every god did seem to set his seal. 
To give the world assurance of a man : 
This was your husband. — Look you now, what follows: 
Here is your husband ; like a mildew'd ear, 
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes 1 
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed. 
And batten on this moor 1 Ha ! have you eyes ? 
You cannot call it love : for, at your age, 
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, 
And waits upon the judgment ; And what judgment 
Would step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have. 
Else, could you not have motion : But sure, that sense 
Is apoplex'd : for madness would not err ; 
Nor sense to ectasy was ne'er so thrall'd, 
But it reserv'd some quantity of choice. 
To serve in such a difference. What devil was 't, 
That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodnian-blind? 
Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight. 
Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all, 
Or but a sickly part of one true sense 
Could not so mope. 

O shame ! where is thy blush 1 Rebellious hell, 
If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones. 
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax. 
And melt in her own fire : proclaim no shame. 
When the compulsive ardour gives the charge ; 
Since frost itself as actively doth burn. 
And reason panders will. 

Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more 

Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul ; 
And there I see such black and grained spots. 
As will not leave their tinct. 

Ham. Nay, but to live 

In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed ; 
Stew'd in corruption ; honeying, and making love 
Over the nasty stye ; 

Queen. 0, speak to me no more ; 

These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears ; 
No more, sweet Hamlet. 

Ham. A murderer, and a villain : 

A slave, that is not twentieth part the tytlie 
Of your precedent lord : — a vice of kings : 
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule ; 
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole. 
And put it in his pocket ! 

Queen. No more. 



Enter Ghost. 



A king 



Ham. 
Of shreds and patches : — , 

Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, [figure ? 
You heavenly guards ! — Wiiat would your gracious 



Queen. Alas ! he 's mad. 

Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, 
That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by 
The important acting of your dread command 1 
O, say. 

Ghost. Do not forget: This visitation 
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
But, look ! amazement on thy mother sits : 
O, step between her and her fighting soul ; 
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works : 
Speak to her, Hamlet. 

Ham. How is it with you, lady? 

Queen. Alas, how is 't with you ] 
That you do bend your eye on vacancy, 
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse 1 
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep ; 
And as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, 
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements. 
Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle-son. 
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look? 

Ham. On him ! on him ! — Look you, how pale he 
glares ! 
His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones. 
Would make them capable. — Do not look upon me; 
Lest, with this piteous action, you convert 
My stern effects : then what I have to do 
Will want true colour ; tears, perchance, for blood. 

Queen. To whom do you speak this 1 

Ham. Do you see nothing there 1 

Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all, that is, I see. 

Ham. Nor did you nothing hear? 

Queeri. No, nothing, but ourselves. 

HaOT. Why, look you there! look, how it steals away! 
My father, in his habit as he liv'd ! 
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal ! 

[E.IU Gliost. 

Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain : 
This bodiless creation ecstasy 
Is very cunning in. 

Ham. Ecstasy ! 
INIy pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time. 
And makes as healthful music : It is not madness, 
That I have utter'd : bring me to the test. 
And I the matter will re-word ; which madness 
Would gambol from. IMother, for love of grace. 
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul. 
That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks : 
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place ; 
Whiles rank corruption, mining all within. 
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ; 
Repent what's past = avoid what is to come ; 
And do not spread the compost on the weeds. 
To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue* 
For in the fatness of these pursy times. 
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg ; 
Yea, curb and woo, for leave to do him good. 

Queen. O Hamlet! thou hastcleftmy heart in twain. 

Ham. O throw away the worser part of it, 
And live the purer with the other half. 
Good night : but go not to my uncle's bed ; 
Assume a virtue, if you have it not. 
That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat 
Of habit's devil, is angel yet in this ; 
That to the use of actions fair and good 
He likewise gives a frock, or livery. 
That aptly is put on : Refrain to-night : 
And that shall lend a kind of easiness 
To the next abstinence : the next more easy : 
For use almost can change the stamp of nature. 
And either curb the devil, or throw him out 
With wondrous potency. Once more, good night; 



842 



HAMLET. 



And when you are desirous to be bless'd, 
I'll blessing beg of you. — For this same lord, 

[Pointing to Polonius. 
I do repent : B it heaven hath pleas'd it so, — 
To punish me with this, and this vvnh me, 
That 1 must be their scourge and minister. 
I will bestow him, and vviil answer well 
The death I gave iiim. So, again, good night ! 
I must be cruel, only to be kind : 
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. — 
But one word more, good lady. 

Queen. What shall I do 1 

Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do : 
Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed ; 
Pinch wanton on your cheek ; call you, his mouse} 
And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses. 
Or padling in your neck with his damn'd fingers, 
Make you to ravel all this matter out, 
That I essentially am not in madness, 
But mad in craft. 'Twere good, you let him know: 
For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise. 
Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib. 
Such dear concernings hide 1 who would do sol 
No, in despite of sense, and secrecy, 
Unpeg the basket on the house's top. 
Let the birds fly ; and, like the famous ape, 
To try conclusions, in the basket creep. 
And break your own neck down. 

Queen. Be thouassur'd, if words be made of breath. 
And breath of life, I have no life to breathe 
What thou hast said to me. 

Ham. 1 must to England ; you know that 1 

Queen. Alack, 

I had forgot ; 'tis so concluded on. 

Ham. 'j'here's letters seal'd : and ray two school- 
fellows, — 
Whom I will trust, as I will adders fang'd, — 
They bear the mandate ; they must sweep my way, 
And marshal me to knavery : Let it work ; 
For 'tis the sport, to have the engineer 
Hoist with his own petar : and it shall go hard. 
But I will delve one yard below their mines. 
And blow them at the moon : O, 'tis most sweet. 
When in one line two crafts directly meet. — 
This man shall set me packing. 
I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room : — 
Mother, good night — Indeed, this counsellor 
Is now most still, most secret, and most grave. 
Who was in life a foolish prating knave. 
Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you : 
Good night, mother. 

{Eieunt severally ; Hamlet dragging in Polonius. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— The same. 
Enter King, Queev, Rosencrantz, and 

GUILUENSTF.RN. 

King. There's matter in these sighs ; these pro- 
found heaves ; 
You must translate : 'tis fit we understand them : 
Where is your son 1 

Queen. Bestow this place on us a little while. — 
[T() Rosencrantz &• Gvildenstern, who go out. 
Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night! 

King. What, Gertrude ? How does Hamlet 1 

Queen. JMad as the sea, and wind, when both con- 
Which is the mightier : In his lawless fit, [tend 
Behind the arras hearing something stir. 



AVhips out his rapier, cries, A rat ! a rat ! 
And, in this brainish apprehension, kills 
The unseen good old man. 

King. O heavy deed ! 

It had been so with us, had we been there : 
His liberty is full of threats to all ; 
To you yourself, to us, to every one. 
Alas ! how shall this bloody deed be answer'd? 
It will be laid to us, whose providence 
Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt, 
This mad young man : but, so much was our love, 
We would not understand what was most fit ; 
But, like the owner of a foul disease. 
To keep it from divulging, let it feed 
Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone? 

Queen. To draw apart the body he hath kill'd : 
O'er whom his very madness, like some ore. 
Among a mineral of metals base, 
Shews itself pure ; he weeps for what is done. 

King. O, Gertrude, come away ! 
The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch, 
But we will ship him hence : and this vile deed 
We must, with all our majesty and skill. 
Both countenance and excuse. — Ho! Guildenstern! 

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Friends both, go join you with some further aid : 
Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain, 
.A.nd from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd him - 
Go, seek him out ; speak fair, and bring the body 
Into the chapel. I pray you, haste in this. 

[Exeunt Ros. and Gi'iu 
Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends ; 
And let them know, both what we mean to do. 
And what's untimely done : so, haply, slander, — 
Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter. 
As level as the cannon to his blank. 
Transports his poison'd shot, — may miss our name. 
And hit the woundless air. — O come away ! 
jMy soul is full of discord and dismay. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Hamlet. 

Ham. Safely stowed, — [Rosen. &;c. within. 

Hamlet! lord Hamlet!] But soft, — what noise? 
who calls on Hamlet ! 6, here they come. 

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Ros. What have you done, my lord, with the dead 
body? 

Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis Kin. 

Ros. Tell us where 'tis ; that we may take it thence. 
And bear it to the chapel. 

Ham. Do not believe it. 

Ros. Believe what? 

Ham. That I can keep your counsel, and not mine 
own. Besides, to be demanded of a sponge !— what 
replication should be made by the sou of a king ? 

Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord ? 

Ham. Ay, sir ; that soaks up the king's counte- 
nance, his rewards, his authorities. But such otfi- 
cers do the king best service in the end : He keeps 
them, like an ape, in the corner of his jaw ; first 
mouthed, to be last swallowed : When he needs 
what you have gleaned, it is but squeezing you. and, 
sponge, you shall be dry again. 

Ros. I understand you not, my lord. 

Ham. I am glad of it : A knavish speech sleeps 
in a foolish ear. < 

Ros. My lord, you must tell us where the body is, 
and go with us to the king. 



ACT IV.— SCENE IV. 



843 



Ham. The body is with the king, but the king is 

not with the body. The king is a thing 

Guil. A thing, my lord? tt- , r 

Ham. Of nothing : bring me to him. Hide fox, 
and all after. [Eieunt. 

SCENE 111.— Another Room in the same. 
Enter King, attended- 
King. I have sent to seek him, and to find the body. 
How dangerous is it, that this man goes loose 1 
Yet must not we put the strong law on him : 
He's lov'd of the distracted multitude, 
Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes ; 
And where 'tis so, the offender's scourge is weigh'd, 
But never the offence. To bear all smooth and even, 
This sudden sending him away must seem 
Deliberate pause : Diseases, desperate grown, 
By desperate appliance are reliev'd, 
Enter Rosencrantz. 

Or not at all. — How now 1 what hath befallen 1 

Ros. Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord. 
We cannot get from him. 
King. But where is he 1 

Ros. Without, my lord , guarded, to know your 
King. Bring him before us. [pleasure. 

Ros. Ho, Guildenstern ! bring in my lord. 
Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern. 
King. Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius 1 
Ham. At supper. 
A'»ig. At supper ! Where? 

Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten : 
a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at 
him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet : we 
fat all creatures else, to fat us ; and we fat ourselves 
for maggots : Your fat king, and your lean beggar, 
is but variable service ; two dishes, but to one table ; 
that's the end. 
King. Alas, alas ! 

Ha7n. A man may fish with the worm that hath 
eat of a king ; and eat of the fish that hath fed of 
that worm. 

King. What dost thou mean by this 1 
Ham. Nothing, but to shew you how a king may 
go a progress through the guts of a beggar. 
King. Where is Polonius"! 

Ham. In heaven ; send thither to see : if your 
messenger find him not there, seek him i'the other 
place yourself. But, indeed, if you find him not 
within this month, you shall nose him as you go up 
the stairs into the lobby. 
King. Go seek him there. [To some Attendants. 
Ham. He will stay till you come. 

[Exeunt Attendants. 
King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety, — 
Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve 
For that which thou hast done,— must send thee hence 
With fiery quickness : Therefore, prepare thyself ; 
The bark is ready, and the wind at lielp. 
The associates tend, and every thing is bent 
For England. 

Ham. For England 1 

King. Ay, Hamlet. 

Ham. Good. 

King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes. 
Ham. I see a cherub, that sees them. — But, come ; 
for England !— Farewell, dear mother. 
King. Thy loving father, Hamlet. 
Ham. My mother : Father and mother is man and 
wife ; man and wife is one flesh ; and so, my mother. 
Come, for England. [Eiit. 



King. Follow him at foot ; tempt him with speed 
Delay it not, I'll have him hence to-night: [aboard ; 
Away ; for every thing is seal'd and done 
That else leans on the affair : Pray you, make haste. 

\ Exeunt Ros. and GuiL. 
And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught, 
(As my great power thereof may give thee sense ; 
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red 
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe 
Pays homage to us,) thou may'st not coldly set 
Our sovereign process ; which imports at full. 
By letters conjuring to that effect. 
The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England ; 
For like the hectic in my blood he rages. 
And thou must cure me : Till I know 'tis done, 
Howe'er my haps, my joys will ne'er begin. [Exit. 

SCENE IV. — A plain in Denmark. 
Enter Foutinbras, and Forces marching. 

For. Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king; 
Tell him, that, by his licence, Fortinbras 
Craves the conveyance of a promis'd march 
Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous. 
If that his majesty would aught with us, 
We shall express our duty in his eye, 
And let him know so. 

Cap. I will do't, my lord. 

For. Go softly on. [Exeunt Fortinbras &; Forces. 

Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, 3fC. 
Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these 1 

Cap. They are of Norway, sir. 
Ham. How purpos'd, sir, 

I pray you "? 

Cap. Against some part of Poland. 

Ham. Who 

Commands them, sirl 

Cap. The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras. 
Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir. 
Or for some frontier ] 

Cap. Truly to speak, sir, and with no addition. 
We go to gain a little patch of ground. 
That hath in it no profit but the name. 
To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it ; 
Nor will it yield to Norway, or the Pole, 
A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee. 

Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it. 
Cap. Yes, 'tis already garrison'd. 
Ham. Two thousand souls, and twenty thousand 
Will not debate the question of this straw : [ducats, 
This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace ; 
That inward breaks, and shews no cause witliout 
Why the man dies.— I humbly thank you, sir. 
Cop. God be wi'you, sir. [Exit Captain. 

Riis. Will 't please you go, my lord ? 

Ham. I will be with you straight. Go a little be- 
fore. [Exeirnt Ros. and GuiL. 
How all occasions do inform against me. 
And spur my dull revenge 1 What is a man. 
If his chief good, and market of his time. 
Be but to sleep and feed ! a beast, no more. 
Sure, he, that made us with such large discourse. 
Looking before, and after, gave us not 
That capability and godlike reason 
To fust in us unus'd. Now, whether it be 
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple 
Of thinking too precisely on the event, — 
A thought,which,quarter'd,hath but one part wisdom, 

And, ever, three parts coward,— I do not know 

Why vet I live to say. This thing's to do; . 

Sith r have cause, and will, and strength, and means. 



844 



HAMLET 



To do 't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me ; 

Witness, this army of such mass, and charge 

I^ed by a delicate and tender prince ; 

Whose spirit, with divine ambition pufTd, 

Makes mouths at the invisible event ; 

Exposing what is mortal, and unsure, 

To all that fortune, death, and danger, dare 

Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great, 

Is, not to stir without great argument ; 

But greatly to find quarrel in a straw, 

When honour's at the stake. How standi then, 

That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd, 

Excitements of mv reason, and my blood. 

And let all sleep 1 while, to my shame, I see 

The imminent death of twenty thousand men, 

1 hat, for a fantasy, and trick of fame, 

Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot 

W'hereon the numbers cannot try the cause, 

Which is not tomb enough, and continent. 

To hide the slain? — U, from this time forth. 

My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth ! [Ei/t. 

SCENE v. — Elsinore. A Room ui the Castle. 
Enter Queen and Horatio. 

Queen. I will not speak with her. 

Hor. She is importunate ; indeed, distract ; 
Her mood will needs be pitied. 

Queen. What would she have? 

7/or. She speaks much of her father; says, she hears. 
There's tricks i' the world ; and hems, and beats her 

heart ; 
Spurns enviously at straws ; speaks things in doubt, 
That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing, 
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move 
The hearers to collection ; they aim at it. 
And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts ; 
Which, as her winks and nods, and gestures yield 

them. 
Indeed would make one think, there might be thought. 
Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. 

Queen. 'Twere good she were spoken with ; for she 
may strew 
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds : 
Let her come in. [Exit Horatio. 

To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, 
Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss : 
So full of artless jealousy is guilt, 
It spills itself, in fearing to be spilt. 

Re-e7iter Horatio, with Ophelia. 

Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark 1 
Queen. How now, Ophelia? 

Oph. How should I your true love know 
From another one ? 
By his cockle hat ayid staff. 

And his sandal shoon ? iSinging. 

Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song ? 
Opii. Say you ? nay, pray you, mark. 

He is dead and gone, lady, [Si7igs. 

He is dead and gone ; 
At his head a grass-green turf. 
At his heels a stone. 
O, ho! 

Queen. Nay, but Ophelia, 

Oph. Pray you, mark. 

White his shroud as the mountain snow, [Sings. 

Enter King. 
Queen. Alas, look here, my lord. 



Oph. Larded all with sweet fiowers ; 

Which bewept to the grave did go. 
With true-love showers. 

King, How do you, pretty lady ? 

Oph. Well, God 'ield you ! They say, the owl was 
a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but, 
know not what we may be. God be at your table ! 

King. Conceit upon her father. 

Oph. Pray, let us have no words of this ; but when 
they ask you what it means, say you this : 

Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's day, 

All in the morning betime. 
And I a maid at your window. 

To be your Valentine : 

Then up he rose, and don'd his clothes. 

And dupp'd the chat J)eT door ; 
Let in the maid, that out a maid 
Never departed more. 
King. Pretty Ophelia! 
Oph. Indeed.withoutanoath, I'll make an end on't: 

By Gis, and hy Saint Charity, 

Alack, and f ye for shame! 
Young men will do't, if they come to't ; 

By cock, they are to blame. 

Quoth she, before you tumbled me. 
You promis'd me to wed : 

[He answers.] 

So would I ha' done, by yonder su7i. 
An thou hadst not come to my bed. 
Kitig. How long hath she been thus 1 
Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be pa- 
tient : but I cannot choose but weep, to think, they 
should lay him i'the cold ground: My brother shall 
know of it, and so 1 thank you for your good counsel. 
Come, my coach! Good night, ladies ; good night, 
sweet ladies ; good night, good night. [Exii. 

King. Follow her close ; give her good watch, I 
pray you. [£iit Horatio. 

O ! this is the poison of deep grief; it springs 
All from her father's death : And now behold, 

Gertrude, Gertrude, 

When sorrows come, they come not single spies. 
But in battalions ! First, her father slain ; 
Next, your son gone ; and he most violent author 

01 his own just remove : The people muddied, 
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whis- 
pers, [ly. 

For good Polonius' death; and we have done but green- 
In hugger-mugger to inter him : Poor Ophelia, 
Divided from herself, and her fair judgment ; 
Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts. 
Last, and as much containing as all these. 
Her brother is in secret come from France : 
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds. 
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear 
With pestilent speeches of his father's death ; 
Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd. 
Will nothing stick our person to arraign 
In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this, 
Like to a murdering piece, in many places 
Gives me superfluous death. [A noise within. 

Queen. Alack ! what noise is this ? 

Enter a Gentleman. 

King. Attend : 
Where are my Switzers ? Let them guard the dooi • 
What is the matter ? 

Uent. Save yourself, my lord ; 

The ocean, overpeering of his list, 



ACT IV.— SCENE VI. 



845 



Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste. 

Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, 

O'erbears your officers ; The rabble call him, lord ; 

And as the world were now but to begin, 

Antiquity forgot, custom not known, 

The ratifiers and props of every word. 

They cry. Choose we ; Laertes shall be king ! 

Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds, 

Laertes shall he king, Laertes king ! 

Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry ! 
O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs. 

King. The doors are broke. l_Noise within. 

Enter Laektes, armed ; Dunes following. 

Laer. Where is this king 1 — Sirs, stand you all with- 

Dan. No, let's come in. [out. 

Laer. I pray you, give me leave. 

Dan, We will, we will . [ Thei/retirewithont the door. 

Laer. I thank you : — keep the door. — O thou vile 
Give me my father. [king, 

Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. [bastard ; 

Laer. Thatdropof blood, that's calm, proclaims me 
Cries, cuckold, to my father; brands the harlot 
Kven here, between the chaste unsmirched brow 
Of my true mother. 

King. What is- the cause, Laertes, 
That thy rebellion looks so giant-like 1 — 
Let him go, Gertrude ; do not fear our person; 
There's such divinity doth hedge a king. 
That treason can but peep to what it would, 
Acts little of his will. — Tell me, Laertes, 
Why thou art thus incens'd; — Let him go, Gertrude; — 
Speak, man. 

Laer. Where is my father? 

King, Dead. 

Queen. But not by him. 

King. Let him demand his fill. 

Laer. How came he dead"! I'll not be juggled with : 
To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil.' 
Conscience, and grace, to the profoundest pit! 
1 dare damnation : — To this point I stand, — ■ 
That both the worlds I give to negligence. 
Let come what comes ; only I'll be reveng'd 
Most throughly for my father. 

King. Who shall stay you 1 

Laer. My will, not all the world's : 
And, for my means, I'll husband them so well, 
They shall go far with little. 

King. Good Laertes, 

If you desire to know the certainty 
Of your dear father's death, is 't writ in your revenge. 
That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and foe. 
Winner and loser? 

Laer. None but his enemies. 

King. Will you know them then 1 

Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my 
And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican, [arms ; 
Repast them with my blood. 

King. Why, now you speak 

Like a good child, and a true gentleman. 
That I am guiltless of your father's death, 
And am most sensibly in grief for it. 
It shall as level to your judgment 'pear. 
As day does to your eye. 

Danes. [Within.'\ Let her come in. 

Laer. How now ! what noise is that ? 

Enter Ovh-el,ia fantastically dressed with straws 
and Jiowers. 

heat, dry up my brains ! tears, seven times salt, 

Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye ! — 

By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with weight. 



Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May ! 
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! — 

heavens I is't possible, a young maid's wits 
Should be as mortal as an old man's life 1 
Nature is fine in love : and, where 'tis fine, 

It sends some precious instance of itself 
After the thing it loves. 

Oph. They bore him barefac'd on the bier ; 
Hetf no nonnif, nojuii^ heif nonny : 
And in his grave rain'd many a tear } — 
Fare you well, my dove! 

Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade re 
It could not move thus. [venge, 

Oph. You must sing, Down a-down, an you call 
him a-down-a, O, how the wheel becomes it ! It is 
the false steward, that stole his master's daughter. 

Laer. This nothing's more than matter. 

Opii. 'i'here's rosemary, that's for remembrance ; 
pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's 
for thoui^hts. 

Laer. A document in madness ; thoughts and re- 
membrance fitted. 

Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines: — 
there's rue for you ; and here's some for me : — we 
may call it, herb of grace o'Sundays : — you may wear 
your rue with a difference. — There's a daisy: — I 
would give you some violets; but tliey withered all, 
when my father died: — They say, he made a good 

end, 

For bonny sweet Robin is all mif joy, — [Si'?i^». 

Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself. 
She turns to favour, and to prettiness. 

Oph. And will he not come again ? [^Sings, 

And will he not come again? 

No, no, he is dead, 

Go to thy death-bed. 
He never will come agaiii. 

His beard was as white as snow. 
All flaxen was his poll : 

He is gone, he is gone. 

And we cast away moan; 
God 'a mercy on his soul ! 

And of all christian souls ! I pray God. God be wi' 
you! [Eait Ophelia. 

Laer, Do you see this, O God? 

Ki7ig. Laertes, I must commune with your grief, 
Or you deny me right. Go but apart, 
]Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will, 
And they siiall hear and judge 'twixt you and me: 
If by direct or by collateral hand 
They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give. 
Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours. 
To you in satisfaction ; but, if not, 
Be you content to lend your patience to us. 
And we shall jointly labour with your soul 
To give it due content. 

Laer. Let this be so ; 

His means of death, his obscure funeral, — 
No trophy, sword, nor hatchment, o'er his bones, 
No noble rite, nor formal ostentation, — 
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth. 
That I must call't in question. 

King. So you shall ; 

And, where the offence is, let the great axe fall. 

1 pray you, go with me. \_Exeunt 

SCENE VI. — Another Room in the same 
Enter Horatio, and a Servant. 
Hor. What are they that would speak with me ? 



Serv. 



Sailors, f.'ii; 



11 



846 



HAMLET. 



They say, they have letters for you, 

Hor. Let them come in. — [Eiic Servant. 

I do not know from what part of the world 
I should be greeted, if not from lord Hamlet. 

Enter Sailors. 

1 Sail. God bless you, sir. 

Her. Let him bless thee too. 

1 Sail. He shall, sir, an't please him. There's a 
letter for you, sir ; it comes from the ambassador that 
was bound for England ; if your name be Horatio, 
as I am let to know it is. 

Ho?'. \_Reads.'\ Ploratio, u-hen thou shalt have over- 
looked this, give these Jelloics stime means to the king ; 
they have letters for him. Ere ire were two days old at 
sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us chace: 
Finding ourselves too slow of sail, ive put on a com- 
pelled valour ; and in the grapple I boarded them : on 
the instant, they got clear of our ship ; so I alone be- 
came their prisoner. They have dealt with me, like 
thieves of mercy ; but they knew xuhat theii did ; I am 
to do a good turn for them. Let the king have the let- 
ters I have sent ; and repair thou to me with as much 
haste as thuu wouUVst fly death. I have words to speak 
in thine ear, will make thee dumb ; yet are they much 
too light for the bore of the matter. Tliese good fellows 
will bring thee where I am. Rosencrantz and Guil- 
denstern hold their course fur England; of them I 
have much to tell thee. Farewell. 

He that thou knouest thine, Hamlet. 
Come, I will give you way for these your letters ; 
And do't the speedier, that you may direct me 
To him from whom you brought them. [Eieitnt. 

SCENE VIL — Another Room in the same. 
Enter King and Laertes, 

King. Now must your conscience my acquittance 
And you must put me in your heart for friend ; [seal, 
Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear. 
That he, which hath your noble father slain, 
Pursu'd my life, 

Laer. It well appears : — But tell me, 

Why you proceeded not against these feats, 
So crimeful and so capital in nature. 
As by your safety, greatness, wisdom, all things else. 
You mainly were stirr'd up. 

King. O, for two special reasons ; 

Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd. 
But yet to me they are strong. 'J'he queen, his mother, 
Lives almost by his looks ; and, for myself, 
(My virtue, or my plague, be it either which,) 
She is so conjunctive to my life and soul, 
That, as the star moves not but in his sphere 
I could not but by her. The other motive. 
Why to a public count I might not go. 
Is the great love the general gender bear him . 
Who, dipping all his faults in their affection. 
Work like the spring that turneth wood to stone, 
Convert his gyves to graces ; so that my arrows, 
Too slightly timbered for so loud a wind, 
Would have reverted to my bow again, 
And not where I had aim'd them. 

Laer. And so have I a noble father lost ; 
A sister driven into desperate terms ; 
Whose worth, if praises may go back again. 
Stood challenger on mount of all the age 
For her perfections: — But my revenge will come. 

King. Break not your sleeps for that : you must not 
That we are made of stuff so flat and dull, [think. 
That we can let our beard be shook with danger. 
And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more : 
I loved your father, and we love ourself j 



And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine, — 
How now^ what news] 

Enter a Messenger, 

Mess. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet . 

This to your majesty ; this to the queen. 

King. From Hamlet 1 Who brought them 1 

Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say: I saw them not; 
They were given me by Claudio, he receiv'd them 
Of him that brought them. 

King. Laertes, you shall hear them : — i 

Leave us. [Exit Messenger, 

[Reads.] High and mighty, you shall know, I am 
set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow shall I heg 
leave to see your kingly eyes: when I shall, first asking 
your pardon thereunto, recount the occasion of mtj sud- 
den and more strange return. Hamlet, 
\V hat should this mean ? Are all the rest come back ? 
Or is it some abuse, and no such thing 1 

Laer. Know you the hand? 

King. 'Tis Hamlet's character. Naked, — 

And, in a postscript here, he says, alone : 
Can you advise me? 

Laer. I am lost in it, my lord. But let him come ; 
It warms the very sickness in my heart, 
That I shall live and tell him to his teeth. 
Thus diddest thou. 

King. If it be so, Laertes, 

As how should it be so 1 how otherwise 1 — 
Will you be rul'd by me? 

Laer. Ay, my lord ; 

So you will not o'er-rule me to a peace. 

King. To thine own peace. If he be now return'd, — 
As checking at his voyage, and that he means 
No more to undertake it, — I will work him 
To an exploit, now ripe in my device, 
Under the which he shall not choose but fall ; 
And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe ; 
But even his motiier shall uncharge the practice, 
And call it, accident. 

Laer. My lord, I will be rul'd . 

The rather, if you could devise it so, 
That I might be the organ. 

King. It falls riglit. 

You have been talk'd of since your travel much, 
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality 
Wherein, they say, you shine : your sura of parts 
Did not together pluck such envy from him. 
As did that one ; and that, in my regard. 
Of the unworthiest siege. 

Laer. What part is that, my lord? 

King. A very ribband in the cap of youth, 
Yet needful too ; for youth no less becomes 
The light and careless livery that it wears. 
Than settled age his sables, and his weeds, 
Importing health andgraveness. — Two months since, 
Here was a gentleman of Normandy, — 
I have seen myself, and serv'd against, the French, 
And they can well on horseback : but this gallant 
Had witchcraft in't ; he grew unto his seat ; 
And to such wond'rous doing brought his horse. 
As he had been incorps'd and demi-natur'd 
With the brave beast : so far he topp'd my thought, 
That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks, 
Come short of what he did. 

Laer. A Norman, was't ? 

King. A Norman. 

Laer. Upon my life, Laraord, 

King. The very same. 

Laer. I know him well : he is the brooch, indeed. 
And gem of all the nation. 

King. He made confession of you ; 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



847 



And gave you such a masterly report, 

For art ana exercise in your defence, 

And for your rapier most especial, 

That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed. 

If one could match you : the scrimers of their nation, 

He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye, 

]f you oppos'd them: Sir, this report of his 

Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy, 

That he could nothing do, but wish and beg 

Vour sudden coming o'er, to play with you. 

Now, out of this, 

I.aer. What, out of this, my lord? 

King. Laertes, was your father dear to you 1 
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, 
A face without a heart 1 

Laer, Why ask you this ? 

King. Not that I think, you did not love your fa- 
But that 1 know, love is begun by time ; [ther; 

And that I see, in passages of proof, 
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. 
There lives within the very flame of love 
A kind of wick, or snufl^, that will abate it ; 
And nothins: is at a like goodness still ; 
For goodness, growing to a plurisy, 
Dies in his own too-much : That we would do, 
Weshoulddowhen we would; for this loou/ti changes. 
And hath abatements and delays as many. 
As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents ; 
And then this should is like a spendthrift sigh. 
That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o'the ulcer : 
Hamlet comes back : what would you undertake. 
To shew yourself indeed your father's son 
More than in words ? 

Laei. To cut his throat i'the church. 

King. No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize; 
Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes, 
Will you do this, keep close within your chamber : 
Hamlet, return'd, shall know you are come home : 
We'll put on those shall praise your excellence, 
And set a double varnish on the fame 
The Frenchman gave you ; bring you, in fine, toge- 
And wager o'er your heads : he, being remiss, [ther. 
Most generous, and free from all contriving, 
Will not peruse the foils ; so that with ease, 
Or with a little shutfling, you may choose 
A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice, 
Requite him for your father. 

Laer. I will do't : 

And, for the purpose, I'll anoint my sword. 
I bought an unction of a mountebank. 
So mortal, that but dip a knife in it. 
Where it draws blood, no cataplasm so rare. 
Collected from all simples that have virtue 
Under the moon, can save the thing from death, 
That is but scratch'd withal : I'll touch my point 
With this contagion ; that, if I gall him slightly, 
It may be death. 

King. Let's further think of this ; 

Weigh, what convenience, both of time and means, 
May fit us to our shape : if this should fail. 
And that our drift look through our bad performance, 
'Twere better not assay 'd ; therefore this project 
Should have a back, or second, that might hold. 
If tliis should blast in proof. Soft ; — let me see : — 
We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings, — 
I ha't. 

When in your motion you are hot and dry, 
(As make your bouts more violent to that end,) 
And that lie calls for drink, I'll have preferr'd him 
A chalice for the nonce ; whereon but sipping. 
If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck, 
Oui purpose may hold there. But stay, what noise 1 



Enter Quf.en. 

How now, sweet queen : 

Queen, One woe doth tread upon another's heel, 
So fast they follow : — Your sister's drown'd, Laertes. 

Laer. Drown'd ! O, where? 

Queen. There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook, 
That shews his hoar leaves in the glassy stream ; 
Therewith fantastic garlands did she make 
Of crow-fiowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples. 
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, 
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them-, 
There on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds 
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke ; 
When down her weedy trophies, and herself. 
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; 
And, mermaid like, a while they bore her up: 
Which time, she chanted snatches of old tunes ; 
As one incapable of her own distress. 
Or like a creature native and indu'd 
Unto that element : but long it could not be, 
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, 
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay 
To muddy death. 

Laer. Alas then, she is drown'd ? 

Queen. Drown'd, drown'd. 

Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, 
And therefore 1 forbid my tears : But yet 
It is our trick ; nature her custom, holds. 
Let shame say what it will : when these are gone, 
The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord ! 
I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, 
But that this folly drowns it. [Exit. 

King. Let's follow, Gertrude ; 

How much I had to do to calm his rage ! 
Now fear I, this will give it start again ; 
Therefore, let's follow. [^Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I.— A Church-Yard. 

Enter Two Clowns, with spades, <Sf«. 

1 Clfl. Is she to be buried in christian burial, that 
wilfully seeks her own salvation 1 

2 CA/. I tell thee, she is ; therefore make her grave 
straight: the crowner hath set on her, and finds it 
christian burial. 

1 Cto. How can that be, unless she drowned her- 
self in her own defence 1 

2 Clo Why, 'tis found so. 

1 Cln. It must be se offendendo ; it cannot be else. 
For here lies the point : If I drown myself wittingly, 
it argues an act : and an act hath three branches ; it 
is, to act, to do, and to perform : Argal, she drowaed 
herself wittingly. 

2 Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver. 

1 Cl'.i. Give me leave. Here lies the water ; good : 
heie stands the man ; good : If the man go to this 
water, and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he 
goes ; mark you that : but if the water come to him, 
and drown him, he drowns not himself: Argal, he, 
that is not guilty of his own death, shortens not his 
own life. 

t Clo. But is this law? 

\ Clo. Ay, marry is't ; crowner's-quest law. 

2 Clo. Will you ha' the truth on't ? If this had not 
been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried 
out of christian burial. 



848 



HAMLET. 



1 Clo, Why, there thou say'st : And the more ptty ; 
that great folks shall have countenance in this world 
to drown or hang themselves, more than their even 
christian. Come, my spade. There is no arcient 
gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and gravemakers ; 
they hold up Adam's profession. 

2 Clo, Was he a gentleman 1 

1 Clo, He was the first tliat ever bore arms. 

2 Clo. Why, he had none. 

1 Clo. What, art a heathen 1 How dost thou un- 
derstand the scripture? The scripture says, Adam 
digged; Could he dig without arms 1 I'll i)ut another 
question to thee : if thou answerest me not to the 
purpose, confess thyself 

2 Clo. Go to. 

1 Clo. What is he, that builds stronger ttian either 
the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter 1 

2 Clo, The gallows-maker ; for that frame outlives 
a thousand tenants. — 

1 Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith ; the gal- 
lows does well : But how does it well ] it does well 
to those that do ill : now thou dost ill, to say, the 
gallows is built stronger than the church ; argal, the 
gallows may do well to thee. To't again ; come. 

2 Clo. Who builds stronger than a mason, a ship- 
wright, or a carpenter ? 

1 Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. 

2 Clo. Marry, now I can tell. 

1 Clo. To't. 

2 Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. 

Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance. 

1 Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it ; for 
your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating : 
and, when you are asked this question next, say, a 
grave-maker ; the houses that he makes, last till 
doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan, and fetch me 
a stoup of liquor. [Exit 2 Clown. 

1 Clown digs, and sings. 

In youth, when Idid love, did love, 

Methought, it was very sweet, 
To contract, 0, the time, for, ah, my behove 

0, methought, there ^oas nothing meet. 

Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business 1 
he sings at grave-making. 

Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property of 
easiness. 

Ham. 'Tis e'en so : the hand of little employment 
hath the daintier sense. 

1 Clo. But age, with his stealing steps. 
Hath claw'd me inhis clutch, 
And hath shipped me into the land. 
As if I had never been such. 

[Throws up a scull. 

Ham. That scull had a tongue in it, and could sing 
once : How the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it 
were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder ! This 
might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now 
o'er reaches ; one that would circumvent God, might 
it not ? 

Hor. It might, my lord. 

Ham. Or of a courtier ; which could say. Good- 
morrow, sueet lord ! How dost thnu, good lord ? This 
might be my lord Such-aone, that praised my lord 
Such-a-one's horse, when he meant to beg it; might 
it not? 

Hor. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. Why, e'en so : and now my lady Worm's ; 
chapless, and knocked about the mazzard with a sex- 
ton's spade : Here's fine revolution, an we had the 



trick to see't. Did these bones cost no more the 
breeding, but to play at loggats with them 1 mine 
aciie to think on't. 

1 Clo. A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade, [Hings, 



For 



-and a shrouding sheet : 



0, a pit of clay for to be made 
For such a guest is meet. 

[_Thro2US up a scull. 

Ham. There's another : Why may not that be the 
scull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits now, his 
quillits, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks ? why 
does he suffer this rudo knave now to knock him about 
the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him 
of his action of battery ? Humph I This fellow might 
be in's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, 
his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his 
recoveries : Is this the fine of his fines, and the re- 
covery of his recoveries, to have his fine pate full of 
fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch him no more of 
his purchases, and double ones too, than the length 
and breadth of a pair of indentures? The very convey- 
ances of his lands will hardly lie in this box ; and 
must the inheritor himself have no more? ha? 

Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. 

Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins ? 

Hor. Aye, my lord, and of calves-skins too. 

Ham. They are sheep, and calves, which seek out 
assurance in that. I will speak to this fellow : — 
Whose grave's this, sirrah? 

1 Clo. Rline, sir. — 

0, a pit of clay for to be made [Slngi 

For such a guest is meet. 

Ham. I think it be thine, indeed ; for thou liest in't. 

1 Clo. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore it is not 
yours : for my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine. 

Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't, and say it is 
thine : 'tis for the dead, not for the quick ; therefore 
thou liest. 

1 Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir ; 'twill away again 
from me to you. 

Ham. What man dost thou dig it for 1 

1 Clo. For no man, sir. 

Ham. What woman then ? 

1 Clo. For none neither. 

Ham. Who is to be buried in't ? 

1 Clo. One that was a woman, sir ; but, rest her 
soul, she's dead. 

Ham. How absolute the knave is ! we must speak 
by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the 
lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken note of 
it ; theage is grown so picked, that the toe of the pea- 
sant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls 
his kibe. — How long hast thou been a grave maker? 

1 Clo. Of all the days i'the year, I came to't that 
day that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras. 

Ham. How long's that since ? 

1 Clo. Cannot you tell that? eveiy fool can tell 
that : It was tiiat very day that young Hamlet was 
born : he that is mad, and sent into England. 

Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into England! 

1 Clo. Why, because he was mad : he shall re- 
cover his wits there ; or, if he do not, 'tis no great 
matter there. 

Ham. Why? 

1 Clo. 'Twill not be seen in him there; there the 
men are as mad as he. 

Ham. How came he mad ? 

1 Clo. 'Very strangely, they say. 

Ham. How strangely? 

1 Clo. 'Faith, e'en with losing his wits. 

Ham. Upon what ground ? 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



849 



1 do. Why, here in Denmark ; I have been sex- 
ton here, man, and boy, thirty years. 

Ham. How long will a man he i'tlie earth ere he rot'? 

1 Clo. 'Faith, if he be not rotten before he die, (as 
we have many pocky corses now-a-days, that will 
Bcatce hold the laying in,) he will last you some eight 
year, or nine year ; a tanner will last you nine year. 

Ham. ^^'hy he more than another'! 

1 Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his 
trade, that he will keep out water a great while ; and 
your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead 
body. Here's a scull now hath lain you i' the earth 
three-and-twenty years. 

Ham. Whose was it? 

1 Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was; Whose 
do you think it was 1 

Ham. Nay, I know not. 

1 Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! he 
poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This 
same scull, sir, was Yorick's scull, the king's jester. 

Ham. This? [Takes the scull. 

1 Clo. E'en that. 

Ham. Alas, poor Yorick! — I knew him, Horatio ; 
a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy : he 
hath borne me on his back a thousand times ; and 
now how abhorred in my imagination it is ! my gorge 
rises at it. Here hung those lips that 1 have kissed 
I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now ? your 
gambols? your songs? yotir flashes of merriment, 
that were wont to set the table on a roar ? Not one 
now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? 
Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let 
her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; 
make her laugh at that. — Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me 
one thing. 

Hor. What's that, my lord? 

Ham. Dost thou think, Alexander looked o' this 
fashion i' the earth ? 

Hor, E'en so. 

Ham. And smelt so? pah! [Throws down the sctdl. 

Hor. E'en so, my lord. 

Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio ! 
W^hy may not imagination trace the noble dust of 
Alexander, till he find it stopping a bung-hole? 

//or. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so. 

Ham. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thi- 
ther with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it : 
As thus; Alexander died, Alexander was buried, 
Alexander returned to dust ; the dust is earth ; of 
earth we make loam : And why of that loam, whereto 
he was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel ? 

Imperious Cssar, dead, and turn'd to clay, 

Might stop a hole to keep the wind away : 

O, that the earth, which kept the world in awe, 

Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw ! 
But soft ! but soft ! aside ; — Here comes the king. 

Enter Priests, S^c. in procession ; the corpse of 
Ophelia, Laertes o?!^ Mourners following: King, 
Queen, their Trains, &;c. 

Tlie queen, the courtiers : Who is this they follow ? 
And with such maimed rites ! This doth betoken. 
The corse, they follow, did with desperate hand 
Foredo its own life. 'Twas of some estate : 
Couch we a while, and mark. [Retiring withHonATio. 

Laer. What ceremony else ? 

Ham. That is Laertes, 

A veiy noble youth : Mark. 

Laer. What ceremony else? 

1 Priest. Her obsequies have been so far enlarg'd 
As we have warranty : Her death was doubtful ; 
And, but that great command o'ersways the order, 



The should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd 
Till the last trumpet ; for charitable prayers, 
Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her, 
Yet here she is allowed her virgin crants, 
He maiden strewments, and the bringing home 
Of bell and burial. 

Laer. JMust there no more be done 1 

1 Priest. No more be done ! 

We should profane the service of the dead, 
To sing a requiem, and such rest to her, 
As to peace-parted souls. 

Laer. Lay her i' the earth ; — 

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh 
May violets spring! — I tell thee, churlish priest, 
A minist'ring angel shall my sister be. 
When thou liest howling. 

Ham. What, the fair Ophelia! 

Queen. Sweets to the sweet : Farewell : 

[Scattering floicers. 
I hop'd, thou should'st have been my Hamlet's wife ; 
1 thought, thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, 
And not have strew'd thy grave. 

Laer. O, treble woe 

Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, 
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense 
Depjiv'd thee of! — Hold off the earth a while. 
Till 1 have caught her once more in mine arms : 

[Leaps into the grave. 
Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead; 
Till of this flat a mountain you have made. 
To o'er-top old Pelion, or the skyish head 
Of blue Olympus. 

Ham. [Advancing.'] What is he, whose grief 
Bears such an emphasis ? whose phrase of sorrow 
Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand 
Like wonder-wounded hearers? this is I, 
Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps into the grave. 

Laer. The devil take thy soul ! 

[Grappling with him,. 

Ham, Thou pray'st not well. 
I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat ; 
For, though I am not splenetive and rash, 
Yet have I in me something dangerous, 
Which let thy wisdom fear : Hold off thy hand. 

Ki)ig. Pluck them asunder. 

Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet ! 

All. Gentlemen, 

Hor, Good my lord, be quiet. 

[The Attendants part them, and they cunie 
out of the grave. 

Ham. Why, I will fight with hun upon this theme, 
Until my eyelids will no longer wag. 

Queen. O my son ! what theme ? 

Ham. I lov'd Ophelia ; forty thousand brothers 
Could not, with all their quantity of love, 
JMake up my sum. — What wilt thou do for her ? 

King. O, he is mad, Laertes. 

Queen. For love of God, forbear him. 

Ham. Zounds, shew me what thou 'It do : 
Woul't weep ? wouTt fight ? woul't fast ? woul't tear 
Woul't drink up Esil ? eat a crocodile ? [thyself? 
I'll do't. — Dost thou come here to whine? 
To outface me with leaping in her grave? 
Be buried. quick with her, and so will I : 
And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw 
]\lillions of acres on us ; till our ground 
Singeing his pate against the burnmg zone, 
JMake Ossa like a wart ! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, 
I'll rant as well as thou. 

Queen. This is mere madness 

And thus a while the fit will work on him ; 
Anon, as patient as the female dove, 
3 H 



850 



HAMLET. 



When that her golden couplets are disclos'd, 
His silence will sit drooping. 

Ham. Hear you, sir ; 

What is the reason, that you use me thus 1 
I lov'd you ever: But it is no matter ; 
Let Hercules himself do what he may. 
The cat will mew, and dog will have his day. [Exit. 

King. I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him. — 

[K.iit Horatio. 
Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech; 

[To L.\ERTES. 

We'll put the matter to the present push. — 

Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. — 

This grave shall have a living monument : 

An hour of quiet shortly shall we see ; 

Till then, in patience our proceeding be. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE 11.—^ Hall in the Castle. 
Enter Hami.et and Horatio. 

Ham. So much for this, sir : now shall you see the 
You do remember all the circumstance 1 [other ; — 

Hoy. Remember it, my lord ! 

Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting. 
That would not let me sleep : methought, I lay 
Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. Rashly, 
And prais'd be rashness for it, — Let us know. 
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well. 
When our deep plots do pall ; and that should teach 
There's a divinity that shapes our ends, [us, 

Rough-hew thein how we will. 

Hot: That is most certain. 

Ham. Up from my cabin, 
My sea-gown scarf d about me, in the dark 
(irop'd I to find out them: had my desire ; 
!■ inger'd their packet ; and, in fine, withdrew 
To mine own room again : making so bold. 
My fears forgetting manners, to unseal 
Their grand commission ; where I found, Horatio, 
A royal knavery ; an exact command, — 
Larded with many several sorts of reasons. 
Importing Denmark's health, and England's too. 
With, ho ! such bugs and goblins in my life, — 
That, on the supervise, no leisure bated. 
No, not to stay the grinding of the axe. 
My head should be struck off. 

Hor. Is't possible ? 

7/«m. Here's the commission ; read it at more leisure. 
But wilt thou hear now how 1 did proceed 1 

Hor. Ay, 'beseech you. 

Ham. Being thus benetted round with villainies, 
Or I could make a prologue to my brains. 
They had begun the play ; — 1 sat me down ; 
Devis'd a new commission ; wrote it fair : 
1 once did hold it, as our statists do, 
A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much 
How to forget that learning ; but, sir, now 
It did me yeoman's service : Wilt thou know 
The efliect of what I wrote 1 

Hor. Ay, good my lord. 

Ham. An earnest conjuration from the king, — 
As England was his faithful tributary ; 
As love between them like the palm might flourish ; 
As peace should still her wheaten garland wear, 
And stand a comma 'tween their amities ; 
And many such like as's of great charge, — 
That on the view and knowing of these contents. 
Without debatement further, more, or less. 
He should the bearers put to sudden death. 
Not shriving-time allow'd. 

Har. How was this seal'dl 

Ham. Why, even in that was heaven ordinant ; 



I had my father's signet m my purse, 
Which was the model of that Danish seal : 
Folded the writ up in form of the other ; 
Subscrib'dit; gave't the impression ; plac'd it safely. 
The changeling never known ; Now, the next day 
Was our sea-fight : and what to this was sequent 
Thou know'st already. 

Hor. So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't. 

Ham. Why, man, they did make love to this employ- 
They are not near my conscience ; their defeat [ment ; 
Does by their own insinuation grow : 
'Tis dangerous, when the baser nature comes 
Between the pass and fell incensed points 
Of mighty opposites. 

Hor. Why, what a king is this ! 

Ham. Does it not, think thee, stand me now upon? 
He that hath kill'd my king, and whor'd my mother ; 
Popp'd in between the election and my hopes ; 
Thrown out his angle for my proper life. 
And with such cozenage ; is't not perfect conscience, 
To quit him with this armi and is't not to be damn'd, 
To let this canker of our nature come 
In further evil ? 

Hor. 1 1 must be shortly known to him from England, 
What is the issue of the business there. 

Ham. It will be short : the interim is mine ; 
And a man's life's no more than to say, one. 
But I am very sorry, good Horatio, 
That to Laertes I forgot myself ; 
For by the image of my cause, I see 
The portraiture of his : I'll court his favours : 
But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me 
Into a towering passion. 

Hor. Peace ; who comes here 1 

Enter Osnic. 

Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back to Den- 
mark. 

Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. — Dost know this 
water-fly 1 

Hor. No, my good lord. 

Ham. Thy state is the more gracious ; for 'tis a 
vice to know him : He hath much land, and fertile : 
let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand 
at the king's mess : 'Tis a chough ; but, as I say. 
spacious in the possession of dirt. 

Osr. Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, 
I should impart a thing to you from his majesty. 

Ham. I will receive it, sir, with all diligence of 
spirit : Your bonnet to his right use ; 'tis for the head. 

Osr. I thank your lordship, 'tis very hot. 

Ham. No, believe me, 'tis very cold ; the wind 
is northerly. 

Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. 

Hum. But yet, methinks, it is very sultry and hot ; 
or my complexion 

Osr. Exceedingly, my lord ; it is very sultry, — as 
'twere, — I cannot tell how. — INIy lord, his majesty 
bade me signify to you, that he has laid a great wager 
on your head : Sir, this is the matter, — 

Ham. I beseech you, remember 

[Hamlet moves him to put on his hat. 

Osr. Nay, good my lord ; for my ease, in good 
faith. Sir, here is newly come to court, Laertes : be- 
lieve me, an absolute gentleman, full of most excel- 
lent differences, of very soft society, and grant show- 
ing ; Indeed, to speak feelingly of him, he is the card 
or calendar of gentry, for you shall find in him the 
continent of what part a gentleman would see. 

Ham. Sir, his definement sufTers no perdition in 
you ; — though, I know, to divide him inventorially, 
would dizzy the arithmetic of memory ; and yet but 



ACT v.— SCENE H. 



851 



raw neither, in respect of his quick sail. But, in the 
verity of extolment, I take him to be a soul of great 
article ; and his infusion of such dearth and rareness, 
as, to make true diction of him, his semblable is his 
mirrour ; and, who else would trace him, his umbrage, 
nothing more. 

Osr. Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him. 

Ham. The concernancy, sir I why do we wrap the 
gentleman in our more rawer breath \ 

Osr. Sir? 

Hor. Is't not possible to understand in another 
tongue ■? You will do't, sir, really. 

Ham. What imp«rts the nomination of this gentle- 

Osr. Of Laertes? [mani 

Hor. His purse is empty already ; all his golden 
words are spent. 

Ha7n, Of him, sir. 

Osr. I know, you are not ignorant 

Ham. I would, you did, sir ; yet, in faith, if you 
did, it would not much approve me ; — Well, sir. 

Osr. You are not ignorant of what excellence 
Laertes is 

Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should com- 
pare with him in excellence ; but, to know a man 
well, were to know himself. 

Osr. I mean, sir, for his weapon ; but in the im- 
putation laid oa him by them, in his meed he's ua- 
fcllowed. 

Ham^ What's his weapon 1 

Osr. Rapier and dagger. 

Ham. That's two of his weapons : but, well. 

Osr. The king, sir, hath wagered with him six 
Barbary horses : against the which he has impawned, 
as I take it, six French rapiers and poniards, with 
their assigns, as girdle, hangers, and so : Three of 
the carriages, in faith, are very dear to fancy, very 
responsive to the hilts, most delicate carriages, and 
of very liberal conceit. 

Ham. What call you the carriages t 

Hor. I knew, you must be edified by the margent, 
ere you had fione. 

Osr. The carriages, sir, are the hangers. 

Ham. The phrase would be more german to the 
matter, if we could carry a cannon by our sides ; I 
would, it might be hangers till then. But, on : Six 
Barbary horses against six French swords, their as- 
signs, and three liberal conceited carriages ; that's 
the French bet against the Danish : Why is this im- 
pawned, as you call it ? 

Osr. The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen passes 
between yourself and him, he shall not exceed you 
three hits ; he hath laid, on twelve for nine ; and it 
would come to immediate trial, if your lordship would 
vouchsafe the answer. 

Ham. How, if I answer, nol 

Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your per- 
son in trial. 

Ham. Sir, I will walk here in the hall ; If it please 
his majesty, it is the breathing time of day with me : 
let the foils be brought, the gentleman willing, and 
the king hold his purpose, I will win for him, if I 
can ; if not, I will gain nothing but my shame, and 
the odd hits. , 

Osr. Shall I deliver you so 1 

Ham. To this effect, sir ; after what flourish your 
nature will. 

Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship. [Exit. 

Ham. Yours, yours. —He does well to commend it 
himself; there are no tongues else for's turn. 

Hor. This lapwing runs away with the shell on his 
head. 

Ha^. He did comply with his dug, before he sucked 



it. Thus has he (and many more of the same breed, 
that, I know, the drossy age dotes on,) only got the 
tune of the time, and outward habit of encounter, a 
kind of yesty collection, which carries them through 
and through tiie most fond and winnowed opinions ; 
and do but blow them to their trial, the bubbles are 
out. 

Enter a Lord. 

Lard. My lord, his majesty commended him to you 
by young Osric, who brings back to him, that you 
attend him in the hall ; He sends to know, if your 
pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or that you will 
take longer time. 

Ham. I am constant to my purposes, they follow 
the king's pleasure : if his fitness speaks, mine is ready ; 
now, or whensoever, provided I be so able as now. 

Lord. The king, and queen, and all are coming down. 

Ham. In happy time. 

Lord. The queen desires you, to use some gentle 
entertainment to Laertes, before you fall to play. 

Ham. She well instructs me. [Exit Lord. 

Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord. 

Ham. I do not think so ; since he went into France, 
I have been in continual practice ; I shall win at the 
odds. But thou would'st not think, how ill all's here 
about my heart ; but it is no matter. 

Hor. Nay, good my lord, 

Ham. It is but foolery ; but it is such a kind of 
gain-giving, as would, perhaps, trouble a woman. 

Hor. Ifyour mind dislike any thing, obey it: I will 
forestal their repair hither, and say, you are not fit. 

Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury ; there is a 
special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be 
now, 'tis not to come ; if it be not to come, it will 
be now ; if it be not now, yet it will come : the readi- 
ness is all : Since no man, of aught he leaves, knows, 
what is't to leave betimes 1 Let be. 

Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Osnic, and 
Attendants with foils, &jc. 

King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from 

me. [The King puts the hand o/" Laertes 

into that of Hamlet. 

Ham. Give me your pardon, sir : I have done you 
But pardon it, as you are a gentleman. [wrong; 
This presence knows, and you must needs have heard. 
How I am punish'd with a sore distraction. 
What I have done, 

That might your nature, honour, and exception, 
Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. 
Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes "? Never, Hamlet . 
If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away. 
And, when he's not himself, does wrong Laertes, 
Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. 
Who does it then 1 His madness : If't be so, 
Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd ; 
His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. 
Sir, in this audience, 
Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil 
Free me so far in your most generous thoughts, 
That I have shot my arrow o'er the house. 
And hurt my brother. 

Laer. I am satisfied in nature, 

Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most 
To my revenge : but in my terms of hor )ur, 
I stand aloof; and will no reconcilemeit. 
Till by some elder masters, of known honour, 
I have a voice and precedent of peace, 
To keep my name ungor'd: But till that time, 
I do receive your offer'd love like love. 
And will not wrong it. 

Ham. T embrace it freely ; 

3H2 



852 



HAMLET. 



And ■vrill this brother's wager frankly play. — 
Give us the foils ; come on. 

Laer, Come, one for me. 

Ham. I'll be your foil, Laertes ; in mine ignorance 
Your skill shall, like a star i' the darkest night, 
Stick fiery off indeed. 

Laer. You mock me, sir. 

Ham. No, by this hand. 

King. Give them the foils, young Osric. — Cousin 
You know tlie wager ] [Hamlet, 

Ham. Very well, my lord ; 

Your grace hath laid the odds o'the weaker side. 

King. I do not fear it : 1 have seen you both : — 
But since he's better'd, we have therefore odds. 

Laer. This is too heavy, let me see another. 

Ham, This likes me well : These foils have all a 
length ? [They prepare to plan. 

Osr. Ay, my good lord. 

King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that table ; — 
If Hamlet give the first or second hit. 
Or quit in answer of the third exchange, 
Let all the battlements their ordnance fire ; 
The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath ; 
And in the cup an union sliall he throw, 
Richer than that which four successive kings 
]n Denmark's crown have worn ; Give me the cups ; 
And let the kettle to tlie trumpet speak, 
The trumpet to the cannoneer without, 
The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth, 
Now the king drinks to Hamlet. — Come, begin ; — 
And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. 

Ham. Come on, sir, 

Laer. Come, my lord. [TTfei/ play. 

Ham. One. 

Laer. No 

Ham. Judgment. 

Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit. 

Laer. Well,— again. 

King. Stay, give me drink : Hamlet, this pearl is 

Here's to thy health. — Give him the cup. [thine ; 

[T7-umpets sound ; and cannon shot off within. 

Ham. I'll play this bout first, set it by awhile. 
Come. — Another liit ; What say you ? [They play. 

Laer. A touch, a touch, I do confess. 

King. Our son shall win. 

Queen. He's fat, and scant of breath. — 

Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows : 
The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. 

Ha7n. Good madam, 

Kiiig. Gertrude, do not drink. 

Queen. I will, my lord ; — I pray you, pardon me. 

Kfng. It is the poison'd cup ; it is too late. [Aside. 

Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam ; by and by. 

Queen. Come, let me wipe thy face. 

Laer. My lord, I'll hit him now. 

King. I do not think it. 

Laer. And yet it is almost against my conscience. 

[Aside. 

Ham. Come, for the third, Laertes : You do but 
I pray you, pass with your best violence ; [dally ; 
I am afeard, you make a wanton of me. 

Laer. Say you so 1 come on. [They play. 

Osr. Nothing neither way. 

Laer. 1 lave at you now. 

[Laeri es wounds Hamlet ; then, in sculJiing, theti 
chatge rapiers, and HAiMi.Ex wounds Laertes. 

King. Part them, they are incens'd. 

Ham. Nay, come again. [The Queen /a/Zs. 

Osr, Look to the queen there, ho! 

Hor. They bleed on both sides: — I low is it, my lord? 

Osr. How is't, Laertes ? 

Laer Why, as a woodcock to my own springe, Osric; 



I am justly kiil'd with mine own treachery. 

Ham. How does the queen t 

King. She swoons to see them bleed. 

Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink, — O my dear 
Hamlet ! — 
The drink, the drink ; — I am poison'd ! [Dies. 

Ham. O villany ! — Ho I let the door be lock'd : 
Treachery ! seek it out. [Laertes /ii/is. 

Laer. It is here, Hamlet : Hamlet, thou art slaiin; 
No medicine in the world can do thee good. 
In thee there is not half an hour's life ; 
The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, 
Unbated, and envenom'd : the foul practice 
Hath turn'd itself on me ; lo, here 1 lie, 
Never to rise again : Thy mother's poison'd ; 
I can no more ; the king, the king's to blame. 

Ham. The point 
Envenom'd too ! — Then, venom, to thy work. 

[Stubs the Kino. 

Osr. 8; Lords. Treason ! treason ! 

King, O, yet defend me, friends, I am but hurt. 

Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murd'rous, damned 
Drink off tliis potion : — Is the union herel [Dane, 
Follow my mother. [King diei. 

Laer. He is justly sei-y'd ; 

It is a poison temper'd by himself. — 
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet: 
Mine and my father's death come not upon thee ; 
Nor thine on me ! [Di«.s. 

Ham. Heaven make thee free of it ! I follow thee. 
I am dead, Horatio: — Wretched queen, adieu ! — 
You that look pale and tremble at this chance. 
That are but mutes or audience to this act. 
Had I but time, (as this fell sergeant, death. 
Is strict in his arrest,) O, I could tell you, — 
But let it be : — Horatio, I am dead ; 
Thou liv'st ; report me and my cause aright 
To the unsatisfied. 

Hor. Never believe it ; 

I am more an antique Roman than a Dane, 
Here 's yet some liquor left. 

Ham, As thou 'rt a man, — 

Give me the cup; let go ; by heaven I'll have it.- 

God ! — Horatio, what a wounded name. 
Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind mt i 
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, 

Absent thee from felicity awhile. 
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain. 
To tell my story. — [March afar off, and shot within. 
What warlike noise is this? 

Osr, Young Fortinbras, with conquest comes from 
To the ambassadors of England gives [Poland, 

This warlike volley. 

Hum. O, I die, Horatio ; 

The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit; 

1 cannot live to hear the news from England : 
But I do prophesy, the election lights 

On Fortinbras ; he has my dying voice ; 
So tell him with the occurrents, more or less, 
Which have -Jolicited, — The rest is silence. [Dies, 
Hor, Now cracks a noble heart;— Good night, 
sweet prince ; 
And flights of angtis sing thee to thy rest ! 
Why does the drun come hither .' [March witliiti. 

Enter Fortinbras, tlie English Ambassadors, 
and others. 

Fort. Where is tuis sight 1 

Hor. What is it, you would see ? 

If aught of woe, or vender, cease your search. 

Fort. This quarry ones on havoc '— O proud death ! 
What feast is toward in thine eternal cell. 



ACT v.— SCENE 11. 



853 



Tiiat ihow so TYiany princes, at a shot, 
So bloodily hast struck ? 

1 Amb, The sight is dismal; 

And our affairs from England come too late : 
The ears are senseless, that should give us iiearing, 
T« tell him, his comiuandment is fulfill'd, 
1 hat Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead : 
Where should we have cur thanks 1 

Hor. Not from his mouth, 

Had it the ability of life to thank you ; 
He never gave commandment for their death. 
But since, so jump upon this bloody question, 
You from the Polack wars, and you from P^ngland, 
Are here arriv'd ; give order, that these bodies 
High on a stage, be placed to th« view ; 
And let me speak, to the yet unknowing world, 
How these things came about : So shall you hear 
Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts ; 
Of accideiatal judgments casual slaughters ; 
Of deaths put on by cunning, and forc'd cause ; 
And, in tfeis upshot, purposes mistook 
Fall'n on the inventors' heads : all this can I 



Trufy deliver. 

Fort. Let us haste to hear il^ 

And call the noblest to the audience. 
For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune ; 
I have some rights of memory in this kingdom. 
Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me. 

Hor. Of that I shall have also cause to speak, 
And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more . 
But let this same be presently perform'd. 
Even while men's minds are wild ; lest more mis- 
On plots, and errors, happen. [chance, 

Fort. Let four captains 

Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage ; 
For he was likely, had he been put on. 
To have prov'd most royally : and, for his passage. 
The soldier's music, and the rites of vrar, 
Speak loudly for him. — 
Take up the bodies: — Such a sight as this 
Becomes the field, but here shews much amiss. 
Go, bid the soldiers shoot. [A dead March. 

[^Exeunt, bearing off the dead bodies ; after which 
a peal of ordnance is shot off. 



\'F tSie dramas of SUakspeara ■^'ore to he characterised, each 
by the [lanicular excellence which distinguishes it from the 
rest, we must allow to the tragedy of I liiDiieC the praise of va- 
rietj'. Ihe incidents are so numerous, that the argument of 
the play would nuik« a long tale. Ihe scenes are interchange- 
ably diversified with merriment an<J soieasoity : with merriment 
that includes judicious ajid instructive observations; and so- 
ieainity not strained by poetical violence above the natural sen- 
timents of Bsac, New characters ai)ptar from time to time in 
continual succession, exhibiting various forms of life, and iiar- 
ticular modes of conversation. Ihe pretended madness of 
Hamlet Ciusesntuch mirth, tie nsoamfuj distraction of Ophelia 
fills the heart with tenderness, and every personage produces 
the effect intended, from the a]>paritiou that inthe first act chills 
the biood with horror, to the fop in the last, that exposes affec- 
tation to jmst contempt. 

The conduct is perhaps not -wholly secure against objections. 
The action is indeed fortherrtost part in oantiniial progression, 
but there are some scenes which neither forward nor retard it. 
Of the feigned madness of Hamlet tiiere ai)i>vars no adequate 
caase, for ise dses aotfeiiig which he might not have done with 



the reputation of sanity. lie plays the madman most^ when he 
treats Ophelia with so much rudeness, which seems to be useless 
and wanton cruelty. 

Hamlet is, through the whole piece, rather an instrument 
than an agent. After he has, by the stratagem of the play, 
convicted the kiKR, he niaies no attemptto punish him ; and his 
death is at last effected by an incident which Haailet had no 
part in producing. 

The catastrophe is not very happily produced ; the exchange 
of weapons is rather an exuedient of necessity, than a stroke of 
art. A scheme might easily lie formed to kill ilaailet with the 
dagger, and Laertes with the bowl. 

1 he poet is accused of having shewn little regard to poetical 
justice, and may be charged with equal neglect of poetical pro- 
bability. The apparition left the regions of the dead to little 
purpose; the revenge which he demands is not obtained, butiiy 
the death of him that was required to take it: and the gratifi- 
cation, which would arise from the destmction of an usurper 
and a murderer, is abated by iheuntimely death of Ophelia, tfca 
young, the beautiful, the harmless, and the pious. — Johnson. 



OTHELLO. 



Thss tragedy, which M alone supposes to have been written so 
early as 1604, was first entered at Stationers' Uall, Oct. 6, 
1621, and printed the year following. _ , . , . . , 

The story is taken from the seventh tale, in the third decad,of 
CuKikie'e Nox^le : a work, of whii-h it is uot believed that any 
linglish translation existed in Shakspeare'stime ; and with the 
contents of which he must have become acquamtevl by his 
knowledge either of the Italian or the French language 

•* The time of this play," says Read, " may be ascertained from 
the following circumstances : Selymuslhe Second lormed his 
desipi against Cvurus in 1569, and took it in 1571. this was 
the only attempt tae Turks ever made upon that island alter 



it came into the hands of the Venetians, (which was in th« 
year 1473,)wherefore the time must fall in with some part of 
that inters-al. We learn from the play that there was a junc- 
tion of the Turkish fleet at Rhodes, in order for the invasion 
of Cyprus, that it first came sailing towards Cyprus, then 
went to Rhodes, there met another squadron, and then re- 
sumed its way to Cyprus. These are real historical facts 
which happened whenMustapha, Selymus's general, attacked 
Cyprus in M.iy, 1570, which therefore is the true period of 
this performance. See KnoUes's History of Ihe Turks, p. 8.f8. 
840. 867." 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Dvke of Venice. 

Brabantio, a Senator. 

Two other Senators. 

Gratiaso, brother to Brabantio. 

LoDovico, kirisman to Brabantio. 

Othillo, the Moor : 

Cassio, 'tis lieutenant ; 

Iago, hie ancient. 

RoDERiGO, a Venetian Gentleman. 

MoNTANO, Othello's predecessor in the government 

"f Cyprus. 
Clown, servant to Othello. Herald. 

Desdemona, daughter to Brabantio, and wife 

to Othello. 
Emu.ia, wife to Iago. 
BiAKCA, a cxmrtezan, mistress to CasBio. 



Officers, Gentlemen, Messengers, Musicians, 

Sailors, Attendants, (Sfc. 

SCENE,— ;/f)r the First Act, in Vi-.sice ; during tfie 

rest of the Plav, at a Sea-Port in Cvprus. 



ACT I. 

SCENE L— Venice. A Street. 
Fjnter RoDi-niGO and Iago. 

Rod. Tush, never teli me, T take it much unkindly. 
That thou, Iago, — who hast had my purse. 
As if the strings were thine,— should'st know of this. 

logo. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me : — 
If ever I did dream of such a matter, 
.Abhor me. 

J{(i(/.Thoutold'st me, thou didst hold him in thy hate. 

/rt'T". Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the 
In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, [city. 



854 



OTHELLO. 



Off-capp'd to him : — and, by the faith of man, 

I know my price, I am worth no worse a place : 

But he, as loving his own pride and purposes. 

Evades them, with a bombast circumstance, 

Horribly stuff 'd with epithets of war ; 

And, in conclusion, nonsuits 

My mediators ; J'or, certes, says he, 

/ have alreadii chose my officer. 

And what was he ? 

Forsooth, a great arithmetician, 

One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, 

A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife ; 

That never set a squadron in the field. 

Nor the division of a battle knows 

More than a spinster ; unless the bookish theoric. 

Wherein the toged consuls can propose 

As masterly as he : mere prattle, without practice. 

Is all his soldiership. But, he, sir, had the election; 

And I, — of whom his eyes had seen the proof 

At Rhodes, at Cyprus ; and on other grounds 

Christian and heathen, — must be be-lee'd and calm'd 

By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster ; 

He, in good time, must his lieutenant be. 

And I , ( God bless the mark ! ) his Moor-ship's ancient. 

Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been his hang- 
man. 

Jago. But there 's no remedy, 'tis the curse of ser- 
Preferment goes by letter, and affection, [vice ; 

Not by the old gradation, where each second 
Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself. 
Whether I in any just term am affin'd 
To love the Moor. 

Rod. I would not follovr him then. 

■fago. O, sir, content you ; 
I follow him to serve my turn upon him : 
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters 
Cannot be truly follow d. You shall mark 
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave. 
That, doting on his own obsequious bondage. 
Wears out his time, much like his master's ass. 
For nought but provender; and, when he's old, 

cashier'd ; 
W^hip me such honest knaves : Others there are. 
Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duly. 
Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves : 
And, throwing but shows of service on their lords. 
Do well thrive by them, and, when they have lin'd 

their coats. 
Do themselves homage: th«se fellows have some soul ; 
And such a one do 1 profess myself. 
For, sir. 

It is as sure as you are Roderigo, 
Were I the Moor, I would not be lago : 
In following him, I follow but myself; 
Heaven is my judge, not 1 for love and duty. 
But seeming so, for my peculiar end : 
For when my outward action doth demonstrate 
The native act and figure of my heart 
In compliment extern, 'tis not long after 
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve 
For daws to peck at : I am not what 1 am. 

Rod. What a full fortune does the thick- lips owe, 
If he can carry 't thus ! 

I"g'^- Call up her father, 

Rouse him : make after him, poison his delight, 
Proclaim him in the streets ; incense her kinsmen. 
And, though he in a fertile climate dwell. 
Plague him with flies : though that his joy be joy. 
Yet throw such changes of vexation on't. 
As it may lose some' colour. 

Rod. Here is her father's house ; I'll call aloud. 

lago. Do: with like timorous accent, and dire yell, 



As when, by night and negligence, the fire 
Is spied in populous cities. 

Rod, What, ho ! Brabantio ! signior Brabantio, ho ! 

lego. Awake! what, ho! Brabantio! thieves! 
thieves ! thieves ! 
Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags ! 
Thieves ! thieves ! 

Brabantio, above, at a wijidow. 

Bra. What is the reason of this terrible summons 1 
What is the matter there ? 

Rod. Signior, is all your family within 1 

lago. Are your doors lock'd? 

Bra. Why? wherefore ask you this? 

lago. 'Zounds, sir, you are robb'dj for shame, put 
on your gown ; 
Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul ; 
Even now, very now, an old black ram 
Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise ; 
Awake the snorting citizens with the bell. 
Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you : 
Arise, I say. 

Bra. What, have you lost your wits ? 

Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my voice? 

Bra. Not I ; what are you 1 

Rod. My name is — Roderigo. 

Bra. The worse welcome : 

I have charg'd thee, not to haunt about my doors : 
In honest plainness thou hast heard me say, 
My daughter is not for thee ; and now, in madness. 
Being full of supper, and distempering draughts. 
Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come 
To start my quiet. 

Rod. Sir, sir, sir, sir, 

Bra. But thou must needs be sure, 

My spirit, and my place, have in them power 
To make this bitter to thee. 

Rod. Patience, good sir. 

Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing"! this is ^''e- 
My house is not a grange. [nice ; 

Rod. Most grave Brabantio, 

In simple, and pure soul I come to you. 

lago. 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those, that will 
not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we 
come to do you service, you think we are ruffians : 
You'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary 
horse : you'll have your nephews neigh to you : 
you'll have coursers for cousins, and gennets for 
germans. 

Bra. What profane wretch art thou 1 

logo. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you, your 
daughter and the Moor are now making the beast 
with two backs. 

Bra. Thou art a villain. 

lago. You are — a senator. [derigo. 

Bra. This thou shalt answer; I know thee, llo- 

Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But I beseech you, 
If't be your pleasure, and most wise consent, 
(As partly, 1 find, it is,) that your fair daughter, 
At this odd-even and dull watch o'the night. 
Transported — with no worse nor better guard. 
But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier. 
To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor,— 
If this be known to you, and your allowance. 
We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs ; 
But, if you know not this, my manners tell mt. 
We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe. 
That, from the sense of all civility, 
I thus would play and trifle with your reverence ; 
Your daughter, — if you have not given her leavQ, 
I say again, hath made a gross revolt ; 
Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes. 



ACT I.— SCENE 11. 



855 



In an extravagant, and wheeling stranger, 

Of here and every where : Straight satisfy yourself: 

If she be in her chamber, or your house, 

Let loo'".'». oi; me the justice of the state 

For thus deluding you. 

B'-a. Strike on the tinder, ho ! 

Give me a taper; — call up all my people : — 
This accident is not unlike my dream ; 
Belief of it oppresses me already : — 
Light, I say ! l-glit ! [Eiit,frnm above. 

lugo. Farewell ; for I must leave you : 

It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place. 
To be produc'd (as, if I stay, 1 shall,) 
Against the Moor : For, 1 do know, tlie state, — 
However this may gall liim with some elieck, — 
Cannot with safety cast him ; for lie"s embark'd 
With such loud reason to the Cyprus' wars, 
(Which even now stand in act,) that, for their souls. 
Another of his fathom they have not. 
To lead their business : in which regard. 
Though I do hate him as I do hell pains. 
Yet, for necessity of present life, 
I must shew out a flag and sign of love, 
Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find 
Lead to the Sagittary the rais'd search ; (him. 

And there will 1 be with him. So, farewell. [Lit't. 

Enter, below, Brabant>o, and Servants with turckcsm 

Bra. It is too true an evil : gone she is ; 
And what's to come of my despised time. 
Is nought but bitterness. — Now, Roderigo, 
Where didst thou see herl — O, unhappy girl ! — 
With the Moor, say'st thou ] Who would be afather-1 — 
How didst thou know 'twas she'! — O, thou deceiv'sl 
me [tapers ; 

Past thought! — What said she to you ? — Get more 
Raise all my kindred. — Are they married, think you I 

Rod. Truly, I think they are. [the blood ! — 

Bra. O heaven! — How got she out! — () treason of 
Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' imiidb 
By what you see them act. — Are there not charms, 
By which the property of youth and maidhood 
May be abus'd? Have you not read, Roderigo, 
Of some such thing ? 

Rod. Yes, sir ; 1 have indeed. [her!— 

Bra. Call up my brother. — O, that you had iiad 
Some one vvay, some another. — Do you kiu.w 
Where we may apprehend her and the Moor ? 

Rod. I think, I can discover him ; if you p!.?a.^ 
To get good guard, and go along wiih me. 

Bra. Pray you, lead on. At every liouse Til call, 
I may command at most ; — Get weapons, ho! 
And raise some special oihcers of night. — 
On, good Roderigo; — I'll deserve your pains. 

\^Lieunt, 

SCENE II. — The same. Another street. 
Enter Othello, Iago, and Attendants. 

logo. Though in the trade of war I have slain men, 
Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience. 
To do no contriv'd murder; I lack iniquity 
Sometimes, to do me service: Nine or ten times 
I had thought to have yerk'd him here under tlie ribs. 

0th. 'Tis better as it is. 

Iago. Nay, but he prated. 

And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms 
Against your honour. 
That, with the little godliness I have, 
I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray. sir. 
Are you fast married] for, be sure of tliis, — 
That the magaiiico is mucli beloved ; 



And hath, in his effect, a voice potential 
As double as the duke's ; he will divorce you ; 
Or put upon you what restraint and grievance 
The law (with all his might, to enforce it on,) 
Will give him cable. 

0th. Let him do his spite: 

My services, which I have done the signiory. 
Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know, 
(Which, when 1 know that boasting is an honour, 
1 shall promulgate,) I fetch my life and being 
From men of royal siege ; and my demerits 
May speak, unbonnetted, to as proud a fortune 
As this that I have reach'd : For know, Iago, 
But that I love the gentle Desdemona, 
I would not my unhoused free condition 
Put into circumscription and conhne [yonder '? 

For the sea's worth. But, look! what lights come 

Enter Cassio, at a distance, and certain Officers 
with torches. 

Iago. These are the raised father, and his friends : 
You were best go in. 

0th. Not I : I must be found ; 

My parts, my title, and my perfect soul. 
Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they 1 

Iago. By Janus, 1 think no. 

0th. The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant. 
The goodness of the night upon you, friends ! 
What is the news ? 

Cas. The duke does greet you, genera! ; 

And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance. 
Even on the instant. 

0th. W^hat is the matter, think you '. 

Cas. Something from Cyprus, as I may divine ; 
It is a business of some heat : the gallies 
Have sent a dozen sequent messengers 
This very night, at one another's heels ; 
And many of the consuls, rais'd, and met. 
Are at the duke's already : You have been hotly call'd 
When, being not at your lodging to be found, [for ; 
The senate hath sent about three several quests. 
To search you out, 

Oth. 'Tis well I am found by you. 

I wi/1 but spend a word here in the house. 
And go with you. [Eiic. 

Cas. Ancient, what makes he here ! 

Ja^D. 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land carack ; 
If it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever. 

Cas. 1 do not understand. 

Iago. He's married. 

Cas. To wlio 1 

Re-enter Othello. 

Iago. Marry, to — Come, captain, will you go 1 
Oth. Have with you. 

Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for you. 

Enter Buabantio, Roderigo, and Officers of night, 
with torches and weapons, 

Iago. It is Brabantio: — general, be advis'd ; 
He comes to bad intent. 

Oth. Hola ! stand there '. 

Rod. Signior, it is the Moor. 

Bra. Down with him, thief! 

[They draw on both sides. 

Iago. You, Roderigo! come, sir, I am for you. 

Oth. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will 
rust them. — 
Good signior, you shall more command with years, 
Than with your weapons. [daughter 1 

Bra. O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my 
Dama'd as thou art, thou ha at enchanted her ; 



856 



OTHELLO. 



For I'll refer me to all things of sense, 

If she in chains of magic were not bound, 

Whether a maid — so tender, fair, and happy ; 

So opposite to marriage, that she shunn'd 

The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, 

Would ever have, to incur a general mock. 

Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom 

Of such a thing as thou : to fear, not to delight. 

Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense, 

That thou hast practis'd on her with foul charms ; 

Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs, or minerdLs, 

That waken motion : — I'll have it disputed on , 

'Tis probable, and palpable to thinking. 

I therefore apprehend and do attach thee. 

For an abuser of the world, a practiser 

Of arts inhibited and out of warrant : — 

Lay hold upon him : if he do resist, 

Subdue him at his peril. 

0th. Hold your hands, 

Both you of my inclining, and the rest : 
Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it 
Without a prompter. — Where will you that I go 
To answer this your charge 1 

Bra. To prison : till fit time 

Of law, and course of direct session. 
Call thee to answer. 

0th. What if I do obey ? 

How may the duke be therewith satisfied ; 
Whose messengers are here about my side. 
Upon some present business of the state, 
To bring me to him. 

Off'. 'Tis true, most worthy signior, 

The duke's in council ; and your noble self, 
I am sure, is sent for. 

Bra. How ! the duke in council ! 

In this time of the night ! — Bring him away : 
Mine's not an idle cause : the duke himself. 
Or any of my brothers of the state 
Cannot but feel this wrong, as 'twere their own : 
For if such actions may have passage free. 
Bond-slaves, and pagans, shall our statesmen be. 

SCENE III.— ne same. A Council-Chamber. 

The Duke, and Senators, sitting at a table; 
Officers attending. 

Duke. There is no composition in these news, 
That gives them credit. 

1 Sen. Indeed, they are disproportion'd ; 
My letters say, a hundred and seven gallies. 

Duke. And mine a hundred and forty. 

2 Se7i. And mine, two hundred : 
But though they jump not on a just account, 

(As in these cases, where the aim reports, 

'Tis oft with difl'erence,) yet do they all confinn 

A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. 

Duke. Nay, it is possible enough to judgment; 
I do not so secure me in tl>e error. 
But the main article I do approve 
In fearful sense. 

Sailor. [Witliin.] What ho ! what ho ! what ho ! 

Enter an Officer, with a Sailor. 

Off". A messenger from the gallies. 

Duke. Now ■? the business ? 

Sail. The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes; 
So was I bid report here to the state. 
By signior Angelo. 

Duke. How say you by this change ? 

1 Sen. This cannot be. 

By no essay of reason ; 'tis a pageant, 



To keep tis in false gaze : When we consider 

The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk ; 

And let ourselves again but understand, 

That, as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, 

So may he with more facile question bear it. 

For that it stands not in such warlike brace. 

But altogether lacks the abilities 

That Rhodes is dress'd in : if we make thought of this. 

We must not think, the Turk is so unskilful, 

To leave that latest which confirms him first ; 

Neglecting an attempt of ease, and gain. 

To wake, and wage, a danger profitless. 

Duke. Nav, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes. 

Off. Here is more news. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess, The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, 
Steering with due course toward the isle of R.hodes, 
Have there injointed them with an after fleet. 

1 .Sen. Ay, so I thought: — How many, asyouguessl 

Mess. Of thirty sail : and now do they re-stem 
Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance 
Their purposes toward Cyprus. — Signior Montano, 
Your trusty and most valiant servitor. 
With his free duty, recommends you thus. 
And prays you to believe him. 

Duke. "I'is certain then for Cyprus. — 
Marcus Lucchese, is he not in town 1 

1 Sen. He's now in Florence. [despatch. 

Duke. Write from us ; wish him post-post-haste : 

iSen. Here comes Brabantio, and the valiant Moor. 

Enter BnABANTio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo, 
and Officers. 

Duke. Valiant Othello, v/e must straight employ yoti 
Against the £;eneral enemy Ottoman. 
I did not see you ; welcome, gentle signior, 

[To BnAEANTlO. 

We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night. 

Bra. So did I yours : Good your grace, pardon me ; 
Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, 
Hath rais'd me from my bed; nor doth the general 
Take hold on me ; for my particular grief [care 
Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature, 
Tiiat it engluts and swallows other sorrows. 
And it is still itself. 

Duke. Why, what's the matter? 

.Bra. My daughter ! O, my daughter ! 

Sen. Dead 1 

Bra. Ay, to me ; 

She is abus'd, stol'n from me, and corrupted 
By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks : 
For nature so preposterously to err. 
Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense. 
Sans witchcraft could not 

Duke. Whoe'er he be, that, in this foul proceeding 
Hath thus beguil'd your daughter of herself. 
And you of her, the bloody book of law 
You shall yourself read in the bitter letter, 
After your own sense ; yea, though our proper son 
Stood in your action. 

Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. 

Here is the man, this Moor ; whom now, it seems. 
Your special mandate, for the state affairs. 
Hath hither brought. 

Duke S^ Sen. We are very sorry for it. 

Duke. What, in your own part, can you say to 
this? [Tj Othello. 

Bra. Nothing, but this is so. 

0th. IMost potent, grave, and reverend siguiors. 
My very noble and approv'd good masters, — 
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter. 



I 



\.., .:'. 




^o"'* 



OTHELLO. 

Othello These things to hear. 

Would Desdemona seriously incline 



ACT I.— SCENE III. 



857 



It is most true ; true, I have married her •, 

The very head and front of my ofTending 

Hath this extent, no more. Kude am 1 in my speech, 

And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace ; 

For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, 

'J'ill now some nine moons wasted, tliey have us'd 

Their dearest action in the tented field ; 

And little of this great world can I speak, 

More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ; 

And therefore little shall I grace my cause. 

In speaking for myself: Yet, by your gracious pa- 

I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver [tience. 

Of my whole courseof love ; whatdrugs, whatcharmsj 

What conjuration, and what mighty magic, 

(For such proceeding I am charg'd withal,) 

I won his daughter with. 

Bra. A maiden never bold ; 

Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion 
Blush'd at herself; And she, — in spite of nature, 
Of vears, of country, credit, every tiling, — 
To "fall in love with what she fear'd to look on 1 
It is ajudgment maim'd, and most imperfect, 
That will confess — perfection so could err 
Against all rules of nature ; and must be driven 
To find out practices of cunning hell, 
Why this should be. I therefore vouch again, 
That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, 
Or with some dram conjur'd to this effect, 
He wrought upon her. 

Duke. To vouch this, is no proof; 

W^ithout more certain and more overt test, 
Than these thin habits, and poor likelihoods 
Of modern seeming, do prefer against him. 

1 Sen. But, Othello, speak ; — 
Did you by indirect and forced courses 
Subdue and poison this young maid's affections ; 
Or came it by request, and such fair question 
As soul to soul affordeth 1 

Ot)i. I do beseech you, 

Send for the lady to the Sagittary, 
And let her speak of me before her father : 
If you do find me foul in her report, 
The trust, the office, I do hold of you, 
Not only take away, but let your sentence 
Even fall upon my life. 

Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. „ . 

0th. Ancient, conduct them : you best know the So much I challenge that I may profess 
place.— [Exeunt Iago and Attendants. Due to the ]Moor^ my lord 
And, till she come, as truly as to heaven 



Would Desdemona seriously incline : 
But still the house affairs would draw her thence ) 
Which ever as she could with haste despatch. 
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear 
Uevour up my discourse : Which 1 observing, 
look once a ph^nt hour ; and found good means 
lo draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 
\\hereof by parcels she had something heard, 
But not intentively : 1 did consent ; 
And often did beguile her of her tears, 
'>\ hen I did speak of some distressful stroke, 
I hat my youth suffer'd. INIy story being done, 
.Siie gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 
i She swore.— In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing 
' 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: [strange; 
She wish'd, she had not heard it ; yet she wish'd 
That heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd 
And bade nie, if 1 had a friend that lov'd her, [me; 
1 should but teach him how to tell my story. 
And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake: 
She lov'd me for the dangers 1 had pass'd ; 
And I lov'd her, that she did pity them. 
This only is the witchcraft I have us'd ; 
Here comes the lady, let her witness it. 

Enter Desdemona, Iago, and Attendants. 

Duke. I think, this tale would win my daughter 
Good Brabantio, [too. — 

Take up this mangled matter at the best: 
Men do their broken weapons rather use. 
Than their bare hands. 

Bra. I pray you, hear her speak; 

If she confess, that she was half the wooer. 
Destruction on my head, if my bad blame 
Light on the man ! — ComG hither, gentle mistress ; 
Do you perceive in all this noble company, 
Where most you owe obedience"! 

Des. My noble father, 

I do perceive here a divided duty : 
To you, I am bound for life, and education ; 
My" life, and education, both do learn me 
How to respect you ; you are the lord of duty, 
1 am hitherto your daughter: But here's my husband; 
And so much duty as my mother shew'd 
I To you, preferring you before her father. 



I do confess the vices of my blood. 
So justly to your grave ears I'll present 
How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, 
And she in mine. 

Duke. Say it, Othello. 

0th. Her fathei lov'd me ; oft invited me.; 
Still question'd me the story of my life. 
From year to year ; the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
That I have pass'd. 

I ran it through, even from my boyish days. 
To the very moment that he bade me tell it. 
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances, 
Of moving accidents, by flood and field ; 
Of iiair-breadth scapes i'the imminent deadly breach 
Of being taken by the insolent foe. 
And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, 
And portance in my travel's history : 
Wherein of anties vast, and desarts wild, [heaven. 
Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch 
It was my hint to speak, such was the process ; 
And of the Cannibals that each other eat, 
The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads [hear. 
Do o-row beneath their shoulders. These things to 



Bra. God be with you ! —I have done : — 

Please it your grace, on to the state affairs ; 
I had rather to adopt a child, than get it. — 
Come hither, Moor : 

I here do give thee that with all my heart. 
Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart 
I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel, 
I am glad at soul I have no other child ; 
For thy escape would teach me tyranny, 
To hang clogs on them. — I have done, my lord. 

Duke. Let me speak lile yourself ; and lay a sen- 
tence. 
Which, as as gnse, or step, may help these loveis 
Into your favour. 

\Vhen remedies are past, the griefs are ended. 
By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. 
To mourn a mischief that is past and gone. 
Is the next way to draw new mischief on. 
What cannot be preserv'd when fortune takes, 
Patience her injury a mockery makes. [thief; 

The robb'd, that smiles, steals something from the 
He robs himself, that spends a bootless grief. 

Bra. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile ; 
We lose it not, so long as we can smile. 



8o8 



OTHELLO. 



He bears the sentence well, that nothing bears 
But the free comfort which from thence he hears . 
But he bears both the sentence and tlie sorrow, 
That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow. 
These sentences, to sugar, or to gall. 
Being strong on both sides, are equivocal : 
But words are words ; I never yet did hear, 
That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear. 
I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state. 

Duke. The Turk with a most mighty preparation 
makes for Cyprus : — Othello, the fortitude of the place 
is best known to you : And though we have there a 
substitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a 
sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more safer 
voice on you : you must tlierefore be content to slub- 
ber the gloss of your new fortunes with this more 
stubborn and boisterous expedition. 

Otlu The tyrant custom, most grave senators, 
Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war 
My thrice-driven bed of down : 1 do agnize 
A natural and prompt alacrity, 
I find in hardness ; and do undertake 
These present wars against the Ottomites. 
Most humbly therefore bending to your state, 
I crave fit disposition for my wife ; 
Due reference of place, and exhibition ; 
With such accommodation, and besort. 
As levels with her breeding. 

Duke. If you please, 

Be 't at her father's. 

Bra. I '11 not have it so. 

0th. Nor I. 

Des. Nor I ; I would not there reside, 

To put my father in impatient thoughts. 
By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, 
To my unfolding lend a prosperous ear ; 
And let me find a charter in your voice. 
To assist my simpleness. 

Duke. What would you, Desdemonal 

Des. That I did love the Moor to live with him, 
My downright violence and scorn of fortunes 
May trumpet to the world : my heart's subdued 
Even to the very quality of my lord : 
I saw Othello's visage in his mind ; 
And to his honours, and his valiant parts, 
Did I mv soul and fortunes consecrate. 
So that, "dear lords, if 1 be left behind, 
A moth of peace, and he go to the war. 
The rights for which I love him, are bereft me, 
And I a heavy interim shall support 
By his dear absence : Let me go with him. 

0th. Yourvoices, lords :— 'beseech you, let her will 
Have a free way. 

,Vouch with me, heaven ; I therefore beg it not. 
To please the palate of my appetite ; 
Nor to comply with heat, the young affects. 
In my distinct and proper satisfaction ; 
But to be free and bounteous to her rnind : 
And heaven defend your good souls, that you think 
I will your serious and great business scant, 
For she is with me : No, when light-wing'd toys 
Of feather'd Cupid seel with wanton dulness 
My speculative and active instruments. 
That my disports corrupt and taint my business, 
Let housewives make a skillet of my heJm, 
And all indign and base adversities 
Make head against my estimation ! 

Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine. 
Either for her stay, or going: the affair cries— haste, 
And speed must answer it ; you must hence to-nigiit. 
Des To-night, my lordl 
Duke. This night. 



0th. With all my heart. 

Dtike. At nine i' the morning here we '11 meet again. 
Othello, leave some oificer behind. 
And he shall our commission bring to you ; 
With such things else of quality and respect. 
As doth import you. 

Olh, Please your grace, my ancient; 

A man he is of honesty, and trust: 
To his conveyance 1 assign my wife. 
With what else needful your good grace shall think 
To be sent after me. 

Duke. Let it be so, — 

Good night to every one. — And, noble signior, 

[To BUABANTIO. 

If virtue no delighted beauty lack. 

Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. 

1 Sen. Adieu, brave Moor ! use Desdeniona well. ' 
Bra. Look to her Moor: have a quick eye to see; 
She has deceiv'd her father, and may thee. 

[Eiennt Duke, Senators, Officers, ^'c. 
0th. My life upon her faith. — Honest lago, 
IMy Desdeniona must 1 leave to thee ; 
I pr'ythee, let thy wife attend on lier ; 
And bring them after in the best advantage. — • 
Come, Desderaona, I have but an hour 
Of love, of worldly matters and direction. 
To spend with thee : we must obey the time. 

[Eieu)it OrniiLLO and Desdemo.na. 
Rod. lago. 

lago. What say'st thou, noble heart "! 
Rod. What will I do, thinkest thou ] 
lago. Why, go to bed, and sleep. 
Rod. I will incontinently drown myself. 
lago. Well, if thou dost, I shall never love thee 
after it. Why, thou silly gentleman ! 

Rod. It is silliness to live, when to live is a tor- 
ment : and then have we a prescription to die, when 
death is our physician. 

lago. O villanous ! I have looked upon the world 
for four times seven years ! and since I could distin- 
guish between a benefit and an injury, I never found 
a man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would 
say, I would drown myself for the love of a Guinea- 
hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon. 

Rod. What should I do? I confess, it is my shame 
to be so fond ; but it is not in virtue to amend it. 

lago. Virtue? a fig ! 'tis in ourselves, that we are 
thus, or thus. Our bodies are our gardens ; to the 
which, our wills are gardeners : so that if we will 
plant nettles, or sow lettuce ; set hyssop, and weed 
up thyme ; supply it with one gender of herbs, or 
distract it witli many ; either to have it steril with 
idleness, or manured with industry ; why, the power 
and corrigible autliority of this lies in our wills. If 
the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason 
to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness 
of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous 
conclusions : But we have reason to cool our raging 
motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts; whereof 
I take this, that you call — love, to be a sect or scion. 
Rod. It cannot be. 

lago. It is merely a lust of the blood, and a per- 
mission of the will. Come, be a man : Drown thy- 
self! drown cats and blind puppies. 1 have professed 
me thy friend, and I confess me knit to thy deserving 
with cables of perdurable toughness ; I could never 
better stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse ; 
follow these wars ; defeat thy favour with an usurped 
beard ; I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot 
be, that Desdemona should long continue her love to 
the Moor, — put money in thy purse ; — nor he h)s to 
her: it was a violent commencement, and liiou shall 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 



859 



see an answerable sequestration ; — put but money in 
thy purse. — These Moors are changeable in their, 
wills ; — fill thy purse with money ; the food that to 
him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to him 
shortly as bitter as coloquintida. She must change 
for youth : when she is sated with his body, she will 
find the error of her choice. — She must have change, 
she must: therefore put money in thy purse. — If thou 
wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate way 
than drowning. Wake all the money thou canst : If 
sanctimony and a frail vow, betwixt an erring bar- 
barian and a supersubtle Venetian, be not too hard 
for my wits, and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy 
her ; therefore make money. A pox of drowning 
thyself! it is clean out of the way : seek thou rather 
tobehangedincompassingthy joy, than to be drowned 
and go without her. 

Riid. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend 
on the issue t 

lagii. Thou art sure of me ; — Go, make money : — 
I have told thee often, and 1 re-tell thee again and 
again, I hate the Moor: My cause is hearted ; thine 
hath no less reason: Let us be conjunctive in our 
revenge against him : if thou canst cuckold him, thou 
dost thyself a pleasure, and me a sport. Tiiere are 
many events in the womb of time, which will be de- 
livered. Traverse ; go ; provide thy money. We 
will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu. 

Rod. Where shall we meet i' the morning"! 

lago. At my lodging. 

Rod, 1 '11 be with thee betimes. 

lago. Goto; farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo? 

Rod. What say you 1 

logo. No more of drowning, do you hear. 

Rod. I am changed. I '11 sell all my land. 

lago. Go to ; farewell! put money enough in your 
purse. [Exit Roueiuoo. 

Thus do 1 ever make my fool my purse : 
For I mine own gaind knowledge should profane. 
If I would time expend with such a snipe. 
But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor ; 
And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets 
He has done my otHce : 1 know not if 't be true ; 
But I, for mere suspicion in that kind, 
Will do, as if for surety. He holds me well ; 
The better shall my purpose work on him. 
Cassio 's a proper man : Let me see now ; 
To get his place, and to plume up my will ; 
A double knavery, — How 1 how 1 — Let me see : 
After some time, to abuse Othello's ear, 
That he is too familiar with his wife : — 
He hath a person, and a smooth dispose, 
To be suspected ; fram'd to make women faUe. 
The Moor is of a free and open nature. 
That thinks men honest, that but seem to be so ; 
And will as tenderly be led by the nose, 
As asses are. 

I have't ; — it is engender'd : — Hell and night 
Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light, 



ACT II. 

SCENE T. — A Sea-port Town in Cyprus. A Platform. 
Enter MoNTANO and Two Gentlemen. 

3[on. What from the cape can you discern at sea? 

1 Gent. Nothing at all : it is a high- wi ought flood; 
[ cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main, 
Descry a sail. 

Mun. Methinks, the wind hath spoke aloud at land ; 



A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements : 

If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea. 

What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them. 

Can hold the mortise ] what shaJl we hear of this 1 

t Gent. A segregation of the Turkish fleet : 
For do but stand upon the foaming shore. 
The chiding billow seems to pelt the clouds ; 
The wind shak'd surge, with high and monstrous main. 
Seems to cast water on the burning bear, 
And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole : 
I never did like molestation view 
On th' enchafed flood. 

Man. If that the Turkish fleet 

Be not inslielter'd and embay 'd, they are drown'd ; 
It is impossible they bear it out. 

Enter a Third Gentleman. 

3 Gent. News, lord ! our wars are done ; 
The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks, 
That their designment halts : A noble ship of Venice 
Hath seen a grievous wreck and suflTerance 
On most part of their fleet. 

Mon. How I is this true ? 

3 Gent. The ship is here put in, 
The Veronessa ; Michael Cassio, 
Lieutenant to the warlike Moor, Othello, 
Is come on shore : the Moor himself's at sea. 
And is in full commission here for Cyprus. 

Mon. I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor. 

3 Gent. But this same Cassio, — though he speak 
of comfort, 
Touching the Turkish loss, — yet he looks sadly, 
And prays the IMoor be safe ; for they were parted 
With foul and violent tempest. 

Mon. 'Pray heaven he be ; 

For I have serv'd him, and the man commands 
Like a full soldier. Let's to the sea-side, ho ! 
As well to see the vessel that's come in. 
As to throw out our eyes for b' ave Othello ; 
Even till we make the main, and the aerial blue. 
An indistinct regard. 

3 Gent. Come, let's do so , 
For every minute is expectancy 

Of more arrivance. 

Enter Cassio. 

Cas. Thanks to the valiant of this warlike isle, 
That so approve the Moor ; O, let the heavens, 
Give him defence against the elements. 
For I have lost him on a dangerous sea ! 

Mon. Is he well shipp'd 1 

Cas. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot 
Of very expert and approv'd allowance ; 
Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, 
Stand in bold cure. 

IWithin.^ A sail, a sail, a sail ! 

Enter another Gentleman. 

Cas. W' hat noise 1 

4 Gent. The town is empty ; on the brow o'the sea 
Stand ranks of people, and they cry— a sail. 

Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governor. 

2 Gent. They do discharge their shot of courtesy. 

[Guns heard. 
Our friends at least. 

Cas. I pray you, sir, go forth. 

And give us truth who 'tis that is arriv'd. 

^ Gent. I shall. l^^it- 

Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general wiv'd ? 

Cas. Most fortunately : he hath achiev'd a maid 
That paragons description, and wild fame ; 
One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, 



mo 



OTHELLO. 



And in the essential vesture of creation, [in 7 

Does bear all excellency. — How now ? who has put 

Re-enter Second Gentleman. 

2 Gent. 'Tis one lago, ancient to the general. 

Cas. He has had most favourable and happy speed: 
Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds. 
The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands, — 
Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel, 
As having sense of beauty, do omit 
Their mortal natures, letting go safely by 
The divine Desdemona. 

Mon. What is she 1 

Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's cap- 
Left in the conduct of the bold lago ; [tain. 
Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts, 
A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello guard, 
And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath : 
That he may bless this bay with his tail ship. 
Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms. 
Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits. 
And bring all Cyprus comfort! — O, behold. 

Enter Desdemona, Emilia, Iago, RoDEnioo, 
and Attendants. 
The riches of the ship is come on shore ! 
Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees : — 
Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven. 
Before, behind thee, and on every hand, 
Enwheel thee round I 

Des. I thank you, valiant Cassio. 

What tidings can you tell me of my lord ? 

Cas. He is not yet arriv'd ; nor know I aught 
But that he's well, and will be shortly here. 

Des. O, but 1 fear; — How lost you company? 

Cas. The great contention of the sea and skies 
Parted our fellowship : But, hark ! a sail. 

[Cry within, A sail, a sail! Then guns heard' 

2 Gent, They give their greeting to the citadel ; 
This likewise is a friend. 

Cas. See for the news. — \_Exit Gentlenmn- 

Good ancient, you are welcome ; — Welcome, mis- 
tress ; — [To Emilia. 
Let it not gall your patience, good lago, 
That I extend my manners ; 'tis my breeding 
That gives me this bold show of courtesy. [Kissing her, 

I'igo. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips, 
As of her tongue she oft bestows on me. 
You'd have enough. 

Des, Alas, she has no speech. 

Iago. In faith, too much ; 
1 find it still, when I have list to sleep : 
Rlarry, before your ladyship, I grant, 
She puts her tongue a little in her heart, 
And chides with thinking. 

EniiL You have little cause to say so. [doors, 

Iiigo. Come on, come on ; you are pictures out of 
Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens. 
Saints in your injuries, devils being offended. 
Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your 

Des. O, fye upon thee, slanderer! [beds. 

Iago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk; 
You rise to play, and go to bed to work. 

Einil. You shall not write my praise. 

Ligo. No, let me not. 

De». What would'st thou write of me, if thou 
should'st praise me 1 

Iago. O gentle lady, do not put me to't; 
For I am nothing, if not critical. 

Des. Come on, assay : — There's one gone to the 

lago. Ay, madam. [harbour? 

Des. 1 am not merry ; but I do beguile 
The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. — 



Come, how would'st thou praise me 1 

Iago. I am about it; but, indeed, my invention 
Comes from my pate, as birdlime does from frize, 
It plucks out brains and all: But my muse labours. 
And thus she is delivered. 
If she be fair and wise, — fairness, and wit. 
The one's tor use, the other useth it. 

Des. Well prais'd ! How if she be black and witty'? 

Iago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit, 
She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit, 

Des. Worse and worse. 

Emil. How, if fair and foolish? 

Iago. She never yet was foolish that was fair ; 
For even her folly help'd her to an heir. 

Des. These are old fond paradoxes, to make fools 
laugh i'tlie alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou 
for her that's foul and foolish ? 

lago. There's none so foul, and foolish thereunto,' 
But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do. 

Des. O heavy ignorance! — thou praisest the worst 
best. But what praise could'st thou bestow on a de- 
serving woman indeed ? one, that, in the authority 
of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very ma- 
lice itself ] 

Iago. She that was ever fair, and never proud , 
Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud ; . 
Never lack'd gold, and yet went never gay ; 
Fled from her wish, and yet said, — now I mau , 
She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, 
Bade her wrong stay, and her displeasure fly : 
.She that in wisdom never was so frail. 
To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail , 
She that could think, and ne'er disclose her mind, 
See suitors following, and not look behind ; 
She was a wight, — if ever such wight were, — ■ 

Des. To do what? 

Iago. To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer. 

Des. most lame and impotent conclusion ! — Do 
not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. 
—How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane 
and liberal counsellor ? 

Cas He speaks home, madam ; you may relish him 
more in the soldier, than in the scholar. 

Iago. [Aside.] He takes her by the palm: Ay, well 
said, whisper: with as little a web as this, will I en- 
snare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, 
do ; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You 
say true ; 'tis so, indeed : if such tricks as these strip 
you out of your lieutenancy, it had been better you 
had not kissed your three fingers so oft, which now 
again you are most apt to play the sir in. "Very good; 
well kissed! an excellent courtesy! 'tis so, indeed. 
Yet again your fingers to your lips ! would, they 

were clyster-pipes for your sake ! [Triunpet.] 

The Moor, I know his trumpet. 

Cas. 'Tis truly so. 

Des. Let's meet him, and receive him. 

Cas. Lo, where he comes ! 

Enter Othello, and Attendants. 

0th. O my fair warrior ! 

Des. My dear Othello ? 

0th. It gives me wonder great as my content. 
To see you here before me. O my soul's joy ! 
If after every tempest corne such calms, 
May the winds blow till they have waken'd death ! 
And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas, 
Olympus-high ; and duck again as low 
As hell's from heaven ' If it were now to die 
"i'were now to be most happy ; for, I fear, 
My soul hath her content so absolute. 
That not another comfort like to this 



ACT 11.— SCENL il. 



881 



Succeeds io unknown fate. 

Des. The heavens forbid, 

But that our loves and comforts should increase, 
Even as our days do grow ! 

Otit. Amen to that, sweet powers ! — 

I cannot speak enough of this content, 
It stops me here; it is too much of joy : 
And this, and this, the greatest discords be, 

^Kissing her. 
That e'er our hearts shall make. 

hign. O, you are well tun'd now ! 

But I'll set down the pegs that make this music. 
As honest as 1 am. [Aside. 

Oih. Come's, let's to the castle. — 

News, friends ; our wars are done, the Turks are 
How do our old acquaintance of this islel [drown'd. 
Honey, you sliall he well desir'd in Cyprus, 
I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet, 
I prattle out of fashion, and I dote 
In mine own comforts. — I pr'ythee, good lago, 
Go to tlie bay, and disembark my coffers: 
Bring thou the master to the citadel ; 
He is a good one, and his worthiness 
Does cliallenge much respect. — Come, Desdemona, 
Once more well met at Cyprus, 

[E.ieuiit 0th., Des., and Attend 

lego. Do thou meet me presently at the harbour 
Come hither. If thou be'st valiant as ( they say) base 
men, being in love, have then a nobility in their na- 
tures more than is native to them, — list me. Th<i 
lieutenant to-night watches on the court of guard : — 
First, 1 must tell thee this — Desdemona is directlv 
in love with him. 

Rod. With him! why, 'tis not possible. 

lago. Lay thy finger — thus, and let thy soul be in- 
structed. INIark me witli what violence she first loved 
the I\loor, but for bragging, and telling her fantas- 
tical lies : And will she love him still for prating ' 
let not thy discreet heart think it. Her eye must be 
fed ; and what delight shall siie have to look on thi. 
devil ! When the blood is made dull with the act ot 
sport, there should be, — again to inflame it, and to 
give satiety a fresh appetite, — loveliness in favour ; 
sympathy in years, manners, and beauties ; all vvliicli 
the Moor is defective in : Now, for want of these re- 
quired conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find 
itself abused, begin to heave the gorge, disrelish and 
abhor the Moor; very nature will instruct her in it, 
and compel her to some second choice. Now, sir, 
this granted, (as it is a most pregnant and unforced 
position,) who stands so eminently in the degree ot 
this fortune, as Cassio does] a knave very voluble: 
no further conscionable, than in putting on the mere 
form of civil and humane seemingr, for the better com 
passing of his salt and most hidden loose affection '. 
why, none ; why, none: Aslippery and subtle knave ; 
a finder out of occasions ; that has an eye can stamp 
and counterfeit advantages, though true advantage 
never present itself : A devilish knave ! besides, tlie 
knave is handsome, young ; and hath all those re- 
quisites in him, that folly and green minds look after: 
A pestilent complete knave ; and the woman hath 
found him already. 

Rod. 1 cannot believe that in her; she is full of 
most blessed condition. 

lago. Blessed fig's end ! the wine she drinks is 
made of grapes : if she had been blessed, she would 
never have loved the Moor : Blessed pudding! Didst 
thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? 
didst not mark that 1 

Rod. Ves, that I did ; but that was but courtesy 

lago. I.«chery, by tliis hand ; an index, and ob- 



scure prologue to the history of lust and foul thoughts. 
They met so near with their lips, that their breaths 
embraced together. Villanous thoughts, Ko;!erigo! 
when these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at 
hand comes the master and main exercise, tlie incor- 
porate conclusion : Pi.nh I — But, sir, be you ruled by 
me : 1 have brought you from Venice. Watch you 
to-night ; for the command, 1 '11 lay't upon you : 
Cassio knows you not ; — 1 '11 not be far from you : 
Do you find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by 
speaking too loud, or tainting his discipline ; or from 
what other course you please, which the time shall 
more favourably minister. 

Hod. Well. 

ii'go. Sir, he is rash, and very sudden in choler; 
and, haply, witli ids truncheon may strike at you: 
Provoke him, that he may : for, even out of that, 
will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny ; whose 
qualification shall come into no true taste aga'n, but 
by the displanting of Cassio. So shall you nave a 
shorter journey to your desires, by the means 1 shall 
then have to prefer them; and the impediment most 
profitably removed, without the which there weie no 
expectation of our prosperity. 

Rod. 1 will do this, if I can bring it to any oppor- 
tunity. 

lugo. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at 
the citadel. 1 must fetch his necessaries ashore. 
Farewell. 

Rod. Adieu. [F,.iit 

logo. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it ; 
That she loves him, 'tis apt, and of great credit : 
The Moor — howbeit that I'endure him not, — 
Is of a constant, loving, noble nature ; 
And, I dare think, he'll prove to Desdemona 
A most dear husband. Now I do love her too : 
Not out of absolute lust, (though, peradventure 
I stand accountant for as great a sin,) 
But partly led to diet my revenge, 
Kor that I do suspect the lusty iMoor 
Itath leap'd into my seat: the thought whereof 
Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards ; 
.\nd nothing can or shall content my soul. 
Till I am even with him, wife for wife ; 
Or, failing so, yet that I put the iMoor 
.\t least into a jealousy so strong 
That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do, — 
If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash 
For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, 
I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip ; 
.Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb, — 
For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too ; 
Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me. 
For making him egregiously an ass. 
And practising upon his peace and quiet 
Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confus'd ; 
Knavery's plain face is never seen, till us'd. [Esit. 

SCENE II.— .4 Street. 

Enter a Herald, tvith a proclamation ; 
Feople following 

Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant 
general, that, upon certain tidings now arrived, in- 
porting the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet, every 
man put himself into triumph: some to dance, some 
to make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels 
his addiction leads him ; for, besides these beneficial 
news, it is the celebration of his nu])tials : So much 
was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices 
are open ; and there is full liberty of feasting, from 
this present hour of five, till the bell hath told eleven. 



862 



OTHELLO. 



Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus, and our noble ge- 
neral, Othello. [Exetimt 

SCENE III.— il Halt in the Castle. 

Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio, and 
Attendants. 

0th. Good Michael, look you to the guard to-night; 
Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop, 
Not to out-sport discretion. 

Cas. lago hath direction what to do ; 
But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye 
Will I look to 't. 

0th. lago is most honest. 
Michael, good night: Tomorrow, with our earliest, 
Let me have speech with you. — Come, my dear love, 
The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue ; 

[To DliSDEMONA. 

That profit's yet to come 'twixt n>e and you. — 
Good night. [Eieu7jt 0th., Des., a7id Attend. 

Enter I ago. 

Cas. Welcome, lago : We must to the watch. 

lagn. Not this hour, lieutenant ; 'tis not yet ten 
o'clock : Our general cast us thus early, for the 
love of his Desdemona ; whom let us not therefore 
blame ; he hath not yet made wanton the night with 
her : and she is sport for Jove. 

Cas. She 's a most exquisite lady. 

lago. And, I'll warrant her, full of game. 

Cas. Indeed, she is a most fresh and delicate crea- 
ture. 

lago. What an eye she has ! methinks it sounds a 
parley of provocation. 

Cus. An invitingeye ; andyetmethinksrightmodest. 

lago. And, when she speaks, is it not an alarm to 
love 1 

Cas. She is, indeed, perfection. 

lago. Well, happiness to their sheets! Come, 
lieutenant, I have a stoop of wine : and here withou' 
are a brace of Cyprus gallants, that would fain have 
a measure to the health of the black Othello. 

Cas. Not to-night, good lago ; I have very poor 
and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish 
courtesy would invent some other custom of enter 
tainment. 

lago. O, they are our friends ; but one cup ; I'll 
drink for you. 

Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that 
was craftily qualified too, and, behold, what innova- 
tion it makes here : I am unfortunate in the infirmity, 
and dare not task my weakness with any more. 

lagn. What, man! 'tis a night of revels ; the gal- 
lants desire it. 

Cas. Where are they ? 

lago. Here at the door; I pray you call them in. 

Cas. I'll do it; but it dislikes me. [Exit Cassio, 

lago. If I can fasten but one cup upon him, 
With that which he hath drank to-night already, 
He'll be as full of quarrel and oflTence [derigo, 

As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool, Ro- 
Whom love has turn'd almost the wrong side outward, 
To Desdemona hath to-night carous'd 
Potations pottle deep ; and he's to watch : 
Three lads of Cyprus, — noble swelling spirits. 
That hold their honours in a wary distance. 
The very elements of this warlike isle, — 
Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups. 
And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of 

drunkards, 
Am I to put our Cassio in some action 
That may off'end the isle :— But here they come : 



If consequence do but approve my dream. 

My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream. 

Re-enter Cassio, with him Montano, and 
Gentlemen. 

Cas. 'Fore heaven, they have given me a rouae 
already. 

Mon. Good faith, a little one ; not past a pint, as 
I am a soldier. 

lago. Some wine, ho ! 

And let me the canakin clink, clink; [^Singa, 

And let me the canakin clink : 

A soldier's a man ; 

A life's but a span ; 
Why then let a soldier drink. 



Some wine, boys ! [Wine brought m. 

Cas. 'Fore heaven, an excellent song. 

logo. I learned it in England, where (indeed) 
ihey are most potent in potting : your Dane, your 
German, and your swag-bellied Hollander, — Drink, 
ho ! — are nothing to your English. 

Cas. Is your Englishman so expert in his drinkingl 

lago. Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane 
dead drunk ; he sweats not to overthrow your Al- 
main ; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next 
pottle can be filled. 

Cas. To the health of our general. 

Mon. I am for it, lieutenant ; and I '11 do you 
justice. 

lago. O sweet England ! 

King Stephen was a worthy peer. 
His breeches cost him hut a crown ; 

He held them siipeiice all too dear, 
With that he call'd the tailor — lown. 

He was a wight of high renown. 

And thou art but of low degree: 
'Tis pride that pulls the country down, 

Then take thine auld cloak about thee. 

Some wine, ho ! 

Cas. Why, this is a more exquisite song than the 
other. 

lago. Will you hear it again ? 
Cas. No ; for 1 hold him to be unworthy of his 
place, that does those things. — Well, — Heaven's 
above all ; and there be souls that must be saved, 
and there be souls must not be saved. 
lago. It's true, good lieutenant. 
Cas. For mine own part, — no off'ence to the gene- 
ral, nor any man of quality, — 1 hope to be saved. 
lago. And so do I too, lieutenant. 
Cas. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me ; the 
lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let's 
have no more of this ; let's to our afl^airs. — Forgive 
us our sins! — Gentlemen, let's look to our business. 
Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk : this is my 
ancient ; — this is my right hand, and this is my left 
hand : — I am not drunk now ; I can stand well 
enough, and speak well enough. 
All. Excellent well. 

Cas. Why, very well, then: you must not think 
then that I am drunk. [Erit. 

Mon. To the platform, masters; come, let's set 
the watch. 

lago. You see this fellow, that is gone before ; — 
He is a soldier, fit to stand by Caesar 
And give direction : and do but see his vice ; 
'Tis to his virtue a just equinox. 
The one as long as the other : 'tis pity of him. 
I fear, the trust Othello puts him in, 



ACT II.— SCENE III. 



8r>3 



On some odd tim« of his infirmity, 

Will sliake this island. 

Moil. But is he often ihusi 

lago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep : 

He'll vvafcii the horologe a double set, 

If drink rock not his cradle. 

Mon. It were well. 

The general were put in mind of it. 

Perhaps, he sees it not ; or his good nature 

Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, 

And looks not on his evils ; Is not this true 1 

Enter RoDEnioo. 

lago. How now, Roderigo ? [/4sid«. 

I pray you, after the lieutenant; go. [Exit Rod. 

Mou. And 'tis great pity, that the noble Moor 
Should hazard such a place, as his own second, 
With one of an ingraft infirmity : 
It were an honest action, to say 
So to the ftloor. 

lago. Not I, for this fair island : 

I do love Cassio well ; and would do much 
To cure him of this evil. But hark ! what noise 1 
\_Cry within, — Help! help' 

Re-enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo. 

Cus. You rogue ! you rascal ! 

Mon. What's the matter, lieutenant"! 

Cos. A knave ! — teach me my duty ! 
I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle. 

Rod. Beat me ! 

Cos. Dost thou prate, rogue ? [Striking "Ron. 

Mon. Nay, good lieutenant ; [Staying Itim 

I pray you, sir, hold your hand. 

Cos. Let me go, sir. 

Or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard. 

Mon. Come, come, you're drunk. 

Cas. Drunk! [They Jight. 

lago. Away, I say ! go out, and cry — a mutiny 
[Aside to Rod., who goes out. 
Nay, good lieutenant, — alas, gentlemen, — 
Help, ho ! — Lieutenant, — sir, — Montano, — sir ; — 
Help masters ! — Here's a goodly watch, indeed ! 

[Bell rivgs. 
Who's that that rings the bell ?— Diablo, ho ! 
The town will rise: God's will, lieutenant! hold ; 
You will be sham'd for ever. 

Enter Othello, and Attendants. 

0th. What is ihe matter here 1 

Mon. I bleed still, I am hurt to the death ; — he dies. 

0th. Hold, for your lives. 

lago. Hold, hold, lieutenant, — sir, Montano, — 
gentlemen, — 
Have you forgot all sense of place and duty ? 
Hold.holdl the general speaks to you; hold.forsham ! 

Uth. Why, how now, ho I from whence ariseth thisl 
Are we turn'd Turks ; and to ourselves do that. 
Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites ? 
For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl : 
He that stirs next to carve for his own rage. 
Holds his soul light ; he dies upon his motion. — 
Silence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle 
From her propriety. — What is the matter, masters? — 
Honest lago, that look'st dead with grieving, 
Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee. 

lago. I do not know; — friends all but now, even now, 
In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom 
Devesting them for bed : and then, but now, 
(As if some planet had unwitted men,) 
Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast. 
In opposition bloody. I cannot speal 



Any beginning to this peevish odds ; 
And 'would in action glorious I had lost 
These legs, that brought nie to a part of it ! 

0th. How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot 
Cas. I pray you, pardon me, 1 cannot speak. _ 
Oih. Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil ; 
The gravity and stillness of your youth 
The world hath noted, and your name is great 
In mouths of wisest censure ; What's the matter. 
That you unlace your reputation thus, 
.\nd spend your rich opniion, for the name 
Of a night-brawler? give me answer to it. 

Mou. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger; 
Your officer, lago, can inform you — 
W'hile I spare speech, which something now offends 
Of all that 1 do know : nor know I aught [me ; — 
By me that's said or done amiss this night ; 
Unless self-charity be sometime a vice ; 
And to defend ourselves it be a sin. 
When violence assails us. 

0th. Now, by heaven. 

My blood begins my safer guides to rule ; 
And passion, having my best judgment collied. 
Assays to lead the way : If I once stir. 
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you 
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know 
liow this foul rout began, who set it on ; 
And he that is approv d in this offence. 
Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, 
Shall lose me. — What ! in a town of war, 
Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear. 
To manage private and domestic quarrel. 
In night, and on the court and guard of safety I 
'Tis monstrous. — lago, who began it? 
i Mon. If partially affin'd, or leagu'd in office, 
Thou dost deliver more or less than truth. 
Thou art no soldier. 

liiiTo. Touch me not so near: 

I hail rather have this tongue cut from my mouth. 
Than it should do offence to iMichael Cassio ; 
'^'et, 1 persuade myself, to speak the truth 
Shall nothing wrong him. — Thus it is, general. 
Montano and myself being in speech. 
There comes a fellow, crying out for help ; 
And Cassio following him with determin'd sword. 
To execute upon him : Sir, this gentleman 
Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause ; 
Myself the crying fellow did pursue. 
Lest, by his clamour, (as it so fell out,) 
The town might fall in fright : he, swift of foot, 
Outran my purpose ; and I return'd the rather 
For that 1 heard the clink and fall of swords. 
And Cassio high in oath ; which, till to-night, 
I ne'er might say before : When I came back, 
(For this was brief,) I found them close together, 
At blow, and thrust ; even as again they were. 
When you yourself did part them. 
More of this matter can I not report : — 
But men are men : the best sometimes forget: — 
Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, — 
As men in rage strike those that wish them best,— 
Yet, surely Cassio, I believe, receiv'd. 
From him 'that fled, some strange indignity. 
Which patience could not pass. 

0th. ' I know, lago. 

Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter. 
Making it light to Cassio :— Cassio, I love thee ; 
But never more be officer of mine. — 

Enter Desdemona, attended. 

Look, if my gentle love be not rais'd up;— 
I'll make thee an example. 



864 



OTHELLO. 



Pes. What's the matter, dear ''. 

0th. All's well now, sweeting ; Come away to bed. 
Sir, for your hurts. 
Myself will be your surgeon : Lead him off. 

[To iMoNTANO, who is Led ojf. 
lago, look with care about the town ; 
And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. — 
Come, Desdemona ; 'tis the soldier's life. 
To have their balmy slumbers wak'd with strife. 

[Exeunt all hut Iago and Cassio. 

lago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant 1 

Cas. Ay, past all surgery. 

Iago. Marry, heaven forbid ! 

Cas, Reputation, reputation, reputation ! O, I have 
lost my reputation ! 1 have lost ihe immortal part, 
sir, of myself, and what remains is bestial. — My re- 
putation, Iago, ray reputation. 

Iago. As 1 am an honest man, I thought you had 
received some bodily wound ; there is more offence 
in that, than in reputation. Reputation is an idle 
and most false imposition ; oft got without merit, and 
lost without deserving : you have lost no reputation 
at all, unless you reputeyourself such a loser. What, 
man! there are ways to recover the general again : 
You are but now cast in his mood, a punishment 
more in policy than in malice ; even so as one would 
beat his offenceless dog, to affright an imperious lion: 
sue to him again, and he is yours. 

Cas. I will rather sue to be despised, than to deceive 
so good a commander, with so slight, so drunken, 
and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk 1 and speak pai- 
rof! and squabble? swagger 1 swearl and discourse 
fustian with one's own shadow 1 — O thou invisible 
spirit of wine, if thou hadst no name to be known by, 
let us call thee — devil ! 

Iago. What was he that you foUow'd with your 
sword 1 What had he done to you 1 

Cas. I know not. 

Iago. Is it possible 1 

Cas. I remember a mass of things, but nothmg dis- 
tinctly ; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. — O, that 
men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal 
away their brains ! that we should, with joy, revel, 
pleasure, and applause .transform ourselves into beasts! 

Iago. Why, but you are now well enough : How 
came you tiius recovered 1 

Cas. It hath pleased the devil, drunkenness, to give 
place to the devil, wrath : one unperfectness shews 
me another to make me frankly despise myself. 

Iago. Come, you are too severe a moraler : As the 
time, the place, and the condition of this country 
stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen ; 
but, since it is as it is, mend it for your own good. 

Cas. I will ask him for my place again ; he shall 
tell me, I am a drunkard ! Had I as many mouths as 
Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To be 
now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently 
a beast! strange! — Every inordinate cup is un- 
blessed, and the ingredient is a devil. 

Iago. Come, come, good wine is a good familiat 
creature, if it be well used ; exclaim no more against 
it. And, good lieutenant, I think, you think I love you. 

Cas. 1 have well approved it, sir. — I drunk! 

Iago. You, or any man living, may be drunk at soma 
time, man. I'll tell you what you shall do. Our 
general's wife is now the general ; — I may say so in 
this respect, for that he hath devoted and given up 
himself to the contemplation, mark, and denotement 
of her parts and graces : — confess yourself freely to 
her; importune her; she'll help to put you in your 
place agam : she is of so free, so kind, so apt, so 
blessed a disposition, that she holds it a vice in her 



goodness, not to do more than she is requested : This 
broken joint, between you and her husband, entreat 
her to splinter ; and, my fortunes against any lay 
worth naming, this crack of your love shall grow 
stronger than it was before. 

Cas. You advise me well. 

Iago. I protest, in the sincerity of love, and honest 
kindness. 

Cas. I think it freely ; and, betimes in the morn- 
ing, 1 will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to under- 
take for me : I am desperate of my fortunes, if they 
check me here. 

logo. You are in the right. Good night, lieute- 
nant ; I must to the watch. 

Cas. Good night, honest Iago. [E.ut Cassio. 

Iago. And wliat's he then, that says, — I play the 
villain 1 
When this advice is free, I give, and honest, 
Probal to thinking, and (indeed) the course 
To win the Moor again ? Kor 'tis most easy 
The inclining Desdemona to subdue 
In any honest suit ; she's fram'd as fruitful 
As the free elements. And then for her 
To win the Moor, — were't to renounce his baptism. 
All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, — 
His soul is so enfetter'd to her love. 
That she may make, unmake, do what she lists, 
Even as her appetite shall play the god 
With his weak function. How am 1 then a villain, 
To counsel Cassio to this parallel course. 
Directly to his good 1 Divinity of hell ! 
When devils will their blackest sins put on. 
They do suggest at first with heavenly shows. 
As 1 do now : For while this honest fool 
Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes. 
And she for him plies strongly to the Moor, 
I'll pour this pestilence into his ear, — 
That she repeals him for her body's lust ; 
And, by how much she strives to do him good, 
She shall undo her credit with the Moor. 
So will I turn her virtue into pilch ; 
And out of her own goodness make the net. 
That shall enmesh them all. — How now, Roderigol 

Enter RonsRiGO. 

Rod. I do follow here in the chase, not like a 
hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My 
money is almost spent ; I have been to-night ex- 
ceedingly well cudgelled ; and, I think, the issue 
will be — I shall have so much experience for my 
pains : and so, with no money at all, and a little more 
wit, return to Venice. 

logo. How poor are they, that have not patience ! — 
What wound did ever heal, but by degrees ? 
Thou know'st, we work by wit, and not by witchcraJt j 
And wit depends on dilatory time. 
Does't not go well t Cassio hath beaten thee. 
And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd Cai^sio: 
Though other things grow fair against the sun. 
Yet fruits, that blossom first, will first be ripe : 
Content thyself a while. — By the mass, 'tis morning ; 
Pleasure, and action, make the hours seem short.— 
Retire thee ; go where thou art billeted : 
Away, I say, thou shalt know more hereafter : 
Nay.gettheegone. [Erit Rod.] Two things are to be 

done, — 
My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress ; 
I'll set her on ; 

Myself, the while, to draw the Moor apart, 
And bring him jump when he may Cassio find 
Soliciting his wife : — Ay, that's the way ; 
Dull not device by coldness and delay. [Exit. 



ACT in.— SCENE I I. 



865 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— Before the Castle. 
Enter Cassio, and some Musicians. 

Cas, Masters, play here, 1 will content your pains, 
Samething that's brief; and bid — good-morrow, ge- 
neral. {_Music. 

Enter Clown. 

Clo. Why, masters, have your instruments been at 
Naples, that they speak i' the nose thus? 

1 Miis. How, sir, how ! 

Clo. Are these, I pray you, called wind instruments? 

1 Mus. Ay, raarry, are they, sir. 

Clo. O, thereby hangs a tail. 

I Mus, Whereby hangs a tale, sir? 

Clo. Marry, sir, by many a wind instrument that 
I know. But, masters, here's money for you : and 
the general so likes your music, that he desirus you, 
of all loves, to make no more noise with it. 

1 Mas. Well, sir, we will not. 

Clo. If you have any music that may not be heard, 
lo't ag.xin : but. as they say, to hear music, the gene- 
lal does not greatly care. 

1 Mus. We have none such, sir. 

Clo. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll 
away: Go ; vanish into air ; away. [Ei. Musicians. 

Cas. Dost thou hear, my honest friend ? 

Clo. No, I hear not your honest friend, I hear you. 

Cas. Pr'ythee, keep up thy quillets. There's a 
poor piece of gold for thee : if the gentlewoman that 
attends the general's wife, be stirring, tell ner, 
there's one Cassio entreats her a little favour of 
speech: \Vilt thou do this ? 

Clc. She is stirring, sir ; if she will stir hither, I 
shall seem to notify unto her. [£jit. 

Enter Iago. 

Cas. Do, good my friend. — In happy time, Iago. 

Iago. You have not been a-bed then? 

Cas. Why, 110 ; the day had broke 
Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago, 
To send in to your wife : My suit to her 
Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona 
Procure me some access. 

Iago. I'll send her to you presently ; 

And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor 
Out of the way, that your converse and business 
May be more free. [ Exit. 

Cas. I humbly thank you for't. I never knew 
A Florentine more kind and honest. 

Enter Emima. 

Em'tl. Good morrow, good lieutenant: I am sorry 
For your displeasure ; but all will soon be well. 
The general, and his wife are talking of it ; 
And she speaks for you stoutly : The Moor replies, 
That he, you hurt, is of great fame in Cyprus, 
And great affinity ; and that, in wholesome wisdom, 
He might not but refuse you : but, he protests, he loves 
And needs no other suitor, but his likings, [you ; 
To take the safst occasion by the front, 
To bring you in again. 

Cas. Yet, I beseech you, — 

If you think fit, or that it may be done, — 
Give me advantage of some brief discourse 
With Desdemona alone. 

Emit. Pray you, come in ; 

I will bestow you where you shall have time 
To speak your bosom freeiy. 

Cas. I am much bound to you. [Exeimi. 



SCENE 11.—^ Room in the Castle. 
Erder Othello, Iago, and Gentlemen. 

0th. These letters give, Iago, to the pilot ; 
And, by him, do my duties to tiie state : 
That done, I will be walking on the works, 
Repair there to me. 

/«o-(). Well, my good lord, I'll do't. 

0(/!. This fortification, gentlemen, — shall we see't? 

Gent. We'll wait upon your lordship. \_Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— I3e/ore the Castle. 
Enter Desdlmona, Cassio, and Emilia. 

Des. Be thou assur'd, good Cassio, I will do 
All my abilities in thy behalf. 

Emil, Good madam, do ; I know, it grieves my 
As if the case were his. [husband, 

Des. O, that's an honest fellow. — Do not doubt. 
But I will have my lord and you again [Cassio, 

As friendly as you were. 

Cas. Bounteous madam, 

Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, 
He's never any thing but your true servant. 

Des. O, sir, I thank you : You do love my lord : 
You have known him long ; and be you well assur'd. 
He shall in strangeness stand no further off 
Than in a politic distance. 

Cas. Ay, but, lady. 

That policy may either last so long, 
Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet. 
Or breed itself so out of circumstance, 
That, I being absent, and my place supplied, 
My general will forget my love and service. 

Des. Do not doubt that ; before Emilia here, 
I give thee warrant of thy place ; assure thee, 
If 1 do vow a friendship, I'll perform it 
To the last article : my lord shall never rest; 
I'll watch him tame, and talk him out of patience ; 
His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift ; 
I'll intermingle every thing he does 
With Cassio's suit : Therefore be merry, Cassio ; 
For thy solicitor shall rather die, 
Ihan give thy cause away. 

Enter Othello and Iago, at a distance. 

Emil. Madam, here comes 

My lord. 

Cas. Madam, I'll take my leave. 

Des. Why, stay, 

And hear me speak. 

Cas. Madam, not now; I am very ill at ease, 
Unfit for mine own purposes, 

Des. Well, well, 

Do your discretion. [Exit Cassio. 

Jij^ro. Ha ! I like not that. 

0th. What dost thou say ? 

Iiigo. Nothing, my lord : or if — I know not what. 

0th. Was not that Cassio, parted from my wife ? 

Iago. Cassio, my lord ! No, sure, I cannot think it 
That he would steal away so guilty-like, 
Seeing you coming. 

0th. I do believe 'twas he. 

Des. How now, my lord ? 
I have been talking with a suitor here, 
A man that languishes in your displeasure. 

0th. Who is't you mean ? 

Des. Why, your lieutenant Cassio. Good my lord 
If I have any grace, or power to move you, 
His present reconciliation take ; 
For, if he be not one that truly loves you. 
That errs in ignorance, and not in cunning, 

3 I 



B66 



OTHELLO. 



I have no judement in an honest face : 
1 pr'ythee, cail him back. 

0th. Went he hence now 1 

Des. Ay, sooth ; so humbled, 
That he hath left part of his grief with me ; 
I suffer with him. Good love, call him bacK. 

Oih. Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time. 

Des. But shall't be shortly 1 

0th. The sooner, sweet, for you. 

Des. Shall't be to-night at supper ? 

0th. No, not to-night. 

Des. To-morrow dinner then? 

0th. I shall not dine at home ; 

I meet the captains at the citadel. 

Des. Why then, to-morrow night ; or Tuesday morr; 
Or Tuesday noon, or night ; or Wednesday morn ; — 
I pray thee, name the time ; but let it not 
Exceed three days : in faith, he's penitent ; 
And yet his trespass in our common reason, 
(Save that, they say, the wars must make examples 
Out of their best,) is not almost a fault 
To incur a private check : When shall he come? 
Tell me, Othello. I wonder in my soul, 
What you could ask me, that I should deny, 
Orstand somammering on. What! Michael Cassio, 
That came a wooing with you : and many a time, 
When I have spoke of you dispraisingly. 
Hath ta'en your part ; to have so much to do 
To bring him in ! Trust me, I could do much, — 

0th. Pr'ythee, no more : lethimcomewhenhewill ; 
I will deny thee nothing. 

Des. Why, this is not a boon ; 

'Tis as I should entreat yon wear ^our gloves. 
Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm; 
Or sue to you to do peculiar profit 
To your own person : Nay, when I have a suit. 
Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, 
It shall be full of poize and difficulty, 
And fearful to be granted. 

0th. I will deny thee nothing ; 

Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me tiiis, 
To leave me but a little to myself. 

Des. Shall I deny you? no: Farewell, my lord. 

0th. Farewell, my Desdemona: I will come to thee 
straight. [you ; 

Des. Emilia, come : — Be it as your fancies teach 
Whate'er vou be, I am obedient. [Exit, with Emilia. 

0th. Excellent wretch ! Perdition catch my soul, 
But I do love thee ! and when 1 love thee not. 
Chaos is come again. 

lago. My noble lord, ■ 

0th. What dost thou say, lago ? 

lago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady. 
Know of your love ? 

0th. He did, from first to last: Why dost thou ask? 

lago. But for a satisfaction of my thought ; 
No further harm. 

0th. Why of thy thought, lago ? [her. 

lago. I did not think, he had been acquainted with 

0th. O, yes ; and went between us very oft. 

lago. Indeed? 

0th. Indeed! ay, indeed: — Discern'st thou aught 
Is he not honest ? [in that ? 

lago. Honest, my lord ? 

0th. Ay, honest. 

lago. My lord, for aught I know. 

0th. What dost thou think ? 

lago. Think, my lord? 

0th. Think, my lord ! 

By heaven, he echoes me. 

As if there were some monster in his thought [thing: 
Too hideous to be shewn. — Thou dost mean some- 



I heard thee say but no^v, — Thon lik'dsl not that, 
When Cassio left my wife ; What did'st not like? 
And, when I told thee, — he was of my counseJ 
In my whole course of wooing, thou cry 'dst, Indeed? 
And did'st contract and purse thy brow together, 
As if thou then had'st shut up in thy brain 
Some horrible conceit : If thou dost love roe, 
Shew me thy thought. 

lago. My lord, you know I love you. 

0th. I think thou dost : 

And, — for I know thou art full of love and honesty. 
And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'stthem breath, 
Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more : 
For such things in a false disloyal knave. 
Are tricks of custom ; but, in a man that's just. 
They are close denotements, working from the heart, 
I'hat passion cannot rule. 

lago. For Michael Cassio, — 

I dare be sworn, I think that he is honest. 

0th. I think so too. 

lago. Men should be what they seem ; 

Or, those that be not, 'would they might seem none ! 

0th. Certain, men should be what they seem. 

lago. Why then, 

I think, that Cassio is an honest man. 

0th. Nay, yet there's more in this : 
I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, 
As thou dost ruminate ; and give thy worst of thoughts 
The worst of words. 

lago. Good my lord, pardon me ; 

Though I am bound to every act of duty, 
I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. 
Utter my thoughts? Why, say, they are vile and false, 
As where's that palace, whereunto foul things 
Sometimes intrude not ? who has a breast so pure, 
But some uncleanly apprehensions 
Keep leets, and law-days, and in session sit 
With meditations lawful ? 

0th. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, lago, 
If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear 
A stranger to thy thoughts. 

lago. I do beseech you, — 

Though I, perchance, am vicious in my guess. 
As, I confess, it is my nature's plague 
To spy into abuses ; and, oft my jealousy 
Shapes faults that are not, — I entreat you then. 
From one that so imperfectly conjects. 
You'd take no notice ; nor build yourself a trouble 
Out of his scattering and unsure observance : — 
It were not for your quiet, nor your good, 
Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom. 
To let you know my thoughts, 

0th. What dost thou mean ? 

lago. Good name, in man, and woman, dear my lord. 
Is the immediate jewel of their souls : [nothing : 
Who steals my purse, steals trash ; 'tis something, 
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; 
But he, that filches from me my good name, 
Robs me of that, which not enriches him. 
And makes me poor indeed. 

0th. By heaven, I'll know thy thought. 

lago. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand; 
Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody. 

0th. Ha! 

lago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy ; 

It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock 
The meat it feeds on : That cuckold lives in bliss. 
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger ; 
But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er, 
Who dotes, yet doubts ; suspects, yet strongly loves ! 

0th. O misery ! 

lago. Poor, and content, is rich, and nch enough ; 



ACT III.— SCENE III. 



867 



But riches, fiaeless, is as poor as winter, 
To him that ever fears he shall be poor : — 
Good heaven, tlie souls of all my trilKi defend 
From jealousy! 

Olli. Why 1 why is this ? 

Think'st thou, I 'd make a life of jealoasy, 
'l"o follow still the ciianges of the moon 
With fresh suspicions ? bio : to be once in doubt, 
Is — once to be resolv'd : Ivvchange nie for a goat. 
When I shall turn the business of my soul 
To such exsufflicale, and blown surmises. 
Matching thy inference, 'lis not to maku me jealous. 
To say — my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, 
is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well • 
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous : 
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw 
l"he smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt; 
For she had eyes, and chose me : No, lago ; 
I'll see, before I doubt ; when I doubt, prove •, 
And, OQ the proof, tiiere is no more but this, — 
Away at once with love, or jealousy. 

iiigo. I am glad of this ; for now I shall have reason 
To shew the love and duty that I bear you 
AVith franker spirit : therefore, as 1 am bound, 
Receive it from me : — I speak not yet of proof. 
Look to your v/ife ; observe her well with Cassio • 
Wear your eye — thus, not jealous, nor secure : 
i would not have your free and noble nature. 
Out of seif-bounty, be abus'd ; look to't : 
I know our country disposition well ; 
In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks 
They dare not shew their husbands ; their best con- 
Is — not to leave undone, but keep unknown, [science 

0th. Dost thou say so 1 

itigo. She did deceive her father, marrying you ; 
And, when she seem'd to shake, and fear your looks, 
She lov'd them most. 

0th. And so she did. 

Hugo. Why, go to, then ; 

She that so young, could give out such a seeming. 
To seel her father's eyes up, close as oak. 
He thought, 'twas witchcraft : — But I am much to 
I humbly do beseech you of your pardon, [blame ; 
For too much loving you. 

0th. I am bound to thee for ever. 

lago. I see, this hath a little dash'd your spirits. 

Otk. Not a jot, not a jot. 

lago. Trust me, I fear it has. 

I hope, you will consider, what is spoke 
Comes from my love : — But, I do see you are mov'd : — 
I am to pray you, not to strain my speech 
To grosser issues, nor to larger reach, 
Than to suspicion. 

0th. I will not. 

lago. Should you do so, my lord, 

Sly speech should fall into such vile success 
As my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my worthy 

friend : — 
IVIy lord, I see you are mov'd. 

0th., No, not much mov'd : — 

[ do not think but Desdemona's honest. [so ! 

lago. Long live she so ! and long live you to think 

0th. And yet, how nature erring from itself, — 

lago. Ay, there's the point: — As, — to heboid with 
Not to affect many proposed matches, [j'oUj — 

Of her own clime, complexion, and degree; 
Whereto, we see, in all things nature tends : 
Foh ! one may smell, in such, a will most rank, 
Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. — 
But, pardon me ; I do not in position. 
Distinctly speak of her: though I may fear, 
Her will, recoiling to her better judgment, 



May fall to match you with her country forms. 
And (happily) repent. . 

0th. Farewell, forf well : 

If more thou dost perceive, let me know more; 
Set on thy wife to observe : Leave me, lago. 

logo. My lord, I take my leave. [Goir^. 

Olh. why did I marry ! — This honest creature, 
doubtless, 
See and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. 

lago. My lord, I would, 1 might entreat your honour 
To scan this thing no further ; leave it to time : 
And though it be fit that Cassio have his place, 
(For, sure, he fills it up with great ability,) 
Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile. 
You shall by that perceive him and his means : 
Note, if your lady strain his entertainment 
With any strong or vehement importunity ; 
Much will be seen in that. In the mean time. 
Let me be thought too busy in my fears, 
(As worthy cause I have, to fear — I am,) 
And hold her free, I do beseech your honour. 

0th. Fear not my government. 

lagn. I once more take my leave. [Eirf. 

0th. This fellow 's of exceeding honesty, 
And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit, 
Of human dealings : If I do prove her haggard. 
Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings, 
I 'd whistle her off, and let her down the vfind, 
To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black ; 
And have not those soft parts of conversation 
That chamberers have : Or, for I am declin'd 
Into the vale of years ; — yet that's not much ; — 
She 's gone ; I am abus'd ; and my relief 
Must be — to loath her. O curse of marriage. 
That we can call these delicate creatures ours, 
And not their appetites 1 I had rather be a toad, 
And live upon the vapour of a dungeon, 
Than keep a corner in the thing I love. 
For others' uses. Yet 'tis the plague of great ones; 
Prerogativ'd are they less than the base ; 
'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death ; 
Even then this forked plague is fated to us, 
When we do quicken. Desdemona comes • 

Enter Desdemona and Emilia. 

If she be false, 0, then heaven mocks itself! — 
I '11 not believe it. 

Des. How now, my dear Othello ? 

Your dinner, and the generous islanders 
By you invited, do attend your presence. 

0th. I am to blame. 

D«s. Why is your speech so faint? are you not well 2 

0th. I have a pain upon my forehead here. 

Des. Faith, that's with watching; 'twill away 
again : 
Let me but bind it hard, within this hour 
It will be well. 

0th. Your napkin is too little ; 

[He puts the handkerchief from him, and it drops. 
Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you. 

Des. I am very sorry tliat you are not well. 

[Eieimt Oth. and Des. 

Emil. I am glad I have found this napkin; 
This was her first remembrance from the Moor: 
My wayward husband hath a hundred times 
Woo'd me to steal it : but she so loves the token, 
(For he conjur'd her, she would ever keep it,) 
That she reserves it evermore about her. 
To kiss, and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out. 
And give it lago ; 

What he '11 do with it, heaven knows, not I ', 
I nothing, but to please his fantasy. 
3 I 2 



BGS 



OTHELLO. 



Enter Iaco. 

/nji-rt. How now ! what do you here alone ? 

Kmil. Do not you chicle ; 1 have a thing for you. 

higo. A thing for me ? — it is a common thing. 

Emil. Ha! 

lago. To have a foolish wife. 

Emil. O, is that all? What will you give me now 
for that same handkerchief! 

Jagn. What handkerchief? 

Emil. What handkerchief ? 
Why, that the ftloor first gave to Desdemona ; 
That which so often you did bid me steal. 

Idgo. Hast stolen it from her ? 

Emil. No, faith ; she let it drop by negligence ; 
And, to the advantage, I, being here, took 'l up. 
l^ook, here it is. 

lagn. A good wench ; give it me. 

Emil. What will you do with it, that you have been 
To have me filch it? [so earnest 

Jago. Why, what's that to you ? [Snatching it. 

Emil. If it be not for some purpose of import, 
Give it me again: Poor lady ! she'll run mad, 
When she sliall lack it. 

lago. Be not you known oft ; 1 have use for it. 
Go, leave me. [Eiif Emilia. 

I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin, 
And let him find it: Trifles, light as air, 
y\re, to the jealous, confirmations strong 
As proofs of holy writ. This may do something. 
The Moor already changes with my poison : — 
Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poisons. 
Which, at the first, are scarce found to distaste ; 
I5ut, with a little act upon the blood, 
liurn like the mines of sulphur. — I did say so : — 

Enter Othet.i.o. 
Look, where becomes! Not poppy, nor mandragora, 
Nor all tlie drowsy syrups of the world, 
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
\\'liich thou ovv'dst yesterday. 

0th. Ha ! ha ! false to me? 

To me ? 

L'.go. Why, how now, general ? no more of that? 

0th. Avaunt ! be gone ! thou hast set me on the 
I swear, 'tis better to be much abus'd, [rack : — 
I'han but to know 't a little. 

Togo How now, my lord ? 

Oth. What sense had I of her stolen hours of lust? 
I saw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me : 
I slept the next night well, was free and merry ; 
I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips : 
He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen. 
Let him not know it, and he 's not robb'd at all. 

lego. I am sorry to hear this. 

0th. I had been happy, if the general camp. 
Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body. 
So I had nothing known : O now, for ever, 
Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content! 
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, 
'J'hat make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! 
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, 
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, 
The royal banner; and all quality. 
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ! 
And O you mortal engines, whose rude throats 
The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit. 
Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone .' 

iugo. Is it possible? — My lord, 

0th. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore , 
Be sure of it ; give me the ocular proof; 

[Taking him by the throat. 
Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul. 



Thou hadst been Ijetter have been bot n a dog, 
Than answer my wak'd wrath. 

lagn. Is it come to this 1 

0th. Make me to see it; or (at the least) so prove it 
That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop, 
To hang a doubt on : or, woe upon thy life ! 

lago. My noble lord, 

Oih. If thou dost slander her, and torture me. 
Never pray more : abandon all remorse ; 
On horror's head horrors accumulate : 
Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz'd. 
For nothing canst thou to damnation add, 
Greater than that. 

la^o, O grace ! heaven defend me ! 

Are you a man ? have you a soul, or sense ? — 
God be wi'you; take mine office. — O wretched fool. 
That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice! — 

monstrous world! Take note, take note, world, 
Jo be direct and honest, is not safe. — 

1 thank you for this profit ; and, from hence, 

1 '11 love no friend, since love breeds such offence. 

0th, Nay, stay: — Thou should'st be honest. 

logo. I should be wise ; for honesty's a fool. 
And loses that it works for. 

0th. By the world, 

I think my wife be honest, and think she is not ; 
I think that thou art just, and think thou art not; 
I'll have some proof : Her name, that was as fresh 
As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black 
As mine own face. — If there be cords, or knives. 
Poison, or fire, or suff'ocating streams, 
I '11 not endure it. — Would, I were satisfied ! 

lago. 1 see, sir, you are eaten up with passion : 
I do repent me, that I put it to you. 
You would be satisfied ? 

0th. Would ? nay, I will. 

jfao-o. And may : But, how? how satisfied, my lord? 
Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on? 
Behold her tupp'd? 

0th. Death and damnation ! O ' 

Ingn. It were a tedious difficulty, I think. 
To bring them to that prospect : Damn them then. 
If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster, 
More than their own ! What then ? how then ? 
What shall I say? Where's satisfaction ? 
It is impossible, you should see this, 
Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys. 
As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross 
As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say. 
If imputation, and strong circumstances, — 
Which lead directly to the door of truth, — 
Will give you satisfaction, you may have it. 

0th. Give me a living reason she's disloyal. 

Jago. I do not like the office: 
But, sith I am enter'd in this cause so far, — 
Prick'd tc it by foolish honesty and love, — 
I will go (m. 1 lay with Cassio lately; 
And, being troubled with a raging tooth, 
I could not sleep. 

There are a kind of men so loose of soul. 
That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs ; 
One of this kind is Cassio : 
In sleep I heard him say, — Sueet Desdemona, 
Let us be wari/, let vs hide our luces .' 
And then, sir, would he gripe, and wring my hand, 
Cry, — 0, siveet creature! and then kiss me hard, 
As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots. 
That grew upon my lips : then laid his leg 
Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd; and then 
Cry'd, — Cursed fate! that gave thee to the Moor ! 

0th. O monstrous I monstrous ! 

Jairo, Nay, this was but his dream, 



ACT IIL— SCENE IV. 



86'f> 



Oth, But this denoted a foregone conclusion ; 
'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream, 

log'y. And this may lielp to thicken other proofs. 
That do demonstrate thinly. 

0th. I'll tear her all to pieces. 

Ligo. Nay, but be wise: yet we see nothing done; 
She may be honest yet. Tell me but this. — 
Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief. 
Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's hand ? 

0th. I gave her such a one; 'twas my first gift. 

lago. I know not that: but such a liandkerchief, 
(I am sure it was your wife's) did I to-day 
See Cassio wipe his beard with. 

0th. Ifitbethat, — 

lagn. If it be that, or any that was her's. 
It speaks against her, with the other proofs. 

0th. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives ; 
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge ! 
Now do I see 'tis true,— Look here, lago ; 
All my fond l-ove thus I do blow to heaven: 
'Tis gone. — 

Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! 
Yield up, O love, thy crown, and hearted throne. 
To tyrannous hate ! swell, bosom, with thy fraught. 
For 'tis of aspicks' tongues ! 

lagi). Pray, be content. 

0th. O, blood, lago, blood ! 

lago. Patience, I say ; your mind, perhaps, may 
change. 

0th. Never, lago. Like to the Pontic sea. 
Whose icy current and compulsive course 
Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on 
To the Propontick and the Hellespont ; 
Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, 
Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, 
Till that a capable and wide revenge 
Swallow them up. — Now, by yond' marble heaven. 
In the due reverence of a sacred vow \^Kueels. 

1 here engage my words. 

Iiigo. Do not rise 3'et. — [^Kneels. 

Witness, you ever-burning lights above ! 
You elements that clip us round about ! 
Witness, that here lago doth give up 
The execution of his wit, hands, heart. 
To wrong'd Othello's service ! let him command. 
And to obey shall be in me remorse. 
What bloody work soever 



0th. 



I greet thy love. 



Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous. 
And will upon the instant put thee to't : 
AVithin these three days let me hear thee say. 
That Cassio's not alive. 

lago. My friend is dead ; 'tis done, at your request : 
But let her live. 

0th. Damn her, lewd minx ! O, damn her ! 

Come, go with me apart ; I will withdraw. 
To furnish me with some swift means of death 
For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant. 

l-Jgo. I am your own for ever. lExeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The tame. 
Enter Desdemona, E.milia, a/id Clown. 

D^s. Do you know, sirrah, where lieutenant Cassio 

Clo. I dare not say, he lies any where- [lies 1 

Des. Why, man ! 

Clo. He is a soldier ; and for me to say a soldier 
lies, is stabbing. 

Des. Go to ; Where lodges he"! 

Clo. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you 
where I lie. 

Des. Can any thing be made of this : 



Clo. I know not where he lodges ; and for me to 
devise a lodging, and say — he lies here, or he lies 
there, were to lie in my own throat. 

Des. Can you inquire him out, and be edified by 
report ? 

Clo. I will catechize the world for him ; that is, 
make questions, and by them answer. 

Des. Seek him, bid him come hither ; tell him, 1 
have moved ray lord in his behalf, and hope, all will 
be well. 

Clo. To do this, is within the compass of man's 
wit ; and therefore I will attempt the doing it. [ E.iit. 

Des. Where should I lose that handkerchie', 

Emil. I know not, madam [Emilia? 

Des. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse 
Full of crusadoes. And, but my noble JXIoor 
Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness 
As jealous creatures are, it were enough 
To put him to ill thinking- 

EmiL Is he not jealous? 

Des. Who, he? I think, the sun, where he was born. 
Drew all such humours from him. 

Emil. Look, where he comes. 

Des. I will not leave him now, till Cassio 
Be call'd to him. — How is't with you, my lord ? 

Enter Othello. 

0th. Well, my good lady ;— [Aside.] O, hardness 
How do you, Desdemona ? [to dissemble ! — 

Des. Well, my good lord. [lady. 

0th. Give me your hand : This hand is moist, my 

Des. It yet has felt no age, nor known no sorrow. 

0th. This argues fruitfulness, and liberal heart ; 
Hot, hot, and moist : This hand of yours requires 
A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer. 
Much castigaton, exercise devout ; 
For here's a young and sweating devil here. 
That commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand, 
A frank one. 

Des. \ ou may, indeed, say so ; 

For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart. 

0th. A liberal haad : The hearts, of old, gave 
But our new heraldrj is— hands, not hearts, [hands: 

Dea. I cannot speak oi tnis. Come now your pjo- 

0th. What promise, chuck? " [mise. 

Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you. 

0th. I have a salt and sullen rheum offends me, 
Lend me thy handkerchief. 

Des. Here, my lord 

0th. That which I gave you. 

Des. I have it not about me. 

Not? 



No, indeed, my lord. 



That is a fault . 



0th. 

Des. 

0th. 
That handkerchief 
13id an Egyptian to my mother give ; 
She was a charmer, and could almost read [it. 

The thoughts of people : she told her, while she kept 
'Twould make her amiable, and subdue my father 
Entirely to her love ; but if she lost it, 
Or made a gift of it, my father's eye 
Should hold her loathly, and his spirits should hunt 
After new fancies : She, dying, gave it me ; 
And bid me, when my fate would have me wive. 
To give it her. I did so : and take heed oft. 
Make it a darling like your precious eye ; 
To lose or give't away, were such perdition. 
As nothing else could match. 

Des. Is it possible ? 

0th. 'Tis true : There's magic in the web of it . 
A sibyl, that had nuniber'd in the world 
The sun to make two hundred compasses, 



870 



OTHELLO. 



In her prophetic fury sew'd the work : 
The worms were hallow'd, that did breed the silk ; 
And it v/as dy'din mummy, which the skilful 
Conserv'd of maidens' heirts. 

Des. Indeed ! is't true ? 

0th. Most veritable ; therefore look to't well. 

Des. Then 'would to heaven, that 1 had never seen 

0th. Ha! wherefore? [it. 

Des. Why do you speak so startingly and rash? 

0th. Is't lost? is't gone? speak, is it out of the 

Des. Heaven bless us ! [way ? 

0th. Say you ? 

Des. It is not lost ; But what an if it were 1 

0th. Ha! 

Des. I say, it is not lost. 

0th. Fetch't, let me see it. 

Des. Why, so I can, sir, but 1 will not now ; 
Tins is a trick, to put me from my suit ; 
I pray, let Cassio be receiv'd again. 

0th. Fetch me that handkerchief : my inind mis- 

Des. Come, come ; [gives. 

You'll never meet a more sufficient man. 

0th. The handkerchief, 

Des. I pray, talk me of Cassio. 

0th. The handkerchief, 

Des. A man that, all his time. 

Hath founded his good fortune on your love, 
Shar'd dangers with you ; 



th 



The handkerchief,- 



Des. In sooth. 
You are to blame. 

0th. Away! [Erit Othello. 

Ernil. Is not this man jealous? 

Des. I ne'er saw this before. 
Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief; 
1 am most unhappy in the loss of it. 

KmiL 'Tis not a year or two shews us a man ; 
Tliey are all but stomachs, and we all but food ; 
'I'hey eat us hungerly, and when they are full, 
They belch us. Look you ! Cassio, and my husband. 

Enter Iago and Cassio. 

lago. There is no other way ; 'tis she must do't ; 
And, lo, the happiness! go, and imp6rtune her. 

Des. How now, good Cassio? what's the news 
with you ? 

Cas. Madam, my former suit : I do beseech you, 
That, by your virtuous means, I may again 
Exist, and be a member of his love, 
Whom I, with all the duty of my heart, 
Entirely honour ; 1 would not be delay 'd: 
If my offence be of such mortal kind. 
That neither service past, nor present sorrows. 
Nor purpos'd merit in futurity,- 
Can ransome me into his love again. 
But to know so must be my benefit ; 
So shall I clothe me in a forc'd content. 
And shut myself up in some other course, 
To fortune's alms. 

Des. Alas ! thrice-gentle Cassio, 

My advocation is not now in tune ; 
My lord is not my lord ; nor should I know him. 
Were he in favour, as in humour, alter'd. 
So liclp me, every spirit sanctified. 
As 1 have spoken for you all my best, 
And stoo'' within the blank of liis displeasure. 
For my .ee speech ! You must a while be patient : 
What 1 can do, I will ; and more I will, 
Than for myself I dare : let that suffice you. 

7(1^0. Is my lord angry? 

Emil. He went hence but now. 

And, certainly, in strange unquielness. 



Iago. Can he be angry ? I have seen the cannon. 
When it hath blown his ranks into the air ; 
And, like the devil, from his very arm 
PufiTd his own brother ; — And can he be angry? 
Something of mou.ent, then : I will go meet him ; 
There's matter in't indeed, if he be angry. 

Des. I pr'y thee, do so. — Something, sure, of state,— 

[Exit Iago. 
Either from Venice ; or some unhatch'd practice, 
Rlade demonstrable here in Cyprus to him, — 
Hath puddled his clear spirit : and, in such cases. 
Men's natures wrangle with inferior things. 
Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even so ; 
For let our finger ache, and it indues 
Our other healthful members ev'n to that sense 
Of pain : Nay, we must think, men are not gods ; 
Nor of them look for such observances 
As fit the bridal. — Beshrew me much, Emilia, 
I was (unhandsome warrior as I am,) 
Arraigning his unkindness with my soul ; 
But now 1 find, I had suborn'd the witness, 
And he's indited falsely. 

Em/Z. Pray heaven, it be state matters, as you think, 
And no conception, nor no jealous toy, 
Concerning you. 

Des. Alas, the day ! I never gave him cause. 

Emil. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so ; 
They are not ever jealous for the cause. 
But jealous for they are jealous : 'tis a monster. 
Begot upon itself, born on itself. 

Des. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's mind ! 

Emil. Lady, amen. 

Des. I will go seek him. — Cassio, walk hereabout: 
If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit. 
And seek to affect it to my uttermost. 

Cas. I humbly thank your ladyship. 

[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia. 

Enter Bianca. 

Bian. Save you, friend Cassio ! 

Cas. What make you from home 1 

How is it with you, my most fair Bianca? 
I'faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house. 

Bian. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio. 
What ! keep a week away ? seven days and nights ? 
Eight score eight hours? and lovers' absent hours. 
More tedious than the dial eight score times? 

weary reckoning f 

Cos. Pardon me, Bianca ; 

1 have this while with leaden thoughts been press'd ; 
But I shall, in a more continuate time, 

Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca, 

[Giving her Desdemona's handkerchiefs 
Take me this work out. 

Bian. O, Cassio, whence came thisl 

This is some token from a newer friend. 
To the felt absence now I feel a cause : 
Is it come to this ? Well, well. 

Cas. Woman, go to ! 

Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth. 
From whence you have them. You are jealous now. 
That this is from some mistress, some remembrance : 
No, in good troth, Bianca. 

Bian. Why, whose is it ? 

Cas. 1 know not, sweet : I found it in my chamber. 
I like the work well ; ere it be demanded, 
(As like enough it will,) I'd have it copied : 
Take it, and do't ; and leave me for this time. 

Bian. Leave you ! wherefore ? 

Cas. I do attend here on the general ', 
And think it no addition, nor my wish, 
To have him see me woraan'd. 



ACT IV.— SCENE I. 



871 



BidK. Why, I pray you 1 

Cas. Not that I love you not. 

Bian, • But that you do not love me. 

I pray you, bring me on the way a little ; 
And say, if I shall see you soon at night. 

Ciis. 'Tis but a little way, that I can bring you. 
For 1 attend here : but I'll see you soon. 

Bian. 'Tis very good ; 1 must be circumstanc'd. 

[ Eieu?it. 



What, 



ACT IV. 

SCENE l.—TIie same. 
Enter Othello and Iago. 
[ago. Will you think so ? 
0th. Think so, Iago 1 

To kiss in private ? 

Olh. An unautitoriz'd kiss. 

Iago. Or to be naked with her friend abed, 
An hour, or more, not meaning any harm 1 

0th. Naked abed, Iago, and not mean harm ! 
It is hypocrisy against the devil ; 
They that mean virtuously, and yet do so, 
The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven. 

Iago. So they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip : 
But if I give my wife a handkerchief, 

0th. What then ■? 

Iago. Why, then 'tis hers, my lord ; and, being hers, 
She may, I think, besiow't on any man. 

0th. She is protectress of her honour too ; 
May she give that 1 

Iago. Her honour is an essence that's not seen ; 
They have it very oft, that have it not : 
But, for the handkerchief, 

0th. By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot 
Thou said'st, — O, it comes o'er my memory, [it: — 
As doth the raven o'er the infected house. 
Boding to all, — he had my handkerchief. 

Iago. Ay, what of that \ 

0th. That's not so good, now. 

Iago. What, if I had said, I had seen him do you 
wrong 1 
Or heard him say, — As knaves be such abroad. 
Who having, by their own importunate suit, 
Or voluntary dotage of some mistress. 
Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose 
But they must blab 

0th. Hath he said any thing ? 

Jago. He hath, my lord : but be you well assur'd. 
No more than he'll unswear. 

0th. What hath he said ? 

Iago. 'Faith , that he did, — 1 know not what he did. 

0th. What^ what'. 

Iago. Lie 

0th. With her? 

Iago. With her, on her ; what you will. 

0th. Lie with her ! lie on her ! — We say, lie on 
her, when they belie her : Lie with her ! that's ful- 
some. — Handkerchief, — confessions, — handkerchief. 
— To confess, and be hanged for his labour. — First, 
to be hanged, and then to confess : — I tremble at it. 
Nature would not invest herself in such shadowing 
passion, without some instruction. It is not words, 
tliat shake me thus . — Pish ! — Noses, ears, and lips : 
— Is it possible! — Confess! — Handkerchief! — 
devil ! — [_Fails in a trance. 

Iago. Work on. 
My medicine, work ! Thuscredulous'fools are caught ; 
And many worthy and chaste dames, even thus, 



All guiltless meet reproach. — What, ho ! my lord ! 
Enter Cassio. 

My lord, I say ! Othello ! — How now, Cassio 1 

Cas. What is the matter ! 

Iago. My lord is fallen into an epilepsy ; 
This is his second fit ; he had one yesterday. 

Cas. Rub him about the temples. 

Iago. No, forbear: 

Tlie lethargy must have his quiet course : 
If not, he foams at mouth ; and, by and by. 
Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs: 
Do you withdraw yourself a little while, 
He will recover straight ; when he is gone, 
I would on great occasion speak with you. — 

[Exit Cassio. 
How is it, general ? have you not hurt your head t 

0th. Dost thou mock mc ? 

Iago. I mock you ! no, by heaven : 

'Would you would bear your fortunes like a man. 

0th. A horned man's a monster, and a beast. 

Iago. There's many a beast then in a populous city, 
And many a civil monster. 

0th. Did he confess it 1 

Iago. Good sir, be a man ; 

Think, every bearded fellow, that's but yok'd. 
May draw with you : there's millions now alive. 
That nightly lie in those unproper beds. 
Which they dare swear peculiar ; your case is better. 
O, 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock. 
To lip a wanton in a secure couch, 
And to suppose her chaste! No, let me know ; 
And, knowing what I am, I know what she shall be. 

0th. O, thou art wise ; 'tis certain. 

Iago. Stand you awhile apart ; 

Contine yourself but in a patient list. 
Wiiilst you were here, ere while mad with your grief, 
(A passion most unsuiting such a man,) 
Cassio came hither : I shifted him away. 
And laid good 'scuse upon your ecstasy ; 
Bade him anon return, and here speak with me ; 
The wliicii he promis'd. Do but encave yourself. 
And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns, 
That dwell in every region of his face ; 
For I will make him tell tite tale anew, — 
Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when 
He hath, and is again to cope your wife ; 
I say, but mark his gesture. IVlarry, patience ; 
Or I shall say, you are all in all in spleen. 
And nothing of a man. 

0th. Dost thou hear, Iago ! 

I will be found most cunning in my patience; 
But (dost thou hear 1) most bloody. 

I"go. That's not amiss ; 

But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw 1 

[Othello withdraws. 
Now will I question Cassio of 13ianca, 
A housewife, that, by selling her desires. 
Buys herself bread and clothes : it is a creature. 
That dotes on Cassio, — as 'tis the strumpet's plague. 
To beguile many, and be beguii'd by one ; — 
He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain 
From the excess of laughter : — Here he comes . 

lie-enter Cassio. 

As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad ; 

And his unbookisii jealousy must construe 

Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures, and light behaviour. 

Quite in the wrong. — How do you now, lieutenant? 

Cas. The worser, that you give me the addition. 
Whose want even kills me. 

Iago. Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure oft. 



87-2 



OTHELLO. 



Now, if this suitlaj' in Bianca's power, [Speahhig lower. 
How quickly should you speed 1 

Ciis. Alas, pooi caitiff! 

0th. Look, how he laughs already ! lAside- 

Jago. I never knew a woman love man so. 

Cas. Alas, poor rogue ! I think i'faith, she loves me. 

0th. Now he denies it faintly, and laughs it out. 

[Aside. 

lago. Do you hear, Cassio ? 

0th. Now he importunes him 

To tell it o'er : Go to ; well said, well said. [Aside. 

la^o. She gives it out, that you shall marry her ; 
Do you intend it ? 

Cas. Ha, ha, ha ! 

0th. Do you triumph, Roman 1 do you triumph ? 

[Aside. 

Cas. I marry her ! — what 1 a customer ! I pr'ythee, 
bear some charity to my wit ; do not think it so un- 
wholesome. Ha, ha, ha ! 

0th. So, so, so, so : They laugh that win. [Aside. 

I"go. 'Faith, the cry goes, that you shall marry her. 

Cas. Pr'ythee, say true. 

Jago. I am a very villain else. 

0th. Have you scored me ? Well. [Aside. 

Cas. This is the monkey's own giving out: she is 
persuaded I will marry her, out of her own love and 
flattery, not out of my promise. 

0th. lago beckons me ; now he begins the story. 

[Aside. 

Cas. She was here even now ; she haunts me in 
every place. I was, the other day, talking on the 
sea-bank with certain Venetians ; and thither comes 
this bauble ; by this hand, she fans thus about my 
neck ; 

Oth. Crying, O dear Cassio ! as it were: his ges- 
ture imports it. [Aside. 

Cas. So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me ; so 
hales, and pulls me : ha, ha, ha ! — 

Oth. Now he tells, how she plucked him to my 
chamber : O, I see that nose of yours, but not that 
dog I shall throw it to. [Aside. 

Cas. Well, I must leave her company. 

Ijgo. Before me ! look, where she comes. 

Enter Bianca. 

Cas. 'Tis such another fitchew ! marry, a perfumed 
one. — What do you mean by this haunting of me 1 

Bian. Let the devil and his dam haunt you ! What 
did you mean by that same handkerchief, you gave me 
even now ? I was a fine fool to take it. I must take 
out the whole work? — A likely piece of work, that 
you should find it in your chamber, and not know 
who left it there ! This is some minx's token, and I 
must take out the work ? There, — give it your hobby 
horse : wheresoever you had it, I'll take out no work 
on't. 

Cas. How now, my sweet Biancal how now? how 
now? 

Oth. By heaven, that should be my handkerchief ! 

[Aside. 

Bian. An you'll come to supper to-night, you may : 
an you will not, come when you are next prepared 
for. [Eiit. 

lago. After her, after her. 

Cas. 'Faith, 1 must, she'll rail in the ftreet else. 

logo. Will you sup there ? 

Cas. 'Faith, I intend so. 

logo. Well, I may chance to see you ; for I would 
very fain speak with you. 

Cas. Pr'ythee, come ; Will you ? 

lago. Go to ; say no more. [Exit Cassio. 

Oth. How shall I murder him, lago? 



Jngo. Did you perceive how he laughed at his vice? 

Oth. O, lago ! 

lago. And did you see the handkerchief? 

Oth. Was that mine? 

lago. Yours, by this hand : and to see how he 
prizes the foolish woman, your wife ! she gave it him, 
and he hath given it his whore. 

Oth. I would have him nine years a killing : — 
A fine woman ! a fair woman ! a sweet woman ! 

lago. Nay, you must forget that. 

Oth. Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned 
to-night ; for she shall not live : No, my heart is 
turned to stone ; I strike it, and it hurts my hand. 
O, the world hath not a sweeter creature : she might 
lie by an emperor's side, and command him tasks. 

lago. Nay, that's not your way. 

Oth. Hang her ! I do but say what she is : — So 
delicate with her needle ! — An admirable musician! 
O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear! — Of 
so high and plenteous wit and invention ! 

lago. She's the worse for all this. 

Oth. 0, a thousand, a thousand times: — And 
then, of so gentle a condition I 

lago. Ay, too gentle. 

Oth. Nay, that's certain: But yet the pity of it, 
lago I — O, lago, the pity of it, lago ! 

lago. 1{ you are so fond over her iniquity, give her 
patent to offend ; for, if it touch not you, it comes 
near nobody. 

Oth. I will chop her into messes: — Cuckold me' 

lago. 0, 'tis foul in her. 

Oth. With mine officer ! 

lago. That's fouler. 

Oth. Get me some poison, lago; this night: — I'll 
not expostulate with her, lest her body and beauty 
unprovide my mind again — this night, lago. 

lago. Do it not with poison, strangle her in hei 
bed, even the bed she hath contaminated. 

Oth. Good, good; the justice of it pleases; vej"y 
good. 

lago. And, for Cassio, — let me be his undertaker ; 
You shall hear more by midnight. [A trumpet ivithin, 

Oth. Excellent good. — What trumpet is that same? 

lago. Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis Lodovico, 
Come from the duke : and, see, your wife is with him. 

Enter Lodovico, Desdemoxa, and Attendants. 

Lod. Save you, worthy general I 

Oth. With all my heart, sir 

Lod. The duke and senators of Venice greet you. 

[Gives him a packet 

Oth. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. 

[Opens the packet, and reads. 

Des. And what's the news, good cousin Lodovico'' 

lagn. I am very glad to see you, signior ; 
W^elcome to Cyprus. 

Lod. I thank you : how does lieutenant Cassio ? 

lago. Lives, sir. [lord 

Des. Cousin, there's fallen between him and my 
An unkind breach : but you shall make all well. 

Oth. Are you sure of that ? 

Des. My lord ? 

Oth. [Reads.] This fail i/od not to do, asyomvill. — 

Lod. He did not call: he's busy in the paper. 
Is there division 'twixt thy lord and Cassio ? 

Des. A most unhappy one ; I would do much 
To atone them, for the love I bear tu Cassio. 

Oth. Fire and brimstone ! 

Des. My lord ? 

Oth. Are you wise 1 

Des. W^hat, is*he angry? 

Lod. 'May be, the letter mov'd him; 



ACT IV.— SCENE II. 



873 



For, as I think, they do command him home, 
Deputing Cassio in his government. 

Des, By my troth, I am glad on't. 

Otit. Indeed? 

JDes, My lord ? 

Oih. I am glad to see you mad. 

Des, How, sweet Othello ? 

0th. Devil ! IStriking her. 

Des. I have not deserv'd this. 

Lnd. My lord, this would not be believed in Venice, 
Though I should swear I saw it : 'Tis very much ; 
Illake her amends, she weeps. 

0th. O devil, devil ! 

If that the earth could teem wilh woman's tears. 
Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile : — 
Out of my sight ! 

Des. I will not stay to offend you. [Going. 

Lod. Truly, an obedient lady : — 
I do beseech your lordship, call her back. 

0th. Mistress 

Des. My lord 7 

0th. What would you with her, sir. 

Lod. Who I, my lord'' 

0th. h.y; you did wish, that I would make her turn : 
Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on, 
And turn again ; and she can weep, sir, weep; 
And she's obedient, as you say, — obedient, — 
Very obedient: — Proceed you in your tears. — 
Concerning this, sir, — O well-painted passion ! 
I am commanded home : —Get you away : 
I'll send for you anon — Sir, 1 obey the mandate. 
And will return to Venice ; — Hence, avaunt ! 

[I^iit Desdemona. 
Cassio shall have my place. And, — sir, to night, 
I do entreat that we may sup together. 
You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. Goats andmonkies! 

[Exit. 

hod. Is this the noble Moor whom our full senate 
Call — all-in-all sufficient?— This tiie noble nature 
Whom passion could not shake ? whose solid virtue 
The shot of accident, nor dart of chance, 
Could neither graze nor pierce ? 

/no-o. He is much chansr'd. 

Lod. Are his wits safe? is he not light of brain ? 

higo. He is that he is ; I may not breathe my cen- 
sure. 
What he might be, — if, what he might, he is not, — 
1 would to heaven, he were. 

Lod. AVhat, strike his wife ! 

Ingo. 'Faith, that was not so well ; Yet 'would I 
That stroke would prove the worst. [knew, 

Lod. Is it his use ? 

Or did the letters work upon his blood, 
And new-create this fault! 

lago. Alas, alas ! 

It is not honesty in me, to speak 
What I have seen and known. You shall observe him; 
And his own courses will denote him so. 
That I may save my speech : Do but go after. 
And mark how he continues. 

Lod. I am sorry, that I am deceiv'd in him. [Ex. 

SCENE II.— .4 Room in the Castle. 
Enter Othello and Emilia. 

0th. You have seen nothing then ? 
Emd. Nor ever heard ; nor ever did suspect. 
0th. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she together. 
Emil. But then I saw no harm ; and then 1 heard 
Each syllable, that breath made up between them. 
0th. What, did they never whisper' 
Emil. Never, my lord. 



0th. Nor send you out o'the way ? 

Emil. Never. 

0th. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor 

Emil. Never, my lord. [nothing ? 

0th. That's strange. 

Emil. I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest, 
Lay down my soul at stake : if you think other, 
Remove your thought ; it doth abuse your bosom. 
If any wretch hath put this in your head, 
Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse! 
For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true, 
There's no man happy ; the purest of their wives 
Is foul as slander. 

0th. Bid her come hither: — go. — [Erij Emu, 
She says enough ;^yet she's a simple bawd. 
That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore, 
A closet-lock-and-key of villanous secrets : 
And yet she'll kneel, and pray ; I have seen her do't. 

Re-enter Emilia, with Desdemona. 

Des. My lord, what is your will ? 

0th. Pray, chuck, come hither. 

Des. What is your pleasure ? 

0th. Let me see your eyes ; 

Look in my face. 

Des. What horrible fancy's this ? 

0th. Some of your function, mistress ; [To Emil 
Leave procreants alone, and shut the door; 
Cough, or cry — hem, if any body come : 
Your mystery, your mystery ; — nay, despatch. 

[Eiit Emilia. 

Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech im- 
I understand a fury in your words, [port? 

But not the words. 

Olh. Why, what art thou? 

Des. Your wife, my lord ; your true 

And loyal wife. 

Oth. Come, swear it, damn thyself ; 

Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves 
Should fear to seize thee : therefore be double- 
Swear — thou art honest, [damn'd, 

Des. Heaven doth truly know it. 

Oth. Heaven truly knows, that thou art false as 
hell. [false ? 

Des. To whom, my lord? with whom? How am J 

Oth. O Desdemona! — away! away! away! 

Des. .A.las, the heavy day ! — Why do you weep ? 
Am I the occasion of these tears, my lord? 
If, haply, you my father do suspect. 
An instrument of this your calling back, 
Lay not your blame on me ; if you have lost him. 
Why, I have lost him too. 

Oth. Had it pleas'd heaven 

To try me with affliction ; had he rain'd 
All kinds of sores, and shames, on my bare head ; 
Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips ; 
Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes ; 
I should have found in some part of my soul 
A drop of patience : but (alas !) to make me 
k fixed figure, for the time of scorn 
To point his slow unmoving finger at, — 
O! 01 

Yet could I bear that too , well, very well : 
But there, where I have garner'd up my heart ; 
Where either I must live, or bear no life ; 
The fountain from the which my current runs. 
Or else dries up ; to be discarded thence! 
Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads 
To knot and gender in ! — turn thy complexion there ! 
Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin* 
Ay, there, look grim as hell ! 

Des. I hope, my noble lord esteems me honest. 



874 



OTHELLO. 



Oih. O, ay ; as summer flies are in the shambles, 
That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed, 
Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet. 
That the sense aches at thee. — 'Would, thou hadst 
ne'er been born ! 

Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed 1 

0th. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book 
Made to write whore upon 1 What committed ! 
Committed ! — O thou public commoner ' 
I should make very forges of my cheeks, 
That would to cinders burn up modesty, 
Did I but speak thy deeds. — What committed ! 
Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks ; 
The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets, 
Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth, 
And will not hear it: What committed) 
Impudent strumpet I 

Des. By heaven, you do me wrong. 

0th. Are you not a strumpet ? 

Des. No, as I am a Christian : 

If to preserve this vessel for my lord. 
From any other foul unlawful touch. 
Be — not to be a strumpet, I am none. 

0th. What, not a whore 1 

Des. No, as I shall be saved. 

0th. Is it possible? 

Des. O, heaven forgive us ! 

0th. I cry you mercy, then : 

I took you for that cunning whore of Venice, 
That married with Othello. — You, mistress, 

Re-enter Emilia. 
That have the office opposite to Saint Peter, 
And keep the gate of hell ; You ! you ! ay, you ! 
We have done our course ; there 's money for your 

pains ; 
I pray you, turn the key, and keep our counsel. [Eiit, 

Emit. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive "! — 
How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady? 

Des. 'Faith, half asleep. 

Emil. Good madam, what's the matter with my lord? 

Des. With who ? 

Emil. Why, with my lord, madam. 

Des. Who is thy lord ? 

Emil. He that is yours, sweet lady. 

Des. I have none : Do not talk to me Emilia ; 
I cannot weep ; nor answer I have none. 
But what should go by water. Pr'ythee, to-night 
Lay on my bed my wedding sheets, — remember ; — 
And call thy husband hither. 

Emil. Here is a change, indeed ! [Eiit. 

Des. 'Tis meet I should be us'd so, very meet. 
How have I been behav'd, that he might stick 
The small'st opinion on my great'st abuse ? 

Re-enter Emilia, with Iago. 
lago. What is your pleasure, madam ? How is it 



fith 



you 



Des. I cannot tell. Those, that do teach young 
Do it with gentle means, and easy tasks : [babes. 
He might have chid me so ; for, in good faith. 
Jama child to chiding. 

lago. What's the matter, lady? 

Emil. Alas, Tago, my lord hath so bewhor'd her. 
Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her. 
As true hearts cannot bear. 

Des. Am I that name, lago? 

Iago What name, fair lady? 

Des. Such as, she says, my lord did say I was. 

Eynil. He call'd her, whore ; a beggar, in his drink. 
Could not have laid such terms upon his callet. 

lago. Why did he so ? 

Des. 1 do net know ; I am sure, I am none such. 



Iago. Do not weep, do not weep ; Alas, the day ! 

Emil. Has she forsook so many noble matches. 
Her father, and her country, and her friends, 
To be called — whore? would it not make oneweepi 

Des. It is my wretched fortune. 

lasn. Beshrew him for it ! 

How comes this trick upon him ? 

Des. Nay, heaven doth know. 

Emil. I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain. 
Some busy and insinuating rogue. 
Some cogging cozening slave, to get some office, 
Have not devis'd this slander ; I '11 be hang'd, else. 

Iago. Fye, there is no such man; it is impossible. 

Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon him! 

Etnil. A halter pardon him ! and hell gnaw his 
bones! [pany? 

Why should he call her, whore ? who keeps her com- 
What place? what time? what form? what likelihood? 
The floor's abus'd by some most villanous knave. 
Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow : — 
O, heaven, that such companions thou'dst unfold ; 
And put in every honest hand a whip, 
To lash the rascal naked through the world, 
Even from the east to the west 1 

Iago. Speak within door. 

Emil- O, fye upon him ! some such squire he was, 
That turn'd your wit the seamy side without. 
And made you to suspect me with the Moor. 

Iago. You are a fool ; go to. 

Des. good Iago, 

What shall I do to win my lord again ? 
Good friend, go to him ; for, by this light of heaven, 
I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel : — 
If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love. 
Either in discourse or thought, or actual deed , 
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense, 
Delighted them in any other form ; 
Or that I do not yet, and ever did. 
And ever will, — though he do shake me off 
To beggarly divorcement, — love him dearly. 
Comfort forswear me ! Unkindness may do much ; 
And his unkindness may defeat my life, 
But never taint my love. I cannot say, whore ; 
It does abhor me, now I speak the word ; 
To do the act that might the addition earn. 
Not the world's mass of vanity could make me. 

Iago. I pray you, be content; 'tis bat his humour j 
The business of the state does him offence, 
And he does chide with you. 

Des. If 'twere no other, — 

Iago. It is but so, I warrant you. [Trumpets. 

Hark, how these instruments summon to supper ! 
And the great messengers of Venice stay : 
Go in, and weep not: all things shall be well. 

[Eieu7it DESnEBioNA and E.milia. 

Enter Roderigo. 

How now, Roderigo? 

Rod. I do not find, that thou deal'st justly with me. 

Iago. What in the contrary ? 

Rod. Every day thou doft"st me with some device, 
Iago; and rather (as it seems to me now,) keep'st 
from me all conveniency, than suppliest me with the 
least advantage of hope. 1 will, indeed, no longer 
endure it : Nor am 1 yet persuaded, to put up in peace 
what already 1 have foolishly suffered. 

lago. Will you hear me, Roderigo? 

Rod. 'Faith, 1 have heard too much; foryourwords, 
and performances, are no kin together. 

Iago. You charge me most unjustly. 

Rod. With nought but truth. I have wasted my- 
self out of my means. The jewels you have had from 



ACT IV.-SCENE III. 



me, to deliver to Desdemona, would half have cor- 
rupted a votarist : You have told me — she has re- 
ceived them, and returned me expectations and com- 
forts of sudden respect and acquittance ; but 1 find 
none. 

lago. Well ; go to ; very well. 

Rod. Very well! goto! 1 cannot goto, man; nor 
'tis not very well : By this hand, I say, it is very 
Bcurvy; and begin to find myself fobbed in it. 

lago. Very well. 

Rod. I tell you, 'tis not very well. I will make 
myself known to Desdemona : If she will return me 
my jewels, I will give over my suit, and repent my 
unlawful solicitation ; if not, assure yourself, I will 
seek satisfaction of you. 

lago. You have said now. 

Rod, Ay, and 1 have said nothing, but what I pro- 
test intendment of doing. 

lago. Why, now I see there 's mettle in thee ; and 
even, from this instant, do build on thee a better opi- 
nion than ever before. Give me thy hand, Roderigo : 
Thou hast taken against me a most just exception ; 
but yet, I protest, I have dealt most directly in thy 
affair. 

Rod. It hath not appeared. 

lago, I grant, indeed, it hath not ajjpeared ; and 
your suspicion is notwithoutwit and judgment. But, 
Roderigo, if thou hast that within thee indeed, which 
I have greater reason to believe now than ever, — I 
mean, purpose, courage, and valour, — this night shew 
it : if thou the next night following enjoyest not Des- 
demona, take me from this world with treachery, and 
devise engines for my life. 

Rod, \Vell, what is itl is it within reason, and 
compass 1 

lago. Sir, there is especial commission come from 
Venice, to depute Cassio in Othello's place. 

Rod, Is that tr\ie1 why, then Othello and Desde- 
mona return again to Venice. 

lago, O, no; he goes into Mauritania, and takes 
away with him the fair Desdemona, unless his abode 
be lingered here by some accident ; wherein none can 
be so determinate, as the removing of Cassio. 

Rod, How do you mean — removing of him 1 

lago. Why, by making him uncapable of Othello's 
place ; knocking out his brains. 

Rod, And that you would have me do? 

lago. Ay ; if you dare do yourself a profit, and a 
right. He sups to-night with a harlot, and thither 
will I go to him ;— he knows not yet of his honour- 
able fortune : if you will watch his going thence, 
(which I will fashion to fallout between t^velve and 
one,) you may take him at your pleasure ; I will be 
near to second your attempt, and he shall fall between 
us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along with 
me ; I will shew you such a necessity in his death, 
that you shall tliink yourself bound to put it on him. 
It is now high supper time, and the night grows to 
waste : about it. 

Rod. I will hear further reason for this. 

lago. And you shall be satisfied. \_Eieunt. 

SCENE III.— Another Room in the Castle, 

Enter Othello, Lonoviro, Desdemona, Emilia, 
and Attendants. 

Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no 

further. 
Qth. O, pardon me ; 'twill do me good to walk. 
Lod. Madam, good night; I humbly thank your 

ladysliip. 
Des. Your honour is most welcome. 



87 

Will you walk, sir ?— 



0th. 
O, — Desdemona, 

Des. My lord 1 

0th. Get you to bed on the instant ; I will be re- 
turned forthwith: dismissyour attendant there; look, 
It be done. 

Des. I will, my lord. 

[Exeunt Othello, Lodovico, and Attendants. 

Emit. How goes it now 1 he looks gentler than he 

Des. He says, he will return incontinent ; [did. 
He hath commanded me to go to bed, 
And bade me to dismiss you. 

Emil. Dismiss me ! 

Des. It was his bidding ; therefore, good Emilia, 
Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu : 
We must not now displease him. 

Emil. I would, you had never seen him ! 

Des. So would not I ; my love doth so approve him. 
That even his stubbornness, his checks, and frowns, — . 
Pr'ythee, unpin me, — have grace and favour in them. 

Emil. I have laid those sheets you bade me on the 
bed. [minds !— 

Des. All's one: — Good father! how foolish areoui 
If I do die before thee, pr'ythee, shroud me 
In one of those same sheets. 

■E""'^. Come, come, you talk. 

Des. My mother had a maid call'd— Barbara ; 
She was in love ; and he, she lov'd, prov'd mad, 
And did forsake her : she had a song of — willow, 
An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune, 
And she died singing it : Tiiat song, to-night. 
Will not go from my mind ; I have much to do. 
But to go hang my head all at one side. 
And sing it, like poor Barbara. Pr'ythee, despatch. 

Emil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown "! 

Des. No, unpin me here. — 

This Lodovico is a proper man. 

Emil. A very handsome man. 

Des. And he speaks well. 

Emil. I know a lady in Venice, who would have 
walked barefoot to Palestine, for a touch of his nether 
lip. 

I. 

Des. The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree. 
Sing all a green willow ; [Singinc. 

Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, 

Sing loillow, willow, willow : 
^The fresh streams ran by her, and murmnr'd her 
Sing unllow, &;c. [moans ; 

Her salt tears fell from her, and softened the stones; 

Lay by these : 

Sing willow, willow, willow ; 
Pr'ythee, hie thee ; he'll come anon — 

Sing all a green willow must he my garldnd, 

II. 

Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve, — 

Nay, that's not next. — Hark ! who is it that knocks? 
Emil. It is the wind. 

Des. I call'd my love, false love ; but vihat said he 
Sing willow, &;c. [then 1 

If I court mo u-omen, you 'II couch with vw men. 

So, get thee gone ; good night. Mine eyes do itch ; 

Doth that bode weeping ? 

Emil. 'Tis neither here nor there 

Des, I have heard it said so. — O, these men, these 
men ! — 

Dost thou in conscience think, — tell me, Emilia, — 

That there be women do abuse their husbands 



876 



OTHELLO. 



In such gross kind ? 

Eniil. There be some such, no question, 

Des. Would'st tliou do such a deed for all tlie 

Emil. Why, would not you 1 [world ! 

Des. No, by this heavenly light ! 

Emil. Nor I neither by this heavenly light ; 
I might do't as well i'the dark. 

Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for all the world? 

Emil. The world is a huge thing : 'Tis a great price 
For a small vice. 

Des. Good troth, I think thou would'st not. 

Emil. By my troth, I think I should ; and undo't, 
when I had done. Marry, I would not do such a 
thing for a joint-ring ; nor for measures of lawn ; 
nor for gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty 
exhibition : but for the whole world, — \Vhy, who 
would not make her husband a cuckold, to make him 
a monarch 1 I should venture purgatory for't. 

-Des. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong for 
the whole world. 

Emil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i' the world ; 
and, having the world for your labour, 'tis a wrong 
in your own world, and you might quickly make it 
right. 

Des. I do not think there is any such woman. 

Emil. Yes, a dozen ; and as many [for. 

To the vantage, as svould store the world they play'd 
But, I do think, it is their husbands' faults. 
If wives do fall : Say, that they slack their duties. 
And pour out treasures into foreign laps ; 
Or else break out in peevish jealousies. 
Throwing restraint upon us ; or, say, they strike us. 
Or scant our former having in despite ; 
Why, we have galls: and, though we have some grace. 
Yet we have some revenge. Let husbands know. 
Their wives have sense like them : they see, and smell, 
And have their palates both for sweet and sour. 
As husbands have. What is it thai they do. 
When they change us for others 1 Is it sport? 
I think, it is ; and doth affection breed it t 
I think, it doth ; Is't frailty, that thus errs? 
It is so too : And have not we affections ? 
Desires for sport 1 and frailty, as men have ? 
Then, let them use us well: else, let them know. 
The ills we do, their ills instruct us to. 

Des. Good night, good night: Heaven me such 
usage send, 
Not to pick bad from bad ; but, by bad, mend ! 

l^Eiennt. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I.— ^ Street. 
Enter Iago and Roderigo. 

lago. Here, stand behind this bulk ; straight will 
he come : 
Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home ; 
Quick, quick ; fear nothing ; I'll be at thy elbow : 
It makes us, or it mars us ; think on that. 
And fix most firm thy resolution. 

Rod. Be near at hand ; I may miscarry in't. 
Iago. Here at thy hand ; be bold, and take thy 
sword. [Retires to a Utile distance. 

Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed ; 
And yet he has given me satisfying reasons : — 
Tis but a man gone : — forth, my sword ; he dies. 

[Goes to his stand. 
Iago. I have rubb'd this young quat almost to the 
sense. 
And he grows angry. Now whether he kill Cassio, 



Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other, 

Every way makes my gain : Live Roderigo, 

lie calls me to a restitution large 

Of gold, and jewels, that I bobb'd from him, 

As gifts to Desdemona ; 

It must not be : if Cassio do remain. 

He hath a daily beauty in his life. 

That makes me ugly ; and besides, the Moor 

l\Iay unfold me to him ; there stand I in much peril 

No, he must die : — But so, I hear him coming. 

Enter Cassio. 

Rod I know his gait, 'tis he ; — Villain, thou diest. 
[Rushes from his post, &; makes a pass at Cassio. 
Cas. That thrust had been mine enemy indeed. 
But that my coat is better than thou think'st ; 
1 will make proof of thine. 

[Draws, and uwnnds Rodehigo. 
Ttod. O, I am slain ! 

[Iago rushes from his post, cuts Cassio behind 
in the leg, and exit. 
Cas. I am maim'd for ever : — Help, ho ! murder' 
murder ! [Fulls. 

Enter Othello, at a distance. 

0th. The voice of Cassio : — Iago keeps his word. 

Rod. O, villain that I am ! 

0th, Hark ! 'tis even so. 

Cas. O, help ! ho ! light ! a surgeon I 

0th. 'Tis he ; — O brave Iago, honest, and just, , 
That hast such noble sense of thy friend's wrong ! ' 
rhou teachest me, — Minion, your dear lies dead. 
And your fate hies apace : — Strumpet, I come: 
Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes are 

blotted ; 
Thy bed, lust-stain'd, shall with lust's blood be 
spotted. [£rit Otiili.lo 

Enter Louovico and Ghatiano, at a distance. 

Cas. What ho! no watch 1 no passage ? murder! 
murder I 

Gra, 'Tis some mischance ; the cry is very direful. 

Cas. O, help ! 

Lod. Hark ! 

Rod. O wretched villain ! 

Lod. Two or three groans ; — it is a heavy night ; 
These may be counterfeits ; let's think't unsafe 
lo come in to the cry, without more help. 

Rod. No body come 1 then shall 1 bleed to death. 

Enter Iago with a light. 

Lod. Hark 1 [weapons. 

Gra. Here's one comes in his shirt, with light and 

Iago. Who's there? whose noise is this that cries 

Lod. We do not know. [on murder? 

lugo. Did you not hear a cry ? 

Cas. Here, here ; for heaven's sake, help me. 

Iago. What's the matter ; 

Gra, This is Othello's ancient, as 1 take it. 

Lod. The same, indeed ; a very valiant fellow. 

logo. What are you here, that cry so grievously ? 

Cas. lago? O, I am spoil'd, undone by villains ! 
Give me some help. [this ? 

Iago. O me, lieutenant ! what villains have done 

Cas. I think that one of them is hereabout, 
And cannot make away. 

Iago. O treacherous villains '' — 

What are you there ? come in, and give some help 

[To Louovico, and Graiiano. 

Rod. O, help me here ! 

Cas. Thai's one of them. 

Iago. O murderous slave ! O villain I 

[Iago stabs RoDERIGO, 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 



077 



7?!'^. O damn'd lago 1 O inhuman dog ? — 
O : () ! ()! [thieves? 

/(',<;ii. Kill men i'the dark! — Where be these bloody 
IToiv silent is this town ! Ho ! murder ! muider ! 
\Vhat may you be 1 are you of good, or evil ? 

I.I'd. As you shall prove us, praise us. 

lago. Signior LoJovico ? 

Lnd. He, sir. 

I ago. I cry you mercy . Here's Cassio hurt 
By villains. 

Gra. Cassio ? 

Iiigo. How is it, brother 1 

Cas. My leg is cut in two. 

logo. INIarry, heaven forbid ! 

Light, gentlemen ; I'll bind it with my shirt. 

Enter BiANCA. 

Biun. What is the matter, hoi who is't that cry'd? 

lago. Who is't that cry"d ? 

Blan. O my dear Cassio ! my sweet Cassio ! 
O Cassio ! Cassio ! Cassio ! , [pect 

higo O notable strumpet ! — Cassio, may vou sus- 
Who they should be, that have thus mangled you ? 

Cas No. [seek you. 

Gra. I am sorry to find you thus : I have been to 

Jago. Lend me a garter : So. — 0, for a chair. 
To bear him easily hence ! 

Biun. Alas, he faints: — O Cassio! Cassio! Cassio! 

lago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash 
To be a party in this injury. — 
Patience a while, good Cassio. — Come, come ; 
Lend me a light. — Know we this face, or no 1 
Alas ! my friend, and my dear countryman, 
Roderigo 1 no : — Yes, sure ; O heaven I Roderigo. 

Gra. What, of Venice ? 

lago. Even he, sir ; did you know him 1 

Gj-rt. Know him ? ay. 

lago. Signior Gratiano ? I cry you gentle pardon ; 
These bloody accidents must excuse my manners. 
That so neglected you. 

Gra. I am glad to see you. 

lagn. How do you, Cassio 1 — O, a chair, a chair! 

Gra. Roderigo ! 

lago. He, he, 'tis he : — O, that's well said ; — the 
chair: — [ A chair brought in. 

Some good man bear him carefully from hence ; 
I'll fetch the general's surgeon. For you, mistress, 

\^To BlANCA. 

Save you your labour. — He that lies slain here, Cassio, 

Was my dear friend : What malice was between you 1 

Cas. None in the world ; nor do I know the man. 

lago. [To BiAN.] What look you pale? — O, bear 

him out o' the air. — 

[Cassio and Rod. are borne off'. 
Stay you, good gentlemen. — Look you pale, mistress? 
Do you perceive the gastness of her eye ? — 
Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon : — 
Heboid her well ; I pray you, look upon her ; 
Do you see, gentlemen ? nay, guiltiness will speak, 
Though tongues were out of use. 
Enter Emilia. 
Emi-l. 'Las, what's the matter ; what's the matter, 

husband ? 
logo. Cassio hath here been set on in the dark, 
By Roderigo, and fellows that are scap'd ; 
He's almost slain, and Roderigo dead. 

Emii. AJas, good gentleman ! alas, good Cassio I 

lago. This is the fruit of whoring. — Pr'ythee, 

Emilia, 

Go know ot Cassio where he supp'd to-night : — 

What, do you shake at tliat ? [shake not. 

Bian. lie supp'd at my house ; but I therefore 



lago. O, did he so ? I charge you go with me. 

Emii. Fye, fye upon thee, strumpet ! 

Biun. 1 ain no strumpet ; but of life as honest. 
As you that thus abuse me. 

Emit. As I ? fob ! fye upon thee ! 

lago. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor Cassio 
dress'd : — 
Come, mistress, you must tell us another tale. — 
Emilia, run you to the citadel. 
And tell my lord and lady what has happ'd. — 
Will you go on, I pray? This is the night, [Aside, 
I'hat either makes me, or fordoes me quite. [Eieunt, 



SCENE. IL — A Bedchamber. Dksdf.mona in bed, 
asleep. A Light burning. 

Enter Othello. 

0th. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, — 
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars! — 
It is the cause. — Yet I'll not shed her blood ; 
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, 
And smooth as monumental alabaster. 

[ Tiikes off his swm'd. 
Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men. 
Put out the light, and then — put out the light ' 
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, 
I can again thy former light restore, 
Should I repent me : — but once put out thine, 
Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, 
I know not where is that Promethean heat. 
That can thy light relume. When 1 have pluck'd thy 
1 cannot give it vital growth again, [rose, 

It needs must wither : I'll smell it on the tree. — 

[hissing her. 

balmy breath, that dost almost persuade 
Justice to break her sword ! — One more, one more. — 
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee. 
And love thee after : — One more, and this the last ; 
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. 1 must weep. 

But they are cruel tears : 'i'his sorrow's heavenly ; 
It strikes, where it doth love. — She wakes — 

Des. Who's there ? Othello ? 

0th. Ay, Desdemona. 

Des. Will you come to bed, my lord? 

0th. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona? 

l^es- Ay, my lord. 

0th. If you bethink yourself of any crime 
Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace. 
Solicit for it straight. 

Des. Alas, my lord, what may you mean by that? 

Oih. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by: 

1 would not kill thy unprepared spirit ; 

No, — Heaven forfend. — I would not kill thy soul. 

Des. Talk vou of killing? 

0th. ' Ay, I do. 

Des. Then, heaven 

Have mercy on me ! 

0th. Amen, with all my heart ! 

Des. If you say so, 1 hope you will not kill me. 

0th. Humph ! 

Des. And yet T fear you ; for you are fatal then, 
When your eyes roll so : Why I should fear, I know not. 
Since guiltiness I know not; but yet, 1 feel, I fear. 

0th. Think on thy sins. 

Des. They are loves I bear to you. 

0th. Ay, and for that thou diest. 

Des. That death's unnatural, that kills for loving. — 
Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip? 
Some bloody passion shakes your very frame : 
These are portents ; but yet, 1 hope, 1 hope. 
They do not point on nie. 

0th. Peace, and be still ' 



878 



OTHELLO. 



Des. I will so : What's the matter 1 

0th. That handkerchief, which I solov'd, and gave 
Thou gav'st to Cassio. [thee, 

Des. No, by my life and soul ; 

Send for the man, and ask him. 

0th. Sweet soul, take heed, 

Take heed of perjury; thou'rt on thy death-bed. 

Des. Ay, but not yet to die. 

0th. Yes, presently : 

Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin ; 
For to deny each article with oath. 
Cannot remove, nor choke, the strong conception, 
That I do groan withal. Thou art to die. 

Des. Then, Lord have mercy on me ! 

0th. I say, amen. 

Des. And have you mercy too! — I never did 
Offend you in my life; never lov'd Cassio, 
But with such general warranty of heaven, 
As I might love : I never gave him token. 

0th. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in his hand. 

peijur'd woman! thou dost stone my heart, 
And mak'st me call, what I intend to do, — 

A murder, which I thought a sacrifice : 

1 saw the handkerchief. 

Des. He found it then ; 

I never gave it him : — Send for him hither, 
And let him confess a truth. 

0th. He hatii confess'd. 

Des. VVhat, my lord 1 

0th. That he hath — us'd thee. 

Des. Howl unlawfully? 

0th. Ay. 

Des. He'll not say so. 

0th. No, his mouth is stopp'd ; 

Honest lago hath ta'en order for't. 

Des. My fears interprets then, — What, is he dead? 

0th. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge 
Had stomach for them all. 

Des. Alas ! he is betray'd, and I undone. 

Oih. Out, strumpet! Weep'st thou for him to my 

Des. 0, banish me, my lord, but kill me not. [face? 

0th. Down, strumpet! 

Des, Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night. 

0th. Nay, if you strive. 

Des. But half an hour. 

0th. Being done, 

There is no pause. 

Des. But while I say one prayer. 

0th. It is too late. [He smothers her. 

Emit. [Within.] jNIy lord, my lord! what ho ! my 
lord ! my lord ! 

0th. What noise is this? — Not dead! not yet quite 
I, that am cruel, am yet merciful ; [dead? 

I would not have thee linger in thy pain. — 
So, so. 

Emil. [Within.] What ho, my lord ! my lord I 

0th. Who's there? 

EmiL [Within.] O, good my lord, I would speak 
a word with you. 

0th. Yes ; — 'tis Emilia : — by and by : — She's dead. 
'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death ; 
The noise was high. — Ha ? no more moving ? 
Still as the grave. Shall she come in? Were't good't 
I think, she stirs again : — No. — What's the best? 
If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife : 
My wife ! my wife ! what wife ? — I have no wife : 
O, insupportable ! O heavy hour! 
Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse 
Of sun and moon ; and that the affrighted globe 
Should yawn at alteration. 

EmiL [ Within.] I do beseech you I may speak with 
O, good my lord ! [you> 



0th. I had forgot thee; O, come in, Emilia: — 
Soft, — by and by : — Let me the curtains draw. — 
Where art thou 1 What's the matter with thee now? 

[ Unlocks the door. 

Enter Emilia. 

Emil. 0, good my lord, yonder's foul murder done. 

0th. What? now? 

Emil. But now, my lord ! 

0th. It is the very error of the moon ; 
She comes more near the earth than she was wont ; 
And makes men mad. 

Emil. Cassio, my lord, has kill'd a young Venetian, 
Call'd — Roderigo. 

0th. Roderigo kill'd ! 

And Cassio kill'd ? 

EmiL No, Cassio is not kill'd. 

0th. Not Cassio kill'd? Then murder's out of tune. 
And sweet revenge grows harsh. 

Des. 0, falsely, falsely murder'd! 

Emil. . Alas ; what cry is that ? 

0th. That! what? 

EmiL Out and alas ! that was my lady's voice: — 
Help! help, ho! help!— O lady, speak again ! 
Sweet Desdemona ! 0, sweet mistress, speak ! 

Des. A guiltless death I die. 

Emil. O, who hath done 

This deed ? 

Des. Nobody; I myself; farewell: 

Commend me to my kind lord ; O, farewell. [Dies. 

0th. Why, how should she be murder'd ? 

E.mil. Alas, wlio knows? 

0th. You heard her say herself, it was not I. 

Emil. She said so ; I must needs report tlie truth 

0th. She's, like a liar, gone to burning hell ; 
'Twas I that kill'd her. 

Emil. O, the more angel she. 

And you the blacker devil I 

0th. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore. 

Emil. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil. 

0th. She was false as water. 

EmiL Thou art rash as fire, to say 

That she was false ; O, she was heavenly true ! 

0th. Cassio did tup her: ask thy husband else. 
O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in fell. 
But that I did proceed upon just grounds 
To this extremity ; Thy husband knew it all. 

Emil. My husband ? 

0th. Thy husband. 

Emil. That she was false to wedlock ? 

0th. Ay, with Cassio, 

Nay, had she been true. 

If heaven would make me such another world 
Of one entire and perfect chrysolite, 
I'd not have sold her for it. 

EmiL My husband? 

0th. Ay, 'twas he that told me first ; 

An honest man he is, and hates the slime 
That sticks on filthy deeds. 

Emil. My husband ? 

0th. What needs this iterance, woman? I say, thy 
husband. 

Emil. O mistress, villany hath made mocks with 
INIy husband say, that she was false? [love ! — 

0th. He, woman ; 

I say, thy husband : Dost understand the word ? 
My frieud, thy husband, honest, honest lago. 

Emil, If he say so, may his pernicious soul 
Rot half a grain a day ! he lies to the heart ; 
She was too 'fond of her most filthy bargain. 

0th. Ha! 

Emil. Do thy worst ; 



ACT v.— SCENE II. 



879 



This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven, 
Than thou wast worthy her. 

0th. Peace, you were best. 

Emil. Thou hast not half the power to do me hann, 
As I have to be hurt. O gull ! O dolt! 
As ignorant as dirt ! thou hast done a deed, — 
1 care not lor thy sword ; I'll make thee known, 
Though I lost twenty lives: — Help! help ho! help! 
The Moor has kill'd my mistress; Murder! murder! 

Enter Montano, Gratiano, and Iago. 

Mon, What is the matter? — How now, general? 

Emil. O, are you come, Iago? you have done well, 
That men must lay tlieir murders on your neck. 

Gra. What is the matter? 

Emil. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man: 
He says, thou told'st him that his wife was false : 
I know, thou didst not, thou'rt not such a villain : 
Speak, for my heart is full. 

logo. I told him what I thought ; and told no more 
Than what he found himself was apt and true. 

Emil, But did you ever tell him she was false? 

Iiigo. I did. 

Emil. You told a lie ; an odious damned lie ; 
Upon my soul, a lie ; a wicked lie : — 
She false with Cassio I — Did you say with Cassio ? 

higo. With Cassio, mistress; Go to, charm your 
toiitrue. 

Emil. I will not charm my tongue; I am bound to 
My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed. [speak; 

All. O heavens forfend ! 

Emil. And your reports have set the murder on. 

0th. Nay, stare not, masters ; it is true, indeed. 

Gra. 'Tis a strange truth, 

Mon. O monstrous act ! 

Emil. Villany, villany, villany ! — 

I think upon't, — I think, — I smell't; — O villany! — 
I thought so then ; — I'll kill myself for grief — 

villany, villany ! [home. 
Iago. What, are you mad? I charge you, get you 
Emil. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak. 

Tis proper I obey him, but not now : 

Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home. 

0th. O ! ! ! [^">'gi"g over his wife, 

Emil. Nay, lay thee down, and roar. 

For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent, 

That e'er did lift up eye. 

0th. O, she was foul ! — l_Rising. 

1 scarce did know you, uncle: There lies your niece, 
Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly stopp'd: 
I know tliis act shews horrible and grim. 

Gra. Poor Desdemona ! I am glad thy father's dead ; 
Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief 
Shore his old thread in twain : did he live now. 
This sight would make him do a desperate turn, 
Yea, curse his better angel from his side, 
And fall to reprobation. 

Oih. 'Tis pitiful ; but yet Iago knows. 
That she with Cassio hath the act of shame 
A thousand times committed ; Cassio confess'd it : 
And she did gratify his amorous works 
With that recognizance and pledge of love 
Which I first gave her ; I saw it in his hand ; 
It was a handkerchief, an antique token 
My father gave my mother. 

Emil. O heaven! O heavenly powers! 

Iago. Come, hold your peace. 

Emil. 'Twill out, 'twill out ; — I hold my peace, sir? 
No, I will speak as liberal as the air ; [no ; 

Let heaven, and men, and devils, let them all. 
All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak. 

Iago. Be wise, and get you home. 



Emil. I will not. [Iago offers to stab his wife 

Gra, Fye ! 

Your sword upon a woman ? 

Emil. O thou dull Moor ! that handkerchief thou 
speak'st of, 
I found by fortune, and did give my husband ; 
For often with a ..olemn earnestness, 
(More than, indeed, belong'd to such a trifle,) 
He begg'd of me to steal it. 

Iago, Villainous whore ! 

Emil. She gave it Cassio ! no, alas ; I found it. 
And I did give't my husband. 

Iago. Filth, thou liest. 

Emil. By heaven, I do not; I do not, gentlemen: 

murderous coxcomb ! what should such a fool 
Do with so good a wife ? 

[Iago stabs Emilia, then runs out. 

Oth, Are there no stones in heaven. 

But what serve for the thunder? — Precious villain ! 

Gra. The woman falls ; sure he has kill'd his wife. 

Emil. Ay, ay : O lay me by my mistress' side! 

Gra. He's gone, but his wife's kill'd. [pon, 

Mon. 'Tis a notorious villain. Take you this wea- 
Which I have here recover'd from the ftloor : 
Come, guard the door without ; let him not pass, 
But kill him rather ; I'll after that same villain. 
For 'tis a damned slave. 

[Exeunt Montano and GriATiANO. 

Oth. I am not valiant neither. 

But every puny whipster gets my sword : — 
But why should honour outlive honesty ? 
Let it go all. 

Emit. What did thy song bode, lady ? 

Hark, can'st thou hear me ? I will play the swan, 
And die in music ; — Willow, tvillow, willow. — 
Moor, she was chaste ; she lov'd thee, cruel iMoo 
So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true ; 
So speaking as I think, I die, — I die. [Dies 

Oth. I have another weapon in this chamber, 
It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper ; — 
O, here it is : — Uncle, I must come forth. [dear , 

Gra. [Within.] If thou attempt it, it will cost tiiee 
Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer. 

Oth. Look in upon me then, and speak with me, 
Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee. 

Re-enter Gratiano. 

Gra. What is the matter ? 

Oth. Behold ! I have a weapon ; 

A better never did itself sustain 
Upon a soldier's thigh : I have seen the day. 
That with this little arm, and this good sword, 

1 have made my way through more impediments 
Than twenty times your stop: — But, O vain boast! 
Who can control his fate ? 'tis not so now. — 

Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon'd ; 

Here is my journey's end, here is my butt. 

And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. 

Do you go back dismay 'd ? 'tis a lost fear ; 

Man but a rush against Othello's breast. 

And he retires ; — Where should Othello go? — 

Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr'd wench 

Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at compt, 

This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven. 

And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl 1 

Even like thy chastity. — ■ 

O cursed, cursed slave ! — Whip me, ye devils, 

From the possession of this heavenly sight ! 

Blow me about in winds ! roast me in sulphur ! 

Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire ! — 

O Desdemona ! Desdemona ! dead ? 

Dead? O! O! O! 



880 



OTHELLO. 



Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cassio, carried m a 
chair, and Officers, with Iago, prisoner. 

Lod. Where is this rash and most unfortunate man 1 

0th. That's he, that was Othello ; here I am. 

Lod. Where is that viper f bring the villain forth. 

0th. I look down towards his feet ; — but that 's 
a fable : 
If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee. 

[Othello wounds Iago. 

Lod. Wrench his sword from him. 

Iago. I bleed, sir ; but not kill'd. 

0th. I am not sorry neither; I'd have thee live ; 
For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die. 

Lod. O thou Othello, that was once so good, 
Fall'n in the practice of a cursed slave 
What shall be said to thee? 

0th. Why, any thing: 

An honourable murderer, if you will ; 
For nought 1 did in hate, but all in honour. 

J.od. This wretch hath part confess'd his villany : 
Did you and he consent in Cassio's death 1 

0th. Ay. 

Cas. Dear general, I never gave you cause. 

0th. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon. 
Will you, 1 pray you, demand that demi-devil. 
Why he hath thus ensnar'd my soul and body 1 

Iago. Demand me nothing: What you know, you 
know : 
From this time forth I never will speak word. 

Lod. What 1 not to pray 1 

Gra. Torments will ope your lips. 

0th. Well, thou dost best. 

Lod. Sir, you shall understand what hath befall'n. 
Which, as 1 think, you know not: Here is a letter, 
Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo ; 
And here, another : the one of them imports 
The death of Cassio to be undertook 
By Roderigo. 

0th. O villain ! 

Cas. Most heathenish, and most gross ! 

Lod. Now here's another discontented paper, 
Found in his pocket too ; and this, it seems, 
Roderigo meant to have sent this damned villain ; 
But that, belike, Iago in the interim 
Came in and satisfied him. 

0th. O the pernicious caitiff! — 

How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief 
That was my wife's 1 

Cas. I found it in my chamber : 

And he himself confess'd, but even now. 
That there he dropp'd it, for a special purpose, 
Which wrought to his desire. 



0th. fool ! fool ! fool ! 

Cas. There is, besides, in Roderigo's letter,— 
How he upbraids Iago, that he made him 
Brave me upon the watch ; whereon it came 
That 1 was cast : And even but now he spake, 
After long seeming dead, — Jago hurt him, 
Iago set him on. 

Lod. You must forsake this room, and go with us; 
Your power and your command is taken off. 
And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave, — 
If there be any cunning cruelty, 
That can torment him much, and hold him long, 
It shall be his : You shall close prisoner rest, 
Till that the nature of your fault be known 
To the Venetian slate : — Come, bring him away. 

0th. Soft you ; a word or two, before you go. 
I have done the state some service, and they know it; 
No more of that : — I pray you, in your letters. 
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate. 
Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate. 
Nor set down aught in malice : then must you speak 
Of one, that lov'd not wisely, but too well ; 
Of one, not easily jealous, but, being wrought, 
Perplex'd in the extreme ; of one, whose hand. 
Like the base Judean, threw a pearl away. 
Richer than all his tribe ; of one, whose subdu'd eyes, 
Albeit unused to the melting mood, 
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees 
Their medicinal gum : Set you down this : 
And say, besides, — that in Aleppo once. 
Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk 
Beat a Venetian, and traduc'd the state, 
I took by the throat the circumcised dog. 
And smote him — thus. [Stabs himself. 

Lod. O bloody period ! 

Gra. All, that's spoke, is marr'd. 

0th. I kiss'd thee, ere 1 kill'd thee ; — No way but 

this, [Falling npon Desdemona. 

Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. [Dies. 

Cas. This did 1 fear, but thought he had no weapon ; 
For he was great of heart. 

Lod. O Spartan dog. 

More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea ! 
Look on the tragic loading of this bed ; [To Iago. 
This is thy work : the object poisons sight ; — 
Let it be hid. — Gratiano, keep the house, 
And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor, 
For they succeed to you. — To you, lord governor, 
Remains the censure of this hellish villain ; 
The time, the place, the torture, — enforce it! 
Myself will straight aboard ; and, to the state. 
This heavy act with heavy heart relate. [Exeunt. 



The beauties of this play impress themselves so strongly 
npon the attention of the reader, that they can draw no aid 
from critical illustration. The fiery openness of Othello, mag- 
nanimous, artless, and credulous, boundless in his confidence, 
ardent in his affection, indexible in his resolution, and obdurate 
in his revenge ; the cool nialiernity of Iago, silent in his resent- 
ment, subtle in his designs, and studious at once of his interest 
and his vengeance ; the soft simplicity of Desdemona, confi- 
dent of merit, and conscious of innocence, her artless perse- 
verance in her suit, and her slowness to suspect that she can 
be suspected, are such proofs oi Shakspeare's skill in human 
nature, as, I suppose, it is vain to seek in any modern writer. 
The gradual progress which Iago makes in the Moor's convic- 
tion, and the circumstances which he employs to enfiame him. 
are so artfully natural, that, though it will perhaps not be said 
of him as he says of himself, that he is o man not easily jealous, 
yet we cannot but pitj- him, when at last we find him perplexed 
tn the extreme. 

I'here is always danger, lest wickedness, conjoined with abi- 
lities, should steal upon esteem, though it misses of approbation ; 



but the character of Iago is so conducted, that he is from tb„ 
first scene to the last hated and despised. 

Even the inferior characters of this play would be very con- 
spicuous in any otherpiece. not only for their justness, but iheir 
strength. Cassio is brave, benevolent, and honest ; ruined only 
by his want of stubbornness to resist an insidious invitation. 
Roderigo's suspicious credulity, and impatient submission to 
the cheats which he sees practised upon him, and which by per- 
suasion he suffers to be repeated, exhibit a strong picture of a 
weak mind betrayed by unlawful desires to a false friend; and 
the virtue of Bmilia is such as we often find, worn loosely, but 
not cast off, easy to commit small crimes, but quickened and 
alarmed at atrocious villauies. 

1 he scenes from the beginning to the end are busy, varied by 
happy interchanges, and regularly promoting the progression o( 
the story ; and the narrative in the end, though it tells but what 
is known already, yet is necessary to produce the death of Othello. 

Had the scene opened in Cyprus, and the |)receding incidents 
been occasiohally related, there had been liiile wanting to a 
drama of the most exact and scrupulous regularity. — J o H N su N . 



END OF THE PLAYS. 



THE 



POEMS OF SHAKSPEARE. 



TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, 

Earl of Southampton, anJ Baron of I'itchfieM. 
Rkjht Honourable, 

I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your Lordship, nor how the 
world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burthen : only if your honour 
seem but pleased, I account mvself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have 
honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be 
sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a 
harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content; which 1 wish may 
always answer your own wish, and the world's hopeful expectation. 

Your Honour's in all duty, William Shakspeare. 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



Vilia mii-ctur vulgus mihi (lavas Apollo 
Poculo 1. astalia plena niiiiistrai aqua.— Ov id. 



Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face 
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn, 
Kose cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase ; 
Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh 'd to scorn; 
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, 
And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him. 

Thrice fairer than myself, (thus she began) 
The held's chief flower, sweet above compare. 
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man, 
Wore white and red than doves or roses are ; 
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, 
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. 
Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed, 
And reign his proud head to the saddle-bow ; 
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed, 
A thousand honey-secrets shalt thou know : 
Here come and sit, where serpent never hisses, 
And, being set, I '11 smother thee with kisses. 
And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety, 
But rather famish them amid their plenty. 
Making them red and pale with fresh variety 
1 "en kisses short as one, one long as twenty : 
A summer's day will seem an hour but short, 
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport. 
With this, she selzeth on his sweating palm. 
The precedent of pith and livelihood. 
And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm, 
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good: 
Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force, 
Courageously to pluck him from his horse. 
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein. 
Under the other was the tender boy. 
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain, 
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy ; 

She red and hot, as coals of glowing fire. 
He red for shame, but frosty in desire. 

The studded bridle on a ragged bough 
Nimbly she fastens (O how quick is love !) 
The steed is stalled up, and even now 
To tie the rider slie begins to prove: 

Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust, 
And govern'd him in strengh, though not in lust. 
So soon was she along, as he was down, 
liach leaning on their elbows and their hips : 
Mow doth she stroke his cheek, now doth ho frown, 



And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips ; 
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken, 
*' If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open." 
He burns with bashful shame ; she with her tears 
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks ; 
Then with her windy sighs, and golden hairs. 
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks : 
He says, she is immodest, blames her 'miss ; 
What follows more, siie smothers with a kiss. 
Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast. 
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, 
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste, 
I'ill either gorge be stuff' d, or prey be gone ; 
Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin, 
And where she ends, she doth anew begin. 
Forc'd to content, but never to obey. 
Panting he lies, and breathing in her face ; 
She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey, 
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace. 

Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers, 
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers 
Look how a bird lies tangled in a net, 
So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies ; 
Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret. 
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes • 
Rain added to a river that is rank. 
Perforce will force it overflow the bank. 

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, 
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale ; 
Still is he sullen, still he low'rs and frets, 
'Twixt crimson shame and anger, ashy pale ; 

Being red, she loves him best ; and being white 

Her best is better'd with a more delight. 
Look how he can, she cannot choose but love ; 
And by her fair immortal hand she swears 
From his soft bosom never to remove. 
Till he take truce with her contending tears. 

Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet ; 

And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt. 

Upon this promise did he raise his chin. 
Like a di-dapper peering through a wave. 
Who being look'd on, ducks as quickly in ; 
So offers he to give what she did crave ; 
But when her lips were ready for his pay. 
He winks, and turns his lips another way. 
SK 



882 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



Never did passenger in summer's heat 
More thirst for drink, than she for this good turn. 
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get ; 
Siie bathes in water, yet in fire must burn : 

" Oh pity, 'gan she cry, flint-hearted boy ; 

'Tis but a kiss I beg ; why art thou coy ? 

I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now. 
Even by the stern and direful god of war. 
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow, 
Who conquers where he conies, in every jar-, 
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave. 
And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have. 
Over my altars hath he hung his lance, 
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest. 
And for my sake hath learned to sport and dance. 
To coy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest; 
Scorning his churlish drum, and ensign red, 
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. 

Thus him that over-rul'd, I oversway'd, 
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain : 
Strong-temper'd steel his stronger strength obey'd", 
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. 

O be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, 
For mast'ring her that foil'd the god of fight. 
Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine, 
(Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red,) 
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine : — 
What see'st thou in the ground 1 hold up thy head; 
Look in mine eye -balls where thy beauty lies : 
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes on eyes 1 
Art thou asham'd to kiss 1 then wink again, 
And I will wink, so shall the day seem night ; 
Love keeps his revels where there be but twain, 
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight: 
These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean, 
Never can blab, nor know they what we mean. 
The tender spring upon thy tempting lip 
Shews thee unripe ; yet may'st thou well be tasted ; 
Make use of time, let not advantage slip ; 
Beauty within itself should not be wasted ■. 

Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime. 
Rot and consume themf=elves in little time. 
Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old, 
Ill-natur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, 
O'er-worn, despised, rheumatic and cold. 
Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, 
Then might'st thou pause, for then I were not for thee; 
But having no defects, why dost abhor me ? 

Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow ; 

Mine eyes are grey, and bright, and quick in turning ; 

My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow. 

My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning ; 
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt. 
Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. 

Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear. 
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green. 
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair, 
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen : 
Love is a spirit all compact of fire. 
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire. 
Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie ; 
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me ; 
Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky, 
From morn till night, even where I list, to sport me : 
Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be 
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee] 

Ts thine own heart to thine own face affected ] 
Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left 1 
Tlien woo thyself, be of thyself rejected, 



Steal thine own freedom, and complain of theft. 
Narcissus so, himself himself forsook. 
And dy'd to kiss his shadow in the brook. 

Torches are made to light, jewels to wear. 
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use, 
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear ; 
Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse : 
Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth beauty. 
Thou wert begot — to get it is thy duty. 
Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed. 
Unless the earth with thy increase be fed t 
By law of Nature thou art bound to breed. 
That thine may live, when thou thyself art dead ; 
And so in spite of death thou dost survive, 
In that thy likeness still is left alive." 
By this, the love-sick queen began to sweat. 
For, where they lay, the shadow had forsook them. 
And Titan, tired in the mid-day heat. 
With burning eye did hotly overlook them ; 
Wishing Adonis had his team to guide, 
So he were like him, and by Venus' side. 

And now Adonis, with a lazy spright, 

And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye, 

His low'ring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight, 

Like misty vapours, when they blot the sky, 

Souring his cheeks, cries, "Fie ! no more of love; 

The sun doth burn my face ; I must remove." 
"Ah me, (quoth Venus) young, and so unkind ! 
What bare excuses mak'st thou to be gone ! 
I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind 
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun ; 

I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs : 

If they burn too, I'll quench them with my tears 

The sun that shines from heaven, shines but warm, 
And lo, I lie between that sun and thee ; 
The heat 1 have from thence doth little harm. 
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me : 
And were I not immortal, life were done, 
Between this heavenly and earthly sun. 

Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel, 
Nay more than flint, for htoue at rain relenteth 1 
Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel 
What 'tis to love 1 how want of love tormentetU? 
O had thy mother borne so bad a mind. 
She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. 

What am I, that thou should'st contemn me this] 
Or what great danger dwells upon my suit] 
What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss] 
Speak, fair ; but speak fair words, or else be mute 
Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again. 
And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain. 

Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone. 
Well painted idol, image, dull and dead, 
Statue, contenting but the eye alone, 
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred ; 

Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion. 
For men will kiss even by their own direction." 

This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue. 

And swelling passion doth provoke a pause ; 

Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong ; 

Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause ; 
And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak, 
And now her sobs do her intendments break. 

Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand. 

Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground ; 

Sometimes her arms infold him like a band ; 

She would, he will not in her arms be bound ; 
And when from thence he struggles to be gone. 
She locks her lily fingers, one in one. 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



883 



" Fondling, she saith, since I have hemm'd thee here, 

Within the circuit of this ivory pale, 

I'll be the park, and thou shalt be my deer ; 

Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale ; 
Graze on my lips ; and if those hills be dry. 
Stray lower, where tlie pleasant fountains lie. 

Within this limit is relief enough. 
Sweet bottom-grass, and high delightful plain. 
Round rising hillocks, brakes obscuie and rough, 
To shelter thee from tei«pest and from rain ; 
Thea be my deer, since I am sucii a park ; 
No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark." 
At this Adonis smiles, as in disdain, 
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple : 
Love made those hollows, if hisnself were slain, 
He might be buried in a tomb so simple ; 
Fore-knowing well, if ihere ho came to lie. 
Why there love liv'd, and there he could not die. 
These lovely caves, these round-enchanting pits, 
Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking ; 
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits 1 
Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking 1 
Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn. 
To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn ! 
Now which way shall she turn ! what shall she say 1 
Her words are done, her woes the more increasing, 
The time is spent, her object will away. 
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing : 
" Pity — (she cries) some favour — some remorse — " 
Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse. 

But lo, from forth a copse that neighbours by, 
A Isreeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud, 
Adonis' trampling courser doth espy. 
And forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud ; 
The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree, 
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. 
Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds. 
And now his woven girts he breaks asunder. 
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds. 
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thunder; 
The iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth. 
Controlling what he was controlled with. 
His ears up prick'd ; his braided hanging mane 
Upon his compass'd crest now stands on end ; 
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again. 
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send : 
His eye, which glisters scornfully like fire. 
Shews his hot courage and his high desire. 
Sometimes he trots, as iT he told the steps, 
With gentle majesty, and modest pride ; 
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps. 
As who would says, lo ! thus my strength is try'd ; 
And thus I do to captivate the eye 
Of the fair breeder that is standing by. 

What recketh he his rider's angry stir. 
His flattering holla, or his Stand, I say ? 
What cares he now for curb, or pricking spur 1 
For rich caparisons, or trappings gay 1 

He sees his love, and nothing else he sees. 
For nothing else with his proud sight agrees. 
Look, when a painter would surpass the life. 
In limning out a well-proportion'd steed. 
His art with Nature's workmanship at strife. 
As if the dead the living should exceed ; 
So did this horse excel a common one. 
In shape, in courage, colour, pace, and bone. 
Round-hoofd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long. 
Broad breast, full eyes, small head, and nostril wide. 
High crest, short ears, straight legs, & passing strong. 



Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide: 
Look what a horse snould have, he did not lack; 
Save a proud lider on so proud a back. 

Sometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares, 

Anon he starts at stirring of a feather ; 

To bid the wind a base he now prepares. 

And wher he run, or fly, they knew not whether ; 
For through liis mane and tail the high wind sings, 
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings. 

He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her ; 
She answers him, as if she knew his mind: 
Being proud, as females are, to^see him woo her, 
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind ; 
Spurns at his love, and scorns the heat he feels. 
Beating his kind embraceineiit with her heels. 

Then, like a melancholy male content, 
He vails his tail, that like a falling plume. 
Cool shadow to his melting buttocks lent ; 
He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume* 
His love perceiving how he is enrag'd, 
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag'd. 

His testy master goeth about to take him ; 

When lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear, 

Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him ; 

With her the horse, and left Adonis there : 

As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them, 
Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them. 

All swola with chasing, down Adonis sits. 
Banning his boisterous and unruly beast ; 
And now the happy season once more fits. 
That love-sick Love, by pleading may be blest; 
For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong. 
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue. 

An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd, 

Hurneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage . 

So of concealed sorrow may be said ; 

Free vent of words love's lire doth assuage ; 
But when the heart's attorney once is mute, 
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. 

He sc-es !ier coming, and begins to glow, 
(Even as a dying coal revives with wind,) 
And with his bonnet hides his angiy brow ; 
Looks on the dull earth with distuibed mind ; 
Taking no notice that she is so nigh, 
For all askaunce he holds her in his eye. 
O what a sight it was, wistly to view 
How she came stealing to the wayward boy ! 
To note the fighting conflict of her hue ! 
How white and red each other did destroy ! 
But now, her cheek was pale, and by and by 
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky. 

Now was she just before him as he sat. 

And like a lowly lover down she kneels ; 

With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat; 

Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels : 

His tender cheeks receive her soft hand's print. 
As apt as new fallen snow takes any dint. 

O what a war of looks was then between them ■• 

Her eyes, petitioners, to his eyes suing ; 

His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them ; 

Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing : 
And all this dumb play had his acts made plain 
With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain. 

Full gently now she takes him by the hand, 

A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow. 

Or ivory in an alabaster band ; 

So white a friend engirts so white a foe : 

This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, 
Shew'd like to silver doves that sit a billing. 
5K2 



884 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



Once more the engine of her tlioughts began : 
" O fairest mover on this mortal round, 
Would thou vrert as I am, and I a man. 
My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my -wound ; 
For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee. 
The' nothing but my body's bane would cure thee." 
Give me my hand, saith he, why dost thou feel it? 
Give me my heart, saith she, and thou shalt have it ; 

give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it, 
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it j 

Then love's deep groans I never shall regard, 
Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard. 

For shame, he cries, let go, and let me go ; 

My day's delight is past, my horse is gone, 

And 'tis your fault 1 am bereft him so ; 

1 pray you hence, and leave me here alone : 

For all my mind, my thought, my busy care. 
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare. 

Thus she replies : " Thy palfrey, as he should. 

Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire. 

Affection is a coal that must be cool'd ; 

Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire : 

The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none. 
Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone. 

How like a jade he stood, tied to a tree, 

Servilely master'd with a leathern rein ! 

But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee. 

He held such petty bondage in disdain ; 

Throwing the base thong from his bending crest, 
Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. 

Who sees his true love in her naked bed. 
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white. 
But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed, 
His other agents aim at like delight? 

Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold. 
To touch the fire, the weather being cold ? 

T,et me excuse thy courser, gentle boy ; 

And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee, 

To take advantage on presented joy ; 

Though 1 were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee. 
O learn to love ; the lesson is but plain. 
And, once made perfect, never lost again." 

" I know not love (quoth he), nor will I know it, 

Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it ; 

'']"is much to borrow, and I will not owe it ; 

lyiy love to love is love but to disgrace it ; 
For I have heard it is a life in death. 
That laughs, and weeps, and all but with a breath. 

Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd ? 

Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth 1 

If springing things be any jot diminish'd. 

They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth : 
The colt that's back'd and burthen'd being young, 
Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong. 

You hurt my hand with wringing ; let us part. 

And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat : 

Remove your siege from my unyielding heart ; 

To love's alarm it will not ope the gate. [tery ; 

Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flat- 
For where a heart is hard, they make no battery." 

"What! canst thou talk (quoth she), hast thou a 

would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing ! [tongue ! 
Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong ; 

1 had my load before, now press'd with bearing : 
?Jelodious discord, heavenly tune harsh sounding, 
Earth's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore 

wounding. 
Had I no eyes, but ears, my ears would love 
That inward beauty and invisible ; 
Or, were 1 deaf, thy outward parts would move 



Each part in me that were hut sensible : 

Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see. 
Yet should I be in love, by touching thee. 

Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me, 
And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch. 
And nothing but the very smell were left me. 
Yet would my love to thee be still as much ; 
For from the still'tory of thy face excelling 
Comes breath perfum'd, that breedeth love bj' 
smelling. 
But O, what banquet wert thou to the taste, 
Being nurse and feeder of the other four ! 
Would they not wish the feast should ever last. 
And bid suspicion double-lock the door? 
Lest jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest. 
Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast." 

Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd. 
Which to his speech did honey passage yield ; 
Like a red mom, that ever yet betoken'd 
Wreck to the sea-man, tempest to the field. 
Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds. 
Gust and foul flaw to herdsmen and to herds. 

This ill presage advisedly she marketh : 
Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth. 
Or as the wolf doth grin before it barketh, 
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth, 
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun. 
His meaning struck her ere his words begun : 

And at his look she flatly falleth down. 

For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth. 

A smile recures the wounding of a frown. 

But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth ? 

The silly boy believing she is dead, 

Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it reil ; 

And in amaje brake ofFhis late intent, 
For sharply he did think to reprehend her. 
Which cunning love did wittily prevent: 
Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her ! 
For on the grass she lies as she were slain, 
Till his breath breatheth life in her again. 
He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks 
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard ; 
He chafes her lips, a thousand ways he seeks 
To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd ; 
He kisses her ; and she, by her good will. 
Will never rise, so he will kiss her still. 
The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day : 
Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth, 
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array 
He cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth : 
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky. 
So is her face illumin'd with her eye. 

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd, 
As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine. 
Were never four such lamps together mix'd, 
Had not his clouded with his brows' repine ; 

But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light. 

Shone like the moon, in water seen by night. 
where am I, quoth she? in earth or heaven. 
Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire? 
What hour is this ? or morn or weary even ? 
Do I delight to die, or life desire? 

But now I liv'd, and life was death's annoy ; 

But now I dy'd, and death was lively joy. 

O thou didst kill me ;— kill me once again; 
Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine. 
Hath taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain, 
That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine ; 
And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen. 
But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



885 



Long may they kiss each other, for this cure ! 

Oh never let tlieir crimson liveries wear ! 

And as they last, their verdure still endure, 

To drive iafection from the dangerous year! 
I'hattlie star-gazers, having writ on death, 
Way say, the plague is baui.^h'd by thy breath. 

Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted. 

What bargains may I make, still to be sealing ? 

I'o sell myselfl can be well contented, 

So thou v/ilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing ; 
Whicij purchase if thou make, for fear of sJips, 
Set thy seal-manual on uiy wax-red lips, 

A thousand kisses buys oiy heart from me ; 

And pay them at thy leisure, one by one. 

What is ten hundred kisses unto thee ? 

Are they not quickly told, and ([uickly gone ! 

Say, for soa-payment that the debt should double, 
Is twenty kuiidied kisses such a trouble ! 

Fair queen, quoth he, if any love you owe «ie, 

Pleasure my strangeness with my unrij^e years; 

Before I know myself, seek uot to know me ; 

Ko hslvsr but the ungrowu fry forbears : 

1 he mellow plum doth fall, the greets sticks fast, 
Or being early pluck'd, is sour to taste. 

Look, the world's comforter, but weary gait. 

His day's hot task hath ended in the West : 

The owi, night's herald, shrieks, 'tis veru lat« ; 

'The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest ; 
The coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's light, 
Do summon us to part, and bid good night. 

Now let me say good night, and so say you ; 

If you will say so, you shall have a kiss. 

Good night, quoth she ; and, ere he says adi«u. 

The honey fee of jmrting teader'd is : 

Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace ; 
Incorj)orate then they seem ; face grows to face. 

rill, breathless, he disjoin'd, and backward drew 
The heaveuly laoisture, that sweet coral mouth, 
Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew. 
Whereon tliey surfeit, yet complain on drought: 
He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth, 
(Iheir lips together glew'd) fall to the earth. 
Kow quick Desire hath caught her yielding prey. 
And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filletli ; 
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey, 
faying what ransom the insulter willeth ; 

Uhose vulture thought doth pilch the price so high. 
That she will diaw his lips' rich treasure dry. 

And having fell the sweetness of the spoil. 
With blind-fold fury she begins to forage ; 
Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil, 
And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage; 
Planting oblivion, beating reason back. 
Forgetting sliaiiie's pure blush, and honour's wrack. 

Hot, faint, and w-eary, wiiJi her hard embracing. 
Like a wild bird being tani'd with too much handling, 
Or as the fleet-foot roe, that's tjr'd with chasing, 
Or like the froward infant, still'd with dandling, 

He now obeys, and now no more resistelh. 

While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. 
What wax so frozen but dissolves with temp'ring, 
And yields at last to every light impression t 
Things out of hope are compass'd oft with vent'ring, 
Cliiefly ia love, whose leave exceeds commission : 

Affection faints not like a pale-fac'd coward, [ward. 

15at then woos best, when most his choice is fro- 

Whea he did frowa, O had she then gave over. 
Such nectar from his lips siie had not suck'd. 
Foul words aad frowas must aot repel a lover ; 



What though the rose have pricks! yet is it pluck'd; 

Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast. 

Yet love breaks through, and picks them alf at last. 

For pity now she can ao more detain him ; 
The poor fool prays her that he may depart ; 
She is resolv'd no longer to restrain him ; 
Bids him farewell, and lock well to her lieart. 
The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest. 
He carries thence incaged in his breast. 
Sweet boy, she says, this night I'll waste in sorrow. 
For n!v sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. 
Tell me, love's master, shall we meet to-morrow 1 
Sav, shall we? shall we ! w'ilt tiiou make the match! 
He tells her, no ; to-morrow he intends 
To hunt the boar witii certain of his friends. 
The boar ! (quoth she) whereat a sudden pale. 
Like lawn being spread u[)on the blub.hiug rose. 
Usurps her cheeks ; she trembles at his tale. 
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws : 
Siie siuketh down, still hanging on his neck. 
He on her belly falls, she on lier back. 
Now is she in the very lists of love, 
Her champion mounted for the hot encounter : 
All is imaginary she doth prove, 
He will not manage her, altliough he mount her; 
That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy, 
To clip Elysium, and to lack her joy. 
Even as poor birds, deceiv'd with painted grapes. 
Do suriest by the eye, and pine the maw. 
Even so she langui^heth in her mishaps. 
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw : 

The warm effects which she in him finds missing. 
She seeks to kindle with continual kissing. 
But all in vain ; good queen, it will not be : 
She hath assay 'd as much as may be proved; 
Her pleading hath deserv'd a greater fee ; 
She's Love, she loves, and yet siie is not lov'd. 
Fie, fie, he says, you crush me ; let nie go ; 
You have no reason to withhold me so. 
Thou hadst been gone, quoth she, sweet boy, ere this. 
But that thou told'st me, thou would'st hunt the boar. 
O be advis'd ; tiiou know'st not what it is 
With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore. 
Whose tushes never-sheath'd he whetteili still. 
Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill. 
On his bow-back lie hath a battle set 
Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes ; 
His eves, like glow-worms shine when he dotli fret; 
His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes ; 
Being mov d, he strikes whale'er is in his way. 
And whom he strikes, his crooked tushes slay. 
His brawny side, with hairy bristles armed. 
Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter ; 
His short thick neck cannot be easily harmed ; 
Being ireful, on the lion he will venture : 
The thorny brambles and embracing buslies, 
As fearful of him, part; through ubom he rushes. 
Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine. 
To which Love's eye pays tributaiy gazes ; 
Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne. 
Whose full perfection all the world amazes ; 
But having thee at vantage (wond'rous dread!) 
VVould root these beauties as he roots the mead. 
O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still ; 
Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends. 
Come not within his danger by thy will ; 
They that thrive well, take counsel of their friends. 
W'hen tiiou didst name the boar, not to dissemble, 
i fear'd lliy fortune, and my joints did tremble. 



886 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



Didst thou not mark my face ? Was it not white ? 
Saw'st tUou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye ! 
Grew I not faint 1 And fell I not downright? 
Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie, 

My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest. 
But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast. 
For where love reigns, disturbing jealousy 
Doth call himself affection's centinel ; 
Gives false alarms; suggesteth mutiny, 
And in a peaceful hour doth cry, kill, hill ; 
Distemp'ring gentle love with his desire. 
As air and water doth abate the fire. 
This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy, 
This canker that eats up love's tendej' sp'ring. 
This carry-tale, dissensious jealousy. 
That sometimes true news, sometimes false doth bring, 
Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear. 
That if I love thee, I thy death should fear. 
And more than so, presenteth to mine eye 
The picture of an angry chafing boar. 
Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie 
An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore ; 
VVhose blood upon the fresh flovi'ers being shed, 
Doth make them droop with grief, and hang the head. 
What should I do, seeing thee so indeed, 
That trembling at the imagination. 
The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed ? 
And fear doth teach it divination : 

I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow. 
If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow. 
But if thou needs will hunt, be rul'd by me ; 
Uncouple at the timorous flying hare. 
Or at the fox, which lives by subtilty, 
Or at the roe, which no encounter dares : 

Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downSj 
And on thy well -breath'd horse keep with thy hounds. 
And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, 
Rlark the poor wretch to overshut his troubles, 
How he out-runs the wind, and with what care 
He cranks and crosses, with a thousand doubles : 
The many musits through the which he goes. 
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. 
Sometime he runs among the flock of sheep, 
'I'o make the cunning hounds mistake their smell. 
And sometime where earth-delving conies keep, 
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell ; 
And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer ; 
Danger deviseth shifts ; wit waits on fear : 

For there his smell with others being mino-led, 
liie liot scent-snuftng hounds are driven to doubt. 
Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled 
With much ado the cold fault cleanly out; 

Then do they spend their mouths : Echo replies. 
As if another chase were in the skies. 
By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill. 
Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear. 
To hearken if his foes pursue him still ; 
Anon their loud alarums he doth hear ; 
And now his grief may be compared well 
To one sore-sick, that hears the passing bell. 
Then shall thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch 
Turn, and return, indenting with the way ; 
Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch, 
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay : 
For misery is trodden on by many, 
And being low, never reliev'd by any. 

Lie quietly, and hear a little more ; 

Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise: 

To make thee hate the bunting of the boar, 



Unlike thyself, thou hear'st me moralize. 
Applying this to that, and so to so ; 
For love can comment upon every woe. 

Where did I leave? — No matter where, quoth he; 

Leave me, and then the story aptly ends : 

The night is spent. Why, what of that? quoth she. 

1 am, quoth he, expected of my friends; 
And now 'tis dark, and going I shaH fall. — 
In night, quoth she, desire sees best of all. 

But if thou fall, O then imagine this. 
The earth in love with thee thy footing trips. 
And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. 
Rich preys make rich men thieves ; so do thy lips 
Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn, 
Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn. 
Now, of this dark night I perceive the reason : 
Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine. 
Till forging nature be conderan'd of treason, 
For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine. 
Wherein she fram'd thee in high heaven's depite. 
To shame the sun by day, and her by night. 

And therefore hath she brib'd the Destinies, 
To cross the curious workmanship of nature. 
To mingle beauty with infirmities. 
And pure perfection with impure defeature ; 
Making it subject to the tyranny 
Of sad mischances and such misery : 

As burning fevers, agues pale and faint, 
Life-poising pestilence, and frenzies wood. 
The marrow-eating sickness, \vhose attaint 
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood : 

Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn'd despaar, 
Swear nature's death for framing thee so fair. 

And not the least of all these maladies, 
But in one minute's sight brings beauty under: 
Both favour, savour, hue, and qualities. 
Whereat th' imperial gazer late did wonder, 
Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done. 
As mountain-snow melts with the mid-day sun. 

Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity. 
Love- lacking vestals, and self-loving nuns. 
That on the earth would breed a scarcity. 
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons. 
Be prodigal : the lamp that burns by night. 
Dries up his oil, to lend the world his light. 
What is thy body but a swallowing grave. 
Seeming to bury that posterity 
Which by the rights of time thou needs must have. 
If thou destroy them not in their obscurity 1 
If so, the world will hold thee in disdain, 
Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain. 

So in thyself thyself art made away ; 
A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife 
Or their's, whose desperate hands themselves do slay, 
Or butcher-sire, that reaves his son of life. 
Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets. 
But gold that's put to use, m,ore gold begets. 

Nay then, quoth Aden, you will fall again 
Into your idle over-handled theme ; 
The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain. 
And all in vain you strive against the stream , 
For by this black-fac'd night, desire's foul nurse, 
Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse. 
If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues, 
And every tongue more moving than your own. 
Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs, 
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown ; 
For know, my heart stands armed in my eai. 
And will not let a false sound enter there j 



' 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



087 



Lest the deceiving harmony should run 
Into the quiet closure of my breast ; 
And then my little heart were quite undone, 
In his bed-chamber to be barr'd of rest. 

No, lady, no ; my heart longs not to groan, 
But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone. 
What have you urg'd that I cannot reprove ] 
The path is smooth that leadeth unto danger ; 
I hate not love, but your device in love. 
That lends embracements unto every stranger. 
You do it for increase ; O strange excuse ! 
When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse. 
Call it not love, for love to heaven is fled, 
Since sweating lust on earth usurps his name ; 
Under whose simple semblance he hath fed 
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame ; 

Which the hot tyrant stains, and soon bereaves, 
As caterpillars do the tender leaves. 
Love comforteth, like sun-shine after rain, 
But lust's effect is tempest after sun, 
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, 
Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done. 
Love surfeits not ; lust like a glutton dies : 
Love is all truth ; lust full of forged lies. 
More I could tell, but more I dare not say • 
The text is old, the orator too green. 
Therefore, in sadness, now I will away ; 
My face is full of shame, my heart of teen ; 
Mine ears that to your wanton talk attended, 
Do burn themselves for having so offended. 
With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace 
Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast, 
And homeward through the dark lawns runs apace ; 
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd. 
Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky. 
So glides he in the night from Venus' eye ; 
Which after him she darts, as one on shore 
Gazing upon a late-embavked friend. 
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more, 
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend ; 
So did the merciless and pitchy night 
Fold in the object that did feed her sight. 
Whereat amaz'd, as one that unaware 
Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood. 
Or 'stonish'd as night-wanderers often are. 
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood ; 
Even so confounded in the dark she lay. 
Having lost the fair discovery of her way. 
And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans, 
That all the neighbour-caves, as seeming troubled, 
Make verbal repetition of her moans ; 
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled : 

Ah me ! she cries, and twenty times, woe, woe ! 
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so. 
She marking them, begins a wailing note. 
And sings extemp'rally a woeful ditty ; 
How love makes young men thrall, and old men dote 
How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty : 
Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, 
And still the choir of echoes answer so. 
Her song was tedious, and outwore the night, 
For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short : 
If pleas'd themselves, others, they think, delight 
In such like circumstance, with such like sport : 
Their copious stories, oftentimes begun. 
End without audience, and are never done. 
For who hath she to spend the night withal. 
But idle sounds, resembling parasites, 
Like thrill tongu'd tapsters answering every call, 



Soothing the humour of fantastic wits ■? 
She said, 'tis so ; they answer all, 'tis so ; 
And would say after her, if she said no. 
Lo ! here the gentle lark, weary of rest. 
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, 
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast 
The sunariseth in his majesty; 

Who doth the world so gloriously behold. 
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold. 
Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow : 
O thou clear god, and patron of all light. 
From whom each lamp and shming star doth borrow 
The beauteous influence that makes him bright, 
There lives a son, that suck'd an earthly mother. 
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other. 
This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove. 
Musing the morning is so much o'erworn, 
And yet she hears no tidings of her love ; 
She hearkens for his hounds, and for his horn 
Anon she hears them chaunt it lustily. 
And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. 
And as she runs, the bushes in the way 
Some catcli her by the neck, some kiss her face, 
Some twine about her thigh to make her stay ; 
She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace. 
Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ake, 
Hasting to feed her fawn, hid in some brake. 
By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay. 
Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder 
Wreath'd up in fatal folds, just in his way. 
The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder : 
Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds 
Appals her senses, and her spright confounds. 
For now she knows it is no gentle chase. 
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud, 
Because the cry remaineth in one place. 
Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud: 
Finding their enemy to be so curst. 
They all strain court'sy who shall cope him first. 
This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear, 
Through which it enters to surprise her heart. 
Who overcome by doubt and bloodless fear. 
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part : 
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield. 
They basely fly, and dare not stay the field. 
Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy ; 
Till, cheering up her senses sore dismay'd, 
She tells them, 'tis a causeless fantasy. 
And childish error that they are afraid ; 

Bids them leave quaking, wills them fear no more ; — 
And with that word she spy'd the hunted boar, 
Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red. 
Like milk and blood being mingled both together, 
A second fear through all her sinews spread, 
Which madly hurries her she knows not whither ; 
This way she runs, and now she will no further. 
But back retires, to rate the boar for murder. 
A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways ; 
She treads the paths that she untreads again ; 
Her more than haste is mated with delays. 
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain ; 
Full of respect, yet not at all respecting. 
In hand with all things, nought at all effecting. 
Herekennel'd in a brake she finds a hound, 
And asks the weary caitiff for his master ; 
And there another licking of his wound, 
"Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster ; 
And here she meets another sadly scowling. 
To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling 



888 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



When he had ceas'd his ill-resounding noise, 
Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim, 
Against the welkin vollies out his voice ; 
Another and another answer him, 
Clapping their proud tails to the ground below, 
Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go. 
Look, how the world's poor people are amazed 
At apparitions, signs, and prodigies, 
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed. 
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies ; 

So she at these sad signs draws up her breath. 
And, sighing it again, exclaims on death. 
Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean. 
Hateful divorce of love (thus chides she death) 
Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou 
To stifle beauty, and to steal his breath, [mean 

Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set 
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet ? 
If he be dead, — O no, it cannot be. 
Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it — 
O yes, it may ; thou hast no eyes to see. 
But hatefully at random dost thou hit. 

Thy mark is feeble age ; but thy false dart 
Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart. 
Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke. 
And hearing him, thy power had lost his power. 
The destinies will curse thee for this stroke ; 
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower j 
Love's golden arrow at him should have fled. 
And not death's ebon dart, to strike him dead. 
Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st such weep- 
What may a heavy groan advantage thee 1 [ing ? 
Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping 
Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see 1 
Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour. 
Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour. 
Here overcome, as one full of despair, 
Sheveil'd her eye-lids, who, like sluices, stopp'd 
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair 
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp'd ; 

But through the flood-gates breaks the silver raia, 
And with his strong course opens them again. 
O how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow ! 
Her eyes seen in her tears, tears in her eye ; 
Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow. 
Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry ; 
But like a stormy day, now wind now rain. 
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again. 
Variable passions throng her constant woe. 
As striving which should best become her gnef ; 
All entertain'd, each passion labours so. 
That every present sorrow seemeth chief. 

But none is best ; then join they all together. 
Like many clouds consulting for foul weather. 
By this, ffif off she hears some huntsman holla ; 
A nurse's song ne'er pleas'd her babe so well : 
The dire imagination she did follow 
This sound of hope doth labour to expell ; 
For now reviving joy bids her rejoice, 
And flatters her, it is Adonis' voice. 
Whereat her tears began to turn their tide, 
Being prison'd in her eye, like pearls in glass ; 
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside. 
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass. 
To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground, 
Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd. 

O hard-believing love, how strange it seems 

Not to believe, and yet too credulous ! 

Th^ weal and woe are both of them extremes. 



Despair and hope make thee ridiculous : 

The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlike?y. 
With likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. 

Now she unweaves the web that she had wrought ; 

Adonis lives, and death is not to blame ; 

It was not she that call'd him all to naught ; 

Now she adds honour to his hateful name ; 

She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings, 
Imperial supreme of all mortal things. 

No, no, (quoth she) Sweet death, I did but jest j 

Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear. 

When as I met the boar, that bloody beast. 

Which knows no pity, but is still severe ; 
Then, gentle shadow, (truth I must confess) 
I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease. 

Tis not my fault: the boar provok'd my tongue ; 

Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander ; 

'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong j 

I did but act, he's author of thy slander : 

Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet 
Could rule them both, without ten women 's wit. 

Thus hoping that Adonis is alive. 

Her rash suspect she doth extenuate ; 

And that his beauty may the better thrive. 

With death she humbly doth insinuate ; 
Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs ; and stories 
His victories, his triumphs, and his glories. 

O Jove, quoth she, how much a fool was I, 
To be of such a weak and silly mind, 
To wail his death, who lives, and must not die. 
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind ! 

For he being dead, with him is beauty slain. 
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again. 
Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear, 
As one with treasure laden, hemm'd with thieves; 
Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear. 
Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves. 
Even at this word she hears a merry horn, 
Whereat she leaps, that was but late forlorn. 
As faulcon to the lure, away she flies ; 
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light ; 
And in her haste unfortunately spies 
The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight ; 

Which seen, her eyes, asmurder'd with the view, 
Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew. 

Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit. 
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with paiii. 
And there, all smother'd up in shade doth sit. 
Long after fearing to creep forth again ; 
So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled 
Into the deep dark cabins of her head. 

Where they resign their office and their light 

To the disposing of her troubled brain ; 

Who bids them still consort with ugly night. 

And never wound the heart with looks again ; 
Who, like a king perplexed in his throne. 
By their suggestion gives a deadly groan. 

Whereat each tributary subject quakes ; 
As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground. 
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes. 
Which with cold terrors dotli men's mind confound : 
This mutiny each part doth so surpriie, 
That from their dark beds, once more, leap her eyes; 
And, being open'd, threw unwilling sight 
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench d 
In his soft flank ; whose wonted lily v/hite 
With purple tears, that his wound wept, wasdrench'd* 
No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed. 
But stole his blood, and seem'd with him to hlesd. 















.■mm 



¥&^x-^ 



\yry.' 






^Ik^^j 






1 M.'V ''(*' 







VENUS AND ADONIS. 

Since thou art dead, lo ! here I prophesy 

P<jy< 889. 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



B89 



This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth ; 
Over one slioulder doth she hang her head; 
Dumbly she passions, franiicly she doteth ; 
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead. 

Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow ; 

Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now. 

Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly, 

That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three ; 

And then she reprehends her mangling eye, 

That makes more gashes where no breach should be : 

His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled, 

For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled. 
My tongue cannot express my grief for one. 
And yet, quoth she, behold two Adons dead ! 
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone, 
Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead : 

Heavy heart's lead melt at mine eyes, as fire ! 

So sliali 1 die by drops of hot desire. 
Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost ! 
What face remains alive that's worth the viewing? 
Whose tongue is music now 1 what canst thou boast 
Of things long since, or anything ensuing 1 

The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim; 

But true-sweet beauty liv'd and dy'd in him. 
Bonnet or veil henceforth no creature wear ! 
Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you : 
Having no fair to lose, you need not fear ; 
The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you: 

But when Adonis liv'd, sua and sharp air 

Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair ; 

And therefore would he put his bonnet on. 
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep ; 
The wind would blow it off, and, being gone. 
Play with his locks ; then would Adonis weep : 
And straight, in pity of his tender years. 
They both would strive who first should dry his tears. 

To see his face, the lion walk'd along 

Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him ; 

To recreate himself, when he hath sung. 

The tiger would be tame, and gently hear him : 

If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey, 

And never fright the silly lamb that day. 
When he beheld his shadow in the brook. 
The fishes spread on it their golden gills ; 
When he was by, the birds such pleasure took, 
That some would sing, some other in their bills 

Would bring him mulberries, and ripe red cherries ; 

He fed them with his sight, they him with berries. 

But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, 
Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave. 
Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore ; 
Witness the entertainment that he gave ; 
If he did see his face, why then 1 know. 
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so. 

Tis true, 'tis true ; thus was Adonis slain ; 
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear. 
Who would not whet his teeth at him again. 
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there ; 
And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine 
Sheath'd, unaware, his tusk in his soft groin. 

Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess 

With kissing him I should have kill'd him first; 

But he is dead, and never did he bless 

My youth with his ; the more I am accurst. 
VVith this she falleth in the place she stood, 
And stains her face with his congealed blood. 

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale; 

She takes him by the hand, and that is cold ; 

She whispers in his ear, a heavy tale, 



As if he heard the woeful words she told : 
She lifts the cotTer-lids that close his eyes, 
Where, lo ! two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies. 
Two glasses, where herself herself beheld 
A thousand times, and now no more reflect; 
Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd, 
And every beauty robb'd of his effect : 

Wonder of time, quoth she, this is my spite, 
That, you being dead, the day should yet be light 
Since thou art dead, lo ! here I prophesy, 
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend ; 
It shall be waited on with jealousy, 
Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end ; 
Ne'er settled equally, to high or low ; 
That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe. 
It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud. 
And shall be blasted in a breathing-while ; 
The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd 
With sweets, that shall the sharpest sight beguile : 
The stionge.->t body shall it make most weak, 
Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak. 
It shall be sparing, and too full of riot, 
Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures ; 
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet. 
Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures : 
It shall be raging-mad, and silly-mild, 
Blake the young old, the old become a child. 
It shall suspect, where is no cause of fear ; 
It shall not fear, where it should most mistrust; 
It shall be merciful, and too severe, 
And most deceiving, when it seems most just ; 
Perverse it shall be, when it seems most toward, 
Put fear to valour, courage to the coward. 
It shall be cause of war, and dire events. 
And set dissention 'twixt the son and sire ; 
Subject and servile to all discontents. 
As dry combustious matter is to fire; 

Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy, 
They that love best, their love shall not enjoy. 
By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd, 
Was melted like a vapour from her sight, 
And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd, 
A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white ; 
Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood 
Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. 
She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell. 
Comparing it to her Adonis' breath ; 
And says, within her bosom it shall dwell. 
Since he himself is reft from her by death : 

She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears 
Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears. 
Poor flower, quotii she, this was tliy father's guise, 
(Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire) 
For every little grief to wet his eyes : 
To grow unto himself was his desire, 

And so 'tis thine; but know, it is as good 
To wither in my breast, as in his blood. 
Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast ; 
Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right: 
Lo ! in this hollow cradle take thy rest, 
My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night: 
There shall not be one minute of an hour, 
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower. 

Thus weary of the world, away she hies. 
And yokes her silver doves ; by whose swift aid 
Their mistress mounted, through the empty skies 
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd. 

Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen 
Means to immure herself, and not be seen. 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, 

Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tilchfield. 

The love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end ; whereof this pamphlet, without beginning, is but 
a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored 
lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What 1 have done is yours, what I have to do is yours ; being part 
in all I have devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would shew greater : mean time, as it is, 
It is bound to your Lordship, to whom 1 wish long life, still lengthened with all happiness. 

Your Lordship's in all duty, William Shakspeare. 



THE ARGUMENT. 



Lucius Tarquinius (for his excessive pride surnamcd 
Supeibus) after he had caused his own father-in-law, Servius 
Tullius, to be cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman 
laws and customs, not requiring or staying for the people's suf- 
frages, had possessed himself of the kingdom; went, accompa- 
nied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege 
Ardea. During which siege, the principal men of the army 
meeting one evening at the lent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king's 
son, in their discourses after supper, every one commended the 
virtues of his own wife; among whom Collatinus extolled the 
incomi)arable chastity of his wife Lucretid. In that pleasant 
humour they all posted to Rome ; and intending, by their se- 
cret and sudden arrival, to make trial of that whidi every one 
had before avouched, only Collatinus finds his wife (though it 
v."ere late in the night) spinning amongst her maids: the other 
ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several dis- 
ports. W hereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, 
and his Avife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being 
infianied with Lucrece' beauty, yet smothering his passions for 
the present, departed with the rest back to the camp ; frota 



whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and was (ac- 
cording to his estate) royally entertained and lodged by Lucrece 
at Collatium. The same night, he treacherously stealeth into 
her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the njorning 
speedeth away. Lucrece in this lamentable plight, hastily dis- 
patched messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the 
camp for CoUatiue. 1 hey came, the one act^ompanied with 
.lunius Brutus, the other with Publius Valerius ; and finding 
Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the caute of her 
sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her revenge, re- 
vealed the actor, and whole manner of his dealing, and witlial 
suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent they 
all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the i arquius ; 
and bearing tlie dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the peo- 
jde with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bittef 
invective against the tyranny of the king: wherewith the people 
were so moved, that with one consent and a general acclama^ 
tion the Tarquins were all exiled, aud the slate government 
j changed from kings to consuls. 



FnoM the besieg'd Ardea all in post, 
Borne by the trustless wings of false desire, 
Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Eoman host, 
And to Collatium bears the lightless fire. 
Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire, 
And girdle with embracing flames the waist 
Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste. 

Haply that name of chaste unhapp'ly set 
This bateless edge on his keen appetite ; 
Wiien Collatine unwisely did not let 
To praise the clear unmatched red and white 
Which triumph'd in that sky of his deliglit, 

AVhere mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beauties, 
With pure aspects did him peculiar duties. 

For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent, 
Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state ; 
What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent 
In the possession of his beauteous mate ; 
Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate, 
Ihat kings might be espoused to more fame. 
But king nor peer to such a peerless dame. 

O happiness enjoy'd but of a few ! 

And, if possess'd, as soon decayed and done 

As is the morning's silver-melting dew 

Against the golden splendour of the sun ! 

An expir'd date, cancel'd ere well begun : 
Honour and beauty in the owner's arms. 
Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms. 

Beauty itself doth of itself persuade 

1"he eyes of men without an orator ; 

What needeth then apology be made 

To set forth that which is so singular? 

Or why is Collatine the publisher 

Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown 
From thievish ears, because it is his own ? 

Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty 
Suggested this proud issue of a king ; 
For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be : 



Perchance that envy of so rich a thing, 
Braving compare, disdainfully did sting [vaunt 

His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men should 
The golden hap which their superiors want. 

But some untimely thought did instigate 
His all-too-tiiueless speed, if none of those : 
His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state, 
Neglected all, with swift intent he goes 
To quench the coal which in his liver glows. 
C) rash-false heat, wrapt in repentant cold, 
Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old! 

When at Collatium this false lord arrived. 
Well was he welcom'd by the Roman dame, 
Within whose face beauty and virtue striveii 
Which of them both should underprop her lame: 
When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame ; 
When beauty boasted blushes, in despite 
Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white. 

But beauty, in that white intituled. 
From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field ; 
Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red, 
Which virtue gave the golden age, to gild 
Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield ; 
Teaching thein thus to use it in the fight, — 
When shame assail'd, the red should fence the white. 
This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen. 
Argued by beauty's red, and virtue's wiiite. 
Of either's colour was the other queen, 
Proving from world's minority their right : 
Yet their ambition makes them still to fight ; 
The sovereignty of either being so great, 
That oft they intercharge each other's seat. 

This silent war of lilies and of roses 
Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field, 
In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses ; 
Where, lest between them both it should be kill'd, 
The coward captive vanquished doth yield 
To those two armies that would let lura go, 
Rather than triumph in so false a foe. 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



891 



Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue 
(The niggard prodigal that prais'd her so) 
In that high task hath done her beauty wrong, 
'vVhich far exceeds his barren skill to shew : 
Therefore that praise which CoUatine doth owe, 

Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise, 

In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes. 

This earthly saint, adored by this devil. 

Little suspecteth the false worshipper ; 

For thoughts unstain'd do seldom dream on evil ; 

Birds never lim'd no secret bushes fear : 

So guiltless she securely gives good cheer 
And reverend welcome to her princely guest. 
Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd. 

For that he colour'd with his high estate, 
Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty ; 
That nothing in him seem'd inordinate, 
Save sometime too much wonder of his eye. 
Which, having all, all could not satisfy ; 
But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store. 
That cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more. 
But she that never cop'd with stranger eyes, 
Could pick no meaning from their parling looks. 
Is' or read the subtle-shining secrecies 
Writ in the glassy margents of such books ; 
She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks; 
Nor could she moralize his wanton sight, 
]\Iore than his eyes were open'd to the light. 

He stories to her ears her husband's fame. 
Won in the fields of fruitful Italy ; 
And decks with pjaises CoUatine's high name, 
Rlade glorious by his manly chivalry. 
With bruised arms and wreaths of victory : 

Her joy with heav'd-up hand she doth express. 
And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success. 
Far from the purpose of his coming thither. 
He makes excuses for his being there. 
No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather 
Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear ; 
Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear, 
Upon the world dim darkness doth display. 
And in her vanity prison stows the day. 
For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed, 
Intending weariness with heavy spright ; 
For, after supper, long he questioned 
With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night : 
Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight ; 
And every one to rest himself betakes, [wakes. 
Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds that 

As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving 

The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining ; 

Yet ever to obtain his will resolving, 

Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining; 

Despair to gain, doth traffic oft for gaining ; 
And when great treasure is the meed proposed, 
Tho' death be abjunct, there's no death supposed. 

Those that much covet, are with gain so fond, 
That what they have not (that which they possess) 
They scatter and unlose it from their bond. 
And so, by hoping more, they have but less ; 
Or gaining more, the profit of excess 

Is but to surfeit, and sucii griefs sustain. 

That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain. 
The aim of all is but to nurse the life 
With honour, wealth, and ease, in waining age ; 
And in this aiir thee is such thwarting strife. 
That one for ah, or all for one we gage ; 
As life for honour, in fell battles' ra^e ; 

Honour for wealth ; and oft that wealth doth cost 

■^i'he death of all, and altogether lost. 



So that in vent'ring ill, we lea^'e to be 

The things we are, for that which we expect ; 

And this ambitious foul infirmity. 

In having much, torments us with defect 

Of that we have • so then we do neglect 

The thing we have, and, all for want of wit, 
INlake something nothing, by augmenting it. 
Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make. 
Pawning his honour to obtain his lust ; 
And for himself, himself he must forsake: 
Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust? 
When shall he think to find a stranger just, 
When he himself himself confounds, betrays 
To slanderous tongues, and wretched hateful days ■• 
Now stole upon the time the dead of night, 
When heavy sleep had clos'd up mortal eyes ; 
No comfortable star did lend his light. 
No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries: 
Now serves the season that they may surprise 
The silly lambs ; pure thoughts are dead and st'll, 
While lust and murder wake to stain and kill. 
And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed, 
Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm. 
Is madly toss'd between desire and dread ; 
The one sweetly flatters, the other feareth harm , 
But honest Fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm. 
Doth too too oft betake him to retire. 
Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire. 
His falchion on a flint he softly smitetii. 
That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly, 
Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he ligiiteth, 
Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye ; 
And to the flame thus speaks advisedly ; 
As from this cold flint I e.iforc'd this fire, 
So Lucrece must I force to my desire. 

Here pale with fear he doth premeditate 
The dangers of his loathsome enterprize. 
And in his inward mind he doth debate 
What following sorrow may on this arise : 
Then looking scornfully, he doth despise 
His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust. 
And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust 
Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not 
To darken her whose light excelleth thine I 
And die unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot 
With your uncleanness that which is divine ! 
Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine ; 

Let fair humanity abhor the deed [weed. 

That spots and stains love's modest snow-white 
O shame to knighthood and to shining arms ' 
O foul dishonour to my household's grave ! 
O impious act, including all foul harms ! 
A martial man to be soft fancy's slave ! 
True valour still a true respect should have ; 
Then my digression is so vile, so base. 
That it will live engraven in my face. 
Yea, though 1 die, the scandal will survive. 
And be an eye-sore in my golden coat ; 
Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive. 
To cipher me, how fondly I did dote ; 
That my posterity, sham'd with the note. 
Shall curse my bones, and hold it for co sin 
To wish that I their father had not been. 
What win 1, if I gain the thing I seek ? 
A dream, a breath, a frotli of fleeting joy : 
Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week ? 
Or sells eternity, to get a toy? 
For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? 
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, 
Would with the sceptre straight be sirucken down 1 



892 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



If Collatinus dream of my intent, 
Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage 
Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent ! 
This siege that hath engirt his marriage, 
This blur to youth, this sorrovir to the sage, 
This dying virtue, this surviving shame. 
Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame ? 

O what excuse can my invention make. 

When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed? 

Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake ? 

Mine eves forego their light, my false heart bleed? 

The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed ; 
And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly, 
But coward-like with trembling terror die. 

Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire, 
Or lain in ambush to betray my life. 
Or were he not my dear friend, this desire 
Might have excuse to work upon his wife •, 
As in revenge or cjuittal of such strife : 
But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend. 
The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end. 
Shamrfiil it is ; — ay, if the fact be known : 
Uati-fid it u } — •there is no hate in loving : 
111 beg her love ; — l>"t she is not her own: 
The worst is but denial, and reproving : 
My will is strong, past reason's weak removing. 
Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw, 
Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe. 
Thus graceless, holds he disputation 
'Tween frozen conscience, and hot-burning will. 
And with good thoughts makes dispensation. 
Urging the worser sense for vantage still : 
Which in a moment doth confound and kill 
All pure efl^ects, and doth so far proceed. 
That what is vile shews like a virtuous deed. 
Quoth he, she took me kindly by the hand, 
And gaz'd for tidings in my eager eyes, 
Fearing some hard news from the warlike band 
Where her beloved Collatinus lies. 
how her fear did make her colour rise '. 
First red as roses, that on lawn we lay. 
Then white as lawn, the roses took away. 
Ami how her hand, in my hand being lock'd, 
Forc'd it to tremble with her loyal fear! 
Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd. 
Until her husband's welfare she did hear ; 
Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer, 
That had Narcissus seen her as she stood. 
Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood. 
Why hunt I then for colour or excuses t 
All orators are dumb, when beauty pleadeth ; 
Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses ; 
Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth* 
Aft'ection is my captain, and he leadeth ; 
And when his gaudy banner is diplay'd. 
The coward fights, and will not be dismay'd. 
Then childish fear avaunt ! debating die ! 
Respect and reason, wait on wrinkled age ! 
I\Iy heart shall never countermand mine eye: 
Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage ; 
]My part is youth, and beats these from the stage : 
Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize ; 
Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies ] 
As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear 
Is almost chok'd by unresisted lust. 
Away he steals with open listening ear. 
Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust ; 
Both which, as servitors to the unjust, 

So cross him with their opposite persuasion. 
That now he vows a league, and now invasion. 



Within his thought her heavenly image sits. 
And in the self-same seat sits Collatine : 
That eye which looks on her, confounds his wits. 
That eye which him beholds, as more divine. 
Unto a view so false will not incline ; 

But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart, 
Which once corrupted, takes the worser part ; 
And therein heartens up his servile powers, 
VVho, flatter'd by their leader's jocund show, 
StuflTup his lust, as minutes fill up hours ; 
And as their captain, so their pride doth grow, 
Paying more slavish tribute than they owe. 
By reprobate desire thus madly led. 
The Iloman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed. 
The locks between her chamber and his will. 
Each one by him enforc'd, retires his ward ; 
But as they open, they all rate his ill. 
Which drives the creeping thief to some regard: 
The threshold grates the door to have hiin heard ; 
Might-wand'ring weesels shriek to see him there; 
They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear. 

As each unwilling portal yields him way, 
Through little vents and crannies of the place 
The wind wars with his torch, to make him stay, 
And blows the smoke of it into his face, 
Extinguishing his conduct in this case ; 

But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch. 
Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch -. 

And being lighted, by the light he spies 
Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks ; 
He takes it from the rushes where it lies ; 
And griping it, the neeld his finger pricks : 
As who would say, this glove to wanton tricks 

Is not inur'd ; return again in haste ; 

Thou seest our mistress' ornaments are chaste. 
But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him ; 
He in the worst sense construes their denial ; 
The doors, tiie wind, the glove that did delay him. 
He takes for accidental things of trial ; 
Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial. 

Who with a ling'ring stay his course doth let. 

Till every minute pays the hour his debt. 

So, so, quoth he, these lets attend the time, 
Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring. 
To add a more rejoicing to the prime. 
And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing. 
Pain pays the income of each precious thing ; [sands, 
Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and 
The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands. 
Now is he come unto the chamber door 
That shuts him from the heaven of his thought. 
Which with a yielding latch, and with no more, 
Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he sought. 
So from himself impiety hath wrought, 
That for his prey to pray he doth begin. 
As if the heaven should countenance his sin. 
But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer, 
Having solicited the eternal power. 
That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair. 
And they would stand auspicious to the hour, 
Even there he starts : — quoth he, I must deflower ; 
The powers to whom I pray, abhor this fact. 
How can they then assist me in the act ! 
Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide ! 
My will is back'd with resolution : 
Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried, 
The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution ; 
Against love's fire, fear's frost hath dissolution. 
The eye of heaven is out, and misty night 
Covers the shame that follows sweet delight. 



THE RAPE OF LUCIIECE. 



093 



This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch, 
And with his knee the door he opens wide : 
The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch ; 
Thus treason works ere traitors be espied. 
Who sees the lurking serpent, steps aside ; 

But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing, 
Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. 

Into the chamber wickedly he stalks. 
And gazeth on her yet unstained bed. 
The curtains being close, about he walks. 
Rolling his greedy eye-balls in his head : 
By their high treason is his heart misled ; 

Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon, 

To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon. 
Look as the fair, and fiery-pointed sun, 
Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight ; 
Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun 
To wink, being blinded with a greater light: 
Whether it is, that she reflects so bright, 

Thai dazzleth them, or else some siiame supposed; 

But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed. 

O, had they in that darksome prison died. 
Then iiad they seen the period of their ill! 
Then Coilatine again by Lucrece' side. 
In his clear bed might have reposed still : 
But they must ope, liiis blessed league to kill ; 
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight 
Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight. 

Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under. 
Cozening the pillow of a lawWl kiss ; 
Who therefore angry, seems to part in sunder. 
Swelling on either side to want his bliss ; 
Between whose hills her head intomb'd is : 
AVhcre, like a virtuous monument, she lies, 
To be adniir'd of lewd unhallow'd eyes. 
Without tlie bed her other fair hand was. 
On the green coverlet ; whose perfect white 
Shew'd like an April daisy on the grass, 
With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night. 
Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheath'd their light. 
And, canopied in darkness, sweetly lay. 
Till they might open to adorn the day. 

Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her breath; 

O modest wantons ! wanton modesty ! 

Shewing life's triumph in the map of death, 

And death's dim look in life's mortality. 

Each in her sleep themselves so beautify. 

As if between them twain there were no strife, 
But that life liv'd in death, and death in life 

Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue, 

A pair of maiden worlds unconquered, 

Save of their lord, no bearing yoke they knew. 

And him by oath they truly honoured. 

These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred ; 
Who, like a foul usurper, went about 
From this fair throne to heave the owner out. 

What could he see, but mightily he noted 1 
What did he note, but strongly he desired 1 
What he beheld, on that he firmly doted. 
And in his will his wilful eye he tired. 
With more than admiration he admired 
Her azure veins, her alabaster skin. 
Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin. 

As the grim lion favvneth o'er his prey, 
Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied. 
So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay, 
His rage of lust by gazing qualified ; 
Slack'd, not suppress'd ; for standing by her side, 
His eye, which late this mutiny restrains, 
Unto a' greater uproar tempts his veins. 



And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting. 
Obdurate vassals, fell exploits effecting, 
In bloody death and ravishment delighting, 
Nor children's tears, nor mother's groans respecting, 
Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting: 
Anon his beating heart, alarum striking. 
Gives the hot charge, and bids them do tlieir liking. 

His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye. 
His eye commends the leading to his hand ; 
His hand, as proud of sucii a dignity, 
Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand 
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land ; 
Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale 
Left their round turrets destitute and pale. 
They mustering to the quiet cabinet 
Where their dear governess and lady lies. 
Do tell her she is dreadfully beset. 
And fright her with confusion of their cries : 
She much amaz'd, breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes. 
Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold. 
Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and controU'd. 

Imagine her as one in dead of night 
From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking. 
That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite, 
Whose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking ; 
What terror 'tis ! but she, in worser taking, 
From sleep disturbed, heedfuily doth view. 
The sight which makes supposed terror true. 

Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears. 
Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies ; 
She dares not look ; yet, winking, there appears 
Quick shifting antics, ugly in her eyes : 
Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries ; 
Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights. 
In darkness daunts them with more dreadful si£;hts. 

His hand that yet remains upon her bieast 
(Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall !) 
May feel her heart (poor citizen !) distress'd. 
Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall. 
Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal. 
This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity. 
To make the breach, and enter this sweet city. 
First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin 
To sound a parley to his heartless foe. 
Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin, 
The reason of this rash alarm to know. 
Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show ; 
l^ut she with vehement prayers urgeth still. 
Under what colour he commits this ill. 
Thus he replies : The colour in thy face 
(That even for anger makes the lily pale. 
And the red rose blush at her own disgrace,) 
Shall plead for me, and tell my loving tale : 
Under what colour am I come to scale 

Thy never-conquer'd fort ; the fault is thine. 
For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine. 
Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide ; 
Thy beauty hath ensnar'd thee to this night. 
Where thou with patience must my will abide. 
My will that marks thee for my earth's delight. 
Which I to conquer sought with all my might; 
But as reproof and reason beat it dead, 
By thy bright beauty was it newly bred. 
I see what crosses my attempt will bring ; 
I know what thorns the growing rose defends ; 
I think the honey guarded with a sting; 
All this, beforehand, counsel comprehends ; 
But will is deaf, and hears no hee'i''-' tViends; 
Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty, 
And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law oi duty. 



894 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



I have debated, even in my soul, 

What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed ; 

But nothing can affection's course control, 

Or stop the headlong fury of his speed. 

I know repentant tears ensue the deed, 

Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity; 

Yet strive 1 to embrace mine infamy. 

This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade, 
Which like a faulcon towering in the skies, 
Coucheth the fowl below with his wings' shade, 
Whose crooked beak threats if he mount he dies : 
So under the insulting falchion lies 

Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells, 

W'ith trembling fear, as fowl hear faulcons' bells. 

Lucrece, quoth he, this night I must enjoy thee : 
If thou deny, then force must work my way, 
For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee ; 
That done, some worthless slave of thine I'll slay, 
To kill thine honour with thy life's decay ; 

And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him, 
Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him. 

So thy surviving husband shall remain 
The scornful mark of every open eye : 
Thy kinsmen hang their heads at tins disdain, 
Thy issue blurr'd with nameless bastardy : 
And thou, the author of their obloquy, 

Shall have thy trespass cited up in rhymes, 
And sung by children in succeeding times. 

But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend : 
The fault unknown is as a thought unacted ; 
A little harm done to a great good end, 
For lawful policy remains enacted. 
The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted 

In a pure compound ; being so applied, 

His venom in effect is purified. 

Then for thy husband's and thy children's sake 
Tender my suit : bequeath not to their lot 
The shame tiiat from them no device can take. 
The blemish that will never be forgot ; 
Worse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hour's blot: 
For marks descried in men's nativity 
Are nature's faults, not their own infamy. 

Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye. 

He rouseth up himself, and makes a pause. 

While she the picture of pure piety. 

Like a white hind under the grype's sharp claws, 

Pleads in a wilderness, where are no laws, 

'Jo the rough beast that knows no gentle right. 
Nor ought obeys but his foul appetite. 

Look, vi hen a black-fac'd cloud the world doth threat. 
In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding. 
From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get. 
Which blows these pitchy vapours from their biding. 
Hindering their present fall by this dividing ; 
So his unhallow'd haste her words delays, 
And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays. 

Yet foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally. 
While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth ; 
Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly, 
A swallowing gulf that even in plentj' wanteth : 
His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth 
No penetrable entrance to her plaining : 
Tears harden lust, though marble vv'ear with raining. 

Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fixed 

In the remorseless wrinkles of his face ; 

Her modest eloquence with sighs is mixed. 

Which to her oratory adds more grace. 

She puts the period often from his place, 

And 'midst the sentence so her accent breaks, 
That tw ice she doth begin ere once she speaks. 



She conjures him by high almighty Jove, 

By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's oath 

By her untimely tears, her husband's love, 

By holy human laws, and common troth, 

By heaven and earth, and all the power of both. 

That to his borrow'd bed he make retire. 

And stoop to honour, not to foul desire. 
Quoth she, reward not hospitality 
With such black payment as thou hast pretended ; 
Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee ; 
Mar not the thing that cannot be amended ; 
End thy ill aim, before thy shoot be ended : 

He is no wood-man that doth bend his bow 

To strike a poor unseasonable doe. 
My husband is thy friend, for his sake spare me , 
Thyself art mighty, for thine own sake leave me ; 
Myself a weakling, do not then ensnare me. 
Thou look'st not like deceit; do not deceive me : 
My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee. 

If ever man were mov'd with woman's moans. 

Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans ; 
All which together, like a troubled ocean. 
Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart, 
To soften it with their continual motion ; 
For stones dissolv'd to water do convert. 
O, if no harder than a stone thou art, 

IMelt at my tears and be compassionate ! 

Soft pity enters at an iron gate. 
In Tarquin's likeness 1 did entertain thee : 
Hast thou put on his shape to do him shauie? 
To all the host of heaven I complain thee, 
Tliou wrong'sthis honour, wound'st his princely name, 
Thou art not what thou seem'st, and if the san.e. 

Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king ; 

For kings like gods should govern every thing. 

How will thy shame be seeded in thine age. 
When thus thy vices bud before thy spring? 
If in thy hope thou dar'st do such outrage. 
What dar'st thou not when once thou ait a king? 
O be remember'd, no outrageous thing 
From vassal actors can be wip'd away : 
Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay. 

This deed will make thee only lov'd for fear, 
But happy monaichs still are fear'd for love : 
With foul offenders thou perforce must bear. 
When they in thee the like offences prove : 
If but for fear of this, thy will remove ; 

For princes are the glass, the school, the book, 
Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look. 
And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn ' 
Must he in thee read lectures of such shame ? 
Wilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern 
Authority for sin, warrant for blame, 
To privilege dishonour in thy name? 

Thou back'st reproach against long- living laud, 
And mak'st fair reputation but a bawd. 

Hast thou command ? by him that gave it thee. 
From a pure heart command thy lebel will : 
Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity. 
For it was lent thee all that brood to kill. 
Thy princely office how canst thou fulfil. 

When, pattern'd by tby fault, foul Sin may say. 
He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way ? 

Think but how vile a spectacle it were 
To view thy present trespass in another. 
Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear ; 
Their own transgressions partially they smother : 
This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother. 
O how are they wrapp'd in with infamies. 
That from their own misdeeds askaunce their eyes! 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



895 



To thc<), to thee, my heav'd-up hands appeal 

Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier ; 

I sue for exil'd majesty's repeal , 

Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire : 

His true respect will 'prison false desire, 

And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne, 
That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine. 

Have done, quoth he, my uncontrolled tide 
Turns not, but swells the higher by tliis let. 
Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide, 
And with the wind in greater fury fret: 
The petty streams that pay a daily debt 

To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' haste 
Add to his flow, and alter not his taste. 

Thou art, (juolh she, a sea, a sovereign king ; 
And lo, there falls into thy boundless flood 
Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning, 
"VVho seek to stain the ocean of thy blood. 
If all these petty ills shall change thy good. 
Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hersid. 
And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed. 

So sliall these slaves be king, and thou their slave ; 

I'liou nobly base, they basely dignified ; 

Thou their fair life, and they tliy fouler grave ; 

Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride ; 

The lesser thing should not the greater hide ; 
The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot, 
But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root. 

So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state — 
No more, quoth he, by heaven, I will not hear thee: 
Yield to my love ; if not, enforced hate. 
Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee ; 
That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee 
Unto the base bed of some rascal groom, 
To be thy partner in this shameful doom. 

This said, he sets his foot upon the light, 
i'or light and lust are deadly enemies : 
Shame folded up in blind concealing night. 
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize. 
The wolf hath seiz'd his prey, the poor lamb cries, 
I'ill with her own white fleece her voice controU'd 
Entombs her outcry in her lips" sweet fold : 

For with the nightly linen that she wears, 
He pens her piteous clamours in her head ; 
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears 
That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed. 
O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed ! 
The spots whereof could weeping purify. 
Her tears should drop on them perpetually. 

But she hath lost a dearer thing than life, 
And he hath won what he would lose again. 
This forced league doth force a further strife, 
This momentary joy breeds months of pain. 
This hot desire converts to cold disdain : 
Pure chastity is rifled of her store, 
And lust, the thief, far poorer than before 
Look as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk, 
Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight, 
INIake slow pursuit, or altogether balk 
The prey wherein by nature they delight ; 
So sui feit-taking Tarquin fares this night : 
His taste delicious, in digestion souring, 
Devours his will that liv'd by foul devouring. 
O deeper sin than bottomless conceit 
Can comprehend in still imagination ! 
Drunken desire must vomit his receipt, 
Ere he can see his own abomination. 
While lust is in his pride, no exclamation 
Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire. 
Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire. 



And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheelc, 
With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace. 
Feeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek. 
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case : 
The flesh being proud, desire doth fight with grace, 
For there it revels ; and when tliat decays, 
The guilty rebel for remission prays. 

So fares it with this faultful lord of Home, 
Who this accomplishment so hotly chased ; 
For now against himself he sounds this doom. 
That through the length of times he stands disgraced : 
Besides, his soul's fair temple is defaced ; 
To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares. 
To ask the spotted princess how she fares. 
She says, her subjects with foul insurrection 
Have batter'd down her consecrated wall. 
And by their mortal fault brought in subjection 
Her immortality, and made her thrall 
To living death, and pain perpetual: 

Which in liei' prescience she controlled still, 
But her fore-sight could not fore stall their will. 

Even in his tiiought, through the dark night he stealeth. 
A captive victor, that hath lost in gain ; 
Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth, 
The scar that will, despite of cure, remam, 
Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain. 
She bears the load of lust he left behind. 
And he the burthen of a guilty mind. 

He, like a thievish dog, creeps sadly thence, 
She, like a wearied lamb, lies panting there ; 
He scowls, and hates himself for his offence, 
She desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear ; 
He faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear ; 

She stays, exclaiming on the direful night ; 

He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loath'd delight 
He thence departs, a heavy convertite, 
She there remains, a hopeless cast away: 
He in his sjieed looks for the morning light. 
She prays she never may behold the day : 
For day, quoth she, night-scapes doth open lay; 

And my true eyes have never practis'ci how 

To cloak oflences with a cunning brow. 

They think not but that every eye can see 
The same disgrace which they themselves behold ; 
And therefore would they still in darkness be, 
To have their unseen sin remain untold ; 
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold, 
And grave, like water that doth eat in steel, 
Upon my cheeks what helpless shame 1 feel. 

Here she exclaims against repose and rest. 
And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind. 
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast. 
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find 
Some purer chest, to close so pure a mind. 

Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spile 

Against the unseen secrecy of night. 

O comfort-killing night, image of iiell ! 

Dim register and notary of shame ! 

Black stage for tragedies and murders fell! 

Vast sin-concealing chaos ! nurse of blame ! 

Blind muffled bawd ! dark harbour for defame ' 
Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator 
With close-tongued treason and the ravisher ! 

O Iiateful, vaporous and foggy night, 
Since thou art guilty of my curseless crime. 
Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light. 
Make war against proportion'd course of time ! 
Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb 
His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed, 
Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head. 



896 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



With rotten damps ravish the morning air ; 

Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make sick 

The life of purity, the supreme fair, 

Ere he arrive his wear)' noon-tide prick ; 

And let thy misty vapours march so thick. 
That in their smoky ranks his sraother'd light 
IMay set at noon, and make perpetual night. 

Were Tai-quin night, (as he is but night's child,) 
The silver-shining queen he would distain ; 
Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defil'd. 
Through night's black bosom should not peep again; 
So should 1 have copartners in my pain : 
And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage. 
As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage. 
Where now I have no one to blush with me. 
To cross their arms, and hang their heads with mine. 
To mask their brows, and hide their infamy; 
But 1 alone, alone must sit and pine. 
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine, 
IMingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans, 
Poor wasting monuments of lastinsr moans. 
O night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke, 
Let not the jealous day behold that face 
Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak 
Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace ! 
Keep still possession of thy gloomy place. 

That all the faults which in thy reign are made 
May likewise be sep61chr'd in thy shade ! 
Make me not object to the tale-tell dav! 
The night will shew, character'd in my brow, 
The story of sweet chastity's decay. 
The impious breach of holy wedlock's vow 1 
Yea, the illiterate that know not how 
To 'cipher what is writ in learned books, 
Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks. 
The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story, 
And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name ; 
The orator, to deck his oratory. 
Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame : 
Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame, 
Will tie the hearers to attend each line. 
How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine. 
Let my good name, that senseless reputation, 
For CoUatine's dear love be kept unspotted : 
If that be made a theme for disputation. 
The branches of another root are rotted. 
And undeserv'd reproach to him allotted, 
That is as clear from this attaint of mine, 
As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine. 
O unseen shame 1 invisible disgrace ! 
O unfelt sore ! crest-wounding, private scar ! 
Reproach is stamp'd in Collatinus' fare. 
And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar. 
How he in peace is uotinded, not in uar. 

Alas, how many bear such shameful blows, 
Which not themselves, but he that gives them knows! 

If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me. 

From me by strong assault it is bereft. 

My honey lost, and I, a drone- like bee. 

Have no perfection of mv summer left. 

But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft : 
In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept. 
And suck'd the honey which thy cnaste bee kept. 

Yet am I guiltless of thy honour's wreck ; 

Yet for thy honour did I entertain him ; 

Coming from thee, I could not put him back, 

For it had been dishonour to disdain him : 

Besides of weariness he did complain him. 
And talk'd of virtue: — O unlook'd for evil, 
When virtue is profan'd in such a devil I 



Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud ? 

Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests ? 

Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud ? 

Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts'! 

Or kings be breakers of their own behests'! 
But no perfection is so absolute. 
That some impurity doth not pollute. 

The aged man that coffers up his gold. 

Is plagu'd with cramps, and gouts, and painful fits. 

And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold. 

But like still-pining Tantalus he sits, 

And useless barns the harvest of his wits ; 
Having no other pleasure of his gain. 
But torment that it cannot cure his pain. 

So then he hath it when he cannot use it, 
' And leaves it to be master'd by his young ; 

Who in their pride do presently abuse it : 

Their father was too weak, and they too strong. 

To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long. 

The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours. 
Even in the moment that we call them ours. 

Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring ; 

Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers ; 

The adder hisses where the sweet bird sings ; 

What virtue breeds, iniquity devours : 

AVe have no good that we can say is ours, 
But ill-annexed opportunity 
Or kills his life, or else his quality. 

O Opportunity I thy guilt is great : 

'Tis thou that execut'st the traitor's treason ; 

Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may get ; 

Whoever plots the sin thou point'st the season ; 

'Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason ; 
And in thy shady cell, where none may spv him. 
Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him. 

Thou mak'st the vestal violate her oath ; 

Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd ; 

Thou smother'st honesty, thou murder'st troth ; 

Thou foul abettor ! thou notorious bawd ! 

Thou plantest scandal, and displacest laud : 
Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief. 
Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief I 

Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame. 

Thy private feasting to a public fast ; 

Thv smoothing titles to a ragged name ; 

Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste : 

Thy violent vanities can never last. 
How comes it then, vile opportunity. 
Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee? 

When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend. 
And bring him where his suit may be obtained 1 
When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end ? 
Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chained ? 
Give physic to the sick, ease to the pained"! 

The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee ; 

But they ne'er meet with opportunity. 

The patient dies while the physician sleeps ; 

The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds ; 

Justice is feasting while the widow weeps ; 

Advice is sporting while infection breeds ; 

Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds 2 

Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages. 
Thy heinous hours wait on them zis their pages. 

When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee, 
A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid ; 
They buy thy help : but Sin ne'er gives a fee. 
He gratis comes ; and thou art well appay"d 
As well to hear as grant what he hath said. 
My Collatine would else have come to me 
When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee- 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



897 



Guilty thou art of murder and of theft; 

Guilty of perjury and subornation ; 

Guilty of trea!5on, forgery, and shift ; 

Guilty of incest, that abomination : 

An accessary by thine inclination 

To ail sins past, and all tliat are to come, 
From the creation to the general doom. 

Misshapen Time, copcsmate of ugly night, 

Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care ; 

Eater of youth, false slave to false delight, 

Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's snare ; 

Thou nursest all, and murderest all that are. 

hear me then, injurious, shifting time! 
Be guilty of my death, since of my crime. 

AVhy hath thy servant, Opportunity, 
Betray 'd the hours thou gav'st me to repose! 
Canceird my fortunes, and enchained me 
To endless date of never-ending woes ? 
Time's office is to find the hate of foes ; 
To eat up error by opinion bred, 
Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed. 
Time's glory is to calm contending kings. 
To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light, 
To stamp the seal of time in aged things. 
To wake the morn, and sentinel the night. 
To wrong the wronger till he render right ; 
To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours. 
And smear with dust their glittering golden towers : 

To feed with worm-holes stately monuments. 
To feed oblivion with decay of things, 
To blot old books, and alter their contents, 
To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings, 
To dry the old oak's sap, and cherish springs ; 
To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel, 
And turn the giddy round of fortune's wheel : 

To shew the beldame daughters of her daughter. 
To make the child a man, the man a child, 
To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter. 
To tame the unicorn and lion wild ; 
To mock the subtle, in themselves beguil'd ; 
To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops. 
And waste huge stones with little water-drops. 
Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage. 
Unless thou could'st return to make amends "i 
One poor retiring minute in an age 
Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends, 
Lending him wit, that to bad debtors lends : [back, 
O, this diead night, would'st thou one hour come 

1 could prevent this storm, and shun this wrack 1 
Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity. 

With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight. 
Devise extremes beyond extremity. 
To make him curse this cursed crimeful night : 
Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes aftright ; 
And the dire thought of his committed evil. 
Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil. 

Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances, 
Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans ; 
Let there bechance him pitiful mischances. 
To make him moan, but pity not his moans : 
Stone him with harden'd hearts, harder than stones ; 
And let mild women to him lose their mildness, 
Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness. 

Let him have time to tear his curled hair, 
Let him have time against himself to rave. 
Let him have time of time's help to despair ; 
Let him have time to live a loathed slave, 
Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave , 

And time to see one that by alms doth live. 

Disdain to him disdained scraps to give 



Let mm have time to see iiis friends his foes, 
And merry fools to mock at him resort : 
Let him have time to mark how slow time gees 
In time of sorrow, and how swift and short 
His time of folly and his time of sport: 
And ever let his unrecaliing crime 
Have time to wail the abusing of his tim.e. 

Time, thou tutor both to good and bad. 
Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st tnis ill ! 
At his own shadow let the thief run mad, 
Himself himself seek every hour to kill ! 

Such wretched hands such wretched blood should spill: 
For who so base would such an office have 
As slanderous death's-man to so base a slave 1 
The baser is he, coming from a king. 
To shame his hope with deeds degenerate. 
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing 
That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate; 
For greatest scandal waits on greatest state. 
The moon being clouded presently is miss'd. 
But little stars may hide them when they list. 

The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire. 
And unperceiv'd fly with the tilth away ; 
But if the like the snow-white swan desire^ 
The stain upon his silver down will stay. 
Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day. 
Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly, 
But eagles gaz'd upon with every eye. 
Out idle words, servants to shallow fools ! 
Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators ! 
Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools, 
Debate where leisure serves with dull debators , 
To trembling clients be you mediators : 
For me, 1 force not argument a straw. 
Since that my case is past the help of law. 
In vain I rail at Opportimity, 
At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night; 
In vain I cavil with my infamy, 
In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despite : 
This helpless smoke of words doth me no right 
The remedy indeed to do me good, 
Is to let forth my foul, defiled blood. 

Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree? 

Honour thyself to rid me of this shame ; 

For if I die, my honour lives in thee. 

But if 1 live, thou liv'st in my defame : 

Since thou could'st not defend thy loyal dame, 
And wast afraid to scratch her wicked foe. 
Kill both thyself and her for yielding so. 

This said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth, 
To find some desperate instrument of death. 
But this no-slaughter-house no tool imparteth, 
To make more vent for passage of her breath. 
Which thronging through her lips so vanisheth 
As smoke from ^-Etna, that in air consumes, 
Or that which from discharged cannon fumes. 
In vain, quoth she, I live, and seek in vain 
Some happy mean to end a hapless life. 

1 fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain. 
Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife: 
But when I fear'd, I was a loyal wife ; 

So am I now : — O no, that cannot be ; 

Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me. 
O ! that is gone, for which I sought to live. 
And therefore now I need not fear to die. 
To clear this spot by death, at least I give 
A badge of fame to slander's livery ; 
A dying life to living infamy ; 

Poor helpless help, the treasure stolen away, 

To burn the guiltless casket where it lay 1 
3L 



898 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shall not know 
Tlie stained taste of violated troth ; 
I will not wrong thy true affection so. 
To flatter thee with an infringed oath ; 
This bastard graff shall never come to growth : 
He shall not boast, who did thy stock pollute. 
That thou art doting father of his fruit. 
Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought, 
Nor laugh with his companions at thy state ; 
But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought 
liasely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate. 
For me, I am the mistress of my fate, 

And with my trespass never will dispense, 
Till life to death acquit my forc'd offence. 
I will not poison thee with my attaint. 
Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses ; 
JMy sable ground of sin 1 will not paint. 
To hide the truth of this false night's abuses : 
I\Iy tongue shall utter all ; mine eyes like sluices. 
As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale, 
Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale. 
By this, lamenting Philomel had ended 
The well-tun'd warble of her nightly sorrow, 
And solemn night with slow-sad gait descended 
To ugly hell ; when lo, the blusking morrow 
Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow : 
But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see, 
And therefore still in night would clolster'd be. 

Revealing day through every cranny spies. 
And seems to point her out where she sits weeping; 
To whom she sobbing speaks : O eye of eyes, [ing ; 
Why pry'st thou through my window? leave thy peep- 
Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping: 
Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light. 
For day hath nought to do what's done by night. 

Thus cavils she with every thing she sees : 

True grief is fond and testy as a child, 

^Mio wayward once, his mind with nought agrees. 

Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear tiiem mild ; 

Continuance tames the one ; the other wild. 
Like an unpractis'd swimmer plunging still, 
Witk too much labour drowns for want of skill. 

So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care. 
Holds disputation with each thing she views. 
And to herself all sorrow doth compare ; 
No object but her passion's strength renews; 
And as one shifts, another straight ensues : 

Sometime her grief is dumb, and hath no words ; 

Sometime 'tis mad, and too much talk aff"ords. 
The little birds that tune their morning's joy. 
Make her moans mad with their sweet melody. 
For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy ; 
Sad souls are slain in merry company ; 
Grief best is pleas'd with grief's society : 

True sorrow then is feelingly suffic'd. 

When with like semblance it is sympathiz'd. 
'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore ; 
He ten times pines, that pines beholding food : 
To see the salve doth make the wound ache more ; 
Great grief grieves most at that would do it good ; 
Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood, 

Who being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'er-flows ; 

Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows. 
You mocking birds, quoth she, your tunes entomb 
Within your hollow swe.'iing feather'd breasts, 
And in my hearing be y^u mute and dumb ! 
(]My restless discord loves no stops nor rests ; 
A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests :) 

Ivelish your nimble notes to pleasing ears ; 

Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears. 



Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment, 
Make thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair. 
As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment, 
So I at each sad strain will strain a tear. 
And with deep groans the diapason bear : 
For burthen-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still. 
While thou on Tereus descant'st, better skill. 

And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part, 
To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I, 
To imitate thee well, against my heart 
Will fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye ; 
Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die. 
These means, as frets upon an instrument, 
Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment. 

And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day. 
As shaming any eye should thee behold. 
Some dark deep desert, seated from the way, 
That knows nor parching heat nor freezing cold, 
Will we find out ; and there we will unfold 

To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their kinds ; 

Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds: 

As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze, 

Wildly determining which way to fly, 

Or one encompass'd with a winding maze. 

That cannot tread the way out readily ; 

So with herself is she in mutiny. 

To live or die which of the twain were better. 
When life is sham'd, and Death Reproach's debtor. 

To kill myself, quoth she, alack! what were it, 
But with my body my poor soul's pollution 1 
Tbey that lose half, with greater patience bear it, 
Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion. 
That mother tries a merciless conclusion, 

Who, having two sweet babes, whendeath takes onC; 

Will slay the other, and be nurse to none. 
My body or my soul, which was the dearer 1 
When the one pure, the other made divine. 
Whose love of either to myself was nearer 1 
When both were kept for heaven and Collatine. 
Ah me ! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine. 

His leaves will wither, and his sap decay ; 

So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away. 

Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted. 

Her mansion batter'd by the enemy ; 

Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted. 

Grossly engirt with daring infamy : 

Then let it not be call'd impiety. 

If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole, 
'llirough which I may convey this troubled soul. 

Yet die I will not, till my Collatine 
Have heard the cause of my untimely death ; 
That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine. 
Revenge on him that made me stop my breath. 
]My stained blood to Tarquin I '11 bequeath. 
Which by him tainted, shall for him be spent, 
And as his due, writ in my testament. 

My honour I '11 bequeath unto the knife 

That wounds my body so dishonoured. 

'Tis honour to deprive dishonour'd life ; 

The one will live, the other being dead : 

So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred ; 
For in my death I murder shameful scorn : 
My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born. 

Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost, 
What legacy shall I bequeath to thee 1 
JMy resolution, Love, shall be thy boast. 
By whose example thou reveng'd may'st be. 
How Tarquin must be us'd, read it in me : 
Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, Uiy foe. 
And, for my sake, serve thou false Tarquin sp. 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



809 



This brief abridgment of my v;ill I make : 

My soul and body to the skies and ground ; 

My resoiution, husband, do you take ; 

Mine honour be the knife's, that makes my wound ; 

My shame be his that did my fame confound ; 
And all my fame that lives, disbursed be 
To those that live, and think no shame of me. 

Thou, CoUatine, shalt oversee this will ; 

How was I overseen that thou shalt st.-e it! 

My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill ; 

My life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free it. 

Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say, so be it. 
Yield to my hand ; my hand shall conquer thee ; 
Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be. 

This plot of death when sadly she had laid, 

And wip'd the brinish pearl from her bright eyes, 

With untun'd tongue she hoarsely call'd her maid, 

Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies ; 

For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies. 
Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so 
As winter rneads when sun doth melt their snow. 

Her mistress she doth give demure good morrow, 
With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty, 
And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow, 
(For why 1 her face wore sorrow's livery ;) 
I3ut durst not ask of her audaciously 

Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so. 
Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash'd with woe. 

But as the earth doth weep, the sun beins: set. 
Each flower inoisten'd like a melting eye •" 
Even 30 the maid with swelling drops 'gan wet 
Her circled eyne, enforc'd by sympathy 
Of those fair suns, set in her mistress' sky, 
Who in a salt-wav'd ocean quench their light. 
Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night. 
A pretty while these pretty creatures stand. 
Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling : 
One justly weeps ; the other takes in hand 
No cause, but company, of her drops spilling : 
Their gentle sex to weep are often willing ; 

Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts. 
And then they drown their eyes, or break their hearts: 

For men have marble, women waxen minds. 
And therefore are they form'd as marble will ; 
The weak oppress'd, the impression of strange kinds 
Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill : 
Then call them not the authors of their ill, 
No more than wax shall be accounted evil. 
Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil. 
Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain. 
Lays open all the little worms that creep : 
In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain 
Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep : 
Through crystal walls each little mote will peep : 
Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks. 
Poor women's faces are their own faults' books. 
No man inveigh against the wither'd flower. 
But chide rough winter that the flower hath kill'd! 
Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour, 
Is worthy blame. O let it not be hild 
Poor women's faults, that they are so fulfill'd 

With men's abuses : those prond lords, to blame. 
Make weak-made women tenants to their shame. 
The precedent whereof in Lucrece view, 
Assail'd by night with circumstances strong 
Of present death, and shame that might ensue 
By that her death, to do her husband wrong : 
Such danger to resistance did belong. 

That dying fear through all her body spread ; 
And who cannot abuse a body dead ? 



By this, mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak 
To the poor counterfeit of her complaining ; 
My girl, quoth she, on what occasion break 
Those tears from thoe,t]iatdown thy cheeks are raining'' 
if thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining, 
Know, gentle wench, it small avails my inood : 
If tears could help, mine own would do me good. 

But tell me, girl, when went — (and there she stayed 
Till after a deep groan) Tarquin from hence? 
iNIadam, ere I was up, reply'd the maid. 
The more to blame my sluggard negligence: 
Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense ; 
Myself was stirring ere the break of day. 
And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away. 

But lady, if your maid may be so bold, 

She would request to know your heaviness. 

peace ! quoth Lucrece ; if it should be told. 

The repetition cannot make it less ; 

For more it is than I can well express : 
And that deep torture may be call'd a hell, 
Where more is felt than one hath power to tell. 

Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen — 

Yet save that labour, for I have them here. 

What should I say? — One of my husband's men, 

Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear 

A letter to my lord, my love, my dear. 
Bid him with speed prepare to carry it : 
The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ. 

Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write. 
First hovering o'er the paper with her quill : 
Conceit and grief an eager comhat fight ; 
What wit sets down, is blotted straight with will ; 
This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill , 
Much like a press of people at a door, 
Throng her inventions, which shall go before. 

At last she thus begins : " Thou worthy lord 
Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee, 
Health to thy person ! next vouchsafe to aflbid 
(If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see,) 
Some present speed to come and visit me : 

So I commend me from our house in grief; 

My woes are tedious, though my words are brief." 
Here folds she up the tenour of her woe, 
Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly. 
By this short schedule CoUatine may know 
Her grief, but not her grief's true quality; 
She dares not thereof make discovery. 

Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse. 

Ere she with blood hath stain'd her stain'd excuse. 

Besides, the life and feeling of her passion 
She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her ; 
When sighs and groans and tears may grace the fashion 
Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her 
From that suspicion which thevvorld might bear her. 
To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter 
With words, till action might become them better 

To see sad sights moves more than hear them told ; 

For then the eye interprets to the ear 

The heavy motion that it doth behold. 

When every part a part of woe doth bear. 

'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear : 

Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords, 
And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words. 

Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ, 
At Ardea to mil lord with more than haste • 
The post attends, and she delivers it, 
Charging the sourfac'd groom to hie as fast 
As lagging fowls before the northern blast. 

Speed more than speed, but dull and slow she deems 

Extremity still urgeth such extremes. 



900 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



Th? homely villein curt'sies to lier low ; 
And blushing on her, with a stedfast eye 
Keceives the scroll, without or yea or no. 
And forth with bashful innocence doth hie. 
IJut they whose guilt witliin their bosoms lie, 

Ima-^ine every eye beholds their blame; 

For Lucrece thought he blush'd te see her shame. 

When, silly groom ! God wot, it was defect 
Of spirit, life, and bold audacity. 
Such harmless creatures have a due respect 
To talk in deeds, while others saucily 
Promise more speed, but do it leisuiely : 
Even so, this pattern of the worn-out age 
Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage. 
His kindled duty kindled her mistrust, 
Thr.t two red fires in both their faces blazed ; 
She thought he blush'd, as knowing rarc|uiu's lust. 
And, blushing with him, wistly on him gazed ; 
Her earnest eye did make him more amazed : 

The more she saw the blood his ciieeks replenish. 
The more she thought he spy'd in her some blemish. 
.But long she thinks till he return again. 
And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone. 
The weary time she cannot entertain. 
For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and groan: 
So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan. 
That she her paints a little while doth stay, 
Pausing for means to mourn some newer way. 

At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece 
Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Trov ■ 
Before the which is drawn the power of" (Jreece, 
For Helen's rape the city to destroy, 
Threatening cloud-kissing Hion with annoy ; 
Which the conceited painter drew so proud. 
As heaven (it seem'd) to kiss the turrets bow'd. 
A thousand lamentable objects there, 
In scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life: 
Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear, 
Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife : 
The red blood reek'd to shew the painter's strife ; 
And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lio-hts, 
Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights. 
There might you see the labouring pioneer 
Begriui'd with sweat, and smeared all v\ith dust ; 
And from the towers of Troy there would appear 
The very eyes of men through loop-holes thrust. 
Gazing upon tlie Greeks with little lust: 

Such sweet observance in this work was had, 
Tiiat one might see those far-off eyes look sad. 
In great commanders grace and majesty 
You might behold, triumphing in their faces ; 
In youth, quick bearing and dexterity ; 
And here and there the painter interlaces 
Pale cowards, marching on with trembling paces ; 
Which heartless peasants did so well resemble, [ble. 
That one would swear he saw them quake and trem- 
In Ajax and Ulysses, O what art 
Of physiognomy might one behold ! 
The face of either 'cipher'd cither's heart ; 
Their face their manners most expressly told : 
In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigour roU'd ; 
But the mild glance ihat sly Ulysses lent, 
Shevv'd deep regard and smiling government. 

There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand, 
As 'twere encouraging the Greeks to fight ; 
Making such sober action with his hand, 
That it beguil'd attention, cliarm'd the sight : 
In speech, it seem'd, his beard, all silver white, 
Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly 
Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky. 



About him were a press of gaping faces, 
Wliich seem'd to swallow up his sound advice j 
All jointly listening, but with several graces, 
As if some tnermaid did their ears entice •, 
Some hign, some low, the painter was so nice ; 
The scalps of many, almost hid behind, 
To jump up higher seem'd, to mock the mind. 

Here one man's hand lean'd on anotlier's head, 
His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear ; 
Here one being throng'd bears back, all blown and 
Another, smother'd, seems to pelt and swear; [red; 
And in their rage such signs of rage they bear, 
As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words. 
It seem'd they would debate with angry swords. 
For much imaginary work was there ; 
Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind, 
That for Achilles' image stood his spear, 
Grip'd in an armed hand ; himself, behind. 
Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind: 
A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head. 
Stood for the whole to be imagined. 
And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy, 
When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd to field, 
Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy 
To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield ; 
And to their hope they such odd action yield. 
That, through their light joy, seemed to appear 
(Like bright things stain'd) a kind of heavy fear. 

And, from the strond of Dardan where they fought, 
To Simois' reedy banks the red blood ran. 
Whose waves to imitate the battle sought 
With swelling ndges ; and their ranks began 
To break upon the galled shore, and then 
Retire again, till meeting greater ranks 
They join, and shoot their foam at Simois' banks. 

To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come. 
To find a face where all distress is stel'd. 
Many she sees, where cares have carved some, 
But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd, 
Till she despairing Hecuba beheld. 

Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes, 
Whicli bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies. 
In her the painter had anatomiz'd 
Time's ruin, beauty's wreck, and grim care's reign , 
Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were disguis'd ; 
Of what she was, no semblance did remain : 
Her blue blood chang'd to black in every vein. 
Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed, 
Shevv'd life imprisoa'd in a body dead. 

On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes. 
And shapes her sorrow to the beldame's woes, 
Who nothing wants to answer her but cries, 
And bitter words to ban her cruel foes : 
The painter was no God to lend her those ; 

And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong. 
To give her so much grief, and not a tongue. 

Poor instrument, quoth she, without a sound, 
I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue : 
And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound. 
And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong. 
And v.'ith my tears quench Troy that burns so long, 
And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes 
Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies. 

Shew me the strumpet that began this stir. 
That with my nails her beauty I may tear 
Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur 
This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear , 
Thy eye kindled the fire that burnetii here • 
And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye. 
The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter, die. 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



901 



Why should the piivate pleasure of some one 
Become the public plague of many moe '. 
Let sin, alooe committed, ligiit alone 
Upon his head that hath traiisg;ressed so. 
Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe : 

For one's offence why sliould so many fall, 

To plague a private sin in general 1 
Lo here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies. 
Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds ; 
Here fiiond by friend in bloody channel lies. 
And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds, 
And one man's lust these many lives confounds : 

Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire, 

Troy had been bright with fame, and not with fire. 

Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes : 
For sorrow, like a heavy hanging bell, 
Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes ; 
Then little strength rings out the doleful knell : 
So Lucrece set a-work, sad tales doth tell 

To pencill'd pensiveness and colour'd sorrow ; [row. 

She lends them words, and she their looks doth bor- 

She throws her eyes about the painting, round, 
And whom she finds forlorn, she doth lament: 
At last she sees a wretched image bound, 
That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent ; 
His face, though full of cares, yet shew'd content : 
Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes. 
So mild, that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes. 

In him the painter labour'd with his skill 
To hide deceit, and give the harmless show 
An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still, 
A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome woe ; 
Cheeks, neither red nor pale, but mingled so 
That blushing red no guilty instance gave, 
Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have. 

But, like a constant and confirmed devil. 
He entertain'd a show so seeming just. 
And therein so enscouc'd his secret evil, 
That jealousy itself could not mistrust 
False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust 
Into so bright a day such black-fac'd storms. 
Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms. 

The vvell-skill'd workman this mild image drew 

For perjur'd Sinon, whose enchanting story 

The credulous old Priam after slew ; 

\\'hose words, like wild-fire, burnt the shining glory 

Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry, 

And little stars shot from their fixed places, [faces. 

When their glass fell wherein they view'd their 

This, picture she advisedly perus'd. 
And chid the painter for his wondrous skill ; 
Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abus'd, 
So fair a form lodg'd not a mind so ill ; 
And still on him she gaz'd, and gazing still, 
Such signs of truth in his plain face she spy'd 
That she concludes the picture was bely'd. 
It cannot be, quoth she, that so much guile 
(She would have said) ciiii lurk in such a look ; 
But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while. 
And from her tongue, can lurk from cannot took ; 
It c mnot be she in that sense forsook. 

And turn'd it thus : " It cannot be, I find. 
But such a face should bear a wicked mind : 

For even as subtle Sinon here is painted, 
So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild, 
(As if with grief or travail he had fainted) 
To me came I'anjuin armed ; so beguil'd 
With outward honesty, but yet defil'd 

With inward vice : as Priam him did cherish, 
So did I Tarquin ; bo my Troy did perish. 



Look, look, how listening Priam vvc-ts his eyes, 
To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds. 
Priam, why art thou old, and yet not wisel 
For every tear he falls, a Trojan bleeds ; 
His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds : 
Those round clear pearls of his that move thy pity 
Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city. 

Such devils steal effects from lightless hell ; 
For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold, 
And in that cold, hot-burning fire doth dwell ; 
These contraries such unity do hold. 
Only to flatter fools, and make them bold : 

So Priam's trust false Sinon's tear doth flatter. 

That he finds means to burn his Troy with water." 
Here, all enrag'd, such passion her assails. 
That patience is quite beaten from iier breast. 
She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails, 
Comparing him to that unhappy guest 
Whose deed hath made herself herself detest: 

At last she smilingly with this gives o'er ; 

Fool ! fool ! quoth she, his wounds will not be sore. 
Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow, 
And time doth weary time with her complaining. 
She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow, 
And both she tliinks too long with her remaining : 
Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining. 

Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps ; 

And they that watch, see time how slow it creeps. 
Which all this time hath overslipp'd her thought, 
That she with painted images hatli spent ; 
Being from the feeling of her own grief brought 
By deep surmise of others' detriment ; 
Losing her woes in shows of discontent. 

It easeth some, though none it ever cured. 

To think their dolour others have endur'd. 

But now the mindful messenger, come back. 
Brings home his lord and other company ; 
Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black ; 
And round about her tear-distained eye 
Blue circles stream 'd, like rainbows in the sky. 
These water-galls in her dim element 
Foretell new storms to those already spent. 
Which when her sad beholding husband saw, 
Amazedly in her sad face he stares : 
Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw. 
Her li'vely colour kill'd with deadly cares. 
He hath no power to ask her how she fares. 
But stood, like old acquaintance in a trance. 
Met far from home, wondering each other's chance. 
At last he takes her by the bloodless hand, 
And thus begins : What uncouth ill event 
Hath thee befallen, that thou dost trembling stand? 
Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent ! 
Why art thou thus attir'd in discontent i 
Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness. 
And tell thy grief, that we may give redress. 
Three times with sighs she gives her sorrows fire, 
Kre once she can discharge one word of woe : 
At length address'd to answer his desire. 
She modestly prepares to let them know 
Her honourls ta'en prisoner by the foe; 
While Collatine and his consorted lords 
With sad attention long to hear her words. 
And now this pale swan in her watery nest 
Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending : 
Few words, quoth she, shall fit the trespass best, 
Where no excuse can give the fault amending : 
In me more woes than words are now depending ; 
And my laments would be drawn out too long, 
■^lo tell'them all with one poor tired tongue. 



902 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



Then be this all the task it hatli to say : — 
Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed 
A stranger came, and on that pillow lay 
Where thou wast wont to rest thy weary head ; 
And what wrong else may be imagined 
By foul enforcement might be done to me, 
From that, alas ! thy Lucrece is not free. 
For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight, 
With shining falchion in my chamber came 
A creeping creature, with a flaming light. 
And softly cry'd, Awake, thou Roman dame. 
And entertain my love ; else lasting shame 
On thee and thine this night I will inflict, 
If thou my love's desire do contradict. 

For some hard-favour'd groom of thine, quoth he. 

Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will, 

I'll murder straight, and then I'll slaughter thee, 

And swear I found you where you did fulfil 

The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill 

The lechers in their deed : this act will be 

My fame, and thy perpetual infamy. 
With this I did begin to start and cry, 
And then against my heart he set his sword. 
Swearing, unless 1 took all patiently, 
I should not live to speak another word : 
So should my shame still rest upon record, 

And never be forgot in mighty Home 

The adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom. 
Wine enemy was strong, my poor self weak, 
And far the weaker with so strong a fear ; 
IVIy bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak ; 
No rightful plea might plead for justice there : 
ilis scarlet lust came evidence to swear 

That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes, 

And when the judge is robb'd, the prisoner dies. 
O teach me how to make mine own excuse ! 
Or, at the least, this refuge let me find ; 
Though my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse, 
Immaculate and spotless is my mind ; 
That was not forc'd ; that never was inclin'd 

To accessary yieldings, but still pure 

Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure. 
Lo here, the hopeless merchant of this loss. 
With head declin'd, and voice damm'd up with woe. 
With sad-set eyes, and wretched arms across. 
From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow 
The grief away, that stops his answer so : 

But wretched as he is, he strives in vain ; 

What he breathes out his breath drinks up again. 
As through an arch the violent roaring tide 
Out-runs the eye that doth behold his haste ; 
Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride 
Back to the strait that forc'd him on so fast ; 
In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past : 

Even so he sighs, his sorrows, make a saw. 

To push grief on, and back the same grief draw. 
Which speechless woe of his, poor she attendeth. 
And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh : 
Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth 
Another power ; no flood by raining slaketh. 
My woe too sensible thy passion maketh 

More feeling-painful : let it then suffice 

To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes. 
And for my r;ake, when I might charm thee so. 
For she that was thy Lucrece, — now attend me ; 
Be suddenly revenged on my foe, 
Thine, mine, his own ; suppose thou dost defend me 
From what is past : the help that thou shalt lend me 

Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die ; 

For sparing justice feeds iniquity. 



But ere I name him, yon fair lords, qnoth she, 
(Speaking to those that came with Collatine) 
Shall plight your honourable faiths to me, 
With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine j 
For 'tis a meritorious fair design. 

To chase injustice with revengeful arms : [harms. 

Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies' 
At this request, with noble disposition 
Each present lord began to promise aid, 
As bound in knighthood to her imposition, 
Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd. 
But she, that yet her sad task hath not said. 

The protestation stops. O speak, quoth she. 

How may this forced stain be wiped from me. 

What is the quality of mine offence, 
Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance? 
May my pure inind with the foul act dispense, 
My low-declined honour to advance ? 
JMay any terms acquit me from this chance ? 
The poison'd fountain clears itself again ; 
And why not I from this compelled stain 1 
With this, they all at once began to say. 
Her body's stain her mind untainted clears ; 
While with a joyless smile she turns away 
The face, that map which deep impression bears 
Of hard misfortune carv'd in it with tears. 
No, no, quoth she, no dame, hereafter living. 
By my excuse shall claim excuses giving. 
Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break. 
She throw's forth Tarquin's name ; He, he, she says. 
But more than lie her poor tongue could not speak ; 
Till after many accents and delays. 
Untimely breathings, sick and short assays, 
She utters this : He, he, fair lords, 'tis he, 
That guides this hand to give this wound to me. 
Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast 
A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheathed ; 
That blow did bail it from the deep unrest 
Of that polluted prison where it breathed : 
Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeathed 
Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly 
Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny. 
Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed. 
Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew ; 
Till Lucrece' father that beholds her bleed. 
Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw ; 
And from the purple fountain Brutus drew 
The murderous knife, and as it left the place 
Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase ; 
And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide 
In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood 
Circles her body in on every side, 
Who like a late-sack'd island vastly stood 
Bare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood. 

Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd, 
And some look'd black, and that false Tarquin 
stain'd. 
About the mouining and congealed face 
Of that black blood, a watery rigol goes. 
Which seems to weep upon the tainted place : 
And ever since as pitying Lucrece' woes. 
Corrupted blood some watery token shows ; 
And blood untainted still doth red abide. 
Blushing at that which is so putrify'd. 
Daughter, dear daughter, old Lucretius cries. 
That life was mine, which thou hast here depriv'd. 
If in the child the father's image lies. 
Where shall 1 live, now Lucrece is unliv'd? 
Thou wast not to this end from me deriv'd. 
If children pre-decease progenitors. 
We are their offspring, and they none of ours. 




THE RAPE OF LUCREGE 

Her wrongs to u.», and by this bioodv klule, 
We will revenge the <]....uli of this true wife 

l'"gt 'II w. 



SONNETS. 



903 



Poor broken glass, I often did behold 
In thy sweet seiriblance my old age new-born ; 
But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old, 
Shews me a bare-bon'd death by time out-worn; 
O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn ! 
And shiver'd all the beauty of my glass, 
That I no more can see what once I was. 

time, cease thou thy course, and last no longer. 
If they surcease to be, that should survive. 

Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger, 
And leave the faltering feeble souls alive ! 
The old bees die, the young possess their hive . 
Then live sweet Lucrece, live again, and see 
Thy father die, and not thy father thee ! 
By this starts Collatine as from a dream, 
And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place ; 
And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream 
He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face, 
And counterfeits to die with her a space ; 

Till manly shame bids him possess his breath, 
And live to be revenged on her death. 

rhe deep vexation of his inward soul 
Hath serv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue ; 
Who mad thaV sorrow should his use control, 
Or keep him from heart-easing words so long. 
Begins to talk ; but through his lips do throng 
Weak wf'fds, so thick come, in his poor heart's aid, 
That no man could distinguish what he said. 

Yet sometime Tarquin was pronounced plain, 
But through his teeth as if the name he tore. 
This windy tempest, till it blow up rain. 
Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more ; 
At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er : 
Then son and father weep with equal stiile, 
Who should weep most for daughter or for wife. 
The one doth call her his, the other his. 
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay. 
The father says, she's mine: O mine she is, 
Replies her husband : Do not take away 
My sorrow's interest ; let no mourner say 
He weeps for her, for she was only mine. 
And only must be wail'd by Collatine. 
O, quoth Lucretius, I did give that life. 
Which she too early and too late hath spill'd. 
Woe, woe, quoth Collatine, she was my wife, 

1 owned her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd. 
My daughter and mu wife with clamours fill'd 

The dispers'd air, who holding Lucrece' life, 
Answer'd their cries, my daughter and my wife. 



Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' side, 
Seeing such emulation in their woe, 
Began to clothe his wit in state and pride, 
Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show. 
He with the Romans was esteem'd so 
As silly jeering idiots are with kings, 
For sportive words, and uttering foolish things. 

But now he throws that shallow habit by. 

Wherein deep policy did him disguise ; 

And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly. 

To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes. 

Thou wronged lord of Rome, quoth he, arise; 
Let my unsounded self, suppos'd a fool. 
Now set thy long-experienced wit to school. 

Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe? 
Do wounds helpwounds, or grief help grievous deeds'*. 
Is it revenge to give thyself a blow, 
For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds ? 
Such childish humour from weak minds proceeds : 
Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so. 
To slay herself, that should have slain her foe. 
Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart 
In &uch relenting dew of lamentations. 
But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part, 
To rouse our Roman gods with invocations. 
That they will suft'er these abominations. 
Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgraced. 
By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chased. 

Now by the Capitol that we adore. 
And by this chaste blood so unjustly stained, 
By heaven's fair sun, that breeds the fat earth's store, 
By all our country's rights in Rome maintained. 
And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late complained 
Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife. 
We will revenge the death of this true wife. 
This said, he struck his hand upon his breast. 
And kiss'd the fatal knife to end his vow ; 
And to his protestation urg'd the rest. 
Who wondering at him, did his words allow: 
Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow; 
And that deep vow which Brutus made before. 
He doth again repeat, and that they swore. 

When they had sworn to this advised doom. 
They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence ; 
To shew the bleeding body thorough Rome, 
And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence : 
Which being done with speedy diligence. 
The Romans plausibly did give consent. 
To Tarquin's everlasting banishment. 



SONNETS. 



From fairest creatures we desire increase. 
That thereby beauty's rose might never die. 
But as the riper should by time decrease, 
His tender heir might bear his memory : 
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, 
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, 
Making a famine where abundance lies, 
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. 
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament. 
And only herald to the gaudy spring, 
Within thine own bud buriest thy content. 
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding. 
Pity the world, or else this glutton be. 
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. 



ir. 



W^hen forty winters shall besiege thy brow. 
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field. 
Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now, 
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held : 
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies. 
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days ; 
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes. 
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise. 
How much moie praise deserv'd thy beauty's use. 
If thou couid'st answer — " This fair child of mine 
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse — '' 
Proving his beauty by succession thine. 

This were to be new-made when thou art old, 
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold. 



U- 



904 



SONNETS. 



III. 

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest. 
Now IS the time that face should form another ; 
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, 
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. 
For where is she so fair, whose un-ear'd womb 
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry 1 
Or who is he so fond, will be the tomb 
Of his self love, to stop posterity 1 
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee 
Calls back the lovely April of her prime : 
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see. 
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time. 
But if thou live, remember'd not to be. 
Die single, and thine image dies with thee. 

IV. 

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend 
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy 1 
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend, 
And being frank, she lends to those are free. 
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse 
The bounteous largess given thee to give 1 
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use 
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live? 
For having traffic with thyself alone. 
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive. 
Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone. 
What acceptable audit canst thou leave ? 

'J'hy unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee. 
Which, used, lives thy executor to be. 



Those hours, that with gentle work did frame 

The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell. 

Will play the tyrants to the very same, 

And that unfair which fairly doth excell ; 

For never-resting time leads summer on 

To hideous winter, and confounds him there ; 

Sap check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone. 

Beauty o'ersnow'd, and bareness every where: 

Then, were not summer's distillation left, 

A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, 

Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft. 

Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was, 

But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet, 
Leese but their show; their substance still lives 
sweet. 

VI. 

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface 

In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd: 

Make sweet some phial, treasure thou some place 

With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd. 

That use is not forbidden usury. 

Which happies those that pay the willing loan ; 

That's for thyself to breed another thee. 

Or ten times happier, be it ten for one ; 

Tea times thyself were happier than thou art, 

If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee : 

Then, what could death do if thou should'st depart. 

Leaving thee living in posterity? 

Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair 
To be death's conquest, and make worms thine heir. 

VII. 

Lo, in the orient, when the gracious light 
Lifts up his burniig head, each under eye 
Doth homage to hv> new-appearing sight, 
Serving with looks 'lis sacred majesty ; 
And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill 
Resembling strong youth in his middle age. 



Yet mortal looks adore his beauty stzli. 
Attending on his golden pilgrimage; 
But when from high- most pitch, with weary car, 
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day. 
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are 
From his low tract, and look another way : 
So thou, thyself out going in thy noon, 
Unlook'd on diest, unless tliou get a son. 



VIII. 



Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? 
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy. 
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly^ 
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy? 
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, 
By unions married, do offend thine ear, 
They do but sweetly chide thee who confounds 
In singleness the parts that thou should'st bear. 
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another. 
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering ; 
Kesembling sire and child and happy mother. 
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing : 

Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one 
Sings this to thee, " thou single wilt prove none.' 



IX. 



Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye, 
That thou consum'st thyself in single life ? 
Ah ! if thou issueless shalt hap to die. 
The world will wail thee, like a mateless wife ; 
The world will be thy widow and still weep. 
That thou no form of thee hast left behind. 
When every private widow well may keep, 
By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind. 
Look, wliat an unthrift in the world dolh spend. 
Shifts but his place, for still the woild enjoys it; 
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end. 
And kept unus'd, the user so destroys it. 
No love toward others in that bosom sits, 
That on himself such murderous shame commits 



For shame ! deny that thou bear'st love to any. 
Who for thyself art so unprovident. 
Grant if thou wilt, thou art belov'd of many. 
But that thou none lov'st, is most evident ; 
For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate, 
That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire. 
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate, 
Which to repair should be thy chief desire. 
change thy thought, that I may change my mind : 
Shall hate be fairer lodcr'd than gentle love 1 
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind. 
Or to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove : 
Make thee another self, for love of me. 
That beauty still may live in thine and thee. 



As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st 
In one of thine, from that which thou departest ; 
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st, 
Thou may'st call thine, when thou from youth convert- 
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase ; [est. 
Without this, folly, age, and cold decay • 
If all were minded so, the times should cease. 
And threescore years would make tlie world away. 
Let those whom nature hath not made for store. 
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish : 
Look whom she best endow'd, she gave thee more , 
Which bounteous gift thoushould'st in bounty cherish; 

She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby. 

Thou should'st print more, nor let that copy die. 



SONNETS. 



905 



XII. 

When I do count the clock that tells the time, 
Ami see tlie brave day sunk in hideous night ; 
When I behold the violet past prime, 
And sable curls, all silver'd o'er with white ; 
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, 
Wiiich erst from heat did canopy the herd. 
Ana summer's green all girded up in sheaves, 
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard ; 
Then of thy beauty do I question make, 
That thou among the wastes of time must go. 
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, 
And die as fast as tiiey see others grow ; 

And nothing 'gainst time's scythe can make defence, 
Save breed, to brave him, when he takes thee hence. 

XIII. 

O that you were yourself! but, love, you are 
No longer your's, than you yourself here live : 
Against this coming end you should prepare. 
And your sweet semblance to some other give. 
So should that beauty which you hold in lease. 
Find no determination : then you were 
Yourself again, after yourself's decease, 
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. 
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay. 
Which husbandry in honour might uphold 
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day, 
And barren rage of 'death's eternal cold ? 

O ! none but unthrifts : — Dear, my love, you know. 
You had a father ; let your son say so. 

XIV. 

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck , 
And yet methinks I have astronomy. 
But not to tell of good, or evil luck, 
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality : 
Nor can i fortune to brief minutes tell, 
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind. 
Or say, with princes if it shall go well. 
By oft predict that I in heaven find : 
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, 
And (constant stars) in them 1 read such art, 
As truth and beauty shall together thrive, 
If from thyself to store thou would'st convert : 
Or else of thee this I prognosticate, 
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date. 

XV. 

When I consider every thing that grows 
Holds in perfection but a little moment. 
That this huge state presenteth nought but shows 
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment ; 
Wlien I perceive that men as plants increase. 
Cheered and check'd even by the self-same sky ; 
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, 
And wear tlieir brave state out of memory ; 
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay 
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, 
Where wasteful time debateth with decay, 
To change your day of youth to sullied night ; 
And, all in war with time, for love of you. 
As he takes from you, I engraft you new. 

XVI. 

But wherefore do not you a mightier way 
Make war upon this bloody tyrant. Time] 
And fortify yourself in your decay 
Willi means more blessed than my barren rhime 1 
Now stand you on the top of liappy hours ; 
And many maiden gardens yet unset 



With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, 
Much liker than your painted counterfeit : 
So should the lines of life that life repair. 
Which this. Time's pencil, or my pupil pen, 
Neither in inward worth, nor outward fair. 
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men. 

To give away yourself, keeps yourself still ; 

And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill. 

XVII. 

Who will believe my verse in time to come, 
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts ? 
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb 
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts. 
If I could write the beauty of your eyes. 
And in fresh numbers number all your graces, 
I'he age to come would say this poet lies. 
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces. 
■So should my papers, yellow'd with their age. 
Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue ; 
And your true rights be terra'd a poet's rage. 
And stretched metre of an antique song : 

But were some child of yours alive that time. 
You should live twice ; — in it, and in my rhime. 

XVIII. 

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate : 
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of jNIay, 
And summer's lease hath all too short a date : 
Sometime too hot the eye of lieaven shines. 
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd ; 
And every fair from fair sometime declines, 
I'y chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd ; 
Hut thy eternal summer shall nut fade. 
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; 
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade, 
When in eternal lines to time thou growest ; 
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see. 
So long lives tliis, and this gives life to thee. 

XIX. 

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, 
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood ; 
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws. 
And burn the long-liv'd phoenix in her blood ; 
Make glad and sorry seasons, as thou fleet'st. 
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-tooted Time, 
To the wide world, and all her fading sweets ; 
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime : 
O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, 
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen ; 
Mim in thy course untainted do allow. 
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. 

Yet, do thy worst, old Time : despite thy wrong, 
My love shall in my verse ever live young. 

XX. 

A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted. 
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion ; 
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted 
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion ■ 
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, 
Ciilding the object whereupon it gazeth ; 
A man in hue, all hues in his controlling. 
Which steals men's eyes, and women's souls amazeth. 
And for a woman wert thou first created ; 
Till nature, as she wrought thee, fell adoting, 
And by addition me of thee defeated. 
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. 

But since she prick'd thee out for women''- plea<;ure, 
Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their treasure. 



906 



SONNETS. 



XXI. 



So it is not with me as with that muse, 

Stin'd by a painted beauty to his ver^e ; 

Who heaven itself for ornament dotli use, 

And every fair with his fair doth rehearse ; 

Waking a couplement of proud compaie, 

With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems, 

With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare 

That heaven's air in his huge rondure hems. 

O let me, true in love, but truly write. 

And then believe me, my love is as fair 

As any mother's child, though not so bright 

As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air : 

Let them say more that like of hear-say well ; 

I will not praise, that purpose not to sell. 

XXII. 

My glass shall not persuade me I am old. 
So long as youth and thou are of one date ; 
But when in thee time's furrows I behold. 
Then look I death my days should expiate. 
For all that beauty that doth cover thee, 
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart. 
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me ; 
How can I then be elder than thou art ? 
O therefore, love, be of thyself so wary, 
As 1 not for myself, but for thee will ; 
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary 
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. 

Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain ; 

Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again. 

XXIII. 

As an unperfect actor on the stage. 
Who with his fear is put beside his part. 
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, 
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; 
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say 
The perfect ceremony of love's rite. 
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, 
O'ercharg'd with burthen of mine own love's miwht. 
O let my books be then the eloquence 
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast ; 
Who plead for love, and look for reconipence. 
More than that tongue that more hath moreexpress'd, 
O learn to read what silent love hath writ : 
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. 

XXIV. 

Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath stSl'd 
Thy beauty's form in table of my iieart ; 
Rly body is the frame wherein 'tis held, 
And perspective it is best painter's art. 
For through the painter must you see his skill, 
To find where your true image pictur'd lies. 
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, 
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. 
Now see what good turns eyes for eves have done ; 
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and tliine for me 
Aie windows to my breast, where-throusrh the sun 
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee ; 
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art. 
They draw but what they see, know not the heart. 

XXV. 

Let those who are in favour with their stars. 
Of public honour and proud titles boast. 
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, 
Unlook'd-for joy in that I honour most. 
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread, 
But as tlie marigold at the sun's eye. 



And in themselves their pride lies buned. 

For at a frown they in their glory die. 

The painful warrior famoused for fight, 

After a thousand victories onpe foil'd. 

Is from the book of honour razed quite, 

And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd: 
Then happy 1, that love and am beloved, 
Where 1 may not remove, nor be removed 

XXVI. 

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage 

Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, 

I'o thee I send this written embassage, 

To witness duty, not to shew my wit. 

Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine 

May make seem bare, in wanting words to shew it ; 

But that I hope some good conceit of thine 

In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it : 

Till whatsoever star that guides my moving, 

Points on nie graciously with fair aspect. 

And puts apparel on my tattered loving. 

To shew me worthy of thy sweet respect : 

Then may I dare to boast how 1 do love thee, [me. 

Till then, notshew my head where thou may 'st prove 

XXVII. 

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, 
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired ; 
But then begins a journey in my head. 
To work my mind, when body's work's expired : 
For then my thoughts (from far where I abide) 
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, 
And keep my drooping eye-lids open wide. 
Looking on darkness which the blind do see. 
Save that my soul's imaginary sight 
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view. 
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, 
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. 
Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my miad, 
For thee, and for myself no quiet find. 



How can I then return in happy plight, 
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest? 
When day's oppression is not eas'd by night. 
But day by night and night by day oppress'd? 
And each, though enemies to either's reign. 
Do in consent shake hands to torture me, 
The one by toil, the other to complain 
How far 1 toil, still farther off" from thee. 
I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright, 
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: 
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night ; 
When sparklingstars twire not, thou gild'st the even. 
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, 
And night doth nightly make grief's length seem 
stronger. 

XXIX. 

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 
I all alone beweep my out-cast state. 
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, 
And look upon myself, and curse my fate, 
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd, 
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, 
With what I most enjoy contented least ; 
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising. 
Haply I think on thee, — and then my state 
(Like to the lark at break of day arising 
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate ; 
For tiiy sweet love remember'd, such wealth brings, 
That then 1 scorn to change my state with kings. 



i 



SONNETS 



907 



XXX. 

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 

I summon up remembrance of things past, 

I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, 

And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste 

Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow. 

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, 

And weep afresh love's long-since cancell'd woe, 

And moan the expence of many a vanish'd sight. 

Then can I grieve at grievances fore-gone, 

And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 

The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 

Which I new pay as if not pay'd before. 

But if the while 1 think on thee, dear friend, 
All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end. 

XXXI. 

Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, 
Which I by lacking have supposed dead ; 
And there reigns love and all love's loving parts, 
And all those friends which I thought buried. 
How many a holy and obsequious tear 
Hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye. 
As interest of the dead, which now appear 
But things remov'd, that hidden in thee lie ! 
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, 
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, 
Who all their parts of me to thee did give ; 
That due of many now is thine alone : 
Their images 1 lov'd I view in thee, 
And thou (all they) hast all the all of me. 

XXXII. 

If thou survive my well-contented day. 
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, 
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey 
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover. 
Compare them with the bettering of the time ; 
And though they be out-stripp'd by every pen, 
Reserve them for my love, n6t for their rhime. 
Exceeded by the height of happier men. 
O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought ! 
Had jny friend's nuise grown tvith tliis groiuiiig age, 
A dearer birth than this his love had brought, 
To march in ranks of better equipage : 
But since he died, and poets better prove. 
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for liis love, 

XXXIII. 

Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye. 
Kissing with golden face the meadows green. 
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy ; 
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride 
With ugly rack on his celestial face, 
And from the forlorn world his visage hide. 
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace : 
I'^en so my sun one early morn did shine, 
With all triumphant splendour on my brow ; 
But out ! alack ' he was but one hour mine. 
The region cloud hath mask'd him trom me now. 

Yet him for this my love no wliit disdaineth ; 

Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun 
staineth. 

XXXIV. 

Why didst thou proniise such a beauteous day. 
And make me travel forth without my cloak. 
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way. 
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke ? 
'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, 
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face 



For no man well of such a salve can speak. 
That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace: 
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; 
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss : 
The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief 
To him that bears the strong offence's cross. 

Ah ! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, 
And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds. 

XXXV. 

No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done : 
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud ; 
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, 
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. 
All men make faults, and even I in this, 
Autliorizing thy trespass with compare. 
Myself corrupting, salving thy ailiiss. 
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are : 
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense, 
(Thy adverse party is thy advocate,) 
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence : 
Such civil war is in my love and hale. 

That I an accessary needs must be 

To that sweet thief, which sourly robs from me. 

XXXVI. 

Let me confess that we two must be twain, 
Although our undivided loves are one : 
So shall those blots that do with me remain. 
Without thy help, by me be borne alone. 
In our two loves tliere is but one respect, 
Though in our lives a separable spite. 
Which though it alter not love's sole effect. 
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight, 
I may not evermore acknowledge thee. 
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame ; 
Nor thou with public kindness honour me, 
Unless thou take that honour from thy name : 
But do not so ; I love thee in such sort. 
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 

XXXVII. 

As a decrepit father takes delight 

To see his active child do deeds of youth, 

So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite. 

Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth ; 

For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, 

Or any of these all, or all, or more. 

Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit, 

I make my love engrafted to this store : 

So then 1 am not lame, poor, nor despis'd, 

Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give. 

That I in thy abundance am suffic'd. 

And by a part of all thy glory live. 

Look what is best, that best I wish in thee ; 

This wish 1 have ; then ten times happy me ' 

XXXVIII. 

How can my muse want subject to invent. 
While thou dost breatlie, that pour'st into my verse 
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent 
For every vulgar paper to rehearse ? 
O give thyself the tlianks, if aught in me 
Worthy perusal, stand against thy sight. 
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee. 
When thou thyself dost give invention light? 
Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in worth 
Than those old nine, which riiimers invocate ; 
And he that calls on thee, let liim bring forth 
Eternal numbers to out- live long date. 

If my slight muse do please these curious days. 
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. 



1 



908 



SONNETS. 



O how thy worth with manners may I sing, 

When thou art all the better part of me ! 

What can mine own praise to mine own self bring? 

And what is't but mine own, when I praise thee! 

Even for this let us divided live, 

And our dear love lose name of single one, 

That by this separation 1 may give 

That due to thee, which thou deserv'st alone. 

absence, what a torment would'st thou prove, 
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave 
To entertain the time with thoughts of love, 
(Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive,) 

And that thou teachest how to make one twain. 
By praising him here, who doth hence remain. 

XL. 

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all ; 
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before "! 
No love, my love, that thou may'st true love call ; 
All mine was thine, before thou had'st this more. 
Then if for my love thou my love receivest, 

1 cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest ; 
But yet be blam'd, if thou tiiyself deceivest 
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. 

I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, 
Although thou steal thee all my property ; 
And yet love knows, it is a greater grief 
To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury. 
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, 
Kill me with spites ; yet we must not be toes, 

XLI. 

Those petty wrongs that liberty commits, 
When 1 am sometime absent from thy heart, 
Thy beauty and thy years full well befits. 
For still temptation follows where thou art. 
Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won. 
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assail'J ; 
And when a woman wooes, what woman's son 
Will sourly leave her till she have prevail'd. 
Ah me ! but yet thou might'st, my sweet, forbear, 
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth, 
Who lead thee in their riot even there 
Where thou art forc'd to break a two-fold truth ; 
Her's, by thy beauty tempting her to thee, 
Thine, by thy beauty being false to me. 

XLII. 

That thou hast her, it is not all my grief. 

And yet it may be said I lov'd her dearly ; 

That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief, 

A loss in love that touches me more nearly. 

Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye. — 

Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love her ; 

And for my sake even so doth she abuse me. 

Suffering my fiiend for my sake to approve her. 

If 1 lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, 

And losing her, my friend hath found that loss ; 

Both find each other, and I lose both twain, 

And both for my sake lay on me this cross : 

But here's the joy ; my friend and I are one ; 

Sweet flattery 1 — then she loves but me alone. 

Xl.III. 

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, 
For all the day they view things unrespected ; 
But wlien 1 sleep, in dreams they look on thee. 
And darkly bright, aie bright in dark directed ; 
Then thou who.se shadow shadows doth make bright, 
How would thy shadow's form form happy show 



To the clear day with thy much clearer light, 
\Vhen to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so ? 
How would (T say) mine eyes be blessed made 
By looking on thee in the living day. 
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade 
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay ? 

All days are nights to see, till I see thee, [me. 

And nights, bright days, when dreams do show thee 



H the dull substance of my flesh were thought. 
Injurious distance should not stop my way ; 
For then, despite of space, I would be brought 
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay. 
No matter then although my foot did stand 
Upon the furthest earth remov'd from thee. 
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land. 
As soon as think the place where he would be. 
But ah ! thought kills me, that I am not thought. 
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone, 
But that, so much of earth and water wrought, 
I must attend time's leisure with my moan ; 
Receiving nought by elements so slow 
But heavy tears, badges of cither's woe. 

XLV. 

The other two, slight air and purging fire. 
Are both with thee, wherever 1 abide ; 
The first my thought, the other my desire. 
These present-absent with swift motion slide. 
For when these quicker elements are gone 
In tender embassy of love to thee. 
My life being made of four, with two alone. 
Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy ; 
Until life's composition be recured 
By those swift messengers return'd from thee. 
Who even but now come back again, assured 
Of thy fair health, recounting it to me : 
This told, I joy ; but then no longer glad, 
I send them back again, and straight grow sad. 

XLVI. 

I\Iine eye and heart are at a mortal war, 
How to divide the conquest of thy sight ; 
■Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, 
Wy heart mine eye the freedom of that right. 
JNIy heart doth plead, that thou in him dost lie, 
(A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes,) 
But the defendant doth that plea deny. 
And says in him thy fair appearance lies. 
To 'cide this title is impannelled 
A quest of tiioughts, all tenants to the heart ; 
And by their verdict is determined 
The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part, 
As thus ; mine eye's due is thy outward part, 
And my heart's right thy inward love of heart. 

XLVII. 

Betwixt inine eye and heart a league is took, 
And each doth good turns now unto the other : 
When that mine eye is famish'd for a look, 
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother, 
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast. 
And to the painted banquet bids my heart : 
Another time mine eye is my heart's guest, 
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part : 
So, either by thy picture or my love. 
Thyself away art present still with me ; 
For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move, 
And 1 am still with them, and they with ihee ; 
Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight 
Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight. 



SONNETS. 



fJOO 



How careful was I when I tojk my way, 
Each trifle under truest bars^o thrust, 
That, to my use, it might unused stay 
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust ! 
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, 
Most worthy comfort now my greatest grief, 
Thou, best of dearest, and mine only care. 
Are left the prey of every vulgar thief. 
Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest. 
Save where thou art not, though 1 feel thou art. 
Within the gentle closure of my breast, 
From whence at pleasure thou may'st come and part ; 
And even thence thou will be stolen 1 fear, 
For truth proves thievish for a prize so dea.'. 



Against that time, if ever that time come, 
When 1 shall see thee frown on my defects, 
Whnnas thy love hath cast its utmost sum, 
Call'd to that audit by advis'd respects. 
Against that time, when thou shall strangely pass. 
And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye, 
When love, converted from the thing it was, 
Shall reasons find of settled gravity, 
Against that time do 1 ensconce me here 
Within the knowledge of mine own desert, 
And this my hand against myself uprear. 
To guard the lavi'ful reasons on thy part : 

To leave poor me thou hasl the strength of laws. 
Since, why to love, I can allege no cause. 



How heavy do I journey on the way. 
When what I seek, — my weary travel's end, — 
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, 
" Thus far the miles are measur'd fium thy friend!" 
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe. 
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, 
As if by some instinct the wretch did know 
His rider lov'd not speed, being made from thee : 
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on 
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide. 
Which heavily he answers with a groan. 
More sharp to me than spurring to his side ; 
For that same groan doth put this iu my mind. 
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind. 

LI. 

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence 
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed : 
From where thou art why should 1 haste me thence? 
Till I return, of posting is no need. 
O, what excuse will my poor beast then find. 
When swift extremity can seem but slow? 
Then should 1 spur, though mounted on the wind ; 
In winged speed no motion shall I know : 
Then can no horse with my desire kee]) pace ; 
Therefore desire, of perfect love being made, 
Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fieiy race ; 
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade ; 
Since from thee going he went wilt'ul slow, 
To'vards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go. 

LII. 

So am I as the rich, whose blessed key 
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, 
The which he will not every hour survey, 
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. 
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, 
Since seldom coming, in the long year set. 



Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, 
Or captain jewels in the carcanet. 
.So is the time that keeps you, as n)y chest. 
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, 
To make some special instant special-blest. 
By new unfolding his imprison'd pride. 

Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope, 
Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope. 



What is your substance, whereof are you made. 
That millions of strange shadows on you tend? 
Since every one hath, every one, one shade. 
And you, but one, can every shadow lend. 
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit 
Is poorly imitated after you ; 
On Helen's cheek all art -of beauty set. 
And you in Grecian tires are painted new: 
Speak of the spring, and foizon of the year : 
The one doth shadow of your beauty shew, 
The other as your bounty doth appear. 
And you in every blessed shape we know. 
In all external grace you have some part, 
But you like none, none you, for constant heart. 

LIV. 

O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, 
My that sweet ornament vi-liich truth doth give ! 
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem 
For that sweet odour which doth in it live. 
The canker blooms have full as deep a dye. 
As the perfumed tincture of the roses. 
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly 
When sunmier's breath their masked buds discloses, 
lint, for tiieir viitue only is their show. 
They nve unwoo'd, and unrespected fade ; 
Die 10 tiiemselves. Sweet ro..-es do not so ; 
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made : 
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, 
\Vhen that shall fade, my verse distils your truth. 

LV. 

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments 
Of princes, shall out-live this powerful rhime; 
But you shall shine more bright in these contents 
Than unswept stone, besinear'd with sluttish time. 
When wasteful war shall statues overturn, 
And broils root out the work of masonry, 
Nor JMarsis' sword nor war's quick fire shall burn 
The living record of your memory. 
'Gainst death and all oblivious enmity 
Shall you pace forth ; your praise shall still find room, 
Even in the eyes of all posterity 
That wear this world out to the ending doom. 
So till the judgment that yourself arise, 
Vou live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. 

LVI. 

Sweet love, renew thy force ; be it not said, 

Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, 

Which but today by feeding is allay'd, 

To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might : 

So, love, be thou ; although to-day thou fill 

Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness, 

To-morrow see again, and do not kill 

The spirit of love with a perpetual dulness. 

Let this sad interim like the ocean be 

Which parts the shore, where two contracted-new 

Come daily to the banks, that, when they see 

Return of love, more blest may be the view : 

Or call it winter, which being full of care, [rare. 

IVlakes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more 



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LVII. 

J3eing your slave, what should I do but tend 
'Upon the hours and times of your desire 1 
I Lave no precious time at all to spend, 
Nor services to do, till you require. 
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour, 
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, 
Nor ihink the bitterness of absence sour. 
When you have bid your servant once adieu ; 
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought, 
Where you may be, or your aflairs suppose, 
But, like a sad slave, stay and tliink of nought, 
Save, where you are how happy you make those : 
So true a fool is love, that in your will 
(Though "ou do any thing) he thinks no ill. 

LVIII. 

That God forbid, that made me first your slave, 

I should in thought control your times of pleasure, 

Or at your hand the account of hours to crave. 

Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure ! 

Oh let me suffer (being at your beck) 

The imprison'd absence of your liberty, 

And patience, tame to sufierauce, bide each check 

Without accusing you of injury. 

Be where you list ; your charter is so strong. 

That you yourself may privilege your time : 

Do what you will, to you it doth belong 

Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. 

I am to wait, though waiting so be hell ; 

Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well. 

LIX. 

If there be nothing new, but that, which is, 
Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd, 
Which labouring for invention bear amiss 
The second burthen of a former child ? 
O that record could with a backward look, 
Even of five hundred courses of the sun, 
Sliew me your image in some antique book, 
Since mind at first in character was done ! 
That T miglit see what the old world could say 
To this composed wonder of your frame ; 
Whether we are mended or whe'r better they, 
Or whether revolution be the same. 
O ! sure I am, the wits of former days 
To subjects worse have given admiring praise. 

LX. 

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore. 
So do our minutes hasten to their end ; 
Eacli changing place with that which goes before, 
In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 
Nativity once in the main of light. 
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd. 
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight. 
And time that gave, doth now his gift confound. 
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth. 
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow ; 
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, 
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow. 
And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand. 
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 



Is it thy will, thy image should keep open 
My heavy eyelids to the weary night 1 
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, 
While shadows, like to thee, do mock my sight ? 
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee 
So far from home, into my deeds to pry ; 



To find out shames and idle hours in me. 
The scope and tenour of thy jealousy ? 
O no ! thy love, though much, is not so great ; 
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake , 
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat. 
To play the watchman ever for thy sake : 

For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere. 
From me far off, with others all-too-near. 

LXII. 

Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye 
And all my soul, and all my every part ; 
And for this sin there is no remedy, 
It is so grounded inward in my heart. 
iSIethinks no face so gracious is as mine, 
No shape so true, no truth of such account. 
And for myself mine own worth do define. 
As I all other in all worths surmount. 
But when my glass shews me myself indeed, 
'Bated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity, 
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read. 
Self so self-loving were iniquity. 

'Tis thee (myself) that for myself I praise. 
Painting my age with beauty of thy days. 



Against my love shall be, as I am now. 
With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'ervvorn , 
When hours have drain'd his blood, and fill'd hisbrow 
With lines and wrinkles ; when his youthful morn 
Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night ; 
And all those beauties, whereof now he's king. 
Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight. 
Stealing away the treasure of his spring ; 
For such a time do I now fortify 
Against confounding age's cruel knife. 
That he shall never cut from memory 
My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life. 
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, 
And they shall live, and he in them still green. 

LXIV. 

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd 
The rich proud cost of out-worn bury'd age ; 
When sometime lofty towers 1 see down-ras'd. 
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage ; 
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore. 
And the firm soil win of the wat'ry main. 
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store ; 
When I have seen such interchange of state. 
Or state itself confounded to decay ; 
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate — 
That Time will come and take my love away. 
This thought is as a death, which cannot choose 
But weep to have that which it fears to lose. 

LXV. 

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea. 
But sad mortality o'er-sways their power. 
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea. 
Whose action is no stronger than a flower ! 
O how shall summer's honey breath hold out 
Against the wreckful siege of battering days, 
I ^\ hen rocks impregnabls are not so stout, 
i Nor gates of steel so sti ong, but time decays 1 
I O fearful meditation ! where, alack ! 
j Shall time's best jewel from tinie's chest lie hid t 
\ Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back '> 
i Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid 1 
I O none, unless this miracle have might, 
I That in black ink my love may still shine bright. 



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SONNETS. 



911 



txvt. 

Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry, — 
As, to behold desert a beggar born, 
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, 
And purest faitn unhappily forsworn, 
And gilded honour shamefully misplac'd, 
And maiden virtue rudely strunipeted. 
And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd, 
And strength by limping sway disabled, 
And art made tongue-ty'd by authority. 
And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill. 
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, 
And captive Good attending captain 111 : 

Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone, 
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. 



Ah ! wherefore with infection should he live, 

And with his presence grace impiety 

That sin by him advantage should atchieve. 

And lace itself with his society 1 

Why should false painting imitate his cheek, 

And steal dead seeing of his living hue 1 

Why should pure beauty indirectly seek 

Roses of shadow, since his rose is truel 

Why should he live, now Nature bankrupt is, 

Beggar'd of blood, to blush through lively veins? 

For she hath no exchequer now but his. 

And proud of many, lives upon his gains. 

O, him she stores, to shew what wealth she had, 
In days long since, before these last so bad. 

LXVIII. 

Thus is his cheek the map of days out-worn. 
When beauty liv'd and died as flowers do now, 
Before these bastard signs of fair were borne, 
Or durst inhabit on a living brow ; 
Before the golden tresses of the dead, 
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, 
To live a second life on second head. 
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay : 
In him those holy antique hours are seen, 
AVithout all ornament, itself, and true, 
IMaking no summer of another's green. 
Robbing no old to make his beauty new ; 
And him as for a map doth nature store, 
To shew false art what beauty was of yore. 



Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view, 
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend : 
All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due. 
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes' commend. 
Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown'd ; 
But those same tongues that give thee so thine own. 
In other accents do this praise confound, 
By seeing farther than the eye hath shewn. 
They look into the beauty of thy mind. 
And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds ; [kind. 
Then (churls) their thoughts, although theireycs were 
To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds : 
But why thy odour matcheth not thy show. 
To solve is this, — that thou dost common grow. 



That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect. 
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair ; 
The ornament of beauty is suspect, 
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. 
So thou be good, slander doth but approve 
Thy worth the greater, being woo'd ot time ; 
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, 



And thou present'st a pure unstained prime. 

Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days, 

Either not assail'd, or victor being charg'd ; 

Vet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, 

To tie up envy, evermore enlarg'd : 

If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show. 
Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts should'st owe. 

LXXI. 

No longer mourn for me when I am dead, 
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
Give warning to the world that I am fled 
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell : 
Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
I'he hand that writ it ; for I love you so, 
I'hat I in your sv^-eet thoughts would be forgot. 
If thinking on me then should make you woe. 
O if(l say) you look upon this verse. 
When I perhaps compounded am with clay, 
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse ; 
But let your love even with my life dtcay : 

Lest the wise world should look into your moan, 
And mock you with me after 1 am gone. 



O, lest the world should task you to recite 
What merit liv'd in me, that you should love 
.After my death, dear love, forget me quite. 
For you in me can nothing worthy prove ; 
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie. 
To do more for me than mine own desert, 
And hang more praise upon deceased I, 
Than niggard truth would willingly impart ; 
O, lest your true love may seem false in this. 
That you for love speak well of me untrue. 
My name be buried where my body is, 
And live no more to shame nor me nor you. 
For I am sham'd by that which 1 bring forth. 
And so should you, to love things nothing worth 



That time of year thou may'st in me behold 
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, 
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. 
In me thou seest the twilight of such day, 
As after sun set fadeth in the west. 
Which by and by black night doth take away. 
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. 
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire. 
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie. 
As the death-bed whereon it must expire, 
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by. 

Tills thou perceiv'st which makes thy love more 
strong. 

To love that well which thou must leave ere lonfr. 

LXXIV. 

But be contented : when that fell arrest 

Without all bail shall carry me away, 

My life hath in this line some interest, 

Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. 

When thou leviewest this, thou dost review 

The very part was consecrate to thee. 

The earth can have but earth, which is his due ; 

My spirit is thine, the better part of me : 

So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life. 

The prey of worms, my body being dead ; 

The coward conquest of a wretch's knife. 

Too base of thee to be remembered. 

The worth of that, is that which it contain,":. 
And that is this, and tiiis with thee remains. 



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SONNETS. 



LXXV. 

So are jou to my thoughts, as food to life, 

Or as sweet season'd showers are to the ground, 

And for tlie peace of you 1 liold such strife 

As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found ; 

Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon 

Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure ; 

Now counting best to be with you alone, 

Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure : 

Sometime, all full with feasting on your sight, 

And by and by clean starved for a look ; 

Possessing or pursuing no delight, 

Save what is had or must from you be took. 

Thus do 1 pine and surfeit day by day, 

Or gluttoning on all, or all away. 

LXXVI. 

Why is ray verse so barren of new pride 1 

So far from variation or quick change ! 

Why, with the time, do I not glance aside 

To new-found methods and to compounds strange l 

Why write I still all one, ever the same, 

And keep invention in a noted weed, 

That every word doth almost tell my name, 

Showing their birih, and where they did proceed? 

know, sweet love, 1 always write of you. 
And you and love are still my argument ; 
So all my best is dressing old words new, 
Spending again what is already spent : 

For as the sun is daily new and old, 
So is my love still telling what is told. 

LXXVII. 

Thy glass will shew thee how thy beauties wear. 
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste ; 
The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, 
And of this book this learning may'st thou taste. 
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly shew. 
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory ; 
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth may'st know 
Time's thievish progress to eternity. 
Look, what thy memory cannot contain. 
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find 
Those children nurs'd, deliver'd from thy brain, 
f take a new acquaintance of thy mind. 
These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, 
Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book. 

LXXVIII. 

So oft have I invok'd thee for my muse, 
And found such fair assistance in my verse. 
As every alien pen hath got my use, 
And under thee their poesy disperse. 
Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing. 
And heavy ignorance aloft to fly. 
Have added feathers to the learned's wing, 
And given grace a double majesty. 
Yet be most proud of that which I compile, 
Whose influence is thine, and born of thee. 
In others' v/orks thou dost but mend the style, 
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be ; 
But thou ait all my art, and dost advance 
As high as learning my rude ignorance. 

LXXIX. 

Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, 
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace ; 
But now my gracious numbers are decay'd. 
And my sick muse doth give another place. 

1 grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument 
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen ; 
Vet what of thee thy poet doth invent, 
He robs thee of, and pays it thee again. 



He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word 
From thy behaviour ; beauty doth he give. 
And found it in thy cheek ; he can atlbrd 
A'o praise to thee but what m thee doth live. 
Then thank him not for that which he doth sav, 
Since wiiat he owes thee thou thyself dost pay. 

LXXX. 

how I faint when I of you do write, 
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, 
And in the praise thereof spends all his might, 
To make me tongue-ty'd, speaking of your fame ! 
But since your worth (wide, as the ocean is,) 
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear. 

My saucy bark, inferior far to his. 
On your broad main doth wilfully appear. 
Your shallowest help will hold me up alioat, 
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride ; 
Or, being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat. 
He of tall building, and of goodly pride : 
'J'hen if he thrive, and I be cast away, 
The worst was this; — my love was my decay. 

LXXXI. 

Or I shall live your epitaph to make. 
Or you survive when 1 in earth am rotten ; 
From hence your memory death cannot take. 
Although in me each part will be forgotten. 
Your name from hence immortal life shall have, 
Though 1, once gone, to all the world must die. 
The earth can yield me but a common grave. 
When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. 
Your monument shall be my gentle verse. 
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read ; 
And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse. 
When all the breathers of this world are dead ; 
You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen,) 
Where breath most breathes, — even in the mouths 
of men. 

LXXXII. 

1 grant thou wert not married to my muse, 
And therefore may'st without attaint o'er-look 
The dedicated words which writers use 

Of their fair subject, blessing every book. 
Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue. 
Finding thy worth a limit past my praise; 
And therefore art enforc'd to seek anew 
Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. 
And do so, love ; yet when they have devis'd 
What strained touches rhetoric can lend, 
Thou truly fair'wert truly sympathiz'd 
In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend ; 
And their gross painting might be better us'd 
Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abus'd. 



I never saw that you did painting need. 
And therefore to your fair no painting set. 
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed 
The barren tender of a poet's debt : 
And therefore have I slept in your report. 
That you your elf, being extant, well might shovir 
How far a modern quill doth come too short. 
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. 
This silence for my sin you did impute, 
Which shall be most my glory, being dumb ; 
For 1 impair not beauty being imite. 
When others would give life, and bring a tomb. 
There lives more life in one of your fair eyes, 
Than both your poets can in praise devise. 



SONNETS. 



913 



LXXXIV. 

Who is it that says most ? which can say more, 
Than this rich praise, — that you alone are you 1 
In whose confine immured is the store 
Which should example where your equal grew. 
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell, 
That to his subject lends not some small glory; 
But he that writes of you, if he can tell 
That you are you, so dignifies his story, 
Let him but copy what in you is writ, 
Not making worse what nature made so clear, 
And such a counter-part shall fame his wit. 
Making his style admired every where. 
You to your beauteous blessings add a curse. 
Being fond on praise.which makesyour praisesworse. 

LXXXV. 

My tongue-ty'd muse in manners holds her still. 
While comments of your praise, richly compil'd, 
Reserve their character with golden quill. 
And precious phrase by all the muses fil'd. 
I think good thoughts, while others write good words. 
And, like unletter'd clerk, still cry Amen 
To every hymn that able spirit affords. 
In polish'd form of well-refined pen. 
Hearing you prais'd, I say, 'tis so, 'tis true. 
And to the most of praise add something more ; 
But that is in my thought, whose love to you. 
Though words come hind-most, holds his rank before. 
Then others for the breath of words respect. 
Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. 

LXXXVI. 

Was it the proud full sail of his great verse. 
Bound for the prize of all-too-precious you. 
That bid my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, 
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew ? 
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write 
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead 1 
No, neither he, nor his compeers by night 
Giving him aid, my verse astonished. 
He, nor that affable familiar ghost 
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence, 
As victors, of my silence cannot boast ; 
I was not sick cf any fear from thence. 

But when your countenance fill'd up his line. 
Then lack'd I matter ; that enfeebled mine. 

LXXXVII. 

Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing, 
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate : 
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing ; 
My bonds in thee are all determinate. 
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting 1 
And for that riches where is my deserving ? 
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting. 
And so my patent back again is swerving. 
Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing, 
Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking ; 
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing. 
Comes home again, on better judgment making. 
Thus have 1 had thee, as a dream doth flatter. 
Id sleep a king, but waking, no such matter. 

I-XXXVIII. 

When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light, 

And place my merit in the eye of Scorn, 

Upon thy side against myself I '11 fight. 

And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn. 

With mme own weakness being best acquainted, 

Upon thy part I can set down a story 



Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted ; 

That thou, in losing me, shalt win much glory: 

And I by this will be a gainer too ; 

For bending all my loving thoughts on thee. 

The injuries that to myself 1 do, 

Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. 
Such is my love, to thee I so belong. 
That for thy right myself will bear all wrong. 

LXXXIX. 

Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault. 
And I will comment upon that offence : 
Speak of my lameness, and 1 straight will halt ; 
Against thy reasons making no defence. 
Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill, 
To set a form upon desired change. 
As I '11 myself disgrace : knowing thy will, 
I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange ; 
Be absent from thy walks ; and in my tongue 
Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell ; 
Lest I (too much profane) should do it wrong. 
And haply of our old acquaintance tell. 
For thee, against myself I '11 vow debate. 
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate. 

xc. 

Then hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now ; 

Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross. 

Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow. 

And do not drop m for an after-loss : 

Ah ! do not, when my heart hath scap'd this sorrow, 

Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe ; 

Give not a windy night a rainy morrow. 

To linger out a purpos'd overthrow. 

If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last. 

When other petty griefs have done their spite. 

But in the onset come ; so shall I taste 

At first the very worst of Fortune's might ; 

And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, 
Compar'd with loss of thee, will not seem so. 

xcr. 

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, 
Some in their wealth, some in their body's force ; 
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill. 
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse ; 
And every humour hath its adjunct pleasure. 
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest ; 
But these particulars are not my measure. 
All these I better in one general best. 
Thy love is better than high birth to me. 
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost. 
Of more delight than hawks or horses be ; 
And having thee, of all men's pride I boast. 
Wretched in this alone, that thou may'st take 
All this away, and me most wretched make. 

xcii. 

But do thy worst to steal thyself away, 
For term of life thou art assured mine ; 
And life no longer than thy love will stay, 
For it depends upon that love of thine. 
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs. 
When in the least of them my life hath end. 
I see a better state to me belongs 
Than that which on thy humour doth depend. 
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind. 
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie. 
O what a happy title do I find, 
Happy to have thy love, happy to die ! 

But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot?— 
Thou may'st be false, and yet I know it not ; 
3M 



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XCIII. 



So shall I live, supposing thou art true, 
Like a deceived husband ; so love's face 
May still seem love to me, though alter'd-new ; 
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place : 
For there can live no hatred in thine eye, 
Tlierefore in that I cannot know thy change. 
In many looks the false heart's history 
Is writ, in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange, 
But heaven in thy creation did decree, 
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell ; 
Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be, 
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell. 
How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow. 
If thy sweet virtue answer not the show ! 



xciv. 



They that have power to hurt and will do none. 
That do not do the thing they most do shew. 
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, 
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow ; 
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces, 
And husband nature's riches from expence ; 
They are the lords and owners of their faces. 
Others but stewards of their excellence. 
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet. 
Though to itself it only live and die ; 
But if that flower with base infection meet, 
The basest weed out-braves his dignity : 

For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ; 

Liii«s that fester smell far worse than weeds. 



xcv. 



How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame 
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, 
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name 1 
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose ! 
That tongue that tells the story of thy days. 
Making lascivious comments on thy sport. 
Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise ; 
Naming thy name blesses an ill report. 
O what a mansion have those vices got, 
Which for their habitation chose out thee ! 
What beauty's veil doth cover every blot. 
And all things turn to fair, that eyes can see! 

Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege ; 

The hardest knife ill-us'd doth lose his edge. 



xcvi. 



Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness, 
Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport ; 
Both grace and faults are lov'd of more and less 
Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resort. 
As on the finger of a throned queen 
The basest jewel will be well esteem'd ; 
So are those errors that in thee are seen. 
To truths translated, and for true things deem'd. 
How many lambs might the stern wolf betray. 
If like a lamb he could his looks translate ! 
How many gazers might'st thou lead away. 
If thou would'st use the strength of all thy state ! 
But do not so ; 1 love thee in such sort, 
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 



xcvii. 



How like a winter hath my absence been 
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen"? 
What old December's bareness every where! 
And yet this time remov'd was summer's time ; 
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, 



Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime. 
Like widow 'd wombs after their lords decease : 
Yet tills abundant issue seem'd to me 
But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit ; 
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 
And thou away, the very birds are mute ; 
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer. 
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near. 

xcviii. 

From you have I been absent in the spring, 
When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim. 
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing ; 
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. 
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 
Of different flowers in odour and in hue. 
Could make me any summer's story tell, 
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew : 
Nor did I wonder at the lilies white. 
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; 
They were but sweet, but figures of delight. 
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. 
Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away. 
As with your shadow I with these did play : 

xcix. 
The forward violet thus did I chide ; — [smells, 

Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that 
If not from my love's breath '! The purple pride 
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells. 
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dy'd. 
The lily I condemned for thy hand, 
And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair : 
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand. 
One blushing shame, another white despair ; 
A third, nor red nor vviiite had stolen of both. 
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath ; 
But for his theft, in pride of all his growth 
A vengeful canker eat him up to death. 
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, 
But sweet or colour it had stolen from thee. 



Where art thou. Muse, that thou forget'st so long 
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might"} 
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, 
Darkening thy power, to lend base subjects light? 
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem 
In gentle numbers time so idly spent ; 
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem, 
And gives thy pen both skill and argument. 
Rise, restive Muse, my love's sweet face survey. 
If Time have any wrinkle graven there ; 
If any, be a satire to decay. 
And make Time's spoils despised every where. 

Give my love fame faster than time wastes life ; 

So thou prevent'st his scythe, and crooked knife. 

CI. 

O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends, 
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dy'd 1 
Both truth and beauty on my love depends: 
So dost thou too, and therein dignify'd. 
Make answer, Muse : wilt thou not haply say. 
Truth needs no colour, with his colour Jix'd, 
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay : 
But best is best, if never intermixed? — 
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb 1 
Excuse not silence so ; for it lies in thee 
To make him much out-live a gilded tomb. 
And to be prais'd of ages yet to be. 

Then do thy office, Muse : I teach thee how 
To make him seem long hence as he shews now. 



I 



SONNETS. 



915 



CII» 



My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seem- 
I love not less, though less the show appear: [ing; 
That love ismerchandiz'd, whose rich esteeming 
The owner's tongue doth publish every where. 
Our love was new, and then but in the spring. 
When I was wont to greet it with my lays ; 
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing, 
And stops his pipe in growth of riper days : 
Not that the summer is less pleasant now 
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, 
But that wild music burthens every bough, 
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. 
Therefore, like her, I sometime hold my tongue, 
Because I would not dull you with my song. 

cm. 

Alack ! what poverty my muse brings forth, 
That having such a scope to shew her pride. 
The argument, all bare, is of more worth, 
Than when it hath my added praise beside. 
O blame me not if I no more can write ! 
Look in your glass, and there appears a face 
That over-goes my blunt invention quite. 
Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace. 
Were it not sinful then, striving to mend, 
To mar the subject that before was well 1 
For to no other pass my verses tend. 
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell ; 

And more, much more, than in my verse can sit. 
Your own glass shews you, when you look in it. 

CIV. 

To me, fair friend, you never can be old. 
For as you were, when first your eye 1 ey'd, 
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters' cold 
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride ; 
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd, 
In process of the seasons iiave I seen. 
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, 
Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green. 
Ah ! yet doth beauty, like a dial hand. 
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived, 
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, 
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived. 
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred, 
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. 

cv. 

Let not my love be call'd idolatry, 
Nor my beloved as an idle show. 
Since all alike my songs and praises be, 
To one, of one, still such, and ever so. 
Kind is my love today, to-morrow kind, 
Still constant in a wondrous excellence ; 
Therefore my verse to constancy confin'd. 
One thing expressing, leaves out difference. 
Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument. 
Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words ; 
And in this change is my invention spent, 
Three themes in one, which wond'rous scope affords. 
Fair, kind, and true, have often liv'd alone, 
Which three, till now, never kept seat in one. 

cvi. 

When in the chronicle of wasted time 
I see descriptions of the fairest svights. 
And beauty making beautiful old rhime. 
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights, 
Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, 
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow. 



t see their antique pen would have express'd 

Even such a beauty as you master now. 

So all their praises are but prophecies 

Of this our time, all you prefiguring ; 

And, for they look'd but with divining eyes, 

They had not skill enough your worth to sing. 
For we, which now behold these present days, 
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 

CVII. 

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul 
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come. 
Can yet the lease of my true love control, 
Suppos'd as forfeit to a c6nfin'd doom. 
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd. 
And the sad augurs mock their own presage ; 
Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd. 
And peace proclaims olives of endless age. 
Now with the drops of this most balmy time 
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, 
Since spite of him I '11 live in this poor rhime. 
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes. 
And thou in this shalt find thy monument. 
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent. 

CVIII. 

What's in the brain that ink may character. 
Which halh not figur'd to thee my true spirit? 
What 's new to speak, what new to register. 
That may express my love, or thy dear merit 1 
Nothing, sweet boy, but yet, like prayers divine, 
I must each day say o'er the very same ; 
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, 
Even as when first 1 hallowed thy fair name. 
So that eternal love in love's fresh case 
Weighs not the dust and injury of age. 
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place. 
But makes antiquity for aye his page ; 

Finding tiie first conceit of love there bred. 
Where time and outward form would shew it dead. 

cix. 

O never say that I was false of heart, 
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify. 
As easy might I from myself depart. 
As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie : 
That is my home of love : if I have rang'd. 
Like him that travels, I return again ; 
Just to the time, not with the time exchang'd, — 
So that myself bring water for my stain. 
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd 
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 
That it could so preposterously be stain'd, 
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good ; 
For nothing this wide universe I call. 
Save thou, ray rose ; in it thou art my all. 

ex. 

Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there, 
And made myself a motley to the view, 
Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, 
Made old offences of affections new. 
Most true it is, that 1 have look'd on truth 
Askance and strangely; but, by all above. 
These blenches gave my heart another youtn, 
And worse essays prov'd thee my best of love. 
Now all is done, save what shall have no end : 
JNIine appetite 1 never more will grind 
On newer proof, to try an older friend, 
A god in love, to whom I am confin'd. 

Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, 
Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. 
3M i 



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SONNETS. 



CXI. 

for my sake do you with fortune chide, 
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, 
That did not better for my life provide, 
Than public means, which public manners breeds. 
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand. 
And almost thence my nature is subdu'd 
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand. 
Pity me then, and wish I were renew'd ; 
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink 
Potions of eysell, 'gainst my strong infection; 
No bitterness that I will bitter think, 
Nor double penance to correct correction. 
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye. 
Even that your pitv is enough to cure me. 



Your love and pity doth the impression fill 
Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow ; 
For what care I who calls me well or ill, 
So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow 1 
You are my all-the-world, and I must strive 
To know my shames and praises from your tongue ; 
None else to me, nor I to none alive. 
That my steel'd sense or changes, right or wrong. 
In so profound abysm I throw all care 
Of others' voices, that my adder's sense 
To critic and to flatterer stopped are. 
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense : — • 
You are so strongly in my purpose bred. 
That all the world besides methinks are dead. 

CXIII. 

Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind. 
And that which governs me to go about, 
Doth part his function, and is partly blind. 
Seems seeing, but effectually is out; 
For ''. no form delivers to the heart 
Of oird, of flower, or shape, which it doth lack ; 
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part. 
For his own vision holds what it doth catch ; 
For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight, 
The most sweet favour, or deformed'st creature, 
The mountain or the sea, the day or night, 
1'he crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature. 
Incapable of more, replete with you, 
Rly most true mind thus maketh mine untrue. 

cxiv. 

Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you. 
Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery, 
Or whether shall I say mine eyes saith true. 
And that your love taught it this alchymy. 
To make of monsters and things indigest. 
Such cherubims as your s,weet self resemble. 
Creating every bad a perfect best. 
As fast as objects to his beams assemble? 
O 'tis the first ; 'tis flattery in my seeing, 
And m_y great mind most kingly drinks it up : 
Mine eye well knows what with iiis gust is 'greeing. 
And vo his palate doth prepare the cup: 
If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin 
That mine eye loves it, and doth first begin. 



Those lines that I before have writ, do lie. 

Even those that said 1 could not love you dearer ; 

Yet then my judgment knew no reason why 

My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer. 

But reckoning time, whuse million'd accidents 

Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings. 



Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st i/jtents, 
Divert strong minds to the course of altering things; 
Alas! why, fearing of time's tyranny, 
Might I not then say, now I love you best, 
When I was certain o'er incertainty, 
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest? 
Love is a babe ; then might I not say so, 
To give full growth to that which still doth giov/1 

CXVI. 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 

Admit impediments. Love is not love 

Which alters when it alteration finds, 

Or bends with the remover to remove : 

O no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, 

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; 

It is the star to every wandering bark. 

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. 

Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 

Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 

Love alters not with his biief hours and weeks. 

But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 

If this be error, and upon me prov'd, 

I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd. 

cxvn. 

Accuse me thus ; that I have scanted all 
Wherein I should your great deserts repay ; 
Forgot upon your dearest love to call. 
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day ; 
That I have frequent been with unknown minds. 
And given to time your own dear-purchas'd right ; 
That I have hoisted sail to all the winds 
Which should transport me farthest from your sight. 
Book both my wilfulness and errors down. 
And on just proof, surmise accumulate, 
Bring me within the level of your frown. 
But shoot not at me in your waken'd hale : 
Since my appeal says, I did strive to prove 
The constancy and virtue of your love. 

cxviii. 

Like as, to make our appetites more keen, 
With eager compounds we our palate urge: 
As, to prevent our maladies unseen, 
We sicken to shun sickness, when we purge ; 
Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness, 
To bitter sauces did 1 frame my feeding. 
And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness 
To be diseas'd, ere that there was true needing. 
Thus policy in love, to anticipate 
The ills that were not, grew to faults assured. 
And brought to medicine a healthful state, 
Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured. 
But thence I learn, and find the lesson true, 
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you. 

cxix. 

What potions have I drunk of Syren tears, 
Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within, 
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, 
Still losing when 1 saw myself to win ! 
What wretched errors hath my heart committed. 
Whilst it hath tliought itself so blessed never ! 
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted, 
In the distraction of this madding fever ! 
O benefit of ill ! now 1 find true 
That better is by evil still made bettei , 
And ruin'd love, when it is built anew. 
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. 
So I return rebuk'd to my content. 
And gain by ill thrice more than 1 have spent. 



SONNETS. 



917 



cxx. 

That you were once unkind, befriends me now, 
And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, 
Needs must 1 under my transgression bow. 
Unless my nerves were brass or hamraer'd steel. 
For if you were by my unkindness shaken. 
As I by your's, you have pass'-d a hell of time ; 
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken 
To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime. 

that our night of woe might have remember'd 
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits. 
And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd 
The humble salve which wounded bosom fits ! 

But that your trespass now becomes a fee ; 
Mine ransom your's, and your's must ransom me. 

CXXI. 

'Tis better to be vile, than vile esteem'd, 
When not to be receives reproach of being, 
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem'd 
Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing. 
For why should others' false adulterate eyes 
Give salutation to my sportive blood ? 
, Or on my frailties why are frailer spies. 
Which in their wills count bad what I think good 1 
No, — I am that I am ; and they that level 
At my abuses, reckon up their own : 

1 may be straight, though they themselves be bevel ; 
By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shewn ; 

Unless this general evil they maintain, 

All men are bad, and in their badness reign. 

CXXII. 

Thy gift, thy tables are within my brain 
Full character'd with lasting memory, 
Which shall above that idle rank remain, 
Beyond all date, even to eternity : 
Or at the least so long as brain and heart 
Have faculty by nature to subsist ; 
Till each to raz'd oblivion yield his part 
Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd. 
That poor retention could not so much hold. 
Nor need I tallies, thy dear love to score ; 
Therefore to give them from me was I bold. 
To trust those tables that receive thee more : 

To keep an adjunct to remember thee. 

Were to import forgetfuiness in me. 

cxxiir. ^ 

No ! Time, thou shall not boast that I do change ; 
Thy pyramids built up with newer might 
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange ; 
They are but dressings of a former sight. 
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire 
What thou dost foist upon us that is old, 
And rather make them born to our desire. 
Than think that we before have heard them told. 
Thy registers and thee I both defy, 
Not wondering at the present nor the past ; 
For thy records and what we see doth lie. 
Made more or less by thy continual haste . 
This I do vow, and this shall ever be, 
I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee. 

cxxiv. 

If my dear love were but the child of state. 
It might for fortune's bastard be unfather'd. 
As subject to 'lime's love, or to Time's hate. 
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd. 
No, it was builded far from accident ; 
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls 



Under the blow of thralled discontent. 

Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls : 

It fears not policy, that heretic. 

Which works on leases of short-number'd hours. 

But all alone stands hugely politic. 

That it not grows with heat, nor drowns with showers. 
To this 1 witness call the fools of time. 
Which die for goodness, who have liv'd for crime. 

cxxv. 

Were it aught to me I bore the canopy. 
With my extern the outward honouring. 
Or iay'd great bases for eternity. 
Which prove more short than waste or ruining? 
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour 
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent. 
For compound sweet foregoing simple savour, 
Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent? 
No ; — let me be obsequious in thy heart. 
And take thou my oblation, poor but free, 
Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art. 
But mutual render, only me for thee. 

Hence, thou suborn'd informer ! a true soul. 
When most impeach'd, stands least in thy control. 

cxxvi. 

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power 
Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour ; 
Who hast by waning grown, and therein shew'st 
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st ! 
If nature, sovereign mistress over wrack. 
As thou go'st onwards, still will pluck thee back, 
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill 
May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill. 
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure ; 
She may detain, but not still keep her treasure ; 
Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be. 
And her quietus is to render thee. 

cxxvii. 

In the old age black was not counted fair, 
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name ; 
But now is black beauty's successive heir. 
And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame. 
For since each hand hath put on nature's power, 
Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face. 
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy hour. 
But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace. 
Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black. 
Her eyes so suited : and they mourners seem 
At such, who not born fair, no beauty lack, 
Slandering creation with a false esteem : 
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe. 
That every tongue says, beauty should do so. 

ex X VIII. 

How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st. 
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds 
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st 
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds. 
Do I envy those jacks, that nimble leap 
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand. 
Whilst my poor iips, which should that harvest reap, 
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand ! 
To be so tickled, they would change their state 
And situation with those dancing chips. 
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, 
Making dead wood more bless'd tiian living lips. 
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this. 
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. 



.918 



SONNETS. 



CXXIX. 

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame 
Is lust in action; and till action, lust 
Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame. 
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust ; 
Enjoy 'd no sooner but despised straight ; 
Past reason hunted ; and no sooner had. 
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait, 
On purpose laid to make the taker mad : 
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so ; 
Plad, having, and in quest to have, extreme ; 
A bliss in proof,— and prov'd, a very woe ; 
Before, a joy propos'd ; behind, a dream : 

Allthisthe world well knows; yet none knows well 
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. 

cxxx. 

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun ; 

Coral is far more red than her lips' red : 

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun ; 

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. 

I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, 

But no such roses see I in her cheeks ; 

And in some perfumes is there more delight 

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. 

I love to hear her speak, — yet well I know 

That music hath a far more pleasing sound ; 

I grant I never saw a goddess go, — 

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground; 
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare 
As any she bely'd with false compare. 

CXXXI. 

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art. 
As thosG whose beauties proudly make them cruel ; 
for well thou know'st to my dear doting heart 
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. 
Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold, 
Thy face hath not the power to make love groan : 
To say they err, I dare not be so bold. 
Although I swear it to myself alone. 
And, to be sure that is not false 1 swear, 
A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face. 
One on another's neck, do witness bear 
Thy black is fairest in my judgement's place. 
In nothing art thou black, save in thy deeds. 
And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds. 

CXXXII. 

Thme eyes I love, and they, as pitying me. 
Knowing thy heart, torment me with disdain ; 
Have put on black, and loving mourners be. 
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. 
And truly not the morning sun of heaven 
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east. 
Nor that full star that ushers in the even. 
Doth half that glory to the sober west, 
As those two mourning eyes become thy face : 
O let it then as well beseem thy heart 
To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace, 
And suit thy pity like in every part. 

Then will 1 swear beauty herself is black. 
And all they foul that thy complexion lack. 

CXXXIII. 

Bcshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan 
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me I 
Is 't not enough to torture me alone. 
But slave to slavei7my sweet's friend must be? 
Me from myself thy cruel eve hath taken, 
And my next self thou harder hast engross'd. 



Of him, myself and thee, 1 am f't> saken ; 
A torment thrice three-fold thus to be cross'd. 
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward. 
But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail; 
Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard ; • 
Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol : 
And yet thou wilt ; for 1, being pent in thee, 
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me. 

cxxxiv. 

So now I have confess'd that he is thine. 
And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will ; 
Myself I '11 forfeit, so that other mine 
Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still : 
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free. 
For thou art covetous, and he is kind ; 
He learn'd but, surety-like, to write for me, 
Under that bond that him as fast doth hind. 
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take. 
Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use. 
And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake ; 
So him I lose through my unkind abuse. 

Him have I lost ; thou hast both him and me ; 

He pays the whole, and yet I am not free. 

cxxxv. 

Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will, 
And will to boot, and will in over-plus ; 
More than enough am I that vex thee still. 
To thy sweet will making addition thus. 
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, 
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? 
Shall will in others seem right gracious, 
And in my will no fair acceptance shine ? 
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still. 
And in abundance addeth to his store ; 
So thou, being rich in will, add to thy will 
One will of mine, to make thy large will more. 

Let no unkind, no fair beseeches kill ; 

Think all but one, and me in that one Will. 

CXXXVI. 

If thy soul check thee that I come so near. 
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy will. 
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there ; 
Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfill. 
Will will fulfill the treasure of my love, 
Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one. 
In things of great receipt with ease we prove ; 
Among ^number one is reckon'd none. 
Then in the number let me pass untold. 
Though in ihy stores' account I one must be ; 
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold 
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee : 
Make but my name thy love, and love that still, 
And then thou lov'st me, — for my name is Will. 

CXXXVII. 

Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes 
That they behold, and see not what they see 1 
They know what beauty is, see where it lies. 
Yet what the best is, take the worst to be. 
If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks 
Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride. 
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, 
Whereto the judgment of my heart is ty'd ? 
Why should my heart think that a several plot. 
Which my heart knows the wide world's common 
Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not, [place? 
To put fair truth upon so foul a face ; 

In things right true my heart and eyes have err'd, 
And to this false plague are they now transferr'd. 



SONNETS. 



919 



cxixviii. 

When my love swears that she is made of truth, 
I do believe her, though I know she lies ; 
That she might think, me some untutor'd youth, 
Unlearned in the world's false subtilties. 
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, 
Although she knows my days are past the best, 
Simply i credit her false speaking tongue, 
On both sides thus is simple truth supprest. 
But wherefore says she not, she is unjust 1 
And wherefore say noli, that I am old] 
O love's best habil is in seeming trust. 
And age in love loves not to have years told : 
Therefore 1 lie with her, and she with me, 
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be. 

CXXXIX. 

O call not me to justify the wrong, 
That thy uukindness lays upon my heart ; 
Wound me not with thine eye, but vvith thy tongue ; 
Use power with power, and slay me not by art. 
Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere ; but in my sight, 
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside. 
What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy 
Is more than my oppress'd defence can "bide 1 [might 
Let me excuse thee : ah ! my love well knows 
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies ; 
And therefore from my face she turns my foes. 
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries : 
Yet do not so ; but since I am near slain. 
Kill me out right with looks, and rid my pain. 

CXL. 

Be wise as thou art cruel ; do not press 
My tongue-ty'd patience with too much disdain ; 
Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express 
The manner of my pity-wanting pain. 
If I might teach thee wit, better it were, 
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so ; 
(As testy sick men, when their deaths be near. 
No news but health from their physicians know :) 
For, if I should despair, I should grow mad. 
And in my madness might speak ill of thee : 
Now this ill-wresting world has grown so bad. 
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed me. 

That I may not be so, nor thou bely'd, [wide. 

Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go 

CXLI. 

In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes. 
For they in thee a thousand errors note ; 
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, 
Who in despite of view is pleas'd to dote. 
Nor are my ears with thy tongue's tune delighted ; 
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone. 
Nor taste nor smell, desire to be invited 
To any sensual feast with thee alone : 
But my five wits, nor ray five senses can 
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee. 
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man, 
Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be : 
Only my plague thus far I count my gain, 
That she that makes me sin, awards me pain. 

CXLII. 

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate. 
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving : 
O but with mine compare thou thine own state. 
And thou shall find it merits not reproving ; 
Or if it do, not from those lips of thine. 
That have prophan'd their scarlet ornaments, 



And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine ; 
Robb'd others' beds revenues of their rents. 
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those 
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee : 
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows. 
Thy pity may deserve to pity'd be. 

If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide. 
By self-example may'st thou be deny'd ! 

ex LIU. 

Lo as a careful house-wife runs to catch 
One of her feather'd creatures broke away, 
Sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatch, 
In p(irsuit of the thing she would have stay ; 
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chace. 
Cries to catch her whose l»usy care is bent 
To follow that which flie'j before her face. 
Not prizing her poor infa it's discontent ; 
So runn'st thou after that which flies from t'aee. 
Whilst I thy babe chace thee afar behind ; 
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back lo me. 
And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind : 
So will I pray that thou may'st have thy Will, 
If thou turn back, and my loud crying still. 

CXLIV. 

Two loves I have of comfort and despair. 
Which like two spirits do suggest me still ; 
The better angel is a man right fair, 
The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill. 
To win me soon to hell, my female evil 
Tempteth my better angel from my side, 
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil. 
Wooing his purity with her foul pride. 
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend. 
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell ; 
But being both from me, both to each friend, 
I guess one angel in another's hell. 

Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, 
Till my bad angel fire my good one out. 

CXLV. 

Those lips that Love's own hand did make, 
Breath 'd forth the sound that said, I hate, 
To me that languish'd for her sake : 
But when she saw my woeful state. 
Straight in her heart did mercy come. 
Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet 
Was us'd in giving gentle doom ; 
And taught it thus a-new to greet: 
I hate she alter'd with an end. 
That foUow'd it as gentle day 
Doth follow night, who like a fiend 
From heaven to hell is flown away. 

/ hate from hate away she threw, 

And sav'd my life, saying — 7wt you,, 

CXLVI. 

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 
Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array. 
Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth. 
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ? 
Why so large cost, having so short a lease. 
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend 1 
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess. 
Eat up thy charge 1 Is this thy body's end 1 
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, 
And let that pine to aggravate thy store ; 
Buy terms divme in selling hours of dross ; 
Within be fed, without be rich no more : 
So shall thou feed on death, that feeds on men. 
And, death once dead, there's no more dying then. 



920 



SONNETS. 



CXLVII. 

Aly love is as a fever, longing still 

For that which longer nurseth the disease ; 

Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill. 

The uncertain sickly appetite to please. 

My reason, the physician to my love, 

Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, 

Hath left me, and I desperate now approve. 

Desire is death, which physic did except. 

Past cure I am, now reason is past care, 

And frantic-mad with ever-more unrest ; 

My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are, 

At random from the truth vainly express'd ; 

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright. 
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. 

CXLVIII. 

O me ! what eyes hath love put in my head, 
Which have no correspondence with true sight? 
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled. 
That censures falsely what they see aright 1 
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, 
What means the world to say it is not sol 
If it be not, then love doth well denote 
Love's eye is not so true as all men's : no, 
How can it? O how can Love's eye be true. 
That is so vex'd with watching and with tears ? 
No marvel then though I mistake my view ; 
The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears. 

O cunning Love I with tears thou keep'st me blind, 
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. 

CXLIX. 

Canst thou, O cruel ! say I love thee not, 
When I, against myself, with thee partake ? 
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot 
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake ? 
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend ? 
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon? 
Nay if thou low'r'st on me, do I not spend 
Revenge upon myself with present moan ? 
What merit do I in myself respect. 
That is so proud thy service to despise. 
When all my best doth worship thy defect, 
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes ? 

But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind ; 

Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind. 

CL. 

O from what power hast thou this powerful might, 
What insufficiency my heart to sway ? 
To make me give the lie to my true sight, 
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day ? 
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill. 
That in the very refuse of thy deeds 
There is such strength and warrantise of skill, 
That in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds ? 
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, 
The more I hear and see just cause of hate ? 
O, though I love what others do abhor. 
With others thou should'st not abhor my state ; 
If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me. 
More worthy I to be belov'd of thee. 



cu. 

Love is too young to know what conscience is ; 
Yet who knows not, conscience is born of love 1 
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss. 
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove. 
For thou betraying me, I do betray 
My nobler part to my gross body's treason ; 
My soul doth tell my body that he may 
Triumph in love ; flesh stays no farther reason ; 
But rising at thy name, doth point out thee 
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, 
He is contented thy poor drudge to be, 
To stand in thy afl'airs, fall by thy side. 
No want of conscience hold it that I call 
Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall. 

CLII. 

In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn. 
But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing ; 
In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn, 
In vowing new hate after new love bearing. 
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, 
When 1 break twenty ? I am perjur'd most ; 
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee. 
And all my honest faith in thee is lost . 
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness, 
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy ; 
And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness, 
Or made them swear against the thing they see ; 
For I have sworn thee fair : more perjur'd I, 
To swear, against the truth, so foul a lie. 

CLIII. 

Cupid lay'd by his brand, and fell asleep : 
A maid of Dian's this advantage found. 
And his love kindling fire did quickly steep 
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground ; 
Which borrow'd from this holy fire of love 
A dateless lively heat, still to endure. 
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove 
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. 
But at my mistress' eye love's brand new-fired, 
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast ; 
I sick withal, the help of bath desired. 
And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest. 

But found no cure ; the bath for my help lies 
Where Cupid got new fire ; ray mistress' eyes. 

CLIV. 

The little love-god lying once asleep. 
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand. 
Whilst, many nymphs thatvow'd chaste life to keep, 
Came tripping by ; but in her maiden hand 
The fairest votary took up that fire 
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd • 
And so the general of hot desire 
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd. 
This brand she quenched in a cool well by. 
Which from love's fire took heat perpetual, 
Growing a bath and helpful remedy 
For men diseas'd ; but I, my mistress' thrall. 
Came here for cure, and this by that I prove. 
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love. 



PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 



I. 

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 
'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, 
Persuade my heart to this false perjury? 
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment, 
A woman I forswore ; but I will prove, 
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee : 
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 
Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me. 
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is ; 
Then thou fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, 
Exhal'st this vapour vow ; in thee it is: 
If broken, then it is no fault of mine. 
If by me broke, what fool is not so wiso 
To break an oath, to win a paradise "! 
II. 
Sv.'eet Cytherea, sitting by a brook, 
With young Adonis, lovely, fresjj, and green. 
Did court the lad with many a lovely look, 
Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen. 
She told him stories to delight his ear ; 
She shew'd him favours to allure his eye ; 
To win his heart, she touch'd him here and there • 
Touches so soft still conquer chastity. 
But whether unripe years did want conceit. 
Or he refus'd to take her figur'd proffer, 
The tender nibbler would not touch tiie bait, 
But smile and jest at every gentle offer : 

'J'hen fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward; 
He rose and ran away ; ah fool too froward ! 
III. 
If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? 
O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd : 
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove; 
Those thoughts to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow'd. 
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, 
Where all those pleasures live, that art can compre- 
hend. 
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice; 
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee com- 
mend ; 
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder ; 
Which is to me some praise, tliat I thy parts admire : 
Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his 

dreadful thunder, 
Which (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire. 
Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong. 
To sing the heavens' praise with such an earthly 
tongue. 

IV. 

Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn, 
And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade, 
When Cytherea, all in love forlorn, 
A longing tarriance for Adonis made. 
Under an osier growing by a brook, 
A brook, where Adon us'd to cool his spleen. 
Hot was the day ; she hotter that did look 
For his approach, that often there had been. 
Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by. 
And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim ; 
The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye. 
Yet not so wistly, as this queen on him : 

He spying her, bounc'd in, whereas he stood ; 

Oh Jove, quoth she, why was not I a flood ? 

V. 

Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle. 
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty ; 
Brigiiter than glass is, and yet, as glass is, brittle, 
Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty : 
A little pale, with damask die to grace her, 
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her. 



Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd. 
Between each kiss her oaths of true love sv/earing ! 
How many tales to please rne hath she coin'd, 
Dreading my love, the loss whereof still fearing ! 
Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings. 
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings. 

She burnt with love, as straw with fire flameth. 
She burnt out love, as soon as straw out burneth ; 
Slie fram'd the love, and yet she foil'd the framing, 
She bade love last, and yet she fell a turning. 

Was tills a lover, or a lecher whether ? 

Bad in the best, though excellent in neither, 

VI. 

If music and sweet poetry agree. 
As they must needs, the sister and the brother. 
Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me, 
Because thou lov'st the one, and I the otiier. 
Dovvland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch 
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense ; 
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such. 
As passmg all conceit, needs no defence. 
Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound, 
'i'hat Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes ; 
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd, 
Whenas himself to sinsing he betakes. 

One god is god of both, as poets feign ; 

One knight loves both, and both in thee remain, 
vn. 
Fair was the morn, when the fair queen of love, 
» » • * * 

Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove, 
For Aden's sake, a youngster proud and wild ; 
Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill : 
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds ; 
She silly queen, with more than love's good will, 
Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds 
Once, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth 
Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar. 
Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth ! 
See in my thigh, quoth she, here was the sore : 
She shewed hers ; he saw more wounds than one. 
And blushing fled, and left her all alone. 

VIII. 

Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon faded, 
Pluck'd in the bud, and faded in the spring ! 
Bright orient pearl, alack ! too timely shaded! 
Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting ! 

Like a green plum tiiat hangs upon a tree. 

And falls, through wind, before the fall should be 
I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have ; 
For why? thou left'st me nothing in thy Will. 
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave ; 
For why? I craved nothing of thee still : 

O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee ; 

Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me. 

IX. 

Fair Venus with Adonis sitting by her, 

Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him : 

She told the youngling how god Mars did try her. 

And as he fell to her, she fell to him. 

Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god embrac'd mt ; 

And then she clip'd Adonis in her arms : 

Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlac'd me; 

As if the boy should use like loving charms. 

Even thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips. 

And with her lips on his did act the seizure ; 

And as she fetched breath, away he skips ; 

And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure. 

Ah ! that I had my lady at this bay. 

To kiss and clip me till I run away ! 



922 



PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 



Crabbed age and youth 

Cannot live together ; 
Youth is full of pleasance, 

Age is full of care: 
Youth like summer morn, 

Age like winter weather ; 
Youth like summer brave. 

Age like winter bare. 
Youth is full of sport, 
Age's breath is short, 

Youth is nimble, age is lame t 
Youth is hot and bold, 
Age is weak and cold ; 

Youth is wild, and age is tame. 
Age, I do abhor thee. 
Youth, I do adore thee ; 

O, my love, my love is young : 
Age, I do defy thee ; 
O sweet shepherd, hie thee. 

For methinks thou stay'st too long. 

XI. 

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good, 

A shining gloss, that fadeth suddenly ; 

A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud ; 

A brittle glass, that's broken presently: 
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, 
Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour. 

And as goods lost are seld or never found, 

As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh, 

As flowers dead, lie wither'd on the ground, 

As broken glass no cement can redress, 
So beauty blemish'd once, for ever's lost, 
In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost. 

XII. 

Good night, good rest. Ah ! neither be my share ; 
She bade good night, that kept my rest away ; 
And daft me to a cabin hang'd with care. 
To descant on the doubts of my decay. 

Farewel, quoth she, and come again to-morrow; 

Farewel I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow. 
Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile. 
In scorn or friendship, nill 1 construe whether : 
May be, she joy'd to jest at my exile, 
May be, again to make me wander thither : 

Wander, a word for shadows like myself. 

As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf. 

XIII. 

Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east ! 
My heart doth charge the watch ; the morning rise 
Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest. 
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes, 

While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark. 

And wish her lays were tuned like the lark ; 
For she doth welcome day-light with her ditty, 
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night : 
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty ; 
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight ; 

Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow; 

For why"! she sigh'd,and bade nie come to-morrow. 

Were I with her, the night would post too soon ; 
But now are minutes added to the hours ; 
To spite me now, each minute seems an hour ; 
Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers ! 

Pack night, peep day : good day, of night now 
borrow ; [row. 

Short, Night, to-night, and length thyself to-mor- 

XIV. 

It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three. 
That liked of her master as well as well might be, 



Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that eye 

Her fancy fell a turning. [could see, 

I,ong was the combat doubtful, that love with love 

did fight. 
To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight: 
To put in practice either, alas it was a spite 

Unto the silly damsel. 
But one must be refused, more mickle was the pain, 
That nothing could be used, to turn them both to gain. 
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with 

Alas she could not help it ! [disdain • 

Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day. 
Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away ; 
Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay ; 

For now my song is ended. 

XV. 

On a day (alack the day !) 
Love, whose month was ever May, 
Spy'd a blossom passing fair. 
Playing in the wanton air. 
Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
All unseen, 'gan passage find ; 
That the lover, sick to death, 
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath : 
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow ; 
Air, would I might triumph so ! 
But alas my hand hath sworn 
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn • 
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet. 
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet. 
Do not call it sin in me. 
That I am forsworn for thee ; 
Thou for whom even Jove would swear 
Juno but an Ethiope were ; 
And deny himself for Jove, 
Turning mortal for thy love. 

XVI. 

My flocks feed not. 
My ewes breed not, 
My rams speed not. 

All is amiss : 
Love's denying, 
Faitii's defying, 
Heart's renying. 

Causer of this. 
All my merry jigs are quite forgot. 
All my lady's love is lost, God wot : 
Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love, 
There a nay is plac'd without remove. 
One silly cross 
Wrought all my loss ; 

O frowning fortune, cursed, fickle dame ! 
For now I see. 
Inconstancy 

fllore in women than in men remain. 
In black mourn I, 
All fears scorn I, 
Love hath forlorn me. 

Living in thrall : 
Heart is bleeding, 
All help needing, 
(O cruel speeding!) 

Fraughted with gall. 
My shepherd's pipe can sound no dell. 
My wether's bell rings doleful knell ; 
My curtail dog that wont to have play'd 
Plays not at all, but seems afraid ; 
With sighs so deep. 
Procures to weep, 

In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight. 
How sighs resound 
Through heartless ground. 

Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight' 



PASSIONATE PILGRLM. 



923 



Clear wells spring not, 
Sweet birds sing not, 
Green plants bring not 

Forth ; they die : 
Herds stand weeping, 
Flocks all sleeping, 
Nymphs back peeping 

Fearfully. 
All our pleasure known to us poor swains, 
All our merry meetings on the plains, 
All our evening sport from us is fled, 
All our love is lost, for love is dead. 
Farewel, sweet love. 
Thy like ne'er was 

For sweet content, the cause of all my moan; 
Poor Coridon 
IMust live alone. 

Other help for him I see that there is none. 

XVII. 

When as thine eye hath chose the dame, 
And stall'd the deer that thou should'st strike, 
Let reason rule things worthy blame, 
As well as fancy, partial might : 

Take counsel of some wiser head. 

Neither too young, nor yet unwed. 
And when thou com'st thy tale to tell, 
Smooth not thy tongue with tiled talk. 
Lest she some subtle practice smell ; 
(A cripple soon can find a halt :) 

But plainly say thou lov'st her well, 

And set her person forth to sale. 
What though her frowning brows be bent, 
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night ; 
And then too late she will repent. 
That thus dissembled her delight ; 

And twice desire, ere it be day. 

That which with scorn she put away. 
What though she strive to try her strength. 
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay, 
Her feeble force will yield at length. 
When craft hath taught her thus to say : 

" Had women been so strong as men. 

In faith you had not had it then." 
And to her will frame all thy ways ; 
Spare not to spend, — and chiefly there 
Where thy desert may merit praise. 
By ringing in thy lady's ear : 

The strongest castle, tower, and town, 

The golden bullet beats it down. 
Serve always with assured trust. 
And in thy suit be humble, true ; 
Unless thy lady prove unjust, 
Press never thou to choose anew : 

When time shall serve, be thou not slack 

To proffer, though she put thee back. 
The wiles and guiles that women work. 
Dissembled with an outward show. 
The tricks and toys that in them lurk. 
The cock that treads them shall not know. 

Have you not heard it said full oft, 

A woman's nay doth stand for nought? 
Think women still to strive with men. 
To sin, and never for to saint : 
There is no heaven, by holy then. 
When time with age shall them attaint. 

Were kisses all the joys in bed, 

One woman would another wed. 
But soft ; enough, — too much I fear. 
Lest that my mistress hear my song ; 
She'll not stick to round me i' th' ear. 
To teach my tongue to be so long : 



Yet will she blush, here be it said, 
To hear her secrets so bewray 'd. 

xvni. 
As it fell upon a day. 
In the merry month of May, 
Sitting in a pleasant shade 
Which a grove of myrtles made. 
Beasts did leap, and birds did sing. 
Trees did grow, and plants did spring ' 
Every thing did banish moan. 
Save the nightingale alone : 
She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 
Lean'd lier breast up-iill a thorn. 
And there sung the dolefuU'st ditty. 
That to hear it was great prty : 
> Fie, fie, tie, now would she cry, 
Teru, Teru, by and by : 

That to hear her so complain. 

Scarce I could from tears refrain ; 

For her griefs so lively shewn. 

Made me think upon mine own. 

Ah ! (thought 1) thou mourn'st in vain ; 

None take pity on thy pain : 

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee ; 

Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee; 

King Pandion, he is dead ; 

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead : 

All thy fellow birds do sing, 

Careless of thy sorrowing. 

Even so, poor bird, like thee. 

None alive will pity me. 

Whilst as fickle fortune smil'd. 

Thou and 1 were both beguil'd. 

Every one that flatters thee. 

Is no friend in misery. 

Words are easy like the wind ; 

Faithful friends are hard to find. 

Every man will be thy friend. 

Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ; 

But if store of crowns be scant. 

No man will supply thy want. 

If that one be prodigal. 

Bountiful they will him call : 

And with such like flattering, 

" Pitu but he were a king," 

If he be addict to vice. 

Quickly him they will entice ; 

If to women he be bent. 

They have him at commandement ; 

But if fortune once do frown. 

Then farewell his great renown : 

They that fawn'd on him before, 

Use his company no more. 

He that is thy friend indeed, 

He will lielp thee in thy need. 

If thou sorrow, he will weep ; 

If thou wake, he cannot sleep : 

Thus of every grief in heart 

He with thee doth bear a part. 

These are certain signs to know 

Faithful friend from flalterins foe. 

XIX. 

Take, oh, take those lips away. 

That so sweetly were forsworn ; 
And those eyes, the break of day. 

Lights that do mislead the morn : 
But my kisses bring again. 
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain. 
Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow 

Which thy frozen bosom bears. 
On whose tops the pinks that grow. 

Are of those that April wears. 



924 



PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 



But first set my poor heart free, 
Bound in those icy chains by thee. 

XX. 

Let the bird of loudest lay, 

On the sole Arabian tree, 

Herald sad and trumpet be. 

To whose sound chaste wings obey. 

But thou shrieking harbinger, 

Foul pre-currer of the fiend. 

Augur of the fever's end, 

To this troop come thou not near. 

From this session interdict 

Every fowl of tyrant wing, 

Save the eagle, feather'd king : 

Keep the obsequy so strict. 

Let the priest in surplice white, 

That defunctive music can, 

Be the death-divining swan, 

Lest the requiem lack his right. 

And thou, treble-dated crow. 

That thy sable gender mak'st 

With the breath thou givest and tak'st, 

'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. 

Here the anthem doth commeace : 

Love and constancy is dead ; 

Phoenix and the turtle fled 

In a mutual flame from hence. 

So they lov'd as love in twain 

Had the essence but in one ; 

Two distincts, division none : 

Number there in love was slain. 

Hearts remote, yet not asunder ; 

Distance, and no space was seen 

'Twixt the turtle and his queen ; 

But in them it were a wonder. 



So between them love did shine, 
That the turtle saw his right 
Flaming in the phoenix' sight . 
Either was the other's mine. 
Property was thus appall'd, 
That the self was not the same ; 
Single nature's double name 
Neither two nor one was call'd. 
Reason, in itself confounded, 
Saw division grow together ; 
To themselves yet either-neither. 
Simple were so well compounded. 
That it cried how true a twain 
Seemeth this concordant one ! 
Love hath reason, reason none. 
If what parts can so remain. 
Where upon it made this threne 
To the phoenix and the dove, 
Co-supremes and stars of love ; 
As chorus to their tragic scene. 

THRF.NOS. 

Beauty, truth, and rarity, 

Grace in all simplicity, 

Here inclos'd in cinders lie. 

Death is now the phoenix' nest ; 

And the turtle's loyal breast 

To eternity doth rest. 

Leaving no posterity: — 

'Twas not their infirmity. 

It was married chastity. 

Truth may seem, but cannot be ; 

Beauty brag, but 'tis not she ; 

Truth and beauty buried be. 

To this urn let those repair. 

That are either true or fair ; 

For these dead birds sigh a prayer. 



A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 



FnoM off a hill whose concave womb re-worded 
A plaintful story from a sistering vale. 
My spiiits to attend this double voice accorded, 
And down I lay to list the sad tun'd tale : 
Ere long espy'd a fickle maid full pale. 
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain, 
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain. 

Upon her head a platted hive of straw. 

Which fortified her visage from the sun. 

Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw 

The carcase of a beauty spent and done. 

Time had not scythed all that youth begun, 

Nor youth all quit ; but, spite of heaven's fell rage. 

Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age. 

Ofl did she heave her napkin to her eyne. 
Which on it iiad conceited characters, 
Laund'ring the silken figures in the brine 
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears, 
And often reading what contents it bears ; 
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe. 
In clamours of all size, both high and low. 

Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride. 
As they did battery to the splieres intend ; 
Sometime diverted their poor balls are ty'd 
To the orbed earth ; sometimes they do extend 
Their view right on ; anon their gazes lend 
To every place at once, and no where fix'd. 
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd. 

Her hair, nor loose, nor ty'd in formal plat, 
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride ; 
For some untuck'd, descended her sheav'd hat, 



Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside , 

Some in her threaden fillet still did bide, 

And, true to bondage, would not break from thence, 

Though slackly braided in loose negligence. 

A thousand favours from a maund she drew 

Of amber, crystal, and of bedded jet. 

Which one by one she in a river threw, 

Upon whose weeping margent she was set, — • 

Like usury, applying wet to wet, 

Or monarchs' hands, that let not bounty fall. 

Where want cries some, but where excess begs all. 

Of folded schedules had she many a one. 

Which she perus'd, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood; 

Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone. 

Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud ; 

Found yet more letters sadly penn'd in blood. 

With sleided silk feat and afl^ectedly 

Enswath'd, and seal'd to curious secrecy. 

These often bath'd she in her fluxive eyes. 

And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear; 

Cry'd, O false blood ! thou register of lies. 

What unapproved witness dost thou bear ! 

Ink would have seem'd more black and damned here ! 

This said, in top of rage the lines she rents, 

Bisr discontent so breaking their contents. 

A reverend man that graz'd his cattle nigh, 

(Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew 

Of court, of city, and had let go by 

The swiftest hours,) observed as they flew ; 

Towards tliis afflicted fancy fastly drew ; 

And, privileg'd by age, desires to know 

In brief, the grounds and motives of her woe. 



^1 \Fm^'''^'^''r 




A^OERSOA/ Si. 



A LOVER'S COMPLAIJMT. 

Ere long espy'd a fickle maid fall pale. 
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain. 

Page 924. 



A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 



925 



So slides he down upon his grained bat, 
And comely-distant sits he by her side ; 
When he again desires her, being sat, 
Her grievance with his hearing to divide : 
If that from him there may be aught apply'd 
Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage, 
'Tis promis'd in the charity of age. 

Father, she says, though in me you behold 
The injury of many a blasting hour, 
Let it not tell your judgement I am old ; 
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power : 
I might as yet have been a spreading flower, 
Fresh to myself, if I had self-apply'd 
Love to myself, and to no love beside. 

But woe is me ! too early I attended 

A youthful suit (it was to gain my grace) 

Of one by nature's outwards so commended. 

That maiden's eyes stuck over all his face: 

Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her place ; 

And when in his fair parts she did abide, 

She was new lodg'd and newly deified. 

His browny locks did hang in crooked curls ; 
And every light occasion of the wind 
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls. 
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find : 
Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind ; 
For on his visage was in little drawn. 
What largeness thinks in paradise was sawn. 

Small show of man was yet upon his chin ; 

His phoenix down began but to appear. 

Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin, 

Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to wear ; 

Yet shew'd his visage by that cost most dear ; 

And nice affections wavering stood in doubt 

If best 'twere as it was, or best without. 

His qualities were beauteous as his form. 

For maidentongu'd he was, and thereof free ; 

Yet, if men mov'd him, was he such a storm 

As oft 'twixt May and April is to see. 

When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be . 

His rudeness so with his authoriz'd youth, 

Did livery falseness in a pride of truth. 

Well could he ride, and often men would say 

" That horse his mettle from his rider takes: 

Proud oj subjection, nohlehy the swaij, [^makes!' 

What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he 

And controversy hence a question takes, 

Whether the horse by him became his deed. 

Or he his manage by the well-doing steed. 

But quickly on his side the verdict went. 
His real habitude gave life and grace 
To appertainings and to ornament, 
Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case : 
All aids, themselves made fairer by their place. 
Came for additions ; yet their purpos'd trim 
Piec'd not his grace, but were all grac'd by him. 

So on the tip of his subduing tongue 
All kind of arguments and question deep. 
All replication prompt, and reason strong. 
For his advantage still did wake and sleep : 
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep. 
He had the dialect and different skill. 
Catching all passions in his craft of will ; 
That he did in the general bosom reign 
Of young, of old ; and sexes both enchanted. 
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain 
In personal duty, following where he haunted : 
Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted ; 
And dialogu'd for him what he would sajf, 
Ask'd tiieir own wills, and made their wills obey. 



Many there were that did his picture get, 

To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind ; 

Like fools that in the imagination set 

The goodly objects which abroad they find 

Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd ; 

And labouring in more pleasures to bestow them. 

Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them * 

So many have, that never touch'd his hand. 
Sweetly suppos'd them mistress of his heart. 
j\ly woeful self, that did in freedom stand. 
And was my own fee-simple, (not in part,) 
What with his art in youth, and youth in art, 
Threw my affections in his charmed power. 
Reserv'd the stalk, and gave him all my flower. 
Yet did I not, as some my equals did, 
Demand of him, nor being desired, yielded ; 
Finding myself in honour so forbid, 
With safest distance I mine honour shielded ! 
Experience for me many bulwarks builded 
Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil 
Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil. 

But ah! who ever shunn'd with precedent 
The destin'd ill she must herself assay 1 
Or forc'd examples, 'gainst her own content, 
To put the by-pass'd perils in her way 1 
Counsel may stop a while what will not stay; 
For when we rage, advice is often seen 
By blunting us to make our wits more keen. 

Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood. 
That we must curb it upon others' proof, 
To be forbid the sweets that seem so good. 
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof. 
O appetite, from judgement stand aloof! 
The one a palate hath, that needs will taste. 
Though reason weep, and cry it is thy last. 
For further I could say, this man's untrue. 
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling; 
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew, 
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling ; 
Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling ; 
Thought, characters, and words, merely but art, 
And bastards of his foul adulterate heart. 

And long upon these terms I held my city. 
Till thus he 'gan besiege me : " Gentle maid. 
Have of my suflTering youth some feeling pity, 
And be not of my holy vows afraid : 
That's to you sworn, to none was ever said ; 
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto. 
Till now did ne'er invite, nor never vow. 

All my oft'ences that abroad you see. 

Are errors of the blood, none of the mind: 

Love made them not ; with acture they may be. 

Where neither party is nor true nor kind : 

They sought their shame that so their shame did find j 

And so much less of sliame in me remains. 

By how much of me their reproach contains. 

Among the many tiiat mine eyes have seen. 

Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm'd. 

Or my affection put to the smallest teen, 

Or any of mv leisures ever charm'd : 

Harm have 1 done to them, but ne'er was harm'd ; 

Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free. 

And reign 'd, commanding in his monarchy. 

Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me, 

Of paled pearls, and rubies red as blood ; 

Figuring tiiat they their passions likewise lent me 

Of grief and blushes, aptly understood 

In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood ; 

Effects of terror and dear modesty, 

Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly. 



926 



A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 



And lo ! behold these talents of their hair, 

With twisted metal amorously impleach'd, 

I have receiv'd from many a several fair, 

(Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,) 

With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd, 

And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify 

Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality. 

The diamond ; why 'twas beautiful and hard, 

Whereto his invis'd properties did tend ; 

The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard 

Weak, sight their sickly radiance do amend ; 

The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend 

With objects manifold ; each several stone, 

With wit well blazon'd, smil'd or made some moan 

Lo ! all these trophies of affections hot. 

Of pensive and subdu'd desires the tender. 

Nature hath charg'd me that I hoard them not, 

But yield them up where I myself must render, 

l~hat is, to you, my origin and ender : 

For these, of force, must your oblations be. 

Since I their altar, you enpatron me. 

O then advance of yours that phraseless hand. 

Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise ; 

Take all these similies to your own command, 

Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise ; 

What me your minister, for you obeys. 

Works under you ; and to your audit comes 

Their distract parcels in combined sums. 

Lo ! this device was sent me from a nun, 

Or sister sanctified of holiest note ; 

Which late her noble suit in court did shun. 

Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote ; 

For she was sought by spirits of richest coat. 

But kept cold distance, and did thence remove. 

To spend her living in eternal love. 

But O, my sweet, what labour is't to leave 

The thing we have not, mastering what not strives 1 

Playing the place which did no form receive. 

Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves : 

She that her fame so to herself contrives, 

The scars of battle scapeth by the flight. 

And makes her absence valiant, not her might. 

pardon me, in that my boast is true ; 
The accident which brought me to her eye. 
Upon the moment did her force subdue. 
And now she would the caged cloister fly : 
Religious love put out religion's eye : 
Not to be tempted, would she be enmur'd. 
And now, to tempt all, liberty procur'd. 
How mighty then you are, O hear me tell ! 
The broken bosoms that to me belong, 
Have emptied all their fountains in my well, 
And mine I pour your ocean all among: 

1 strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong. 
Must for your victory us all congest, 

As compound love to physic your cold breast. 
My parts had power to charm a sacred nun. 
Who disciplin'd and dieted in grace, 
Believ'd her eyes when 1 the assail begun. 
All vows and consecrations giving place. 
O most potential love! vow, bond, nor space, 
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine, 
For thou art all, and all things else are thine. 



When thou impressest, what are precepts worth 

Of stale example ? When thou wilt inflame. 

How coldly ttiose impediments stand forth 

Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame"! [siiame. 

Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, "gainst 

And sweetens, in the sufl^ering pangs it bears. 

The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears. 

Now all these hearts that do on mine depend. 

Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine. 

And supplicant their sighs to you extend. 

And leave the battery that you make 'gainst mine, 

Lending soft audience to my sv.-eet design. 

And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath. 

That shall prefer and undertake my troth." 

This said, his watery eyes he did dismount, 

Whose sights till then were levell'd on my face , 

Each cheek a river running from a fount 

With brinish current downward flow'd apace • 

O how the channel to the stream gave grace ! 

Who, glaz'd with crystal, gate the glowing roses 

That flame through water with their hue incloses 

O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies 

In the small orb of one particular tear ? 

But with the inundation of the eyes 

What rocky heart to water will not wear 1 

What breast so cold that is not warmed here ? 

O cleft effect ! cold modesty, hot wrath. 

Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath ! 

For lo ! his passion, but an art of craft. 

Even there resolv'd my reason into tears ; 

There my white stole of chastity I daft, 

Shouk off my sober guards, and civil fears ; 

Appear to him, as he to me appears. 

All melting ; though our drops this difference bore. 

His poison'd me, and mine did him restore. 

lu him a plenitude of subtle matter. 

Applied lo cautels, all strange forms receives, 

Of burning blushes, or of weeping water, 

Of swooning paleness ; and he takes and leaves. 

In cither's aptness as it best deceives. 

To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes. 

Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows ; 

That not a heart which in his level came. 

Could scape the hail of his all-hurting aim. 

Showing fair nature is both kind and tame ; 

And veil'd in them, would win whom he would maim: 

Against the thing he sought he would exclaim ; 

When he most brunt in heart-wish'd luxury. 

He preach'd pure maid, and prais'd cold chastity. 

Thus merely with the garment of a Grace 

The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd. 

That the unexperienc'd gave the tempter place. 

Which, like a cherubin, above them hover'd. 

Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'dl 

Ah me ! I fell ; and yet do question make 

What I should do again for such a sake. 

O, that infected moisture of his eye, 

O, that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd, 

O, that forc'd thunder from his heart did fly, 

O, that sad breath his spungy lungs bestow'd, 

O, all that borrowed motion, seeming ow'd, 

Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd, 

And new pervert a reconciled maid ! 



i 



THE END. 



II 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 





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